Everyone Has a Story Savi Sharma - Download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online. Everyone Has a Story Savi Sharma. Everyone Has A Story PDF Summary by Savi Sharma is an amazing novel that covers the lives of different people with unique viewpoints. Buy The Girl Who Knew Too Much: What if the Loved One You Lost Were to Come Back? Book Online at Low Prices in India | The Girl Who Knew Too Much: .
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articulating a particular point of view. Chetan Bhagat's books do both and more. - A.R. Rahman, in TIME magazine, on Che. Everyone Has A Story By Savi Sharma Online. Book Details: Language: English Published, Release Date Publication. Each person I had interviewed had his or her own fascinating story, which made me wonder: what's my story? I didn't want to be 'normal', just.
I wanted something to put a smile back on your face, Vivaan said, passing me a bouquet of flowers and two brown paper packages that were wrapped and tied with a bow. I crossed my arms in a challenging position. See all 6 answers from Savi Sharma…. This book is the one the author was discussing when we first met in this caf. Meera starts the journey by sharing her desire to interact with other people, listen to their stories and expand her horizons. I want to admire nature, and wonder at the magic of its creation.
Join Goodreads. Add New. Nitin Vaidya. Arvind Passey. Sujata Parashar. Dhaval Patel. Swarupa Chavan. Savi Sharma Goodreads Author. Fiction , Spirituality , Self Help. Learn more.
To ask Savi Sharma questions, please sign up. Savi Sharma Ummm Words have power to change the minds and hearts.
He knows the magic to play with …more Ummm He knows the magic to play with the '26 Letters'. View all 4 comments. Write a comment Savi Sharma I try to read more and more.
Watch movies with great storytelling. Travel to various places. View 1 comment. See all 6 answers from Savi Sharma…. Combine Editions. Savi Sharma Average rating: Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Error rating book.
Refresh and try again. Savi Sharma Goodreads Author ,. Smita Singh Reading. Shriram Iyer Goodreads Author Reading. Recommended Books by Savi for A good book not only transforms you but it also leaves you with a lasting impression.
Upcoming Events. I glanced over at the small area where so many writers had stood, taking a small sip of their ice water and clearing their throats before speaking the words I craved to say. I smiled as the frothy bubbles clung to my lip and licked them off delicately. My friend chuckled. Every single step that we take is influenced by others.
Only the part that we hide from everyone else and keep deep within our heart, is our own. I strongly urge you all to realize that hidden part of yours. Go, live that part. Live your life. Trust me, your struggle, your fight, will be worth the risk in opening yourself up.
Get up. Inhale the air of passion. Start your journey. Grab your dreams. Enjoy your mistakes. Dance to the rhythm of your heartbeats. Author Arjun Mehra uttered these final words with confidence. His eyes met mine, and I felt my heart beat a little faster. It was as if he was speaking directly to me. How was it that an author could hold such a magical power over people? I closed my eyes and imagined that I was the speaker, standing confidently in front of an audience.
I smiled softly to myself. Perhaps one day I would actually be able to move a crowd like this. Mehra was pointing directly at me. His soft brown eyes were holding mine, kindly, but with a challenging glint. I took a deep breath.
I am inspired by the world around me, but I am still in search of a story that can change the lives of people. Mehra nodded firmly. Stories of love, hope, survival, wisdom and sometimes pain.
But what is this world? A lie in itself. They change people and mostly for the better. He turned his attention to a young man behind me. I turned around to see who he was speaking to and found a smart, handsome guy around my age.
His black casual blazer suited his brown eyes and short dark hair and there was an air of confidence about him as he sat straight in his chair. His voice was deep and rich. Mehra continued his questions. Is it the thought of success, money or fame that brings you true happiness?
The man cleared his throat. I do know that there are days I want to escape the life I am living and grab my bags and just travel. Money comes with a price, and for me, the price is both freedom and a real life. I hope someday I can make up my mind to chase my dreams.
I saw his shoulders relax a little as he savoured the dark blend. Mehra nodded his understanding before he swept his eyes over the audience once more. Go ahead and make your dreams come true. I joined in, clapping so loudly, my hands began to tingle. I wanted to learn more about him. It was a bold move, and I took a deep breath before turning around to speak with him. But his chair was empty, a half-filled coffee cup sat on the table.
He might have escaped for the moment, but the excited pounding of my heart told me that I had found my story. I was writing furiously in my notebook and barely noticed Kabir approach until he slid my coffee toward me. I returned his warm smile and responded with a hint of excitement in my own voice. At least, I have a start. He slid into the comfortable red chair across from me.
Tell me what you are writing. I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly shy. How could I give him a synopsis when I barely knew where my mind was taking my fingers? I sighed. My friend narrowed his eyes at me and ran his hand over his head. Come on, now show me. I want to go on a road trip.
Stop at random places and explore their beauty. Run through the woods chasing a butterfly. Talk to new people with different cultures and different lifestyles. Listen to their stories; sit on a park bench in the sun. I wanted to learn more about him. It was a bold move, and I took a deep breath before turning around to speak with him.
But his chair was empty, a half-filled coffee cup sat on the table. I stood up, my eyes searching the room for his dark suit, and I spotted him leaving the caf.
I will see you next time, I muttered, determined. He might have escaped for the moment, but the excited pounding of my heart told me that I had found my story. So you finally found a story to write! I returned his warm smile and responded with a hint of excitement in my own voice. Well, yes. At least, I have a start. He slid into the comfortable red chair across from me.
Thats great. Tell me what you are writing. I shrugged my shoulders, suddenly shy. How could I give him a synopsis when I barely knew where my mind was taking my fingers? I sighed. Its about a traveller. Interesting, Kabir responded. May I read what you have written so far? Tilting my head to the side in deep thought, I responded honestly, I am not sure if its worth a read. My friend narrowed his eyes at me and ran his hand over his head. You never know! Come on, now show me.
I turned the notebook around to let him read my precious words. I gulped. I hadnt been expecting him to read it out loud. I want to travel, travel the whole world. I want to go on a road trip. Stop at random places and explore their beauty. Run through the woods chasing a butterfly. Talk to new people with different cultures and different lifestyles. Listen to their stories; sit on a park bench in the sun.
Enjoy every sunrise and sunset, sometimes from a hilltop and sometimes behind the trees. I want to spend hours beside a rushing river, feeling the wind in my hair and listening to the secrets hidden in the waves.
Write a poem about the coldest, cloud-bound mountains and all five oceans. I want to cross my boundaries. I want to admire nature, and wonder at the magic of its creation.
I want to make memories. I want to feel alive. I want to feel the Creator. I want to feel myself. His hand moved and I watched him turn the page. He read silently for a moment and I waited anxiously for him to continue.
My heart was pounding, almost painfully. Life is not meant to be caged in your hometown, but it should be a wondrous place to be explored. I must explore all the nooks and crannies of this world. It has been a long-time dream of mine and, as I set out to do this, I realize that this must be what it feels like to be a baby bird, perched on the edge of its nest, ready and anxious to fly to other places. I sometimes pity humans for not being able to migrate the same way animals can.
There are no boundaries for animals, except what they are incapable of doing for themselves. Humans seem to be the only creatures who say they live freely, but they are bound by the restrictions they place for themselves.
We are not just bound to our work, but to our homes. We do not roam. We live in a small, isolated locationa cage would perhaps best describe it. We have an area for business and we have an area where we eat the same foods and meet the same types of people. Pune has turned into that cage for me. I know everything there is about Pune, but like a lion in the zoo, I crave the freedom of standing on a rock and looking down at the kingdom below me.
I want to see the birds flying, the elephants bathing happily in their watering hole and the gazelles running freely. That is the freedom which humankind was granted, and I am about to capture it by. Kabirs voice drifted off and he sat in silence. Trying to be patient, I traced my fingers over the rim of my coffee cup, then down the side, catching a random drop. Absently, I lifted my finger to my lips and licked it. Still, he said nothing. Finally, I nearly yelled the question. What do you think?
I asked with a mixture of excitement and dread. How is it? He broke into a huge smile. Its lovely, Meera! I think it will touch millions of hearts, Kabir said enthusiastically. He nodded and I let out a nervous laugh. Thank you! Kabir turned my diary back around, patting it happily. I would love to read more when you continue your story! I am sure as the story unfolds it will be even greater.
Promise yourself one thing: My friend stood, straightened the creases in his pants, and went back to work. I stared at the words on the pages, fisting my hands in silent triumph over the pen. I was just happy to know he liked it. Before I could start to write again, a young girl with the brown caf apron walked over to me and handed me a folded napkin. I looked at her questioningly and, silently, she signalled for me to open it.
Curious, but confused, I lay the pen down and unfolded the napkin. It had just one word written on it in big capital letters: I looked up at the girl. Who wrote this? I asked. She turned back and pointed to a chair a few tables away. But there was no one. I dont understand, I said. She frowned for a moment, but then her face eased into a smile.
With a nod toward the caf exit, she said, That young man said to give it to you. It was the traveller. He had escaped again. I stood up and rushed over to the counter.
Who was he? I asked Kabir. He is the assistant branch manager at Citibank on Telak Road, Kabir said helpfully. Hes been here several times since last month. I bit my lip in thought.
Last weekend he was at the authors meet as well. Has he told you his name? My friend shook his head and absently cleaned the counter between us. He doesnt talk much. However, I do know his name because he pays by credit card every time. His name is Vivaan. Vivaan, I repeated, tasting the name on my tongue. When does he usually come to the caf? Kabir shrugged.
Oh, when I say he is regular, he comes in often, but there is no fixed time. He drops by anytime he feels like it.
I thought for a minute. Do you think you could text me the next time he drops by? Sure, Kabir said. But why are you asking so much about Vivaan? He is the traveller about whom I am writing the story, I answered.
My mind was definitely not on the office building I was walking into. In fact, I almost resented having to go to work at all. That was unlike me. Yes, I wanted to be free to travel, but I tried to make the most of where I was.
Life had dealt me some rough blows, but I was always grateful for the constants in my life, my job being one of them. My shoes squeaked on the polished floor, announcing my arrival before I could even get to my office. I couldnt wait to get past the sterile entrance and escape to my own area, where my shoes wouldnt make a sound.
Sir, the receptionist called after me. I groaned; so much for a quick escape. I turned to her, with what I hoped seemed like a genuine smile. It wasnt her fault that at this very moment, I hated my job. I have several messages for you. Your voice mail box is full again. Now, my smile was not faked. Im sorry, I said apologetically. I appreciate you taking the messages. Its quite all right, she said happily. I reached out and, as I took the slips of paper from her hand, her fingers brushed against mine.
It occurred to me how attractive the receptionist was, but that was not where my interest was focused. The woman crowding my mind was the young woman who had sat in front of me during Arjun Mehras talk the other day, the same woman who was breathlessly talking to the caf manager a short time ago. I did not go back to the caf seeking her out; at least, thats what I told myself. I merely wanted the best cup of coffee in the district.
But she was there when I arrived. I was almost disappointed when she did not notice me, but after I sat down, I caught wisps of her conversation with Kabir. Kabir spoke the words, but in my mind, I heard her voice echoing as the sentences replayed like a favourite song.
The words could have been written for me, I mused as I sat down in my soft leather chair, immediately pivoting to look out the window. But thats foolish. She couldnt know my hearts desires. As she and Kabir had talked, I could hear the hesitation in her voice. She lacked the courage to present the talent that she possessed. I hoped she wouldnt give up; I could sense her writing was as much her dream as travelling was mine.
I blushed, thinking about the impulsive note I had left for her. It was meant to be taken one of two ways: But as spellbound as I was by her words, I was even more drawn to the girl.
She was petite, I laughed as I recalled, but amazing. The night she sat in front of me, I stared long and hard at her back, silently begging her to turn around. Her thin legs were tucked delicately under her chair, and I couldnt stop thinking about the soft brown skin that was too hidden by her flowing blue skirt. But, mostly, I wanted to lose myself in her deep twin dimples and her dark eyes.
Barely noticeable when she was concentrating, her brilliant smile brought multiple layers to her face. Like two angels were kissing her at the same time.
I shook my head to clear her image from my mind. I vowed to go back the next day, to see if she had any reaction to the hastily-written note Id asked the waitress to hand her. Id hurried away before; I would not hurry away a third time. I wanted to learn more about this blossoming writer in the caf. Only a few weeks before, I was looking for a story. And then, when I had one, I only had the smallest taste of what I knew could be a full tale.
But I knew I had a story, and it would be the most touching story I had ever heard or written. It was about six-thirty in the evening and I was about to leave the office.
It had been a long day and my head ached. There seemed to be problems piled on top of other problems, and I had no solutions in sight. My phone buzzed, but I was so tired, I nearly ignored it. I put my hand in my pocket, and then drew it out again, leaving my phone in its nest.
A few steps forward and my hungry writers curiosity was too much to ignore. Sliding my hand in the pocket a second time, I drew out the phone and tapped a few buttons. It was from Kabir. Your traveller is here. I forgot my headache and started to rush to the exit as I tapped buttons furiously. Keep him engaged. I am coming. Moments later, I was on my way to the caf. I met Kabirs eye as I came in and I nodded my thanks. I strolled to his table as I did a mental check of my clothing, my hair, and my makeup.
Since I had worked through lunch, at least I knew I didnt have any embarrassing stains or pieces of food stuck between my teeth. Taking a deep breath, I slid into the chair in front of him. So, Mr. Vivaan, how are you? I gave him my most brilliant smile, as if we had planned this meeting for ages.
He looked up and blinked twice. Excuse me? I could tell by his voice that he was astonished by my forward greeting. Or perhaps it was because I knew his name. I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. My deliberate movements didnt betray my racing heart. I am sorry, I began, but before you leave me for a third time, I think we should at least talk. I turned to signal to Kabir to bring my cappuccino. Well, I never left you, Vivaan said, looking deep in my eyes for the first time.
For a moment, my calm movements began to falter. I could feel my hands begin to shake as he captured my gaze and refused to let it go. I flexed my fingertips, silently commanding my hands to behave. I shook my head the same way my mother used to shake her head at me when I snuck away a chocolate cookie. But you never stayed. You escaped every time, I replied with my eyes fixed on his. I felt myself discovering a new universe. A frown creased his forehead. I love to travel. Dont you know that?
I know. My voice was low, quiet. I didnt know what to say anymore. His eyes had cast some spell on me and I was completely mesmerized. He spoke so softly, I could barely hear him. I absorbed his words by watching his full lips move as. And what makes you want me to stay? I wanted to stay in that universe for a very long time, that much I knew.
And instinct told me that going soft would not hold him here. I cleared my throat, forcing attitude back into my voice. I love to write, I responded. Maybe thats why. I gave him a quick grin.
He smiled for the first time. It was one of those rarest smiles you encounter in your entire lifetime.
The crystal hidden deep within a plain rock. These smiles have the power to change you from within. There is nothing to write about me, Vivaan declared, and shook his head. I plunked my hands on the table, lacing my fingers together.
Everyone has a story to tell, I insisted. Some are written in books, and some are confined to hearts. I was proud of my answer. And there was silence for a few seconds. As we stared without blinking, I thought about the childhood game I used to play with my sister. I felt, rather than saw, movement beside me and a cup was placed in front of me. Here is your coffee. I had no idea who supplied the cup, but I thanked her without breaking my gaze and delicately sipped my cappuccino, finally lowering my eyes.
I refused to speak next. It was his turn. I counted three deep breaths before he finally spoke. You are good with words, Vivaan said as he broke the silence. Thanks, I said. And what are you good at? I was eager to know more about Vivaan. He seemed so mysterious, and yet so wonderful. Before I could get my answer, Vivaans cell phone began to ring. He quickly reached down and checked the caller ID. His eyes were regretful when he looked up at me, disappointment rippling across his face. Then he chuckled.
I guess I am good at escaping, he said. Disappointment soared. I asked in a low voice. Always, he whispered, leaning across the table so I could hear him. I prompted. I didnt want him to leave. I planned to keep him talking as long as I could. He shrugged, the shoulders of his coat lifting nearly to his ears.
I wanted to cry, but there was a glint of teasing in his eyes. I love to travel, he explained. I cant stay in one place. Not yet, my mind called out.
Will you meet me again? I mimicked his tone. Maybe you are my story. Miss Writer, he said as he stood up. I am real, not fiction. He laughed and started leaving. I stood up as well and held his arm lightly. I am Meera, I said sadly. Not Miss Writer. And before he could escape, I left the caf first. I rolled my cell phone over and over in my hands, and then scrolled through my contacts until I found the one that I wanted.
She answered, her voice singing as she spoke my name. How are you, my love? It has been so long since Ive heard from you! I know, I responded, shame running though my veins. I have been so busy with work I heard her groan. Yes, work. Work is all you ever think about, she said scornfully.
That is not true, I argued. But it was partially true. I carefully constructed my life so I was too busy for friends, family and thoughts.
Everyone wants to run away from one thing or another. At times, I want to run away from my own self. So, she said, her voice brightening. Tell me what is going on. I want to hear all about what my darling nephew has been busy with.
I knew I was forgiven. Priya Aunty never called me her darling nephew if she was mad at me. Oddly, I felt lighter with those few words. I thought fleetingly about how important words are, and how both the spoken and written word can harm or heal. Well, I began, turning my attention back to my aunt, you are right; I have been busy with work.
Work is boring, she interrupted me before I could ramble on about loans and interest rates. It is necessary, but not a topic of conversation for today.
What is fun in your world? I laughed. There is not much time for fun, Aunty. She would not give up. Have you been to the movies? Not lately. Any good restaurants? I heard her sigh in frustration. I could picture her sitting at her kitchen table, drumming her fingers impatiently. I grinned. I have been to a new caf though, I said. Her interest rose again.
With friends? I laughed, knowing what she meant: No, I said. They have a great French roast coffee that I love and the atmosphere is very fun. And they have writers coming in to speak I broke off, thinking of her. Her name to me was like a warm evening breeze. That sounds interesting, she said. But you are still alone. It is what I want, Aunty, I said. You know I want to travel. The pyramids, she offered, continuing my path of thinking.
I know, Vivaan. And I know you would not have the opportunity to travel if I broke in, anxious to cut off the rest of her sentence. But I can, and I will. Im not sure, I said. Perhaps soon. Wont you get lonely?
Maybe, I admitted. Maybe I will. But a person needs to learn how to be alone. I do hope you find what you are looking for in the great, vast world you encounter, she responded. And what would that be? I teased. Only you know, Vivaan. A part of me was dying to go, but another part of me was still crushed by Vivaans abrupt departure and I felt that I should stay away to heal my heart a little.
Not a single day had passed without my thinking about Vivaan. There was something about his mysterious persona that drew me towards him. I wanted to know more about him. I needed to know more about him.
I needed this time to discover myself in someone elses story. Growing up in Pune, this was one of my favourite places to visit.
I loved walking around the fortification and its grounds, running my hands over the steel gates. As a child, I used to look up at the spikes in the gatesput in place to protect the entrywayand wish for the time when I was an adult and able to reach them.
Why is it we are so anxious in our need to mature? It only opens us up for the possibility to get very, very hurt. My phone vibrated as I was strolling down a stone walkway. I took it out of my pocket and looked at the sender.