Sonal Panse Quotes

Shut up, lumpen-head,” Billy had said, setting the stage for our future amicable relationship. I remembered that very well too. That had been a first too. Nobody had called me a lumpen-head before that. Tavi had had to explain what it meant, and then I had punched Billy in the stomach. People had to help Pradyun separate us and one of the ladies had exclaimed, “But she looked like such a sweet, little girl too!” “She's not a girl,” Billy had said. “She's an ugly lumpen-head, and her parents found her under a toadstool.” Billy had been a sweet, little boy himself. Still was. Hadn't changed a bit over the years.

She’s a mixed-breed and not the least bit aggressive.She decided long ago she wanted to be a pet dog, not a guard dog. I think that’s another reason why that man wanted to get rid of her. I’ve never understood all this fascination with aggressiveness. It’s like an epidemic. People don’t just want aggressive dogs, they want to be aggressive themselves.

She’s a mixed-breed and not the least bit aggressive. She decided long ago she wanted to be a pet dog, not a guard dog. I think that’s another reason why that man wanted to get rid of her. I’ve never understood all this fascination with aggressiveness. It’s like an epidemic. People don’t just want aggressive dogs, they want to be aggressive themselves.

It had been a big mistake, introducing her to Tavi on one of his visits home. She had fallen hard and made up every conceivable excuse to turn up at our place that week. Tavi had taken it in his usual stride; he was accustomed to my friends making idiots of themselves over him and he had developed a fine knack of rebuffing them without hurting their feelings too much. “You deserve a Prince,” he had told her. “So here's a tip – don't waste your time on a common man like me.

LOOK AT HIM! Mum, LOOK! OUR NEW DOG! ISN’T HE A BEAUTY?”“Another DOG!” came Maia’s amazed voice.

It was a fairly large house, larger than all our previous dwellings. There were two pinkwashed, picture- windowed, orange gable-roofed storeys, encompassing eight rooms, and an adjoining, presently shuttered garage. A friendly, unsymmetrical house, with pink bougainvillea hanging over the iron-lace decorated, semi-circular front porch and ivy climbing from the walls to the uneven gables.

People might say that they liked honesty, but they didn’t, really.

An uneventful, quiet life together is more my idea of a romance.”“Really? Oh. Well. It won't get you featured in any of the ballads though.”“Yes,” he said, with a heavy sigh. “And that will be the great tragedy of my romance.