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!