Death Of A Novel

COVID pandemic did not take lives alone; in its all-pervasive wrath, it took toll of many things those were even not remotely connected with the virus per se. These are not required to save a life in the literal sense. Notable amongst them are varieties of things though outwardly mundane but are required to keep the sanity of the learned person intact. I am saying this because for a learned person life without books is no life No, it’s not me who is saying this, Saint Dnyaneshwar has already said it 800 years ago. The entire book industry has come to standstill because of this irritating rascal that was unheard only a year ago. Right from publishing, to marketing to selling a book has become thing of the past. With no book shop open and even if they are, when the virus is breathing down your neck, literarily, who has guts to venture out for, apart from the things required for the day to day existence. And in the process my novel;” The Heir” died untimely death!

But the first things first.

Around the turn of the millennium I chanced to read the novel; ‘God of Small things’ by Arundhati Roy. Like a curse, it won some literal prize and since then we are suffering an inane, vacuous, mostly pompous, media made celebrity no end, who else than this Arundhati Roy. If you ask me, of course, it’s my personal opinion; the entire novel is much ado about nothing. Threadbare germ, absolutely no longer than a tapeworm woven, in Malayalam ambience with recognizable characters that could have pan Indian existence. It made me think, why not, I too should pen down the trials and tribulations of my community, my caste. And let me tell you if you just scratch away the outer cover, the layer that separates one from the others in the name of caste[All inclusive, not Brahmins alone. On the contrary caste hierarchy is more rigid if one goes away from the Brahmins. It is observed even more meticulously amongst the so-called upper and lower castes.  I am not saying lower down deliberately because the term in itself is derogatory.] the inner core of the so-called castes, all, all in toto, neither higher nor lower, is practically the same. They have the same skeletons hidden in their cupboards under the garb of values, traditions and traditional rituals. Being born as a Brahmin, I went through my share of them unknowingly when I was a child or a young teen and even knowingly sometimes as an adult. As I grew, everyone does, but without delving deep inside oneself or one’s heritage, that is accepted as essential baggage, to top with profound pride, in the end making it vacuous, even insane at times, I started noticing the idiosyncrasies in the system, mostly in my caste as I was born in it so was closer to it, but on a broader level in the entire system!

I started penning it down way back in 2001 or 2002. At times I was hitting the keys even as late as 2 or 3 AM in the morning after a tiring disastrous day. I completed the main skeleton maybe in 5 to 6 months but writing, rewriting editing, fashioning took almost maybe 2 to 3 years. When the manuscript was completed I was not sure of myself, my writing, as up to 7th grade I had studied in Marathi medium. And I had written it in English. Reason being, by that time many of my blogs were published in English and English as a language came fluently to me, and secondly, rather more importantly the contents were dealing with everyday occurrences for common Marathi family so the novel on their day to day tribulations was not all a novelty for Marathi readers. ;

Next 3 years went in vain searching for a publisher. I then realized that there is hardly any publisher in Mumbai that publishes novels in English. Most of the big publishing houses are in Delhi. And it was physically beyond me to put a stay in Delhi, for months together, required by the Publisher may be for refurbishing the manuscript again and again. I was ready to toil but was short of time. So the book was relegated practically to the abyss for more than 12 to 13 years. The only solace came from my then young son,” Baba you enjoyed writing it, isn’t it, and then take it as love’s labour lost!”

Suddenly after 15 years, I came across a book by my previous tenant that was published by Notion Press from Chennai. They help the neo writers to publish whatever, really whatever they have scribbled. When I made the primary enquiries I was asked; ‘Whether I have the book ready?’ It was. And then the rest is history.

Unfortunately due to a variety of constraints I had decided to publish it only as an online publication. It was published on Feb 20 at the hands of my friends, college mates, in the class reunion.

It got a standing ovation. Many of them bought the book online but then Corona happened and everything came to zero due to lockouts. Naturally, courier services were suspended and my firstborn literal effort died untimely death! Amazon withdrew the book from the list for want of readers, as I have said earlier when you are in dire need of Mask and/or sanitizer a book would be the last thing on your mind.

Now the things are brightening up. Lockout is being lifted gradually. Courier services are restarted. So….Go ahead and order my novel ‘The Heir’ from

notionpress.com directly! 

P.S: I am being asked to publish my second book by a renowned Bookhouse. At the primary level of negotiations I was told,

 “As I was not Rowling and as I was not writing Harry Potter, I’ll have to bear initial expenses.”

“Okay, understood. How much would that be?”

“2.5 lacs for 500 copies!’

I wondered to myself, are they joking? It means that per copy would come at Rs 500 as only publishing cost. Publisher further added I’ll get only 60% of per copy sold. It boils down to publisher pocketing 40% per copy above the primary expenditure of Rs2.5 lacs. And there is no guarantee of the sale. Of course. I am neither Amish nor Chetan Bhagat!

In short, I was supposed to shell out Rs 2.5 lacs to fill their pockets to satisfy my vacuous itch of “Published Author!”

Thanks and no thanks!

Vibgyor

Vibgyor

I was very good at drawing and painting since my school days and I used to get 100% marks always. My fascination for colours goes back to my childhood, but if anyone asked me which one do I like, my answer was always ‘White’! Why I don’t know but the plethora of colours was restricted to drawing paper only. Was it because I was on the darker side and anything that’s away from it was welcome. And so of course the ultimate was white!

As I grew older and started getting over the dogma about my complexion I was told, girls like ‘Tall, Dark and Handsome!’ Effect of ‘Mills and Boons’ heroes. I was/am tall, dark. Handsome? Maybe, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, but my son is acceptably handsome and now people say that I looked like him when I was younger [River sometimes does flow in reverse!] But that’s not the point.

When I started playing with colours, naturally, the next step was their connotations. And there it was. Not only colour-wise but interpretation wise too there were myriads of shades, of emotion, symbolization, hidden meanings and so many avatars of the human facade.

It is not surprising that these given meanings to the colours vary from culture to culture from country to country, religion not lagging far behind.

Red for that matter is colour of blood, in a way colour of life, for a doctor like me. Because if it’s not red, it means you are dead. But not for the common man on the street, for him ‘It’s Bloody hell! ’At one level, it dons the avatar of danger in most of the civil societies. Simple traffic lights too shout, ‘Wait, its danger ahead!’ Blaring sirens of firefighters declare loudly about the danger around the corner and they again are Red in colour! In today’s scenario, it’s not at all surprising because they practically are ruling over the entire world. The colour of happiness in China is Red! How apt and at the same time paradoxical, the world is under the danger of Corona, Red and China is enjoying at the cost of the world economy, Red, I am happy! Almost Schizophrenic!

Blue, maybe having different layers of meanings at different levels. Crystal clear blue sky is an invitation to fly, to adventure. It’s a macho colour reserved for the boys but at the same time, it’s the colour of mental illness! When one gets blues, he/she/it is gone! But in Christianity Mary always wears Blues, as she and the colour symbolizes, serenity spirituality and wisdom! Far from one having Blues!

The one who has not seen Shah Rukh Khan prancing in the yellow fields of mustard has not seen the Bollywood! Yellow is colour of brightness, of sunshine when it’s not harsh! To sip a warm, steaming cup of ginger laced tea in the early winter mornings when the sun rays give golden-yellow hue to everything around, is just divine. The silky touch of yellow hue lifts your spirits to a different high, without loading real spirits! And then one wonders, why the colour of cowardice is yellow? Or that of a biased person who is supposed to have ‘jaundice’ and everything he sees is just yellow to him!

Brown brings everybody to their feet, even if you are flying high in the blue skies miles above. It’s the colour of earthiness. To have feet firmly on terra firma is the sign of ultimate macho, a person who is completely in control of himself and the surrounding, whether the people or the situation. But it’s also the colour of devastation along with ash because after any catastrophe the Mother Nature comes in her real form covering everything in the colour of mud!

Green is the colour of envy? I really don’t get why? In a real sense, it’s the colour of prosperity and youth. An oldie who maintains his youth even in advanced age, isn’t he ‘Green’? I remembered words of famous writer Mr P L Deshpande while landing down on the Cairo Airport. Miles and miles of dry and arid desert in ‘Hafiz Contractor’ hue burns your eyes. To select colour Green for his religion in such environs Prophet Mohammad was visionary par excellence. Green gives such a soothing in that barren terrain, that it literarily lifts up all your senses. When dry parched earth gets her first drop of rain after a scorching summer, she celebrates it by giving birth to a young sapling donning bright green, the colour of rebirth, regeneration!

Vibgyor! The plethora of colours, selected by the LGBT community, not for nothing. They want to encompass all the hues and shades, no biases, no prejudices!

But really that’s not the point of this blog. Black and white! Are the colours in the true sense or just the shades? Or have they gone beyond that and have divided the world in two where yellows and browns don’t count!

The movement ‘Black Lives Matter’ does have serious connotations beyond the words alone. Though as declared at the start, I like ‘White’, I now have serious doubts. The history tells us, the White has maligned its own meaning. We worship the Sun because that’s the only thing which makes us, our planetary system. Our very survival started with it, going on with it and is going to end with it. So for centuries, we are worshipping that’s ‘Bright, warm and white!’ Automatically it started brewing in all societies that something, when it’s not bright or white, is ‘Dark’ ‘Black’, in the end sinister. Till the time it was metaphoric, like, ‘Black Money, Black magic, Black Deeds’ it could be understood, in the artistic sense but when it percolated down to human beings as racial discrimination, it has to be realized that the time has come to reject it, abhor it, revolt against it! The whites are instrumental in wiping away Natives Americans from the Americas, Maoris and aborigines down south, and have thrust the atrocities on the locals wherever they landed with ulterior motives, be it India or Africa.

The Vibgyor when comes together makes white. Today the very essence of it is at stake. Does really the amount of melanin under your skin is that important? To say ‘Black is beautiful’ amounts to accept the very notion, as it is coined to negate the supremacy of white. Let’s all just say, “It does not matter, what matters are lives, of all!”