ONE STEP FORWARD 🃏 By GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI ♠️

GAUTWORLD

Satish Sharma was a polisher of metals; he was originally from Calcutta, the beautiful city of many dreams. Two years back, he had shifted to Surat in search of a better livelihood. The first year had been good; work came his way regularly. Then came the recession, drying up everything: work, funds, opportunities, and even relations. He searched day and night, but found nothing; there was no work, and everywhere they asked him to wait, to wait until the recession was over. However, his life will not wait for the recession to be over, nor his body. Soon his savings were over, but the recession was everywhere, and he could not go back to a more expensive city like Calcutta and then came the last blow from his flat owner. Pay more or vacate the house.

👦

Satish Sharma will take that one step forward, but the question is, where would he take that step?

To know about Satish Sharma's story, click on the book link of 

 'AMPUTATED MINDS'- A STORY TO TELL' 

https://notionpress.com/in/read/amputated-minds

SINS OF MINE 💢

 

gifer.com

Sins of mine

Are they there to haunt me

And destroy my inner self

I try to stop

But to the devil

I am in debt.

🃏

CREAK

RONNIE 👤

 

giphy.com

Ronnie rides his bike

He is riding on the free highway

Summer sun shines

On his golden hair

His blue eyes

Looking out for a signboard

Saying, ‘Welcome Home.’

☠️

CREAK

JEENU ❄️ AUTHOR GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI 👑

 

giphy.com

My name is Alfred Harold Hill. I am a cartographer for the British Army, Highland Rangers, and XXV Company. And I am dying. I am writing this journal to preserve my identity and to let others know what happened and what we went through. I have no idea how long I can write, as only a few candles are left and the inkwell is half empty.

It is November 12th of 1891, the year of our lord. Outside the log cabin, a snowstorm has roared for the past three days. There are four to five feet of snow all around, the passes and routes erased beneath the relentless snowfall. I have tried to escape the log cabin only three times, only to turn back, defeated by the snow.

I am 24 years old, my rank is first Lieutenant and it seems like yesterday when we journeyed from the army camp at Dehradun, three months to this day, a Platoon of thirty-five men and with me, and I am the last one remaining, the others dead, or as the Bitak would say, ‘Lo sall Jo kumi haar Jeenu.’ disappeared into the arms of the Jeenu.

💨

Alfred Harold Hill's story is a mystery that will remain unsolved. To know more about 'JEENU', click on the link below the book cover of 'SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES'.

SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES

PAPERBAG 📃 AUTHOR TITO ✍️

 

giphy.com

Iztak Salal knew that he must do his work very quietly, very patiently; he must not draw any attention to himself or to what he was seeking. The book, which he carried in a bag, was slung across his chest, and he could get himself killed if seen by the right eyes. It was a book of medicine, an ancient book, but written for Ayurveda, written for Hinduism, for the knowledge of Hindus only, and he was aware of how Hinduism functioned.

The Hindus were a tight-lipped people, hardly sharing anything with those around them or with the world at large; sharing knowledge was the last thing they would ever dream of. For them, Islam was not only a strange religion but an aberration. Somehow, in many ways, in things big and small of daily life, they tolerated Islam; for one thing, Hindus were known for their infinite and world-weary patience.

Iztak Salal knew that if not for the book he had found, their paths would never have crossed. But now he must cross that wide chasm between the two religions.

☸️

Iztak Salal was a practitioner of the ancient medical science known as Unani, and he, along with his childhood friend Rahim Shah, was travelling in search of Moksha. 

To join Iztak Salal and Rahim Shah in their journey, read 'SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES'

SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES

SOME DAY SOME NIGHT 🌖

 

travellet

Someday

I sit

 Staring at the bare walls

Some nights

I silently cry

✨ 

CREAK

THE CLINIC 🏥 AUTHOR GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI 👤

 

 

 

www.pinterest.com

 

Dinesh nodded his head silently, then he gazed at her. 'How are you, by the way, we haven't spoken for a couple of days now,' he said.

'I am glad you are noticing things,' Ritu replied tartly.

Suddenly, Dinesh stepped forward and held her hand, 'Ritu, you are mistaken about a few things, I have always...' but before he could finish, the blue sirens went off with a loud clanging sound. There was suddenly some kind of eruption.

'Dinesh, what is it?' Ritu cried out in alarm.

'Ritu, I think the patient is haemorrhaging, if I am sure,' Dinesh answered, sounding a bit confused.

Before Ritu could answer, the alarms started blaring. 

‘CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED’

'We must leave here now, find the rest of the team,' Dinesh suggested, his voice panicking.

They held hands and rushed out of the cabin into the pathway that led to the ‘EAT’ section. They had taken just a few steps when what they saw seemed to freeze their blood.

A sea of red was moving towards them. It was a flood, a flood of blood. Red blood! 

The alarms blared on. ‘CODE RED CODE RED CODE RED’

 

☠️

 

When things get out of control, the best medical brains just stand and watch helplessly. 

SHOOTHING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES- GET YOUR COPY TODAY!!

 

 SHOOTING MR SUMMER & 7 STORIES