The path of life goes on and on. We are all travelers on this road. Sometimes it's hard to tell which passenger will settle inside you. Actually our body is made up of organs. But another life made up of memories. which passes through many paths during a lifetime, most of which memories stay with you in the form of events or imaginations. Prerna Panthe book is presented to you in a similar form. May the stories and poems I have written unfold within you and you pass through them. will have happened Why am I writing? ...
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The path of life goes on and on. We are all travelers on this road. Sometimes it's hard to tell which passenger will settle inside you. Actually our body is made up of organs. But another life made up of memories. which passes through many paths during a lifetime, most of which memories stay with you in the form of events or imaginations. Prerna Panthe book is presented to you in a similar form. May the stories and poems I have written unfold within you and you pass through them. will have happened Why am I writing? That question is probably difficult to answer, because the life of inspiration that lives inside me drives me to write. Many memories from childhood are still fresh in you. I still remember learning Kakka Barakshari under a tamarind tree with my head in my corner.I loved washing my hair listening to Prabhatia on the radio in the morning against the limestone wall of the raw house. It is natural to grow up with time but I still love to smell the wet soil when the first rain of the village season falls on the village soil. He likes to put his footprints on the cold footprints of his father's tired and quiet feet in the raw path of the wadi. The village likes to remember childhood by going to padar and taking tamarind twigs from the bamboo grove.
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