Story World: Miss Brill.

- The splendor of the story of the world's best creators ...

- Original Creator - Kathleen Mansfield Introduction-Paresh Vyas

- I have always felt that friendship is a great privilege, friendship is freedom from trouble, friendship is happiness and peace and all that is because in friendship no one has to disclose, no one has to make a fuss. '

Kathleen Mansfield

- The wife was not happy about anything. 'All the glasses slip down from my nose forever!' It happened to Miss Brill that she grabbed Dossie with both hands and shook her.

'Varta' was created for the first time in Gujarati language. It was 100 years old last year. On this occasion, a unique celebration was held by publishing classic stories of famous creators of Gujarat in 'Gujarat Samachar'. A treasure trove of Gujarati stories received a warm response from readers. After that, it is now presented to the readers of 'Gujarat Samachar' - the splendor of the works of the world's foremost storytellers ...

(This story is told by a third person. But like any other short story, something happens here, something goes wrong and then it is solved or something is revealed, something unexpected happens, it is not here. And the narrator just describes what happened. Not only does it tell the reader the thoughts of the protagonist, but it is also a meticulous observation of the life and mood of an isolated old woman, as the poet Ramesh Parekh writes: 'What is it like to sit in the garden every evening? What is it like to grow old? 'There is a garden here on a Sunday evening, but there is a hut.

Part-1

The blue sky and the gold dust sprinkled on it and the light coming from the benches made it look as if someone had poured white wine all over the public garden સ everything was so beautiful-yet Miss Brill was satisfied that she herself was wearing a fur coat. The air was still but if you open your mouth you need a mild feeling of cold, like a glass of ice filled with water and as it happens and nowhere again a leaf from the sky flew aimlessly into the air and fell down.

Miss Brill reached out and touched Farkot's fur. Dear Little Thing! It felt good to touch the fur again. That afternoon he took Farkot out of his box, sprayed the insecticide powder and cleaned it thoroughly with a brush. The creature seemed to have come into the small tiny eyes of the coat. 'What's wrong with me?' He asked with sad little eyes. Oh, how salty it was to speak angrily from the cover of a small red soft feather! .. But his nose, there was nothing black in it, which was not solid at all. Somehow something must have hit there. It will have to be repaired - a black spot of a mixture of lacquer and resin - when the time comes ... and when it becomes extremely necessary - I will not be wrong .. Farkot, my little scoundrel!

Yeah Al that sounds pretty crap to me, Looks like BT aint for me either. From the left ear of the little scoundrel who bites his tail. Miss Brill, sitting in the garden, could have taken off her furcoat and patted it on the floor. But he felt a tingling sensation in his palm and hand, perhaps because of walking, he felt. And when she breathed, she felt something light and sad, not sad, not very sad, but something soft moving in her chest.

There were a lot more people out this afternoon compared to last Sunday. And the band's chorus sounded loud and cheerful. That was because the season had begun. The band used to play Suravali every Sunday throughout the year, but when there was no season, it was not as fun as it is today. When there is no season, it is as if someone is playing music and only his family members can hear it.

Did the band manager also wear a new coat or not? !! However she could not decide what was new. The conductor was rubbing the ground with his paws and his forearms fluttered in the air as if a rooster was preparing to roost, and the other members of the band were puffing their cheeks under a green canopy and playing musical instruments and watching music. Were. And now came the tune of the little flute - very sweet! - a small series of bright tunes. He was sure that this tune would be repeated. Happened and he raised his head and smiled.

There were only two people sitting on that special bench in the garden: a good-looking old man in a velvet coat, clutching a very large carved walking stick, and another big old woman holding a bundle of clothes and embroidery in her lap. Was sitting. They were not communicating with each other. This was a state of despair because Miss Brill was always eager to have a conversation with someone. He thought that he had really become an expert, now he has the ability to listen to anyone. Although she didn't listen to the other person, she only listened to the other person for the first minute and then all the conversations that took place between them were unilaterally about Miss Brill's own. He looked at the old couple sitting on either side of him. Maybe they will keep going from here now.

Nothing interesting happened last Sunday, just like what is happening. An English old man and his wife, an old man wearing a very bad looking panama hat and old woman button boots. And all the while, the old lady just wondered how she should wear her glasses? The old man was quietly listening to his wife. He suggested every option - a golden round frame with a stem that fits behind the ear, pads between the frames that sit on the nose, etc. No, but his wife was not happy. 'All the glasses slip down from my nose forever!' She had a complaint. It happened to Miss Brill that she grabbed Dossie with both hands and shook her.

(More to come)

Introduction to the Creator

Kathleen Mansfield

Born: 19 October 19

Died: 9 January 19

Born and raised in New Zealand, Kathleen Mansfield Murray was a renowned 'Modernist' writer. Modernist in literature means a radical change in prose (and verse) literature, abandoning the old methods of storytelling in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to the motto of the American poet Ezra Pound, 'Make it new'. Kathleen left New Zealand under British rule when she was 16 and settled in England. Here he met the well-known literary creators d. H. Came in contact with Lawrence, Virginia Woolf, etc. They created an abundance of short stories and poems. Among his well-known stories are 'A Deal Pickle', 'Mr. And Mrs. Dove ',' The Fly 'and' The Garden Party 'are the main ones. He was diagnosed with TB when he was just 3 years old and died at the age of 8.