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        Dear brothers and sisters, As you all know, there was a shooting incident in France last week in which around a dozen people were killed by armed men said to be 'avenging' the prophet(PBUH) of Islam. It was a horrible act. I am not going to be talking about what happened and whose fault it was. What I want to address you with is the issue that is happening today and continuously. Even as many people start to move on to the next big news, the terror, feelings of anger and hatred hasn't exactly died down. The effects of these feelings can be seen through any of the numerous incidents of assault and voilence that have happened throughout France and elsewhere. Even at places where such things are not happening, loosely all over the world, many people have a fear of and repulsion towards Islam rooted even deeper, more so now, inside their hearts.

Talk about deviant/unusual narrative and this book stands out from the rest of the crowd like an apple in a box of mangoes. An apple as fresh as they come. Though it's not easy to review something you find extremely beautiful and I'll nevertheless try to be as neutral as I can. But, let's read the blurb first.. --- Circa 1990.A world drawn and woven with words. A bond punctuated by absence and distance...Two continents. Two cities. Two people.And letters. Hundreds of them.Over years. Across oceans. Between hearts. Between Abhi, who is training to be a neurosurgeon in London, and Uma, who is just stepping into the world of medicine in Kolkata. As they ink their emotions onto paper, their lives get chronicled in this subtly nuanced conversation through letters ... letters about dreams, desires, heartbreaks, and longings... about a proverbial good life falling apart, about a failed marriage, a visceral loss, and about a dream that threatens social expectations...Lett...

It was sixteen months ago that the letters started coming in . They were old post cards with no proper address and postage stamp. Since post cards were long now a passe, even for a small town like ours, we didn't receive many such letters. So we used to hold them back, in case someone came looking for them and cleared them out only every three months. When I first came around her postcard more than a year ago, I was intrigued by the big clumsy handwriting and couldn't help myself not reading. It was addressed to; Achen  Cloth Fac toree  Big City The post card had following lines written in dark, big letters, Hello Acha * When you come back. I miss you Amma also miss you. amma is sad Achen she also cry today. pleese come home.  I wait for you.  Madhu

Dear Mr. Khan           It is not very often that someone or something comes about and shakes a section of public alive, from the deep caverns of inherent slumber. Even rarer it is, if that someone or something succeeds in appealing to a relatively wide bracket of perception in its purpose and brings hence a general consensus. Your show does both, and with prowess and I am really happy for that.           But you see, being a cynic that I am, what vexes me the most is the act part of all that your show is. I don't care about other criticisms.

Hi                      This is not a sorry note. I know that's not how you a start a letter but I had a feeling that I should say it. Since I promised that I won't say sorry ever again, I won't. I shouldn't. I needn't. Neither will I do any other useless inconsequential talk. This is a different day and I had some things to say to you.             You are a wonderful person, everybody who has met you, knows this. And there are a lot of incredible things that you are going to do in life. Make your dreams come true.