Sunday, May 14, 2017


A Mother's Day excerpt from my upcoming (re-release) MY LAST LOVE STORY, coming January 9th, 2018.

“I’m here. What’s the deal?” I asked, pressing the tote against my heart like a shield.

He closed the book and slid it into its slot on the shelf.

Rumi, I read off the spine. Zayaan’s favorite Persian poet. He used to quote Rumi all the time when we were kids. I hadn’t seen him read poetry, much less quote a couplet for a long time. No one who knew him now would’ve guessed that staid and to-the-point Zayaan possessed the soul of a romantic.

That night had taken many things from us.

I had taken Rumi from Zayaan, and for that, I couldn’t be sorrier.

He led me to the cashier’s desk cluttered with an insane amount of items and asked for the things he’d set aside. Turning toward me, he held up a book on Lord Krishna in one hand and a box containing a silver-plated Om in the other for inspection.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“They’re…cool.” I blinked at him. “Going back to your Hindu roots, are you?”

Some sects of Khojas were converted Hindus, which was why their language, customs and even their food were more Gujarati and Kathiawari in style than Islamic.

Zayaan did a double take before he burst out laughing. “Your punch lines always had perfect timing, Sims. Good one.”

Hmm. Great. Though I’m not joking.” I peered at the objects closely.

“For Mummy. Mother’s Day.” He gave a shy, charming little shrug. “Can’t decide what to get her.”
It couldn’t be helped. My heart became a puddle of chocolate goo at my feet. I went up on tiptoes and kissed his stubbly cheek. But I quickly stepped back when he leaned in just as unconsciously, exactly as I had in reflex. He froze as I moved away.

Khodai. We’d become so awkward around each other, never knowing which lines to cross and which ones to leave alone.

“You’re sweet, Zai. Let me see. She’ll definitely love the book,” I said, roving a critical eye over both objects.

Lord Krishna was the patron God of Nirvaan’s family, and the book was an intricately illustrated romp through Krishna’s early life as a cowherd. The pictures were augmented by well-known hymns and poems.

Krishna was known as the Complete Man in Hindu philosophy. He was a prankster, a flirt, a diplomat, a musician and a great orator. If ever there were classic examples of God’s influence on His believer, Lord Krishna and Nirvaan were them.

“Well,” I said, flipping through the glossy-paged book, “the artwork is beautiful.”

It was. The artist had done a brilliant job of creating the village of Mathura and the forest of Vrindavan where the Lord and His flock of female devotees danced and flirted through the night.

I gave the Om-shaped incense stand a cursory glance. True, my mother-in-law would light incense sticks every morning in their home temple as part of her daily prayer ritual but…

“Give her the book. You chose it because the renderings of Krishna look like Nirvaan, didn’t you? Apart from the skin tones,” I guessed shrewdly.

Lord Krishna was always depicted as a blue-skinned deity.

“That’s why I wanted a second opinion,” said Zayaan, giving me an adorable squinty-eyed grin. “I thought I was being fanciful. Like you.”

Fanciful. Yep, that was me.

I shook my head, letting him know he wasn’t being fanciful. The book would please my mother-in-law. In truth, I fancied it would bring her immense succor to see her son’s face in her Lord.

They said faith in God could relieve us of pain. It was a good thing I had no faith, then, because I didn’t deserve to be free of my pain. Ever.

All rights reserved © Falguni Kothari.
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Friday, May 12, 2017

Free Books and Newsletter Sign Ups

In order to build my email list, as apparently ALL authors are required to do, I've signed up for INSTAFREEBIE - a platform where readers get free books and authors get to build a following. Sounds neat? 
It is. 
I'm giving away a limited number e-copies of the first book I ever wrote and which got published in India by Rupa Publications.
Be sure to sign up HERE for a free download of 
and after you enjoy the book, be lovely and leave me a review on GOODREADS. Oh, and if you want to absolutely make my day, spread the word to all WORDFREAKS. 

Thanks and much love, as always.

Monday, May 8, 2017


A new cover for

My Last Love Story

This daring, evocative story boldly challenges society's conventions about love, relationships and "till death do us part" as it weaves a captivating, revelatory story of a fate-battered woman who tries her best to fulfill her dying husband's last wishes for a baby and a reconciliation with an old flame—their mutual best friend. 
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Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Valentines with a Beauty and her Beast

Happy Valentine's Day!

It's true that most of my stories are an extended VDay celebration. Every page I write, every scene, is an homage to love. And life. But mostly love. Even so, I can't think of a more deserving VDay couple (from my books) than Diya and Krish of Bootie and the BeastTheir story is a modern-day take on the classic fairytale.

“Just what do you have against my possessions, Beast? You’ve developed an obsession with them in a very short time.” She returned his mean look with her hands on her hips.
He’d exchanged his sunglasses for a pair of stylish spectacles. Through the clear glass, his brown eyes seemed huge; his lashes long and dense. He was standing way to close. She shivered. The eyes narrowed a fraction.
“I’m only explaining this because I don’t want to deal with your sarcasm for the next week,” she said hastily before any more shivers came forth. “As the face and body of Scheherazade, I must be seen wearing and using only Scheherazade. I cannot promote any other product or advertise any other label for the two years of my contract—unless my contract with the other brand precedes theirs.”
 His sneer vanished into the woods. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh. Scheherazade is an extremely popular brand retailed throughout Asia and Europe but not so much in the US. That’s why I am travelling with everything and the kitchen sink in those trunks. It’s a necessity, not a choice.” She was surprised when he didn’t make a single snide remark as to her contractual restrictions. She braced for a taunt or two, something along the lines of—If you can’t shop in Dallas, Dee-Dumbs, however will you pass time when I’m off making my gazillions? To which she would reply in breathy sarcasm…
“Want to unpack first or eat or shower?” Krish asked, poking a hole in her fantasy dialogue.
Diya shook her head, as much to clear it as to say no. She was so tired and functioning on sheer force of will, hence the spontaneous daydreaming. It had been a crazy, busy few months and the last two days had sort of bled her energy levels dry. If she was indeed the vampire the tabloid twerp had photo-shopped her as, she’d be snoring inside her coffin after having gorged on a blood-filled vein.
 About the Book“I’ll get to it tomorrow—the unpacking and showering. I’m hungry. I’m sleepy. And I’m sure you need to get back to your office and resume snarling at figures of the numerical and human variety.” Diya strolled into the bedroom alongside Krish.
“Not really.” He slanted an undecipherable look her way. “I’ve taken the day off.”
“Oh! Don’t be silly. You don’t have to baby-sit me.” She flapped a hand at him. “Go to your office, play with your spreadsheets. Punch some numbers. Whatever. I’ll be fine.”
Krish was a Menon to the hilt—the hardest of taskmaster’s. He hated losing work-hours and became an intolerable grouch when he did. It was a testament to his regard for her father that he’d taken the afternoon off to fetch her from the airport in person and not sent a cab. To be fair, he’d sent a cab only the once to pick up his family during a visit a few years ago, due to some emergency at the office. Lee-sha and Savitri Aunty hadn’t made a big deal about that kind of deficient host behavior. Diya wasn’t so forgiving. Family should always come first. But, she was fair as well. He’d settled her in, now he could go.
“I’m not working today, Diya,” he said, in near exasperation.
Oh-kay. She’d heard what she’d heard, not once but twice. Diya checked Krish’s forehead, cheek and throat with the back of her hand. “Nope, no fever. You could be delirious. Low sugar, possibly. Or,” she paused for dramatic effect. “You were kidnapped by a UFO and are now an alien in Krish form.”
He chucked her under her chin. “Smart-ass. Come along, Elf, let me introduce you to your domain—the kitchen.” With a sly smile, he strode away.
She stuck her tongue out at his chauvinist backside but didn’t take umbrage, not when he clearly teased and when it was patently true. It was no secret she loved to cook. Besides, his previous statement trumped all other concerns for her.
She rushed behind him, heels clattering smartly on the wooden floor of the hallway. “I’m confused. Since when do you take days off?”
The Krish Menon she knew did not take days off. He worked twelve to fourteen hour days on most days, sometimes even on Sunday. Work was his religion, numbers were his mantras and profits, projections and spreadsheets were his portals to nirvana. He thrived as a beast of burden.
And as if that confession of sloth wasn’t shocking enough what he said next made Diya trip on the steps leading down to the kitchen and crash into his back.
“What?” she gasped, clutching his arms for support when he spun around to steady her.
Nary a smile or sneer darkened the alien in Krish form. “I have a date. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

Excerpt from Bootie and the Beast © Falguni Kothari

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

New Year, New Excerpt

Well, long time, no see...

As an apology for disappearing from this blog for many moons, here's a small-ish excerpt of my work-in-progress for Graydon House. I'm all into this story, Peeps. But my problem is that until I get the beginning absolutely right, I cannot move ahead on the rest. I think I may have got it. Crossing fingers.

Excerpt from #TFYC © Falguni Kothari

He began to rain kisses on my face. He nipped my jaw, teased my ear, licked my collarbone. His face was ruddy with satisfaction. And love. The scar on his chin that he’d gotten as a child had turned a dark red where I’d bit him. The rest of him glistened, and I felt my pores open too. His blue-blue eyes watched me with humor and a good doze of fatigue. He was tired even if he didn’t say it. I was glad I’d decided against going down to dinner. I wanted to take care of my man. I ran a hand through the jet-black thickness of his hair, which tended to curl just above his shoulder. Just four years and yet he was as familiar to me as my own face. Every freckle, every scar, every hair follicle, so very dear. I’d missed him so much this past week, especially since we’d parted on a lie. My lie.

“I lo...,” I began to whisper, to correct my mistake, and ended up incoherently shrieking the rest of my words as the room phone screeched into existence. My heart, beeping with love and affection a second ago, slammed against my chest like the Hammer of Thor against bad guys. Wild with fright, my eyes fell on the culprit—a quirky 1980s-style phone on the nightstand.

More to come, intermittently...

And here's hoping that 2017 is an awesome year!