I Die Every Night spins around a girl who at whatever point, glanced around with her light-bluish eyes augmented by their angelic candor, looking like the world’s queen, a dazzling idol of this world, and she was second to no one in cheerful countenance. The ugly and torturous lines on her palm made her destitute at adolescent age and constrained her, to embrace prostitution much against her wishes. As a young girl, she was sexually exploited by her stepfather on a daily basis and made the foundation for her to be among the most beautiful, erotic and demanded call-girls of her seasoned of life, as the rest the deceptive world taught her. The kind of euphoria she felt among her paramours was exceptional, similarly is the unexceptional story of her beautiful body getting deprived of the most sensuous and priceless body parts one by one. She ascended from the ashes like a phoenix and died like the most philanthropic person in the world, making everyone on this Earth pigmy sized. She splendidly transformed herself using her wit and wisdom from an ordinary brothel prostitute to the most coveted woman of the night in Bombay, and ruled the city for many years and witnessed the years of fame and opulence to a fugitive, and a police accomplice to a wife in waiting and fought the Bombay underworld with her competencies and mental abilities, outmaneuvering her pitiable paramours. However, a heartbroken pensiveness she carried throughout her life. A chance encounter brought her face to face with a stranger whom she offered herself for the night, yet was rebuffed by the gentleman for being married and encompassed many lofty ideals towards his wife, daughter, and family. Impressed with such lofty ideals, the woman of the street unfolded her saga and the young man found to his amazement, the true colors behind one of the oldest professions in this world – prostitution. This true account of a woman of the street unfolds many dark alleys of the murky world of prostitution and the skeletons in her cupboard rather in the truest sense makes one aware of the vulnerability of women for being docile, fragile and full of voluptuousness.
Strange are the ways of God, I was born on a day of martyrdom of the father of our nation, Mahatma Gandhi. Mahatma Gandhi was shot at 5 PM; I too landed on this earth at the same time after much hullabaloo. The day was to a great degree, cold; icy winds blew notoriously and the rain God went berserk. My mother needed to withstand the throbs of my introduction to the world at the hospital of Rohtak, a province in Punjab, which later went to the Haryana province after the division of Punjab.
My father’s friends who read my palms declared, “A communist is born today.”
Whereas a servant informed my mother later that a cow continued standing at the gate of our house in exuberant downpour, while I took birth, and my mother concluded, I would be a seer.
Neither I became a communist, nor a seer, yet from the earliest starting point I was constantly intrigued by beauteous things in this world and wouldn’t hesitate to say, “Though I may not achieve it, it may be far too beauteous, in any case, I shall never stop wishing for it.”
My professional career spans 35 years in a number of professional companies like ITC, Hawkins, Samtel, UFlex, Triveni, and Alps Industries Limited.
The idea of writing books germinated in the year 2014, when I bid the final adieu to my professional career, and this is no coincidental decision, rather a planned outcome of my fascination.
I am an avid traveler, journeyed far and extensively, and a connoisseur of food, movies, reading and music.
You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org
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