शर्ट का तीसरा बटन
The seemingly simple lives of Rajil and his friends Radhe and Choti begin to change in inexplicable ways after Rajil’s grandmother dies. It is as if a protective cover has been blown and they are all left exposed with their inner lives tumbling out. Rajil is perplexed when he finds out that his mother is not the simple person, he thought her to be, neither is her relationship with her father straightforward. His friend Choti’s dark secret shatters their sense of peace and tests their friendship in ways they had not imagined possible. Caught between constantly changing circumstances, Rajil finds that nothing is under his control and the more he tries to interfere, the more things begin to fall apart. He must accept life as it’s playing out.
Endearingly insightful and alive with childhood stories, this seemingly simple narrative of A Temple of No Gods hides layers of meaning. (from publisher's page)
Authors : Manav KaulOriginal Publisher : Hind YugmPublisher: Penguin Books
Translators:
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Choti’s father’s eyes were very small, like cashew nuts. He was short, fair complexioned, and a full-grown beard still eluded him. White hair peeked out of his face with great shyness. I worried he could not see anything when he laughed loudly. He had a tailoring shop in the market and could turn a piece of cloth into a pair of pants or a shirt in the blink of an eye. There was an inch-tape around his neck and a blue piece of chalk in his hands at all times. His mouth was never without a betel leaf, his lips were always red, and the fragrance of snuff was about him at all times.
READ MOREThe terrace of his shop was our meeting ground. That was where Radhe, Choti and I would get together. There were many advantages of this terrace, we could see the entire market from here, but the tree in front of the shop shielded us from the eyes of the marketgoers. On the days when Choti’s father was especially happy, he would have tea sent to us upstairs. Choti had one responsibility in the shop – besides attending school, he had to stitch two shirts every day. While we chatted, Choti would quietly go downstairs and finish his work, and the two of us never even got a whiff of it. It never failed to surprise me how Choti could fashion a shirt from a just piece of cloth.
“You didn’t shave your hair?” asked Radhe.
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