Pleasing Prakash talked through books, his shirts smelled of old books, redolent of dusts and decayed of hopes. The corners of his library would lit up in glee at the sight of a rare reader, But pleasing Prakash always stood at the threshold to please his visitors with the aroma of new and old books. He would open up his library everyday, to please two or three regulars. He watched Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Eliot,Bronte and Woolf being borrowed for little pleasures, taking his regulars for a visit to different centuries. Pleasing Prakash knew the racks and the covers and its exactness, he waits for the visitors to comment over the books, thus jumping into a deep discussion. It was a Saturday evening when the riots broke out, Pleasing Prakash with his firmness and political correctness, was watching the police and the protesters, he knows who is right and wrong. The next minute he saw a rock , flying high up in the air aiming the forehead of the policeman. Charg...
Expressions penned with feathery Excalibur!