Showing posts with label best english novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label best english novel. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Indians in Pakistan Vs Recent Surgical Strikes

I wonder if the recent surgical strikes by the Indian forces in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (POK) were as action-packed as this extract from our thriller 'Indian in Pakistan':

When my mobile alarm went off (with a lowered volume), according to the plan, I got ready to fire. But the deafening sounds of rockets exploding on impact reverberated throughout the valley. I found it difficult to keep my hands steady to shoot and bided my time. And when I finally did fire, mine was one of the last rockets to take off. It did find its target though and added to the stupendous scale of devastation that had happened in just over a minute or so. More than twenty rockets had been fired in all, although there had also been a couple of misfires and at least one of them had gone totally wide off the mark.

Plumes of smoke, huge fires and scattered debris could be clearly seen from our strategic positions despite the presence of dust clouds all around. Panicky men were shouting, screaming, weeping and running. They looked all over but could not spot us. We had already hit them hard.

Two more waves of rocket attacks increased the devastation as well as the chaos. Artillery shells from the first tank seemed to strike the main installations and structures in the middle to devastating effect. Meanwhile, we received news that the second tank had been successfully destroyed. The victorious group would be joining the rest of the unit in the next stage of the battle.

The next stage was the close combat stage where the rest of the unit excluding us would enter the campgrounds and cause mayhem. The relentless sound of AK47s firing, rocket attacks and hand grenade explosions rent the air. From our elevated position on the hills, we aimed at the centre of the camp with our RPG launchers and AK47s. We aimed at the middle of the ground so as to avoid killing our own men who were infiltrating the camp from all sides.

Those who endeavoured to flee the camp from the main entrance were ambushed in a brutal assault by both the groups stationed in the area. In fact, the group that had destroyed the second tank provided valuable support to these groups. The rockets, grenades and bullets must have killed scores of men.
Most of the main targets had been destroyed by now. Both the helicopters had been blown up with rockets. One of them had managed to take off and was just a few metres high when it had been attacked. The solitary tank on the grounds was permanently damaged by an explosion. The guard towers and ammunition depot had been obliterated too. Moreover, all the buildings had been reduced to rubble.

But there were casualties on our side as well. A few had died accidentally because of unfortunate instances of friendly firing. Someone had stepped on a mine in the distance and had most probably been killed.
My night vision scope had caught all the action wonderfully. But the battle was still far from won. The enemy was fighting fiercely now as most of the survivors had woken up fully from their slumber. Some of them launched a counterattack against us. They must have even called for some aerial support by now. I wished we could leave immediately but Younus did not give any orders for a retreat as yet.

And then things began to go wrong. Someone managed to scale the hillock and kill Abdullah. Mohsin fired at the enemy. But he was critically wounded before he had incapacitated his opponent. The brave lad lay on the ground, breathing heavily. Najma, Afzal and I went up to him...

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Gutter Level of Politics on Display in the Indian Parliament


I'm really fed up of the gutter level of politics we have seen this parliamentary session. What else can you expect when many of our MPs have been accused of murder, rape and kidnapping! We need to keep both the morons and criminals away from the sanctity of our parliament houses. Let's vote in more honest business leaders, sportsmen, social activists and broadminded people. In my opinion, our parliamentarians should be banned from debating. They should work for just 1 day per session and pass or dump bills without debate. Even the speeches of big politicians like Rahul Gandhi, Smriti Irani and Narendra Modi lacked depth, being basically 'Tu-Tu Mein-Mein' speeches laced with mudslinging and hollowness - but praised by their fans....Rahul and Modi made a feeble attempt at standup comedy, which sounded hilarious to their desperate fan clubs.

One of the gems from Rahul Gandhi was "I will speak. But they will not let me speak because they are scared. They are scared of what I will speak." Yeah, really?

Not to be outdone, Smriti defended accusations of her role in Rohit Vemula's suicide with "A mother who gives birth cannot take lives." Which judge or jury on earth will buy this silly emotional Saas-bahu type argument? It's poor defence indeed for thousands of mothers have killed people including their own spouses and children. Smriti went on to condemn a Dalit festival that celebrates a "demon " but mocks Goddess Durga, without ascertaining that a sitting BJP MP had actually attended that festival!

There is also a fallout on the JNU incident with the left being branded as "anti-national ", while they respond by calling the right "fascists" and "treacherous stooges of the British during the independence struggle". Then the right replies with the charge that many left wing politicians supported China even during the 1962 Indo-China war.

As the blame game and mud slinging goes on endlessly, the citizens of India are the ultimate losers!

Thursday, January 7, 2016

The Vivekean Version of the Parable of the Prodigal Son

(An Extract from Indians in Pakistan, the Action Thriller on terrorism)

‘It was all my fault,’ I said frankly. ‘I was blind then but now I see the truth. You were right and I was wrong.’
‘Mother would have been happy to see you,’ he told me, sadly. ‘Too bad she’s not around.’
‘Wh - where is she?’ I asked, looking around frantically for her.
‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘She’s no longer in this world.’
‘Mother, mother,’ I continued, not heeding him. ‘Mother where are you?’
‘She’s dead, dear brother. She’s in heaven now.’
‘No, it cannot be. She cannot die! I need to tell her how much I love her. I need to tell her how sorry I am for walking away. I wanted to introduce her to Najma, my wife. I wanted to - ’

Words failed me at that moment and I sank to my knees. There were plenty of kind words from everyone around but there was nothing that could console me – not even the beautiful hands of Najma wrapped around my neck. I was truly inconsolable.

Visit the Fan Page of this exciting novel at https://www.facebook.com/IndiansInPakistan

Read the preview at
http://pothi.com/pothi/book/vivek-pereira-indians-pakistan

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

The Vivekean Version of the Prodigal Son

(An Extract from Indians in Pakistan, the Action Thriller on terrorism)

‘It was all my fault,’ I said frankly. ‘I was blind then but now I see the truth. You were right and I was wrong.’
‘Mother would have been happy to see you,’ he told me, sadly. ‘Too bad she’s not around.’
‘Wh - where is she?’ I asked, looking around frantically for her.
‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘She’s no longer in this world.’
‘Mother, mother,’ I continued, not heeding him. ‘Mother where are you?’
‘She’s dead, dear brother. She’s in heaven now.’
‘No, it cannot be. She cannot die! I need to tell her how much I love her. I need to tell her how sorry I am for walking away. I wanted to introduce her to Najma, my wife. I wanted to - ’

Words failed me at that moment and I sank to my knees. There were plenty of kind words from everyone around but there was nothing that could console me – not even the beautiful hands of Najma wrapped around my neck. I was truly inconsolable.

Visit the Fan Page of this exciting novel at https://www.facebook.com/IndiansInPakistan

Read the preview at
http://pothi.com/pothi/book/vivek-pereira-indians-pakistan

Friday, August 15, 2014

The Vivekean Version of the Prodigal Son

(An Extract from Indians in Pakistan, the Action Thriller on terrorism)

‘It was all my fault,’ I said frankly. ‘I was blind then but now I see the truth. You were right and I was wrong.’
‘Mother would have been happy to see you,’ he told me, sadly. ‘Too bad she’s not around.’
‘Wh - where is she?’ I asked, looking around frantically for her.
‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘She’s no longer in this world.’
‘Mother, mother,’ I continued, not heeding him. ‘Mother where are you?’
‘She’s dead, dear brother. She’s in heaven now.’
‘No, it cannot be. She cannot die! I need to tell her how much I love her. I need to tell her how sorry I am for walking away. I wanted to introduce her to Najma, my wife. I wanted to - ’

Words failed me at that moment and I sank to my knees. There were plenty of kind words from everyone around but there was nothing that could console me – not even the beautiful hands of Najma wrapped around my neck. I was truly inconsolable.

Visit the Fan Page of this exciting novel at https://www.facebook.com/IndiansInPakistan

Read the preview at
http://pothi.com/pothi/book/vivek-pereira-indians-pakistan

Saturday, February 1, 2014

The Vivekean Version of the Prodigal Son

(An Extract from Indians in Pakistan, the Action Thriller on terrorism)

‘It was all my fault,’ I said frankly. ‘I was blind then but now I see the truth. You were right and I was wrong.’
‘Mother would have been happy to see you,’ he told me, sadly. ‘Too bad she’s not around.’
‘Wh - where is she?’ I asked, looking around frantically for her.
‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘She’s no longer in this world.’
‘Mother, mother,’ I continued, not heeding him. ‘Mother where are you?’
‘She’s dead, dear brother. She’s in heaven now.’
‘No, it cannot be. She cannot die! I need to tell her how much I love her. I need to tell her how sorry I am for walking away. I wanted to introduce her to Najma, my wife. I wanted to - ’

Words failed me at that moment and I sank to my knees. There were plenty of kind words from everyone around but there was nothing that could console me – not even the beautiful hands of Najma wrapped around my neck. I was truly inconsolable.

Visit the Fan Page of this exciting novel at https://www.facebook.com/IndiansInPakistan

Read the preview at
http://pothi.com/pothi/book/vivek-pereira-indians-pakistan