Unfinished Book PDF by Priyanka Chopra
Click here to Download Unfinished Book PDF by Priyanka Chopra having PDF Size 4 MB and No of Pages 244.
My mom did extraordinary things in her practice, too. She would see patients at the clinic, come home to have dinner with us, then go back at night for rounds—all the while stylishly dressed. She’d sometimes work thirty consecutive hours between her night rounds and the unexpected labor and deliveries that were part and parcel of her medical life.
Unfinished Book PDF by Priyanka Chopra
| Name of Book | Unfinished |
| Author | Priyanka Chopra |
| PDF Size | 4 MB |
| No of Pages | 244 |
| Language | English |
About Book – Unfinished Book PDF Free Download by Priyanka Chopra
I’ll never forget the night that she went to the hospital in a driving rainstorm to deliver a baby. It was normal for her and Dad to get called away at night, but this time, when she came home sometime after midnight, there was an unusual amount of activity and excitement. My grandmother, who had come to live with us when Sid was born, was up and speaking in a low voice to my mother, who seemed to be racing around the house.
Groggy with sleep, I got up to see what was going on and found Mom in the kitchen cradling a newborn in her arms. She told me that after the delivery, when she’d returned to her car parked on the road outside the hospital, she’d heard the sound of a baby crying. To her complete shock, while the rain was coming down in torrents someone had abandoned a newborn girl under the vehicle.
That night, I desperately wanted for us to keep the baby, this impossibly tiny thing swaddled in my brother’s clothes. Gently, my mother explained that we couldn’t. Instead, she said, she knew of a couple, patients of hers who wanted a baby very badly but were unable to get pregnant.
She allowed me to accompany her as she delivered the newborn to them—a different kind of delivery for her, but just as dramatic. Unfinished Book PDF Free Download There was plenty of legal paperwork that would have to be completed, but I was unaware of that at the time, focused as I was on holding the baby snug in my arms as we drove through the stormy night to the home of that waiting couple.
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I will never forget the looks on their faces, how the woman fell to her knees in gratitude, how they both cried at the miracle of a baby showing up out of the blue, in the driving rain, during the festival of Janmashtami, the birth of Lord Krishna, who was also born on a windy and stormy night and who was also carried through a flooding rain to reach safety.
That night, I couldn’t grasp why anyone would ever abandon a newborn baby under a car. In the days that followed, it was explained to me that girls were not as highly valued by some people in our country as boys were, thus making them “easier” to abandon. This was, naturally, deeply strange and upsetting to me.
I knew I was treasured, and I could see that my mother and father were equal partners in their marriage. How could it be that someone would abandon a baby under a car just because she was a girl ? Unfinished Book PDF Free Download My paternal grandmother, or Mataji, as we called her, used to tell me that when I was born and people were telephoning to congratulate her, the group of friends who were sitting with her would say, after listening to the callers’ good wishes, “But it’s just a girl. Maybe next time.”
And while that story perfectly and sadly illustrates how the cultural message of devaluing females is so deeply rooted in some people’s minds, thankfully, that was not how I was raised. And now that the destructive message that girls are not equal in value to boys is being called out with greater urgency and condemned around the world, maybe things will change.
Most of the games we played during these long car trips were music- related. One game was antakshari, where the last letter of the song one person has sung is the letter the next person has to start their song with. When we weren’t playing a group game, we’d all be singing, usually to one of the mixtapes that Dad had recorded and brought along.
We’d stop to buy guavas, cucumbers, and mangoes, Dad’s favorite, from the vendors on the side of the road, then take a break for lunch near whatever stream we’d seen from the car. Unfinished Book PDF Free The fruit and the adults’ beer were cooled in the ice-cold clear Himalayan springwater that flowed down from the mountains. A few more hours of driving, and we’d stop at a restaurant.
Later, when I was a teenager living with my mother’s family in the U.S., I took summer road trips with cousins, other relatives, and friends that reminded me of these carefree early childhood ones. We drove through the states of Idaho, North and South Dakota, and Wyoming, one happy extended family. The summer I was nine, we spent two months in Leh when my father was posted there.
On a trip through the higher reaches of the Himalayas on the way to Pangong Lake, which extends from India to Tibet, I saw my first yak, sampled yak jerky, and tried Ladakhi tea, made of yak milk and salt. Not a fan. During those months in Leh, I made two or three friends who were my age and who were also in Leh visiting their parents in the military.
We’d run around the barracks, which were warmed in the daylight hours by coal-burning bukhari heaters, and search the hills for little dome-shaped Buddhist stupas. Unfinished Book PDF Free I was always out exploring, looking for adventure, trying to uncover something new. My urge was to do something that hadn’t been done before, to discover something that no one had found yet.
I always wanted to be first. I can only imagine that when Mom heard me talk back to my father that evening, echoing her very own words, she panicked, wondering where this disrespectful, spoiled child had come from. Dad wasn’t concerned, but for Mom it must have been the last straw after many months of enduring my tantrums and attention-seeking behavior.
An idea that had perhaps already been percolating in her mind began to take clearer shape: In the northern part of the country where we lived, there were several boarding schools known for providing a fine academic education combined with a comportment component—sort of like Ivy League boarding schools with a touch of posh finishing school thrown in for good measure.
I’d known some kids who’d gone to these schools; army families sometimes sent their children to boarding school and in my own school in Bareilly it was considered a cool thing to go off to attend one. Unfinished Book PDF My parents argued back and forth that evening about my schooling, a huge disagreement that lasted all night.
It was the only perhaps-exception to the rule of “no arguing in front of the children” that I can remember, though they did try to keep it in the realm of discussion rather than fight. Dad tried every line of reasoning he could with Mom, but she wouldn’t budge. Mom wanted to do what she thought was best for me, and what she thought was best for me was La Martiniere Girls’ College (which started with the elementary grades and went through high school), a four-hour train ride south in Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh.
I’m not sure exactly what happened next or how much time passed, but at some point I looked up and my parents were gone. The matron had told them, and all the other parents of new students, that the hour of departure had arrived. There was to be no lingering, no looking back. It was time for their children to adjust and they would do so under the school’s care.
Someone must have told me that my mother and father had left and that I was now going to live at the school, yet I have no memory of that moment. Unfinished Book PDF What I do remember vividly is the feeling of being abandoned, a feeling that lasted for a long, long time. I remember sitting on the little merry-go- round in the school’s playground gripping the cold rusty bars and staring at the gate for hours that first week, and in subsequent weeks, too, as I waited for my mother to swoop in and take me back home where I belonged.
The first time Mom was allowed to visit was the following weekend. And I think the orderliness of all the rules at the school started to comfort me in some way, too. From the very first day, we were taught how important it was to make a good impression. We had to iron our navy cotton uniforms every night because our pleats were checked every morning by monitors, as were the height of our socks and the shine of our shoes. It mattered how pressed and ironed your pleats were, how clean your hair was.
I bought into this fully, making sure I always looked neat and clean and well put together. Even now my clothes have to be ironed, my shoes need to be scuff-free, and my closet needs to be orderly. Eventually Principal Keller’s tough-love approach worked, because after those six months of Mom not visiting, the whole thing kind of turned around for me.
I made friends, did well academically, and felt more and more at ease. I loved returning home during school breaks and showing off to people how independent I was. Unfinished Book PDF And I think that was exactly what my mom had wanted. I was so happy at La Martiniere, I might have stayed on there through middle school and high school.
But the summer before sixth grade I contracted typhoid fever when I was home in Bareilly. I was treated there and returned to school in Lucknow as planned but had attended classes for only a few weeks when I had a relapse, which was severe; I ended up staying in the hospital for two weeks.
I had gotten sick frequently during my years away at school (actually sick, as opposed to looking-for- attention-from-the-nice-nurse-in-the-infirmary sick), and this final, dangerous illness convinced my parents that it was time to bring me home. Dad had been transferred back to Bareilly and so our family lived together for the first time in years on Barrack Road, Bareilly Cantt. (Cantonment).
This airy double-storied house—we were on the first floor, another family lived upstairs—was located in a neighborhood where all the officers and their families lived, one that offered multiple activities for a curious preteen. Unfinished Book PDF I rode bikes, played badminton, and built castles in the sand traps of the neighborhood golf course with other officers’ kids.
As much as I’d eventually liked boarding school, I was happy to be back with Mom, Dad, and even Sid, who was now a rambunctious three-year-old. The independence I’d discovered in boarding school allowed me to continue my nascent steps into a broadening social world even as I was safe in the arms of my family.
