I designed the cover photo but I have two wonderful photographers to thank for the photos used. Photo of the girl is by Roksolana Zasiadko and seemed exactly like the Jane in my mind. The photo of the palace is by Paul Morris. Both photos are from Unsplash.
Last but not the least, thank you dear reader for picking this book. Hope you love the family I created.
As always, the family I created held yet another story within it. The Sravanapura Royals Book 2 is progressing steadily. It will tell the story of Kritika, Vijay’s sister. I hope to bring it to you soon.
Love,
Preethi Venugopala
Mail to me: [email protected]
Visit my website: www.preethivenugopala.com
Tweet to me: @preethivenu
Instagram: @preethivenu
Without You (Sample Chapter)
Chapter One
“The earth has music for those who listen.”
― George Santayana
June 20, 2010, Sreepuram
Returning to the place your heart loves to call home is always ecstatic. For me, home was Sreepuram, a picturesque coastal village in North Kerala.
Opening the car windows, I breathed in the pleasant, distinctive smell of the freshly bathed soil. The grey, evening sky showered its greetings on me with tiny rain droplets. My heart joined in the celebration, meting out an ecstatic drum roll. A whole month in Sreepuram, while it looked radiant in rain-drenched green.
Grandma often said that though God threw Adam and Eve out of Eden, he created many slices of heaven on earth for them. One of those heavenly slices was Sreepuram. It was a traveller's dream with ponds, rivers, hillocks, coconut palms and extensive paddy fields. The Arabian Sea guarded it along it western border. Visitors cherished its magnificent sunsets and serene beaches. Every season brought out a different shade of beauty in my Sreepuram.
My prayers had come true at last after three long years. My hectic engineering course had chained me to Bangalore during all my previous semester breaks. Every summer, I had missed Sreepuram.
By the time our car entered the courtyard of Grandma’s house, the rain had strengthened. Grandma, whom I called Ammamma, was waiting on the porch with an ear-to-ear grin. Even in this pouring monsoon, she appeared bright like a daisy on a sunny day. As usual, she was attired in her spotless white cotton sari with her silver hair neatly pulled into a bun.
The moment the car stopped in the outer courtyard, I darted towards her, allowing the rain to embrace me. Ammamma received me with a hug but immediately chided me.
“Oh, Anu, you never change, do you? Running around like a whippet,” she said, inspecting my rain-kissed curls.
“Come on, Ammamma, don’t scold. Couldn’t resist the temptation,” I said. She tweaked my ears playfully.
Following the aroma of the filter coffee, I ended up in the dining room. Inspecting the casseroles, I found what I had expected. Appams, the soft rice pancakes with lacy edges and a soft centre and chicken curry. The chicken curry lured me with its heavenly aroma of spices. The sight elicited a growl from my stomach.
“Ammamma, my stomach is rioting. The Titanic can sink in my mouth now if it tried. I am not waiting any longer to attack this feast,” I said. I pulled back a chair and opened the casseroles, ready to devour as many appams as possible.
“Crazy girl, you look like a wet hen. Go dry your hair and change your clothes. The coffee and appams can wait,” Grandma said, closing the casseroles back.
“Ammamma, please, let me first fill my tummy,” I tried one last time, but in vain.
After a speedy dress change into dark blue Capri pants and a white top with lace trimmings, I sat down to calm my raging hunger.
“Mmmmm, what an appam, Ammamma!! If you had given this to Shakespeare, he would have written a thousand sonnets about it,” I said as I closed my eyes, letting the appam dipped in spicy chicken curry romance my taste buds.
Grandma chuckled but urged me to stop talking and eat. I obeyed her without much ado.
It was almost twilight. The sun had begun to wane its lights and a cool zephyr brought in the fragrance of blooming jasmines. The peal of the bell broke the silence, which had slowly settled in after the initial hustle and bustle of vessels.
“Ah, who can that be?” Grandma said, getting up to answer the door.
“I will check, Ammamma. It might be the kids,” I said. I had a kids’ gang which gave me company during my holidays. I washed my hands and rushed to open the door.
Instead of the gang, a stranger stood on the portico with a small polythene bag in his hands. A salesperson, I assumed, inspecting the smartly dressed young man.
“Yes?” I asked, summoning up my most apathetic look.
“Is Arundhati aunty here?” he asked. Was he a publisher or a journalist? I wondered.
I forgot to mention. My Grandma, Arundhati Mukundan, is an award-winning poet and author. After Grandfather’s death seven years ago, she had gone into depression. Later on, one of my aunts had discovered a collection of poems Ammamma had penned during her hours of darkness. After much coercing from her children, she had agreed to publish them. Her book had become an instant bestseller. She won the state award for literature that year. She had now added two more poem collections and a semi-autobiography to the list. Hence, publishers and journalists often visited.
“And you are?” I asked. Before he answered, Grandma entered the portico to receive the caller.
“Oh, Arjun, it is you! Come in. Wonderful to see you again,” she said with a huge smile on her face. The stranger’s face too had lit up with a bright smile.
“I came to give you these tablets. They are from Vishal,” said the stranger passing the small carry bag to her.
The names Arjun and Vishal, said together, rang a bell inside my brain. This is Arjun?! If I had it right, he was my cousin Vishal’s best friend, Dr. Arjun. He was the one who had been Vishal’s strength when Uma aunty, Vishal’s mom, underwent a critical operation to remove her inflamed gall bladder. The one whom Vishal said he trusted with his life.
Arjun had taken over the routine check-ups of Ammamma, whenever Vishal was unavailable. She had told me how well-behaved and loving he was. I had developed a crush on him just by hearing the praises they heaped on him. Yes, without ever having beheld him.
My interest in the visitor piqued a thousand times. I watched him with a renewed interest.
Standing before me was an immensely handsome youth. His hair was perfectly in place. Even at this hour, his white shirt was spotless and wrinkle free. His black trousers hugged his long athletic legs. He looked like a Greek god with his dark brown eyes, thick eyebrows, chiselled features, and whitish complexion. Even though I was 5’ 5”, I felt like a dwarf standing in front of him. Any sane girl would have fallen for him instantly if she were in my place. I was, of course, sane.
“Thank You, Arjun. It is for Devi, our family retainer Gopu’s wife. She had a headache and Gopu had gone to Bangalore. I was expecting Vishal to bring it. I haven’t seen him in weeks,” Grandma said, while I continued my stealthy scrutiny from behind her.
“He was on his way here. But an emergency case came and he had to return to the hospital. I was coming this way, so I offered to help,” explained Arjun.
“That was so nice of you, Arjun.”
“Who is this, aunty?” enquired Arjun, gesturing towards me.
“This is my granddaughter Ananya. Anu, this is Vishal’s friend, Dr. Arjun. He is also a neighbour now,” said Grandma, conducting a mutual introduction.
“Hello Ananya, nice meeting you,” said Arjun, with a smile.
I bestowed on him my best smile and greeted him back with a quiet ‘Hi’.
“What do you do?”
“I am in my final year of engineering,” I said. To my amazement, a sudden attack of nervousness seized me. Wasn’t it okay to be nervous when one was in the presence of one’s long time crush? Moreover, what a ‘crush’ it had turned out to be!
“Wow, great!” he said.
“Come on inside, son. Have some tea.”
“No, Aunty. Thanks. I will leave now. Mum will be waiting,” said Arjun, walking down the portico steps. Huh, he couldn’t wait to escape!
Grandma and I watched as his white Toyota Corolla pulled off from our gate, turned a corner, and moved out of sight.
“You said he is our neighbour. When did that happen?” I asked, as Grandma and I returned to the dining table to finish our coffee.
“Do you remember that plot in the east, where that old shop used to be? They constructed a new house in its place two years ago. He lives there with his mother. Poor boy, his father passed away last year in an accident.”
“But Ammamma, I remember you telling me that the plot belonged to a relative of yours, someone named Madhavan.”
“Yes, yes, Rajashekhar, Arjun’s dad is his son. So, we are distant relatives too,” said Grandma, helping herself to another cup of coffee.
A group of three kids came in then, putting an end to our conversation with a shout of “Yippee…Anu is here” and dancing in glee around the table.
It was Anamika, Achyuth, and Deepak, all three of them members of my vacation gang. Anamika aka Ammu though only nine years old was the chatterbox of the gang. Achyuth aka Achu, her brother and elder to her by three years, was the genius of the group. Deepak, their cousin, was Achyuth’s age and looked almost like a twin to Achyuth.
“Anu, you have become so stylish and pretty! Just look at your hair. Wow, now you look like a cross between Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dixit,” declared Ammu. A big fan of Bollywood movies, she walked around and inspected me closely.
I had allowed my short curly hair to grow out of its boyish bob-cut and had styled it last Christmas, in the layered style popularized by Madhuri Dixit. As my eyes were greyish green, like that of Aishwarya Rai, Ammu had given her verdict. I chuckled.
“Thanks, cutie,” I said. I pinched her cheeks, making her squeal with laughter, “All three of you have grown so tall.”
These kids helped me relive the days when, along with my four cousins, I had wreaked havoc in this place during our vacations. Though I had turned twenty last November, I loved being a child, which I became when I was with them.
With my cousins, Kishore, Navneeth, Naveen and Vishal, now grown up and working, vacations had become a lonely affair. Then these kids had moved into Sreepuram during my school vacation six years ago. The time spent in Sreepuram had become fun again. At that time, Ammu was barely three. I took full advantage of being the eldest in the gang. I cheated and challenged them on adventures in which I was already an expert.
Being the lone girl among Grandma’s five grandchildren, I had done everything under the sun that elders insisted a girl should not do. I was sprightly and mean, according to my cousins. Nevertheless, we were always a team. We fought like cats but managed to love each other despite it. Even now when we were together, we were capable of bringing the roof down. Any place would instantly start to feel like home.
I had many nicknames too, thanks to them.
I was ‘Cat’ owing to my grey eyes and sharp nails, the name given by Kishore, my eldest cousin.
Due to my pale skin and ability to climb compound walls, Navneeth had christened me ‘Lizard’.
The most popular name was ‘Monkey’ because of my prowess in climbing trees. Nobody could beat me in that.
My cousins were the reason that I became a tomboy. I hated girly stuff and dressed in trousers and t-shirts just like them. My wardrobe had more jeans and t-shirts than churidars or skirts. Bless those, who started the trend of girls dressing up like boys.
In my engineering class, I was the odd one in a class overflowing with gorgeous girls. Did I regret that? No. Boys were better off as friends. They had no interest in me. It was not because I was ugly. Perhaps my lack of feminine grace drove them away. I was merely their tomboy friend with weird coloured eyes.
“How long is your vacation this time, Anu?” Deepak’s question ended my reverie.
“I will be here till the 18th of July.” Enthusiastic cheers from the trio greeted my answer.
We spent the rest of the evening merrily exchanging news and I distributed the gifts that I had brought for them from Bangalore. Ammu squealed with delight when I gave her a box full of colourful hair clips and bindies in varied designs. Achyuth rushed out to fill his water gun, his gift, from the courtyard pipe. Deepak and I shared a common passion for arts and so, I knew that he’d like the oils pastels that I had got for him. Ammamma came out onto the portico then, where we had settled on the decorative wooden benches that bordered it, to break up the cosy get together.
“It is getting dark, kids. Go home now. Anu is not going anywhere for the next one month. Run before your parents arrive with a stick.”
At the mention of their parents, they bundled out of our house, chattering excitedly and promising to come the next day.
The rest of the night passed in unpacking and settling into my room. Devi, Gopu’s wife, who was also the household help, had cleaned and prepared my room. The fragrance of Sambrani, a kind of incense, that she had lit to freshen up the room still lingered. The cupboards smelled of mothballs, and the window curtains were new. The monsoons had cooled down the temperature and a thick blanket, folded into a perfect rectangle, lay at the foot of my bed.
Grandma must have come to inspect the room a hundred times. She was a compulsive perfectionist. Her love was evident in every little thing that was present in the house. It was soothing to be back. The moment I entered it, something had unwounded within me.
Right after dinner I fell onto my bed, exhausted, unaware of the twist my life was about to take.
(Click here to buy WITHOUT YOU)
WITHOUT YOU (Click here to buy)
Blurb:
Dr. Arjun enters Ananya’s life like a whirlwind, bringing with him the spirit of young love.
Does the path of true love ever run smooth?
Circumstances force them apart even though they were irrevocably in love. She becomes a victim of depression. When everything fails to return her to normalcy, help arrives from an unexpected source.
Will she ever find happiness again?
Will time allow her heart to heal and forget Arjun?
What indeed is true love?
What is that strange secret that locks all the circumstances together?
Travel with Ananya to the picturesque Sreepuram, face the chaos of Bengaluru, and relish the warmth of magical Dubai in this heart-warming tale of love, betrayal, friendship, and miracles.
Praise for ‘Without You’:
“The book has many interesting twists and turns and you simply cannot put it down until you have finished it.”
~ Vani Kaushal, Indian Author (The Recession Groom)
“As befitting an Indian author, readers should be prepared for an indoctrination into Indian culture. This is to be welcomed because the author writes with a style and panache that always engages the reader.”
~John Hennessy, British Author
“References to Mr. Darcy, classic quotes from literature at the start of every chapter, and Preethi's own quotes on love, betrayal, and friendship, make this a book that sings of the essence of 'Falling in Love with You'.”
~ Deepti Menon, Author (Shadow in the Mirror, Arms and the Woman)
The story explores the depth of young love beautifully and adds just the right miracle at the end to spice up the story. I loved the twist the author throws at the end.
~ Ruchi Singh, Author (Take 2, Jugnu, Hearts and Hots)
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A Royal Affair: The Sravanapura Royals Page 14