My book

Just finished reading atlas shrugged by ayn rand,have always wondered if I was a selfish
self destructive idiot....realised that I was a fair, self loving, objectivist. Left without a book by my side and getting extremely restless about it. Never felt like this since school...with no athletic abilities and scared to death about approaching or being approached by anybody the book spared me the above mentioned trauma. The world could fall apart around me but the noise nor the screams could reach me once a book lay open in front of me inviting me into his world. Nearly half a century later and with a voice louder than the cooker whistle and a tendency to strike conversation with strangers I am unconsioulsy gropping for the firmness of the book cover. My weapon against this world of aliens.

The game

Her deepest and darkest fears came true..... somehow everytime I have read that line as a prefix to a plot in a story I have often wondered whether the writer was a obese shaikh lounging on a satin sofa in a mahal somewhere. Maybe I have read the wrong novels..... or maybe I have read the right ones. Reality is not about fairy godmothers and prince charming....... its about fighting life and its discrepancies, its about believing and having your belief broken, its about struggling blindly to get up from a heap of misery and stand straight, its about seeing your soul mourn the loss of innocence and smile as you shake the hand of success. This is the real life where you have the expertise to enjoy the ectacsy of love and the strength to face yourself when it strips your soul and leaves you naked and shivering. This game of chance called life is laid by the master but can be played with the strength and conviction possible only for man. Your reality is your happiness and even if he rolls the dice the stakes are in your hand. You decide for how much happiness are you going to stake. some stake little, some stake the average and some stake it all.........