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About The Book
‘Because that’s my nickname. I like it. Don’t you have a nickname?’‘ No.’‘ Actually, you don’t need one. You have a pretty name.’Her face glistened, a flush rising up her cheeks. ‘My mother gave it to me.’And the flush disappeared as quickly as it came. Tears welled up in her eyes again. My heart thudded in my chest as the sudden realization hit me. She nodded, slowly choking on her sobs. ‘She . . . she died.’
I couldn’t get Akshara to stop weeping. Her little palms kneaded her eyes as if to stop the tears from running out. They couldn’t. I asked her how long it had been since her mother died.
With difficulty, she answered: ‘Two weeks.’My heart sank. ‘I’m so, so sorry, baby.’ It’s not that I haven’t seen people cry or heard stories of death, but I feel the most distressing separation is that of a mother and her daughter.‘You know, Harry, I read a few days ago in one of Mummy’s old books that . . . that . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘When you . . . when you always remember a loved one who has died, miss them, cry for them, they become your guardian angel and are always with you. It was so . . .’ She couldn’t complete her statement as a fit of sobs choked her.‘Oh, Akshara, please, please don’t cry, baby.
Everything’s going to be all right.’She made the kind of pitiable face only a kid can make, rolling her lower lip over the upper, eliciting copious amounts of pity.
‘Mummy died. How can everything be all right?’‘You have your father, right? Where’s the?’She looked to her left. Along the periphery of the park, a neat jogging track went as far as the eyes could reach. ‘He’s not here,’ she said, looking back at me. ‘He’s hardly here.’‘What do you mean?’‘ He’s always traveling. He’s nice but he’s hardly home.’‘So who do you stay with?’‘Shilpi Aunty.’‘ Who’s Shilpi Aunty?’
‘Bingo, girl!’She smiled and her eyes lit up.‘You like stories?’‘I love stories,’ she replied with glee. ‘I read books all the time. It’s my favorite hobby.’‘ Nice,’ I said. ‘So what kind of books do you read?’Without even pondering over it, she said, excitedly, ‘Fantasies!’ Her eyes were the size of a football now. ‘I love, love that world, Harry. Everything is possible in it.’‘Come to think of it, if you really try, everything is possible in this world as well.’‘No, Harry,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so. Anyway, what’s your story about?’‘ It’s your lucky day today, Akshara—it’s a fantasy!’Her hands flew to her mouth in disbelief. ‘Really?’ she asked, withdrawing them slowly.‘Really.’‘ Is the story good?’
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