Authors: Carol Jackson
Julie & Kishore
Julie
Kishore
CAROL JACKSON
JULIE & KISHORE
By
Carol Jackson
Copyright © Carol Jackson 2014
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 by Novel Idea
Design
Published by Libertine Press
(An Imprint of GMTA Publishing)
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this
book are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the
publisher.
Al
l
right
s
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ese
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ved
.
N
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par
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f
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boo
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ep
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oduce
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r
transmitte
d
in an
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fo
r
m
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b
y
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y
mean
s
whatsoeve
r
,
includin
g
photocopying
,
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eco
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din
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or b
y
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info
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matio
n
storag
e
an
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etrieva
l
system
,
withou
t
writte
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mission f
r
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th
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publishe
r
and/o
r
autho
r
.
GMTA Publishing
6296 Philippi Church Rd.
Raeford, NC 28376
Printed in the U.S.A.
ISBN-13: 978-0692262313
ISBN-10: 0692262318
DEDICATION
Heartfelt thanks to my dear husband and our two fantastic children for
their wonderful support in the writing of this book.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A
reference of Customs and Traditions and a Glossary can be found at the end of
this book.
T
ABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
‘Never judge a person until you have walked a mile
in their shoes.’
My
incredible journey starts here…
This
book is a narrative, told in the first person, based on my own memories with
extracts taken from my personal diary, which have been slightly adapted for the
sake of understandable reading, as such this story is fictional.
The Indian stories that were relayed to me are
written as accurately as possible.
The Hindi word for gidday is namaste.
In
1984 the big news of the world was the famine in Ethiopia. In December the hit
song by Band Aid ‘Do they know it's Christmas’ raised thirty million dollars
for
Africa.
New
Zealand was settling into its new Prime Minister, the youngest of the twentieth
century Mr David Lange. He had a reputation for a cutting wit, which was
sometimes directed against himself although he had a certain eloquence. His
government implemented far-reaching free-market reforms his legacy, a
nuclear-free country.
Lady
Diana Spencer, her fairytale wedding the day she became a princess her
innocence, her vulnerability and that sweet, shy smile on show for the world to
see.
I
was sixteen years old and even though it had been three years since that
extraordinary day, I still replayed the enchanting scenes of her wedding over
and over in my head
like it was yesterday.
Doesn’t
every girl dream of a big white wedding? I certainly did.
My
wedding day, the day I had
fantasized
about
my whole life.
Sitting
on my bed with my eyes closed I embraced my pillow as I saw myself walking up
the aisle, the familiar ‘
here comes the
bride
’ tune played in my head…da, da, dada…da,
da,
dada…
Just
like Diana, in my imagination I was dressed in an exquisite white lace gown which
was beaded with delicate pearls, plunged to a heart shaped neckline and
gathered at the waist. My vision was
slightly
misted by a
white lace veil that covered my face and
my
red curls peeked through a diamond tiara that had been delicately placed on my
head. In my hands I held a posy of red rose
s
that
were dotted with
tiny white baby’
s
breath flowers yep, I definitely
had
imaginative
, detailed
dreams about my wedding day.
As I continued my walk up the aisle, I saw
ahead of me waiting at the altar, the most stunning man I had ever seen.
My
groom was beaming at me and as I stepped closer he mouthed the words, ‘I love
you.’
His
stylish tuxedo accentuated his handsome features, as
I reached him we
stood
to
face each other and clasped hands as we proclaimed
our vows of commitment and love. My heart beat faster as I visualized the part
I adore the most of any wedding, when the priest pronounces the couple husband
and wife and the groom is told, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
As
I
continued my
dream, my newly announced husband, let
go of my hands and romantically lifted my veil to gently give me a tender kiss,
unfortunately it was my poor pillow that was the recipient of my sloppy lips.
I
clutched my pillow tighter as I wished with all my heart in real life, not in
my fantasy, I could be that bride standing next to the handsome groom.
But,
as we were proclaimed for the first time as Mr and Mrs, I began to wonder - Mr
and Mrs what? Maybe Mr and Mrs Smith, Mr and Mrs Jones or even Mr and Mrs
Walker. I never thought in my wildest dreams
that
my
husband-to-be wouldn’t be the man from my imagination, he was so real to me.
Little did I know what actually lay in store for me was a life changing event
so completely different to my dream, at times I could hardly believe it myself.
If
I had gone to a fortune teller and she predicted the journey I was about to
take, never in a million years would I have considered it. I would probably
have gone so far as to say that she was speaking a load of absolute rubbish.