Publish with Us

Follow Penguin

Follow Penguinsters

Follow Penguin Swadesh

© 2020 Penguin India

Tag: fiction

I Owe You One – an excerpt

Posted on by Penguin India

The irresistible new standalone from Sophie Kinsella is a story of love, empowerment and an IOU that changes everything . . .when a handsome stranger in a coffee shop asks Fixie Farr to watch his laptop for a moment, she not only agrees, she ends up saving it from certain disaster. To thank her, the computer’s owner, Sebastian, scribbles her an IOU  – but of course Fixie never intends to call in the favour. That is, until her teenage crush, Ryan, comes back into her life and needs her help – and Fixie turns to Seb.

Soon the pair are caught up in a series of IOUs – from small favours to life-changing debts – and Fixie is torn between the past she’s used to and the future she deserves.

Here is an excerpt from chapter three of Sophie Kinsella’s new book, I Owe You, where she talks about Ryan Chalker!

I don’t know how many times a heart can be broken, but mine’s been shattered again and again, and every single time by Ryan Chalker.

Not that he’d know it. I’ve been pretty good at concealing my feelings. (I think.) But the truth is, I’ve been in love with Ryan pretty much solidly since I was ten years old and he was fifteen and I came across him and Jake with a group of boys in Burger King. I was instantly fixated by him. How could you not be fixated by him, with that blond hair, that profile, that glow?

By the time I joined secondary school, Ryan and Jake were best friends and Ryan used to hang around our house every weekend, cracking jokes and flirting with Mum. Unlike every other boy in that year, he had flawless skin. He knew how to style his hair. He could make our school uniform look sexy, that’s how hot he was.

He had money, too. Everyone whispered about it. Some relative had left him a small fortune. He always hosted parties and he got a car for his seventeenth birthday. A convertible. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m sure I’ll never own a convertible. Ryan and Jake used to drive around London in it, roof down, music blaring, like a couple of rock stars. In fact, it was Ryan who introduced Jake to that posh, flash, hard-partying set. The pair of them used to get into the kind of clubs that you read about in tabloids, and would boast about it at our house the next day. When I was old enough, Mum let me go out with Jake and Ryan sometimes, and I felt like I’d won the lottery. There was such a buzz around them, and suddenly I was part of it too.

Ryan could be genuinely kind as well. I’ll always remember one evening when we went to the cinema. I’d just broken up with a boy called Jason, and a bunch of his friends were behind us. They started to laugh at me and jeer, and Ryan whipped round before anyone else could, and lashed into them. People heard about it at school the next day, and everyone was saying, ‘Ryan loves Fixie!’

Of course I laughed along. I treated it like a joke. But inside I was smitten. I felt as if we were connected now. I kept thinking, ‘Surely we’ll end up together? Surely it’s meant to be?’

There were so many moments over the years when I thought I had a chance. The time in Pizza Express when he kissed me lingeringly on greeting me. The time he squeezed my thigh. The time he asked if I was single at the moment. Dad’s funeral, when he sat with me for a while at the reception and let me talk endlessly about Dad. At my twenty-first birthday party he sang a karaoke version of ‘Don’t Want To Miss A Thing’ straight to me, while my heart fluttered like a manic butterfly and I thought, ‘Yes, yes, this is it . . .’ But that night he got off with a girl called Tamara. Over the years I watched and secretly wept as he dated what seemed like every girl in West London and never looked my way.

Then, five years ago, he moved to LA to be a movie producer. An actual movie producer. You couldn’t pick a more glamorous or unattainable job. I’ve still got the business card he gave me before he left, with an abstract logo and an address on Wilshire Boulevard.

It would have been easier to forget him if he’d disappeared for ever – but he didn’t. He flew back to London all the time and he always came to see Jake, in a blast of light and excitement. His wavy blond hair was permanently sun- bleached. He had endless stories of celebrities. He’d casually say ‘Tom’ and I’d think, ‘Tom? Who does he mean, Tom?’ And then I’d suddenly realize he meant Tom Cruise and my heart would be gripped and I’d think, ‘Oh my God, I know someone who knows Tom Cruise ?’

 

5 Reasons to Read Haruki Murakami’s ‘Birthday Girl’

Posted on by Penguin India

“One rainy Tokyo night, a waitress’s uneventful twentieth birthday takes a strange and fateful turn when she’s asked to deliver dinner to the restaurant’s reclusive owner.”

Haruki Murakami’s new book, Birthday Girl is published to celebrate Murakami’s 70th birthday and makes for an fascinating read.

Here are 5 reasons to read the book!

1. You get all of Murakami’s master storytelling in just 42 pages!

The story of the waitress on her twentieth birthday, whose life is about to change, is told with all of Murakami’s charm in only 42 pages!

2. The owner of the restaurant where the girl waits is an interesting character with some odd habits.

“Every night at eight, the manager had to bring dinner to the owner’s room…they’d load the dinner on to one of those carts that hotels use for room service, the manger would push it into the lift wearing a respectful look on his face, and fifteen minutes later he’d come back empty-handed. Then, an hour later, he’d go up again and bring down the card with empty plates and glasses. Every day, like clockwork. I thought it was really odd the first time I saw it happen. It was like some kind of religious ritual, you know? But after a while I got used to it, and never gave it another second thought.”

3. There is a change in routine when the manager suddenly falls sick – an unusual occurrence in itself.

“One of the waiters held the manager steady and climbed into the car with him to take him to a nearby hospital. Before ducking into the cab, the manager said to [the girl] hoarsely, ‘ I want you to take a dinner up to room 604 at eight o’clock. All you have to do is ring the bell, say, ‘Your dinner is here,” and leave it.’”

4. The anticipation of what may happen next, when the girl takes over from the manager to carry out this odd task and finds herself in the company of the owner…

“The old man slid the cork from the bottle and dribbled a little wine into his glass for her. Then he took an ordinary drinking glass from a glass-doored cabinet and poured some wine for himself.

‘Happy Birthday,’ he said. ‘May you live a rich and fruitful life, and may there be nothing to cast dark shadows on it.’

They clinked glasses.”

5. A wish is granted…

“The old man suddenly fixed his eyes on a spot in the air. The wrinkles of his forehead deepened: they might have been the wrinkles of his brain itself as it concentrated on his thoughts. He seemed to be staring at something – perhaps all-but-invisible bits of down – floating in the air. He opened his arms wide, lifted himself slightly from his chair, and whipped his palms together with a dry smack. Settling in the chair again, he slowly ran his fingertips along the wrinkles of his brow as if to soften them, and then turned to her with a gentle smile.

‘That did it,’ he said. ‘Your wish has been granted.’”

Birthday Girl is a beguiling, exquisitely satisfying taste of master storytelling, published to celebrate Murakami’s 70th birthday.

In a Nursing Home in Cuttack, 2018 – an excerpt

Posted on by Penguin India

Novoneel Chakraborty’s new novel – Half Torn Hearts – is a coming-of-age tale of three layered individuals coming in terms with their first loss, which bares the devil that we all possess but are scared of encountering and which eventually becomes the cause of our own ruins.

Here is an excerpt of the prologue of the book, titled In a Nursing Home in Cuttack, 2018

The nursing home was a small one. The patient’s disease was a serious one. She had acquired a rare skin disorder
when she had gone to help cyclone victims in one of the coastal villages of eastern Odisha. It was a village that couldn’t be located on any map of India. The patient had no family. Not any more. Except for the girl sitting beside her.

The girl sat stock-still at the same place from the time she admitted the patient to the nursing home, which was forty-eight hours ago. She murmured a prayer whenever she felt something calamitous was about to happen. Looking at the patient, the girl wondered why one failed to fathom the bond with someone until that person began slipping away. Did death sever the inner attachment to the near and dear as well? People who meant the world to us at one time, seemed like a distant memory at another. Our own reality changed its face, and a huge part of our life went into accepting that change.

The girl didn’t realize when tears began rolling down her cheeks. She brushed them away impatiently. Why couldn’t things just remain the way they were? she wondered. She swallowed a lump realizing the futility of the question. Not every relationship is about flowing together forever. Sometimes, one just takes a little bit of the other person, surrenders a little bit of oneself to the other person and then continues flowing independently, sensing those acquired bits within oneself and cherishing them always.

Soft, helpless moans broke into her musing and the girl quickly went over to the bed. She caressed her friend’s forehead. The moans grew a little louder.

‘Sister?’ the girl hollered. Nobody came. She walked out of the room and espied a nurse at the far end of the corridor. By the time they returned to the room, the whimpering had stopped. The nurse checked the pulse and then the heartbeat. And then shut the gawking eyes with her palm. The girl plonked down on the chair, knowing fully well what this meant. The nurse rushed out, saying, ‘Call the doctor. The patient in room number 9—Raisa Barua—is dead.’

The girl in the room looked at the body. She felt strangely light but broken.

To find out what happens next, grab a copy of Half Torn Hearts!

Meet Upendranath Ashk, The Author of ‘In The City, A Mirror Wandering’

Posted on by Penguin India

Unfolding over the course of a single day, Upendranath Ashk’s sweeping novel, In The City, A Mirror Wandering explores the inner struggles of Chetan, an aspiring young writer, as he roams the labyrinthine streets of 1930s’ Jalandhar, haunted by his thwarted ambitions but intent on fulfilling his dreams.

Here are a few things about the about the man behind this wondrous book:

Upendranath Ashk (1910-1996), was one of Hindi literature’s best known and most controversial authors.

∼

Ashk was born in Jalandhar and spent the early part of his writing career as an Urdu author in Lahore.

∼

Encouraged by Premchand, he switched to Hindi, and a few years before Partition, moved to Bombay, Delhi and finally Allahabad in 1948, where he spent the rest of his life.

∼

 By the time of his death, Ashk’s phenomenally large oeuvre spanned over a hundred volumes of fiction, poetry, memoir, criticism and translation.

∼

Ashk was extremely vocal about taking on his critics, and he had a tumultuous association with many of his fellow writers—most notably his friend and rival Saadat Hasan Manto, about whom he penned a wry and celebrated memoir Manto Mera Dushman (or ‘Manto, My Enemy).

∼

Ashk is perhaps best known for his six-volume novel cycle, Girti Divarein, or Falling Walls—an intensely detailed chronicle of the travails of a young Punjabi man attempting to become a writer-which has earned the author comparisons to Marcel Proust.

∼

Ashk was the recipient of numerous prizes and awards during his lifetime for his masterful portrayal, by turns humorous and remarkably profound, of the everyday lives of ordinary people.

Intensely poignant and vividly evocative, In the City a Mirror Wandering is the second novel in the Falling Walls series but stands on its own strength. It is a poignant exploration of not only a dynamic, bustling city but also the rich tapestry of human emotion that consumes us all.

A Translator’s Perspective Of ‘In The City, A Mirror Wandering’: Ashk and I

Posted on by Penguin India

Unfolding over the course of a single day, Ashk’s sweeping sequel to Falling Walls, In The City a Mirror Wandering explores the inner struggles of Chetan, an aspiring young writer, as he roams the labyrinthine streets of 1930s’ Jalandhar, haunted by his thwarted ambitions but intent on fulfilling his dreams.

Here is an evocative understanding of the author from the eyes of the translator, Daisy Rockwell:

“Part of the richness of In the City a Mirror Wandering lies in the sheer number of poems, folk sayings and songs quoted throughout the text. Some of these quotations are from famous texts and will be readily recognized even by readers of the English version, and some are not.

Among the famous quotations, several contain errors. Where I and other readers have identified these, I’ve added translator’s footnotes, giving the correct version of the text, especially if it was from another language (Sanskrit) or from a famous line of Urdu poetry that we retained in the translation.But why did Ashk include so many errors in his text? Was it because he had no internet, or relied on faulty recollections of famous poems?

Was he sloppy and did he not check his work? Having researched his files years ago, I am inclined towards a different explanation. What I found then was that Ashk was a compulsive editor. If an article was written about him in a newspaper or journal, he’d clip it out and mark it up, as though he were the author himself. This was not so much to make something appear more favourable or flattering, but rather to correct what he perceived as flaws in style or grammar. He would then have these documents retyped and placed in the file alongside the originals, drawing upon them for the purpose of blurbs or further quotation in writing about critical responses to his own work.”

 

Intensely poignant and vividly evocative, In the City a Mirror Wandering is an exploration of not only a dynamic, bustling city but also the rich tapestry of human emotion that consumes us all.

 

Five Stories From ‘If You See Me, Don’t Say Hi’ That Will Get You Thinking

Posted on by Penguin India

In eleven sharp, surprising stories, Neel Patel gives voice to our most deeply held stereotypes and then slowly undermines them. His characters, almost all of whom are first-generation Indian Americans, subvert our expectations that they will sit quietly by. Ranging across the country, Patel’s stories-empathetic, provocative, twisting, and wryly funny-introduce a bold new literary voice, one that feels timelier than ever.

Here are some evocative lines from the book that will make you want to read more!

If You See Me, Don’t Say Hi examines the collisions of old world and new world, small town and big city, traditional beliefs (like arranged marriages) and modern rituals (like Facebook stalking).

 

An Interview With Christopher Paolini

Posted on by Penguin India

Christopher Paolini’s love of fantasy and the natural beauty that surrounds his home in Montana inspired him to begin writing the Inheritance Cycle at fifteen. He became a number one bestselling author at nineteen and spent the next decade immersed in the world of Alagaësia.

Here is an interview with him, where he talks about his new book, The Fork, The Witch and The Worm.

Q: Bring us back to Alagaësia. How did you create such a fantastical world? If you had to describe it in five words, what would they be? 

A: The world of Alagaësia came about as my attempt to pay tribute to all the wonderful fantasy novels that I loved growing up. That and trying to answer, as honestly as possible, all the questions that arose when I first imagined a young man finding a dragon egg. The five words I’d choose are: epic, personal, transformative, draconic, and numinous. Also curious, because—like Eragon himself—I am filled with an inexhaustible font of questions.

Q: How did the idea for The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm originate? What was your inspiration? Was there a particular event, circumstance, or something else that spurred it?

A: This was an unplanned book. A bit over two years ago, I saw a rather bad movie, and discussing the failings of the plot with my sister led to me write “The Worm of Kulkaras.” I was pleased with “Worm,” but by itself, it was too short to publish. It sat on my computer, alone and abandoned, until the summer of 2018. At that point, I got an urge to write a story about Murtagh. The inspiration came from a tweet I’d written to a fan who was curious about what Murtagh was up to. I made a rather offhand comment about him wielding a magic fork . . . and for whatever reason, the image wouldn’t leave my mind. Thus “A Fork in the Road” was born. I sent both that and “Worm” to my publisher. Meanwhile, my sister, Angela, proposed writing a vignette from the point of view of the character Angela the herbalist (whom I based on her). And hey, presto! Before I knew it, we had an actual book-sized object, which I must say, I’m quite proud of. The framing material for the three stories came from my own desire to see what sorts of problems Eragon has been dealing with since the end of the Inheritance Cycle.

Q: What kind of research went into writing The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm?

A: One of the benefits of writing about the world of Eragon—a world that I spent over a decade building—is that I don’t need to do much research. I already know how the magic works. The history of the different races. The likes, needs, and flaws of the main characters. Years and years of work have burned those things so deeply into my brain that I doubt I could ever forget them.

Q: What was the greatest challenge you faced in writing this book?

A: Finding a way to tie together three different stories (four, if one counts the framing material with Eragon) into a cohesive whole. It was a new experience for me, and I enjoyed it. Also, this was the first time my sister and I have officially collaborated on an Alagaësia-related project. It was a learning experience for both of us!

 Q: Do you relate to any of the characters in The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm? How and why?

A: All of my characters are a part of me, even the evil ones. Eragon, of course, is near and dear to my heart, but in this new book, I think I most empathize with the Urgal Ilgra and the challenges she faces. She has to confront the death of a parent and, in her own way, come to terms with it. Without going into spoilers, the emotional journey Ilgra experiences is something I relate to quite closely.

Q: Can you share your favorite scene from the book? Is it the scene that was the most fun for you to write, or is that different?

A: It’s hard to choose! Writing about Murtagh and a magic fork was delightful. The moment when Angela the herbalist opens a door that wasn’t there sent chills down my spine. (Good going, sis!) But for me, I’d say it’s when Ilgra finally confronts the great dragon Vêrmund the Grim and has to make a decision as to how she’s going to live the rest of her life (however long that might be).

Q: In addition to writing the story, you’ve also done the artwork inside the book. Can you tell us about the art and your process? 

A: All four pieces were done with pencil. I’m a big fan of the Staedtler Mars Lumograph series, specifically the 7B and 8B, which are a mixture of graphite and lampblack (allowing for wonderfully dark, non-reflective shadows). For each piece, I tried to think of an object and/or image that could sum up the core of the following story. I’m proud of them all, but my favorite is probably the Urgal horn I drew for “The Worm of Kulkaras.” Since I don’t have any Urgal horns lying around, I ended up sculpting a model from clay in order to give myself some useful reference material.

Q: Is there any particular theme that you continue to come back to in your writing? And is there anything other than format that is new or different about this book?

 A: In all my stories, I find myself returning to the idea of personal transformation (both physical and mental), as well as confrontation with those things we can’t change: life, death, mistakes, achievements, the cruel and unwavering arrow of time. A story that culminates with a character becoming in order to overcome adversity is a story I’ll always enjoy. As for The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm, it differs from the Inheritance Cycle in that its characters are older and the problems they are dealing with are of a different sort now (although they still involve dragons and magic and the occasional monster). My old obsessions are still on view, but at the same time, I’ve branched out into a few new areas that, I hope, readers will enjoy.

 Q: We know this is volume 1. . . . Is there anything you can tell us about what we can look forward to next? 

A: Heh. Right now I’m working hard on finishing up a massive sci-fi novel I’ve been focused on for a few years. After that, there are a whole host of stories I would like to write, including volume 2 of Tales from Alagaësia. In it, readers can expect some very new, very exciting stories, including—I hope—one about a dwarf detective and one about the fate of Oromis’s sword.

 Q: What was it like to go back to writing about the world of Alagaësia, considering it has been seven years since the release of the last book in the series?

A: I’d always imagined returning to Alagaësia with a full-sized novel. However, doing it this way made for a wonderful experience. Getting to dip into the heads of some of the characters from the Inheritance Cycle—as well as a few new ones—was a real treat for me. Writing about Eragon and Saphira after so many years was like returning home after a long journey.

Q: What is the appeal of writing fantasy/sci-fi books? Would you ever write a book in another genre?

 A: I certainly will write books in other genres! A good story is a good story, no matter what the setting or subject material. In fact, I’ve already tried my hand at short stories set in the real world: some drama, some horror, and some speculative fiction. Hopefully, they’ll get to see the light of day at some point.

Q: If you could spend a week in the world of any sci-fi movie, TV show, or book, what world would top your list?

A: That’s a difficult question since most sci-fi worlds aren’t that friendly to the ordinary person. Given that, I think I’d have to choose the world of Star Trek, since the Federation seems to do a decent job of protecting its citizens. (Plus, it would be fun to play around in the holodeck.)

Q: Let’s say that tomorrow Earth has to be evacuated. What are three things you’d make sure you didn’t leave without (aside from friends and family)?

A: My computer, loaded with as much information—including books and movies—as possible. A knife. A pen and paper (I know that’s two, but let’s count them as one). With those things, one could rebuild all of civilization.

 Q: Who has been the greatest influence in encouraging you to write and become a published author?

 A: Definitely my family. They’ve always been there for me with encouragement, editing, and general advice. Even now, they’re my first readers—and more than that, my friends.

 Q: Any words of wisdom or advice to aspiring writers?

A: Mainly, don’t give up! There are plenty of skilled writers who never get published because—for whatever reason—they don’t follow through on either the writing or the publishing side of things. Read, write, study the language you’re writing in, plot your stories out beforehand, find others to edit your work, write about the things you love the most, put words on the page every single day . . . and above all else, don’t give up! We all fail. Everyone makes mistakes. That’s the nature of reality. If you can accept that and say, “Yes, I’m going to write things that are not so good. I’m going to mess up. That’s okay. That’s part of the process,” then you have become unstoppable. It’s far too easy to get discouraged when you hit a stumbling block. So don’t get discouraged. Don’t feel as if you’re a bad person because something you wrote doesn’t work. Who cares? Even the best writers produce bad sentences/pages/chapters/books. It happens. But it doesn’t mean you’re bad.So take a deep breath, stand up tall, square your shoulders, and go forth and be awesome!

Rhymes and Riddles – An Excerpt from ‘The Fork, The Witch and The Worm’

Posted on by Penguin India

It’s been a year since Eragon departed Alagaësia in search of the perfect home to train a new generation of Dragon Riders. Now he is struggling with an endless sea of tasks: constructing a vast dragonhold, wrangling with suppliers, guarding dragon eggs and dealing with belligerent Urgals and haughty elves. The Fork, The Witch and The Worm features three original stories set in Alagaësia, interspersed with scenes from Eragon’s own unfolding adventure.

Relish the incomparable imagination of Christopher Paolini in this thrilling new collection of stories based in the world of the Inheritance Cycle.

Here is an excerpt from the book:

Rhymes and Riddles

Eragon stared across his desk at Angela the herbalist, studying her.

She was sitting in the dark pinewood chair the elves had sung for him, still clad in her furs and travel cloak. Flakes of melted snow beaded the tips of the rabbit-hair trim, bright and shiny by the light of the lanterns.

On the floor next to the herbalist lay the werecat, Solembum, in his feline form, licking himself dry. His tongue rasped loudly against his shaggy coat.

Billows of snow swirled past the open windows of the eyrie, blocking the view. Some slipped in and dusted the sills, but for the most part, the wards Eragon had set kept out the snow and cold.

The storm had settled on Mount Arngor two days past, and it still showed no signs of letting up. Nor was it the first. Winter on the eastern plains had been far harsher than Eragon expected. Some-thing to do with the effects of the Beor Mountains on the weather, he suspected.
Angela and Solembum had arrived with the latest batch of traders: a group of bedraggled humans, travel-worn and half frozen to death.

Accompanying the herbalist had also been the dragon-marked child Elva—she who carried the curse of self-sacrifice Eragon had inadvertently laid upon her. A curse instead of a blessing, and every time he saw her, he still felt a sense of responsibility.

They’d left the girl on the lower levels, eating with the dwarves. She’d grown since Eragon had last seen her, and now she looked to be nearly ten, which was at least six years in advance of her actual age.

“Now then, where’s the clutch of bouncing baby dragons I was expecting?” said Angela. She pulled off her mittens and then folded her hands over her knee and matched his gaze. “Or have they still not hatched?”

Eragon resisted the urge to grimace. “No. The main part of the hold is far from finished— as you’ve seen—and stores are tight. To quote Glaedr, the eggs have already waited for a hundred years; they can wait one more winter.”

“Mmm, he might be right. Be careful of waiting too long, though, Argetlam. The future belongs to those who seize it. What about Saphira, then?”

“What about her?”

“Has she laid any eggs?”

Eragon shifted, uncomfortable. The truth was Saphira hadn’t, not yet, but he didn’t want to admit as much. The information felt too personal to share. “If you’re so interested, you should ask her yourself.”

Get your copy today!

Ten Simple Rules for Dating a Bollywood Goddess

Posted on by Penguin India

When charming, goofy Vicky Behl, everybody’s favourite scandalous leading man, and Kritika Vadukut gorgeous model/badminton player turned successful actress, meet on the sets of Ranjha Ranjha they find it hard not to give in to their attraction to each other amidst all the romantic numbers and their undeniable onscreen and off-screen chemistry. But will the pressure and scrutiny of Bollywood allow Vicky to assure Kritika that’s he’s a fantastic partner off-screen too, or will there be a twist in the tale?
Inspired from Saranya Rai’s book, Love, Take Two, we’ve come up with ten ‘simple’ rules for Dating a Bollywood Goddess.

‘Word is she doesn’t fraternize with the likes of you, especially after her last public break-up.’
Vicky immediately sat up straight. ‘Likes of me? What is that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with me? ‘Meaning you wealthy, well-connected types. She is understandably wary after the shit that went down with Raunak Rajput.’

‘No, this isn’t She’s All That, desi Freddie Prinze Jr! I’m just making a general observation. Kritika Vadukut is out of your league.’

‘But I’m not a star-kid! Does it even count if your dad has some friends in the industry? I’m like . . . like . . . Pluto. Trying hard to be a planet but disowned by the solar system.

Vicky scrambled to cover up for his mid-conversation wayward thoughts. ‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda started fantasizing about the mango kulfi my cook makes. It’s so incredible, I’d give my firstborn for it.’

‘Aur jo apni bansuri ki dhun mein baandh kar mera dil le ja raha ho, usse main kaise yaad karoon?’
Vicky knew he’d regret it, but he did it anyway.‘As the Pied Piper of Hamelin, Heeriye.’

His steady gaze wasn’t threatening at all—just slightly curious and sympathetic. Kriti was suddenly overcome by an urge to get up from her chair, walk over to him and throw herself into his arms for a comforting hug.

‘This wasn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it would be fun to hang out. Sorry, if I appeared to imply anything else.’

Vicky stared at her in amazement. ‘Did I just get schooled by my own baby sister?’ ‘Oh, for God’s sake, I’m hardly your baby sister. And yeah, you did. Mini-3, Vicky-0.’

He pulled her closer, tightening his arms around her waist. Droplets of water clung to her hair and made her skin gleam in the late afternoon sun. She seemed in no particular hurry to go anywhere, and Ranjha? Ranjha wasn’t quite ready to let her go either.

Meher was one of Kriti’s closest friends and she’d volunteered to cook for their little picnic. He knew that helping her lay out the food on a thick rug was a test of some kind, he just wasn’t sure of what.

Disclaimer
Love, Take Two is not Cosmopolitan and any dubious relationship advice is meant to be applied in precisely the spirit in which it is given.
 
 

A Love, Take Two Bonus: Dhal Gaya Din

Posted on by Penguin India

Love, Take Two by Saranya Rai sees Vicky Behl and Kritika Vadukut meeting on the sets of the period drama Ranjha Ranjha, where everyone agrees they have serious chemistry–and not just on screen. As they dance to romantic numbers and spend time between takes on the glamorous sets of Sudarshana Samarth’s film, they find it hard not to give in to their attraction to each other.
But will the pressure and scrutiny of Bollywood allow them a happy ending or will there be a twist in the tale? We won’t tell you that, but we will tell you this: Don’t be disappointed when you get to the end…Saranya has a bonus chapter waiting for you.
One we’d love to share with you!

The little feathered shuttle whizzed by, less than an inch out of her reach, while her opponent whooped victoriously. Kriti feigned an air of mild disappointment and fatigue, as she picked it up. If only the critics who called her “consistently wooden” and “ethereal but ineffective” could have seen her pretend to lose this woefully easy game of badminton by the skin of her teeth. Thank goodness it was nearly at an end. Another point and Vicky would win this round, and thereby, the match.
“Yeesh Kriti, you’re so rusty.”
“I’m not rusty! I’m just…having a bad day,” Kriti protested with as much indignation as she could muster, under the circumstances.
She expertly maneuvered the shuttle to land within easy reach of Vicky’s racquet and watched in disbelief as he missed, bringing their score to an even 20-20.
Vicky, of course, reacted like he’d missed winning the All England Open, scrunching his face in displeasure and slapping his forehead. Kriti snorted. There was no question she was being compensated for losing this match in pure entertainment.
And also…eye-candy.
As Vicky retrieved the shuttle, she gave him a discreet once-over. The harsh fluorescent lights of the indoor court were not flattering on anyone, but Vicky’s sun-browned skin glowed with good health and exertion. His hot pink shorts showed off an impressive set of quads and a very shapely pair of glutes. Not that anyone had asked, but Kriti appreciated men who didn’t cheat on leg day. Buff arms and chicken legs were a dreadful combination.
“Oye! What are you dreaming about?”
Wouldn’t you like to know? Kriti smothered a smile and caught the shuttle for her serve. She had to somehow ensure he scored another two points without giving her one and thereby prolonging this already tedious match. She deserved a National Award for this match alone. And possibly an Arjuna Award too. It took skill to lose to someone as enthusiastic but terrible at badminton as Vicky.
The next point was a relatively easy play. She hit the shuttle with force, knowing it would sail far above her opponent’s head and land outside his court. Not that Vicky didn’t still try to hit it, flailing wildly with his racquet. It was a miracle he hadn’t injured himself that morning.
Kriti made a great show of hanging her head back and sighing heavily. It was Vicky’s turn to serve and unless he flubbed it, she could ensure he won in the next few minutes. She couldn’t pretend to miss right away, of course. It would be too many errors in too short a time and he might become suspicious.
However, luck smiled at her and she found an opening quickly. As the rally picked up speed ever so slightly, she put on an increasingly frazzled air and hit her final volley straight into the net. Crying out in faux-disappointment, Kriti grimaced and dropped her racquet.
Vicky was a graceful winner. He only punched the air once and gravely held out his hand for her to shake, as though they’d played a high stakes professional match. Kriti took it, hyper-aware of the strength latent in his grip and the warmth of his skin. His hand lingered in hers for just a moment too long.
No longer faking her fluster, Kriti bent at the waist, breathing loudly, and stretching her sore calf muscles. She unclipped her topknot, shaking her hair out gracefully.
“This was beyond embarrassing and I am so glad my old coach wasn’t here to witness this.”
Vicky lowered the bottle he’d been drinking from and studied her, the tiniest smile playing at the edge of his mouth.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what he’d say to Kritika Vadukut intentionally throwing a match like that.”
Aghast, Kriti stopped mid-stride and turned to face him.
“How could you possibly tell? I was so careful.”
“You did almost fool me. But the thing is, I’ve seen you run half a marathon without dropping a beat, on a treadmill in this very hotel’s gym. You overdid the exhausted-panting. Anyway, I’m starving and need my dinner. Shall we?”
He held the frosted glass door of the indoor badminton court open for Kriti, eyebrows raised in faint challenge and an irrepressible twinkle in his eye.
Gathering her things, Kriti followed him to the elevator, all her award-hopes crushed.
“You go on, I want to shower first.”
Vicky nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. The elevator dinged open and Kriti walked in, regretting the whole ploy. She didn’t even know why she’d decided to let him win. She was viciously competitive otherwise!
Luckily, Vicky continued with his contemplative silence until the elevator descended to her floor. Relieved, Kriti marched out, towards her room, when his voice stopped her.
She turned. He was holding the doors open, a wicked grin on his face.
“I told you how I knew you’d let me win, but you didn’t tell me why you did it, Kritika?”
Clearing her throat, Kriti gathered the tattered pieces of her dignity. “It was to save your precious male ego, of course. What if you threw a tantrum after losing and it affected our equation on set? It was for the greater good.”
Vicky’s grin widened. “Riiiiiiight. You’re so thoughtful, ya. Ek aur game toh banta hai. On the next evening off. And this time, I promise not to be a sore loser—if you let me lose, that is.”
Kriti sternly quelled the quivering corners of her mouth before replying. “I’ll think about it.”
With a wink, he let the doors close and Kriti’s stomach executed a clumsy but exuberant flip-flop.

Love, Take Two is now available! For more fun articles like this one, follow the Penguin India Facebook page!

error: Content is protected !!