Download Free 'This Love that Feels Right' by Ravinder Singh Book PDF. k views Ravinder Singh Novels you must Read for Free Pdf | Full Collection. Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story, Can Love Happen Twice?, Like It Happened Yesterday and Your Dreams Are Mine Now. Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story, Can Love Happen Twice? and Like Odisha, Ravinder is currently based in New Delhi.

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Ravinder Singh is a bestselling author. His debut novel I Too Had a. Love Story has touched millions of heart. Can Love Happen Twice? is his second book. To download more free e-books visit our website. ravinder singh best books, books pdf free download, ravinder singh contact, ravinder singh latest novel Will . Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story, Can Love Happen Best Free Books Few Things Left Unsaid (PDF, ePub, Mobi) by Sudeep.

Very soon, Ravin is asked to travel to the United States for an office assignment. He is required to go to Delhi, where Khushi lives, to board the international flight. Ravin decides to go to Delhi one day earlier to meet Khushi for the first time, and spend time with her. In Delhi, Ravin meets Khushi and her family including her mother and sisters and then starts his journey to the US.

Even during his stay in the US, Ravin is constantly in touch with Khushi. After his return to India, Ravin meets Khushi once again. After sometime, Khushi's family visits Bhubaneswar and meet Ravin's parents. There, they decide the date of Ravin and Khushi's engagement. Both the families start preparing for the event. Just before the engagement, Khushi meets with a road accident and is hospitalized in a critical condition.

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We found 9 results. Ravinder Singh: There were lots of toys and balloons around me, and lots of kids playing with them. In a short while, I had made new friends. I still didnt know their names, but I was happy. Each one of us, for whom that day marked the first day of school life, had his or her own level of insecurity about each other.

But it took only a short while for us to shed our inhibitions. Human nature is strange. Just because we all had a common thing to be afraid of, we turned into friends. In that new and unfamiliar environment, the only support was seeing people who were just like meand that made things a little comfortable. In my mind then, I was happy to think that at the end of all this, I would meet my mother and all would be fine. I would tell her about the cruelty of my father and she would never let me go again!

Two years passed by in understanding what a school was all about. By the time I got into Class I, I had finally accepted that there was no escaping school. I had a fair idea of what my life was going to look like for the next twelve years, or even more if I failed midway. My friends from the class, too, didnt have any idea about what else to do with their lives; so they accepted what their parents asked them to do.

I thought it was safe to follow everyone. And, so, I accepted going to school. But now that I had accepted going to school, my parents upgraded their level of expectations. Study well. You have to come first! When I nodded my head to that demand at that time, I never realized that I had stepped on the starting line of what later was going to become a rat race.

Happiness in Little Things Our family lived in Burla, a very small, peaceful town situated beside the river Mahanadi in the western part of the state of Orissa.


Hirakud Dam, once known as the worlds longest dam, was just four kilometres from the place where I lived. Because of its importance, Hirakud Dam had become a landmark for Burlaa dam which the little, sleepy town was very proud of. If you ever happen to be in Burla, you will see this 4. On either side of the dam, in both towns, there are two tall constructions, which serve as lighthouses. The one in Burla is called Jawahar Minar, named after Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, who, people say, came to visit the site while the dam was being built.

From the top of the Jawahar Minar, the view of the dam is breathtaking. The length of the dam holds back the huge water reserve of the river Mahanadi on the left, releasing it partially through the canals, from which the water passes through the gates on the right and flows further east, right through the Burla town. Giant pulleys along the length of the dam and a high-voltage electricity plant fill the scene in the east.

In the south-west, there is a scattering of green islands rising out of the water. Looking in this direction, it appears as if there is no end to the waterit is hard to make out the line on the horizon, miles away, where the water meets the sky. The sound of the running turbine is the loudest noise one can hear. One can see the whirlpool of churning water as it drops down the open gates and goes ahead to rotate the turbine.

On the east of this, stands my beautiful town Burla. Back in my childhood days, everything about Burla was small. Anyone who owned a Maruti was considered extremely rich. For what it was worth, only a handful of people were privileged enough to have this car in their garage.

The town was so small that one could easily travel from one corner of it to another in less than half an hour, that too on a bicycle.

In spite of being tiny, Burla was pretty self-sufficient. We had just one market to shop from, which primarily was divided into two sub-markets. People used to call one the Kaccha Market and other the Pakka Market. There wasnt any difference in the infrastructures of these two markets, which could have been the reason why they were separated by names. The only difference was that the Kaccha Market was primarily a place to download vegetables; while, just one hundred metres ahead, the Pakka Market was made up of a range of kiraana, grocery stores and clothes stores.

Come Sunday and the Kaccha Market would turn into the most populated area of the entire town. A number of small trucks and jeeps would bring in fresh vegetables in the morning, and everyone, including my father, would go to the Kaccha Market to download them. But if someone had to download anything big, like a home appliance or furniture, he had to travel to Sambalpur, the nearest city, because a wide variety of such things was usually not available in Burla.

The town was also treated as the knowledge hub of Orissa. Apart from the engineering and medical institutes, we also had a branch of Sambalpur University. As far as the primary and secondary education was concerned, there were three different schools, each of them affiliated to a different language mediumHindi, Oriya and English.

My parents had admitted me to the English-medium school. Burla was a secular town and had religious institutions for all the religions. Temples of Hindu gods, including Lord Ram, Lord Jagannath and Lord Krishna, provided the religious platform for the majority of the people. Every day a lot of devotees would visit these temples to pay homage to their deities. The biggest temple in the town was of Lord Krishna. It was well known as the Krishna Mandir, though it had idols of other gods and goddesses as well inside it.

The yearly Janmashtami celebrations were held with great enthusiasm at the temple. Apart from the Hindu temples, there was a mosque at the Kaccha Market, a church near the road to Hirakud dam and a gurdwara right at the geographical heart of the town. And this was where I lived with my family. My father worked in the gurdwara as a priest and our house was located within the gurdwaras complex.

We were a family of fourmy mother, my father, my younger brother and I.

The entire complex was a vast rectangle, with the central portion of it taken up by the gurdwara building, surrounded by an open courtyard on three sides. Beyond the courtyard on both sides, a series of seven living quarters marked the boundary of the area.

These quarters were owned by the gurdwara management, and the rent from them was one of the sources of revenue for the gurdwara. To the front of the complex was the gateway to enter, and on the right corner was our house. Of course, it wasnt a house we owned, but a service house offered to my father because of his job at the gurdwara. It wasnt a well-planned house, but a good enough arrangement of brick and mortar, divided into four rooms. If you saw it, you would know what I mean when I say that it was barely meant to provide shelter.

At the entrance itself was the kitchen; but because of the three chairs placed against one of the walls, it also served as a sitting room when the women from our neighbourhood occasionally turned up for a leisurely chat with my mother. The arrangement worked well for Mom, as she could cook while chatting with her friends. Our second room was where we used to spend most of our time, and so, technically, we called it the living room.

This room, every night after 9, turned into our bedroom. It had shutters as well, which we would pull down at night and pull up again in the morning. It had slots for storing twelve channels, though there was only Doordarshan that all the antennas in Burla could tune toso the rest of the channel slots were just a wastage of TV memory.

Ever since the TV was brought into that room, we had started spending most of our time in there. I remember Dad watching the Hindi broadcast of Doordarshan news at 9 p. On one side of this room was a wooden cot which had an in-between kind of size. Its width was more than that of a single bed, but less than that of a double bed. A wooden dressing table and a multipurpose wooden table occupied the rest of the room. The table was primarily a study table, but we also used it as a dining table for all our meals.

Mom even used to iron our clothes on it late in the afternoon. When I look back, I see how we needed only a few things to keep ourselves happy. Apart from the bed and the table, our living room had a lot of free space. A three-feet-tall and five-feet-wide trunk served as the storage for all our requirements, for the winter and otherwiseblankets, mattresses, bed sheets, cushions and a lot of winter clothes like sweaters and things that we needed to use after long intervals.

On the other side of the room, there was a closet with a glass door, full of religious books that my father used to read. My brother and I used the remaining space in that room to dance, fight and do all sorts of crazy things. The last room was not quite a room, but actually functioned as a store.

It was full of wooden logs to support the intermittent construction of the gurdwara building.

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Against one wall, there was a wooden rack holding large containers of rice, pickles and flour that Dad would have managed to get dirt cheap as part of a bulk download. A rope ran from one corner of the room to another. This was used to hang out clothes after Mom would have ironed them, for we didnt have an almirah to keep our clothes in. Our house was tiny, simple and yet complex in its arrangement. We loved to live there primarily because of the vast courtyard outside, where my brother and I used to play.

No one in the entire Burla enjoyed as big a playground as we used to. It was quite common in many families to do so. While my parents named me Ravinder, they named my brother Jitender.

But the usage of these names was only limited to our school. At home, and, for that matter, in the rest of the town, we were known by our shorter names. I was called Rinku and my brother was called Tinkurhyming pet names as well!

Tinku was two years younger to me, and, by the time he was getting admitted to nursery, I was getting into Class I in the same school.

One of our oldest picturesin which we are together for the very first timegoes back to this time. It shows us perched on a two-seater red tricycle at a photo studio. A day I can still clearly recall It was a Sunday and Mom had got us ready by the noon. She made us wear the new clothes she had bought only a day before.

The two of us looked nice. We had first looked appreciatively at each other and then stared at our own selves in the mirror.

As soon as we were about to leave, Mom applied some talcum powder on our faces with her handkerchief. I guess that was the make-up sure to make us look fairer! After that, we proudly climbed on to Dads bicycle.

In no time, we were at a photography store in the Kaccha Market. We had been all excited knowing the fact that someone was going to take our pictures with a camera! It made us feel special, and, on top of it, our new clothes made us feel extraspecial. At the photographers studio, Dad shook hands with the studio owner and exchanged a few words. All this while, Tinku and I were helping each other to tuck our T-shirts in and rearranging the creases of our half-pants.

When Dad called, we both ran inside the studio with him. We looked around wide-eyed. For us little boys, it was an amazingly beautiful place, full of the possibilities of all sorts of adventure. Till then, wed only seen a studio from outside, and this one offered so many things to explore! There were big stands with white umbrellas on them inclined at different angles.

While the corners of the rooms were dark, the centre was fully illuminated with the light reflecting off those umbrellas. There was a lot of light in that space, much more than we would have seen at our home. My brother and I ran around in the studio and explored everything. There were wires running here and there on the ground. The wall in front of us had a number of background options.

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They were a sort of curtains. We pulled out a few to see how they looked, and then pulled out a few more. There was a dressing table with a mirror in one corner, along with a small plastic comb that had a few missing teeth, some talcum powder and a few lipsticks. All those items smelled bad, so I kept them back as soon as I lifted them. There was a huge carton in another corner of the room. It was way above our height, so we could not find out what was in there.

At that time we didnt know that the box contained something that would change our lives forever! Soon, the door opened and someone walked in.

He said hello to us. There was a camera hanging from his neck. He was our cameraman. He was paying us so much attention because we were special for him. And, sure enough, he told us that he had got something for us.

While we wondered what he was talking about, he walked towards the big carton at the other end of the room and pulled out a red kids tricycle for us. Oh, wow! Tinku shouted. Then, as soon as the cameraman placed the tricycle at the centre of the room, he ran to grab his seat on it. I too ran after Tinku. We were about to enter into a scuffle when the cameraman intervened and shifted Tinku to the back seat. I loved the cameraman when he did so! Tinku protested, but the cameraman told him that the one who would sit on the back seat would look better in the photo.

I silently thanked the cameraman for being secretly on my side. So my brother took the rear seat without protest, while I sat in front and jammed my feet into the pedals.

Somehow, the front seat with the handle in my hands made me feel more powerful and special! Sitting on that tricycle, with the umbrella lights focused on us, we were the centre of attention for the cameraman and our father. We took a considerable amount of time to settle down well.

It wasnt easy to stay put in one spot, or to hold a pose. But the cameraman was an expert. He kept on guiding us and then suddenly he said, Smile karo baccha log, and we did, and he clicked us.

But our smiles did not last long. They vanished as soon as we realized that this place wasnt a toy shop selling that cute red tricycle to us.

It was only a photo studio, and that tricycle was a prop belonging to the studio owner. We never wanted to get up from that tricycle. We wanted to pedal it down to our home. Daddy, asi eh chalaa ke ghar javaange na? Dad laughed along with the cameraman and explained to us, while pulling us out, that it wasnt our tricycle to take home. As soon as Tinku heard this, he gripped the front seat and almost dug his feet into the ground, retaliating at Dads attempt to pull him out.

While Id understood the truth and got off, my brother was screaming and shouting. Dad tried to scare him with his big eyes and also raised his forefinger to his lips and said, Shhhhh It was a warning for him to stop shouting and behave himself. And thankfully, in no time, his melodrama was over.

I held Tinkus hand in mine as the two of us followed Dad out of the room. The red tricycle remained in the centre of the room, alone, surrounded by the focused umbrella lights. It was heartbreaking to leave that beautiful toy there. But I will never forget my younger brothers eyes in those last moments, when Dad was making the payment at the counter on the other side of the room. As the two of us stood next to Dad, another family with two kids entered the studio.

The same cameraman led them to the same tricycle. The kids joyfully ran towards it and climbed up the seats of the tricycle, which was only a few moments back Rinku and Tinkus tricycleour tricycle.

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The parents lovingly adjusted the positions of their kids on the tricycle. It was as if, right in front of our eyes, those kids were celebrating their victory. My brother stood calmly and watched everything without blinking. I watched that family, and then turned to look at my brother.

I felt protective of him. It hurt me that he had wanted something so much, and yet he couldnt have it. Soon Dad was through with the payment and asked us to follow him back home. I remember saying those final words to my brother as I continued to hold his hand, Ae taa chhoti tricycle hai. Asi taa vaddi cycle lavaange! We will download a bigger one!

With that, I tightened my grip over his hand and we walked out of the studio. Heads, I will stay back. Tails, you will, he suggests. The sound of gunfire and the boulders behind which they are hiding, in the hills, fill in the entire scene.

He tosses the coin. Its heads.

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Jai shows the coin on his palm to Veeru, and asks him to immediately leave along with Basanti, and come back with four cartons of ammunition. Soon, he is all by himself, fighting the bandits on the plateau.

I believe he will make it. I believe he will kill everyonethe way he has done so far. But the next time he opens the chamber of his revolver, there is only one bullet in it. Something tells me that he is going to do wonders with that one bullet. He has to.

That is when he spots a bomb over the wooden bridge, which is the only connection between him and the bandits. But time is running out. The bandits have already stepped on to that bridge, and are making their way towards him. He has all my attention.

It is a dangerous moment. I love Jai and I want him to win. But he is all alone. I cross my fingers. I shout and tell him to wait and not to come out into the open.

He is safe there behind the rocks. Besides, I am furious at Veeru, who hasnt yet come back with the ammunition. Veeru kyun nahi aa raha? I shout and leap up, wondering why Veeru hasnt showed up. Just then, from behind the rock, Jai jumps out into the open to pick up an abandoned revolver. Oh no, Jai! I shout and inch closer to the TV set. His body rolls in the dust. A few more rounds of fire are heard. I am worried about Jai. I pray to God for his safety. He picks up that revolver and walks straight to the bridge.

The bandits are advancing from the other side. Oh God! I say and grab my forehead in my hands. Jai takes an aim at the bomb with his revolver in the left hand. Right then, I see a spot of blood oozing out of his body. Goli lag gayi Jai ko! I screamJai has been shot. An injured Jai shoots at the bomb. It explodes, and the bridge collapses.

A few bandits are killed, while the rest of them run away. The blood-soaked Jai is lying on the ground. Veeru arrives on his horse and calls out Jais name. My heart sinks to see Jai lying like that in Veerus lap. He says that he wont be able to tell their stories to Veerus children.

That confirms he is not going to survive. I am about to break down. I still pray to God that my fear should not come true. Jai continues to mutter Veerus name before he finally takes his last breath. He dies. My hero dies.

My Jai dies. The sad tune of the harmonica that Jai used to play follows his death. And I start crying. Tears roll down my eyes. I grieve for the loss of Jai. I finish watching the rest of the movie in a state of deep agony. If the Thakur wouldnt have finished Gabbar off, I had pledged to find that beast and avenge Jais death by killing him myself. I spend a sad day thinking about Jai.

Occasionally, I cry. Later in the evening, when my father is watching the news in the prime-time bulletin, I spot Jai in one of the news items. I cant believe my eyes. I shout, Jai is alive? Dad looks at me and asks, Why? What happened to him? And his name is Amitabh Bachchan! No, he is Jai!We would blow as much air as possible into it with the straw, place the inflated packet on the ground and ask everyone around us to watch as we jumped over our packets.

And he dropped a bomb into my open mouth. I was trapped in that elevated reclining chair. I sat where she asked me to sit. Veeru kyun nahi aa raha? She was acquainted with us too. It occurred to me suddenly. Id guessed the smile was a nice way to reveal my teeth, including the absent ones. I empathized with her.