Aadhaa Fauji
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This book doesn't tell a story, but rather recounts - some past realities, some scattered tales - which have come to us dressed in the garments of fantasy. The events, which our elders once shared around the fire, will now, through my words - refreshed with new hues and wings of thought - take you to that village where ghosts and guns both hang from the palm trees. A place where the lines between jokes, mourning, joy, and pain often blur in a single breath. As I scatter the fragrance of that village's soil, I've made an attempt - to bring the voices of those soldiers to you, whom our society m...
This book doesn't tell a story, but rather recounts - some past realities, some scattered tales - which have come to us dressed in the garments of fantasy. The events, which our elders once shared around the fire, will now, through my words - refreshed with new hues and wings of thought - take you to that village where ghosts and guns both hang from the palm trees. A place where the lines between jokes, mourning, joy, and pain often blur in a single breath. As I scatter the fragrance of that village's soil, I've made an attempt - to bring the voices of those soldiers to you, whom our society may call 'half-soldiers'... or perhaps - it already does.
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