Buying books as gifts is my habit. However, gifting books to all the friends is not always possible. And it has been a long time since anyone gifted me with one except the one from Marion for my winding up. And all my books carry either my handwriting or my dad's with the name and the date at times the place I purchase.And three evenings back, for a change, some one presented me with a book signed. My happiness was immense for more than one reason. "The unbearable lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera. Could it be unbearable when it is light? In a way, it is. A paradox. Well, life is a paradox in more than one sense. "...to think that recurrence itself recurs ad infinitum! What does this mad myth signify?" A Line in the opening para.
It has been few months since I read anything solid. And I should start now with Milen Kundera followed by few more.
Someone asked me why I read. I wanted to ask him back why he is breathing, but I refrained.
It has been few months since I read anything solid. And I should start now with Milen Kundera followed by few more.
Someone asked me why I read. I wanted to ask him back why he is breathing, but I refrained.
On totally different note: I like the page marker that I took it from The Borders, KL. The wait is Almost over.
