Canadian journalist Donna Laframboise has been watching the climate world since 2009. What she sees isn't pretty.
Girl spurns boy, marries someone else, and is anally raped on her honeymoon. Girl comes crawling back to boy, begging for forgiveness, and pleading for one more chance.
So how’s this for a revenge fantasy? Boy is smitten with girl. Boy attempts to woo girl, but her moods change “as frequently as the weather.” Worse, she keeps mentioning a second male friend.
Boy has never met this male friend, but is disdainful and contemptuous. He thinks of him as an “idiot,” a “non-entity,” and denigrates his job with an airline (“that butler in the air,” the “Air India clown”).
Boy decides girl is a lost cause and moves to America. A decade elapses. Boy becomes famous and successful. Shortly after her 28th birthday, girl marries the Air India chap.
On their honeymoon, her husband anally rapes her. Rather than hearing about this incident in passing, we readers are voyeurs in the girl’s bedroom (for the third time, in a book that is supposed to be “400 pages all about spirituality”).
Girl concludes her husband is gay, leaves him less than a week after the marriage ceremony, and gets in touch with boy:
That weekend Pooja wrote a long letter to Sanjay. She held back nothing, telling him about Jolly’s sexual perversion. She begged Sanjay’s forgiveness for not realizing what a wonderful man he was, and asked him for help in rebuilding her shattered life. [bold added]
Girl flies to America to meet boy, and begs for forgiveness in person:
I’m so stupid. I know you loved me a great deal. Why did you just give up wooing me? I know I wasn’t very nice to you on many occasions. I think I know why. I was afraid that if I let myself go, I would be your slave for life. Sanjay, you were much too good for me, and it was my stupid ego that came in the way of my happiness. I fought against my feelings for you because I would have been completely powerless against your charms and your virtues. I would have felt very weak if I had allowed myself to love you. I have earned my suffering and I’ve got what I deserve.’
She broke down and sobbed like a baby. Sanjay put his arms around her, holding her close…She lifted her head from his chest, dried her eyes, and looked into his eyes with a love that Sanjay had longed for, ten years ago.
‘Sanjay, will you forgive me?’ she pleaded. ‘Will you let me live with you. I can’t tell you how much I love you. I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. Just give me one more chance. Please, Sanjay!’ [bold added]
In 1913, Rabindranath Tagore won a Nobel prize in literature. In 2007, another son of India accepted a Nobel Peace Prize on behalf of the organization he heads. Apparently that magically turned him, personally, into a Nobel laureate. (See the Amazon description of this novel, as well as:
Only one of these men, however, deserves the honour. His name is not Rajendra Pachauri.