When i first read Anne Frank, i enjoyed it as a story. I want to read it again and marvel at the boldness and clarity in her writing.
On reading 'The City of Joy', i cried on mother's shoulders; on realising that there are a million things apart from my home. Mother was totally taken aback, and soothed me down. I don't think i'll forget that incident.
The first thought that struck me when i entered the city of Kolkotha was that of abject poverty. I don't know the condition of the city now.