Third person narratives
He didn't understand why she didn't love him. He'd tried everything the book had told him to. Step 1: Neg the girl "You know, you'd look half-decent if you lost 5 kilos. And maybe, get a rhinoplasty." Step 2: Establish
First person narratives
My friends tell me I am always in a mad rush to change things, people, the world - both things I can influence and things I can't. I know that. It manifests itself in the impatience (that has also quadrupled during my 8 years in McKinsey) with which
Third person narratives
She strips the linen off the shikifuton, moving on to the pillowcase. Wet. It is all she can do to run out of the room and give voice to her silent agony. Instead, she folds the futon, takes the linen and puts it to wash. And then, she walks out
Third person narratives
A custard pie in the face A monologue in the smokey haze A jazz-fueled stupor An almost religious fervour A puppet held by its strings Who knows what tomorrow brings Because it is a vaudeville life. A custard pie in the face There is nothing as truly terrifying to a
Third person narratives
She always fell in love with exactly the wrong kind of guy. The one that didn’t care, the one that criticised everything she did, the one who was a jerk and the one who was perpetually underemployed. This one thought that girls were a waste of time. She thought
Third person narratives
"... and a dash of chivalry", she peered out from the top of her book at the person lying on the table. "Am I missing something here?", she mused. "I have gone through dark hair, blue eyes, rugged jawline, good looks, Viking physique, charm, courtliness, erudition,
Third person narratives
Over the flicker of candlelight and the clink of cutlery, the young man leaned towards his date. He was already in love with her. Her face had launched a thousand ships from the harbour just 2 hours ago - she was the belle of the regatta after all. One murmur
Third person narratives
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain flowed from the gargoyles overlooking the central square, dripping over their bulbous noses into the metal gutters installed around the first floor, gushing through the plastic pipes into the ground under the cobbled streets where it would meet the city'
Crazy Stuff
My attendance at the London Anusmaran was laced with nostalgia. So here goes... Every time I pass my mother’s native place (on our way to better cities), she starts off on the same memory trail, “I used to walk 7 km every day to school with my tiffin box
Third person narratives
The short version of the story: Boy meets girl at the right time. Boy & girl realise they are right for each other. Boy and girl decide to spend their lives together. All friends celebrate. The extended Karan Johar version of the story: Boy and girl know each other. Boy
Arbit
One step. Into oblivion. The waves rolled on, regardless of the life snuffed out on the rocks far far below the sheer cliff. Noone knew who she was. There was no convenient identification, no daytripper bag lurking in the sparse vegetation. It was how it was. It was how it
Third person narratives
They were young- their lives stretched before them. They were sensitive and idealistic. They felt like, just sometimes, it was them against the world. They shared dreams and despair, laughter and life. Till it all changed. When one of them wanted to settle down and the other didn't.