I'm neither an English nor Italian,but an Indian. When i was,so far as i can remember,eleven or twelve i read the a book borrowed from an elder brother. This was translated in Bengali. The story of 'Pinocchio' then struck me most, and like a pearl to a farmer,kept it safely. One day i told to my friend about the story and he also wanted to read it. But came the day of which i feared most,it was lost. Like a priest searching the God,i asked every book-sailer about the story of 'Pinocchio' but in vain. Nowhere the expectation became fulfilled. I thought that the pearl was lost in the ocean,i would never get it return.
Today,i find it ,and with it came a heavy wave of feelings which was lost so far into the clouds.