The Adventures of A Simple Man

  Children! It’s these devilish gifts of God that I hate. You may think I’m just an old crook, but I assure you, I have my reasons. It was Munu, my nephew, who just made a plane out of my salary check. Now, if you saw the amount on that check, you might say it didn’t make much of a difference, but still—who in heaven’s name does such a thing? I would have introduced you to the simple man’s adventure this time, but— No, Munu! That’s my newspaper, don’t make a ball out of it! I haven’t even used it yet... No! Bloody— I’m telling your mom! It’s funny, in all this chaos, I can’t help but think about how sometimes we reach what we sought and still feel empty Oh, Munu! What on earth are you doing? That’s my beloved flower pot—put it down gently... No, no, no, not like that!

 I’m now a well-settled author, but when I first started writing, things were far from easy. I began as a part-timer for a generic English newspaper, eventually working my way up to writer and now editor. Back then, the real struggle wasn’t my lack of writing experience but the payment issues. You see, small newspapers only pay after your article is published, and writing an article isn’t just about the words—it’s about getting the pictures, fonts, headings, and everything else just right. Handling all of this myself drained both time and money. To make matters worse, my supervisor seemed more concerned with font styles than the actual content! But the way people tend to focus on the less important things brings us to the next adventure…

Every child shares a universal love for trains, a fascination that remains constant regardless of any other differences. It’s as if a mysterious fairy plants this seed of wonder into the minds of the young, making the allure of trains something magnificent and magical. In these small train rides, I have encountered several adventures. Once, I found myself captivated by a pretty lady sitting next to me, her smile, those dimples, were a sea of her beauty while I hangered myself along those seldom glances of her mystic eyes. While another time, I ran into a cousin I hadn’t seen in years, only to discover he was traveling with his eloped wife, their nervous glances making the encounter feel like a scene from a drama. It was good for them it was me and not my chatty aunt which was undoubtedly responsible for most of our gossips. But today, I have a different story to tell—one that is more mysterious and introspective. This adventure is not about fleeting moments with strangers or surprisin...

I must have said that I work for a old generic english newspaper house. It is not a very popular job for writers like me but it pays decent. However this decent pay is a difficult achievement. It happens to be so because one has to drill water in the desert for it.  Oh! You might be thinking what this has to do with the adventures; Well during one such work for the newspaper column I had to gather data about freedom in old dusty archives of ours. A useless business as I might like to call it, unless, ofcourse, a adventurous story come across. Well as you may have guessed I did come across one - The Freedomic Halloween 

Most people call it an alarm; however, I call it the 7 o'clock bell. This 7 o'clock bell, as I say, has contributed more to my life than anyone else. What’s interesting is that I never made an effort to find out where this 7 o'clock bell comes from. They say curiosity kills the cat, but satisfaction brings it back. And who am I to deny an old saying like that? So, I packed my bags, left my table, and went on an adventure to find the 7 o'clock bell. After just four precious hours of searching, I discovered that it came from an old temple nearby. I wouldn’t say whether I was satisfied or not, but I was pleased to meet an old friend of mine—God, the Almighty, the one above all. I wouldn’t say whether I love God or not, but what I do love are the adventures He tells. And today’s adventures are straight from my dear friend, God.

An afternoon nap is an unspoken paradise, yet it remains elusive for me, thanks in no small part to my loyal, energetic partner at work—my playful dog, Bhuri. Despite my determination to never compromise my sleep, I remain hopeless. My sister, otherwise known as a demonic creature, in a moment of creative inspiration, suggested that I try telling Bhuri a bedtime story, as if that might somehow make a difference. Tired and at my wit's end, I decided to give it a try. I began narrating folk tales, hoping that these stories might lull Bhuri into a peaceful slumber. So, without further ado, I present to you the chronicles of the Fairy Tale.