Books that made me cry

Many times a book touches you a lot. By lot I don’t mean you like the plot, or found an interesting character etc. I mean it touches your heart especially the sad part. A pain you didn’t know you had till you felt it by reading this book. 

Sister of my heart 

A story of two sisters. I finished this book in 9 hours straight, it was unputtable. The next day I was just drowsy and ineffective in college. But it was worth it. I had borrowed it from a hostel friend and I just liked her more for giving me this wonderful book. 

Probably it intertwined my own desire to have a sister and not having one. I was at that time struggling with making girl friends. A dear friend had stopped talking to me citing feeling claustrophobic and how she is a Gemini etc. All lame excuses but these words stayed with me for a long. It took me some time to get close to anyone. 

My review of Sister of my heart 

The illicit happiness of other people 

Oh dear this was a real tear jerker. I was crying every 100 pages, folding the book but inserting my finger in it. 

It spoke a lot about death and mental illness. I had a event loss and was making sense of it. This book pulled me into depression but also helped me let out by crying. I thought I was crying over the characters but I was crying in my own misery. 

This is what happens when you get a well timed book. It helps you get thru what you are going thru. Many times I have picked up a chiclit or romcom just to survive a morbid phase by keeping it light and distracted. It just helps me stay sane. 

Last song of dusk 

I can imagine why the author must have stopped writing after this book. It was so deep, poignant and soulful. He put his heart and soul into it and probably I got a piece of him when I read it. It was very satisfying and touching. I probably now understand why people start crying when they see a piece of art. A painting, a sculpture, a mural or a book well written.  This is how I felt while reading a book. Tears probably came but they were beautiful and joyful. 

Post secret

It’s a coffee table book but so powerful. The concept is brilliant and so revolutionary. We all have secrets but we can never tell. But now you can. It’s anonymous and hard hitting. People have gone all the way baring their hearts and souls. 

You are not the only one. There are enough people living secret lives and hiding secrets. Everyone wants to be loved and has an unexplainable past which continues to haunt them. They can’t even talk to themselves about it but now you can - with an anonymous post card send to a po box. 

Isn’t it just brilliant. I cried reading some of the sad posts. It was real asocial media before it’s time. But it was secret but true. While media is open but lie. I any day prefer the truth and privacy. 

Sophie’s Choice 

The name and the choice. Watch out for spoilers 

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I can’t reveal the plot but a mother can’t make a choice like this. I have often dreamt of a flood and me stuck on a tree holding on to my two children. Will I be able to leave any of them. 

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Oh dear the cruel cruel world we live in. I cried for the obvious reasons. 

While the above five books I cried because of sheer sadness in my heart. The following two disgusted me to the core. How evil and mean can this world be? It’s scary. How do we protect each other, especially our children. 

Manto’s short stories 

Khol Do was a hard hitting story. In typical Manto style the last few lines throw the entire plot on its head. Open - a simple word rips your heart apart. 

I sat there Hakki Bakki after finishing the last para. I went back a few paras to understand it again. Oh is it what I think it is. Is it possible. Such a thing. How sad! How horrible! The world we live in! 

The Kite runner  

A childhood story but not for children. You read the innocent play of children and a nostalgic past. Then it hits you and all the ugly things happen in your childhood stare in your face. Some books being up the submerged memories to surface. You can then not hide from them. Instead you face them and say - you do not define me. My past does not define my present or future.  I am free. I am adult. 

All the above books have scared me to the core but they have also built my faith in that these storytellers lived to tell their tale. There are others like me who live with such stories and are ready to tell them.