Indian Novels & Stories

Ivanka pointed to Zehra. “You’re South Indian?” Nora asked. Seema looked surprised. “No. I’m Seema Singh, North Indian.” “Singh? So you’re...” “Yea, I’m Sikh,” “Really? You look healthy to me,” Zehra said and Seema laughed. “I’m not sick, I’m Sikh,” Ivanka looked at her like she was bonkers and Seema rolled her eyes. “What’s your full name?” she asked Zehra. “Zehra Mahmood.”

Luna found herself haggling with friendly vendors, admiring the craftsmanship, and indulging in street food delicacies like spicy vada pav and sweet jalebi. Luna couldn't resist a visit to Bollywood, the heart of India's film industry. She attended a vibrant dance performance and even had the opportunity to be part of a movie set as an extra. Luna was amazed by the talent and dedication of the actors and crew, witnessing firsthand the energy and passion that went into creating India's famous cinematic experiences.

She sat down. "Oh my goodness! You think I'm Scottish, an Irish boy, or an American from Los Angeles or Las Vegas? Dammit Isha we are both fucking Indians! We are Indians you better get that through your fucking skull! Look here! There's a guy who's looking at you when you are not looking, there's a guy who's wishing to talk to you someday, there's a guy who's wishing to just sit next to you without saying a word, someone somewhere is longing and praying for that sis"!

Indian mother and son satisfy each other. (Enjoy reading) >>>>>>>>> After Four Years My name is Rohan and I am from India. I am happily married with my wife for last ten years. We have two beautiful children. We live in a Mumbai suburb. I work for a big engineering company. My parents live in Nasik, a place not far away from Mumbai.

Suddenly, there was a sound of liquid falling "Pitter- patter, pitt, pitt..." RK removed his sight from Kevin's face and looked at down on his shoes. His shoes were wet with some kind of liquid and few splashed on his pant lower edge. Jenny smirked then covered her mouth with her hand and said "Oh no! You pissed on his shoes?!!" RK, Aadil and Sohu shouted with shocked "What?!!" ********** Author's Words:-Like other countries, India has many states, but unlike those countries, in India, all the states have their own local language, local costume and food which are completely different from each other.

Thirty-seven years ago, Indаn urbаn. Phl Knight, the good-looking young American businessman, is somewhat proficient in Hindi — a fact that bodes well for his advantage in nеgotiating difficult deals such as this. Quick, dependable, and aggressive in the greatest American business tradition. And wearing tennis shorts and a tee-shirt to a business meeting, EGAD!

Dhawal explained. "Shakti, think about this," Dhawal said, and she nodded. *** **In India, RUDRA'S POV:** *My Rudra...* I'm staring at my name written on the envelope of her last letter. Her last letter! My Mompi! My Rasgulle! [Rasagulla/Rasgulla is an Indian sweet] After spending many years without her, I'm still not strong enough to open her last letter. I wasn't there with her when she took her last breath, and it's driving me insane. My love is no longer alive. She's not here for me.

he grumbled as Simon and Ian laughed at him. “We were about to go fishing. Would you guys join us.” Amber asked, changing the subject. “Sure.” Ian replied. “What are we supposed to do with a raw fish out here?” Kimberly asked. “Eat it, duh… haven’t you heard of sushi before?” Amber smiled at the weird face Kimberly was making. “That’s gross!” she exclaimed because she hated sushi. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” Ian said. “I can’t believe this. You too?!... Don’t even think of kissing me after eating that.”

Papa mummy and toodlers are sleeping. "I don't know..i never did this before..I.... This is first time I'm in this type of situation.I don'tknow what i'm going to ask him' what will his first question to me, will he like me or not, what, if he say no to me, He is an American and top of that a billionaire and I am just a simle Indian girl. What will Papa and mummy think about me that I failed in this too." I let out all my feelings in front of them.

This has to be the home of the queen. The singing and clapping lasted for another two or three hours, before a man—Instructor, as he was called—walked up the crate of straws and rested his hands on the lectern made of palm leaves. He was straight, with white shirts tucked under brown short pants. He also had white stockings and a hat that looked like a mini canoe. He was dark-skinned too, but unlike the rest of the village, there was something about the way he spoke the local dialect. It was not refined like the rest. There was a dent in his accent and poise. He was not from around here.