He entered the room with the expert walk of a tiger out on a prowl. With the air of a veteran he cast a roving eye over the crowd. He knew just where and how he would spend the rest of the evening. He had already selected those who would have the honour of his company. And he had selected his corner. A vantage point overlooking the room and an arm’s length from the much needed bar. The bar was his anchor. In this mind-numbingly boring party he knew the only way he was going home at the end of the evening was copious amounts of alcohol. He hated these events. All these socialites attempting to be so cool. Delhi was fun. Delhiites were the devil reincarnate. All those Punjabis ladies with derrieres needing two chairs. Dripping with gold. Dressed in flashy saris. And their wonderful, faithful husbands. Who looked at women as if they were a piece of meat. He couldn’t take it. He admired women. He loved women. All sorts. Well, the nice sorts anyway. And he showed his appreciation all right....
Once upon a time though I can’t tell you when; in a place faraway though I can’t tell you where- there lived a young girl. That sweet child was as fresh as the morning dew; as pure as snow at dawn; as happy as a flower in the breeze. She could be called the ideal one. The one we all strived to be. And she was that. Her name, as beautiful as she was; was Cherie. Cherie. French. Does that give you a clue? Don’t be too sure. Cherie was the sweetest thing that had ever lived in that little provincial town. Everyone went to her with their problems; her being all of 14 yrs old. She had a way that only a child could have; to simplify things and with one smile from her; she could make people forget all that was wrong with their lives. But Cherie had problems of her own. As much as she could, she hid behind that brilliant smile of hers. Where everyone knew everyone’s business; no one knew hers. Cherie was an orphan; living with an uncle who had been an absentee guardian for most of her...
Dear me, I don't know how old you are and what you're doing but you're awesome.If you're ten, then relax. you're not fat; nowhere as fat as you will become. But it doesn't matter really. Once in a while it will hurt but ignore it, it will pass. And the summer of 2011 will hopefully change that *fingers crossed*. If you're twelve and trying to deal with the presence of Anurag in your life; don't. He's not worth it. He is not a best friend because like all the other defense kids, he leaves and doesn't keep in touch. This letter wasn't to depress you. Sorry. 2002 me; thanks for starting writing. That Russian mafia story is still good. Maybe I should start work on it again. You have two very amazing best friends who love you more than anything and will do anything for you; as you will for them. You're doing English Literature and you love it. You write and are actually appreciated. You are a person, people turn to for help and advice a...
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pearls of wisdom