An excerpt from the chapter: 'The Significance of the Day'

Mumbaikars were a lot more different when it came to observing important occasions. Corporate houses were gearing up as part of their statutory corporate social responsibility. They were all ready to showcase their concerns on this day, and why not. It was helping them improve their social standing, their business concerns and only Gods knew whether it was a sensitive issue, close to their hearts. They were all poised to engage in a myriad and innovative range of self-promotional activities. There were to be paintings on the walls, photo-exhibitions, bicycle rallies, plantation drives, pollution under control check-ups for cars and what not.

A renowned hotel was planning to organize a rally-cum-plantation drive, and in their attempt to earn the maximum share of credentials, they had been advertising their concerns much in advance, almost a month. It was made mandatory for a section of the staff deployed in self-serving interests to be present on this day in the spotless white T-shirts exhibiting their company’s green name and logo. All were made to ready themselves for the show with their placards, sun-boards and banners, bearing awareness messages and slogans, exhorting passersby for their support. And, even with their company’s prominent logo, they were supposed to try hard not to look self-serving during the entire exercise.

The day was looking like most mass-entities were out to derive maximum share of kudos in support of the noble cause. For some cycling-enthusiasts it was the most opportune occasion to kick-off their idea of promoting cycling to work. In their enthusiasm, they were not even giving a damn to their very own ground realities. Only washer-men, milk-men, newspaper vendors and ‘dabbawalas’ were the seasoned and humble ones depending on their black, locally made bikes for their daily business. 

And with poor road surfaces, potholes, missing pavement blocks, heat, rain, traffic, coupled with its low-status image, the idea was impractical, a huge misfit in a place fond of projecting sheer flamboyance. 

An excerpt from the chapter: 'Abode of the Gods'

Beasts were beasts, neither civilized nor bonded. They were at complete liberty, enjoying full freedom of choice. Their domains were their birth-right and gifted to them, naturally. Unaware of God’s divine vigilance and control, all were engaged in proving their utility without price-tags, paying costs at their own costs. The unending games of livelihood were, no doubt, typical, with moments to prey or be preyed. It was an ongoing affair of skirmishes and flashpoints, an unending toss between God’s priceless lives and deaths.  

The encounters were in varying degrees, mean and simple precursors to the choicest menu souls wished to be laid for their feasts. The wild trade was free and absolutely fair, in stark contrast to the ways of the modern world, sans taxes, levies or surcharges, without malpractices or propaganda wars. All deals were closing with full and final settlements with life and minor discounts of a few terminal breaths were rare.

All terms of trade were unambiguous, unequivocal, unwritten, sans asterisks and fine prints, where successful entrepreneurs were neither devising well laid out game-plans nor short or long-term strategies. Instead, all were working intuitively, refraining from exploiting their environs, utilizing only their innate abilities to camouflage, blend or adapt. The bigger and powerful players were the privileged ones, asserting exclusive territorial rights for their businesses. Otherwise, there were no assigned roles and boundaries, no distinctions between preys and predators. It was all a game of role reversals, a matter of time, with no one in the know when preys would turn into predators and predators, preys.

The place was in isolation from the die-hard materialistic world where there were no misunderstandings fuelling the time-tested tactic of divide and rule. Murders and suicides were unheard of, and life was continuing to flourish when the gravest challenge to life was nothing but life. Here, uncertainties were always certain, but certain uncertainties were never certain. There was no world wide web of endless ambitions and lifetimes of self-deceit. There was an end to reckless exploitation that, otherwise, was draining out chivalrous enthusiasm from the veins of modern urbanites. Without cozy board-rooms, there was no scope of hatching white-collar conspiracies.

And, only a bird’s small eye was the best witness to this sprawling view of blackish greenery. It was sheer bliss for the Eagles while they were in their heightened stride of ecstasy. For the ominous bearded vultures, the density of foliage was nothing but ridiculous, divine frustration, a big hindrance in exercising their hunger-reserved rights. They could neither feast on the dead, nor derive soul soothing satisfaction from their whiff of alluring stink.

The richness of flora and fauna was in such extremes that the Creator was seemingly mesmerized and was left with no choice, whatsoever. It had drawn a veil for the over-zealous, hungry eyes keeping this unresolved mystery under shrouds. There was either a widespread sheet of mist or a fluffy cushion of floating cumulus.

And, no doubt, it was the abode of the Gods. Greed was less and resources, abundant. The vast virgin expanse was retaining its pristine glory and escaping the onslaught of lust, greed and curiosity. Within this world of ancient wilderness, a harmonious relationship of man with nature was nurturing, laws were abstract but were being solemnly observed, rarely trespassed. Yet, everything, here, was extremely vulnerable to the misconstruction of civilized interpretations… and there were fears of its  sinistrous exposure at the cruel pangs of overriding time.

Why a Literary Fiction instead of Romance/Erotica, Crime/Mystery or Religious/Inspirational??

This New Year, I tell all my avowed readers something that is lesser known...

The entire process of finalizing the manuscript took almost three years, since I was working on it only in my spare time.

But God forbid, these three years weren't as good.

I was badly in need of encouragement.

My friends and my well-wishers were all up against my decision of making my debut with a literary fiction.

They thought I was crazy, having no idea of popular genres. But, in fact, they were trying to drive me crazy by their unsolicited advice.

Some said Romance/Erotica was hot, selling at $1.44 billion. Some said if you cannot write Romance/Erotica given your age, try Crime/Mystery instead. It stands at $728.2 million.

Better still, some suggested Religious/Inspirational at $720 million or Science Fiction/Fantasy at $590.2 million.

For some, even Horror wasn't bad at $79.6 million.

And crazy I really were.

I knew Literary Fiction was not topping the charts.

I was really passionate, daring to strive my way up against the fast flowing river. I was putting in extra efforts rather than taking advantage and flowing the way every one flowing.

I was crazy about the story line and its purpose way ahead I started writing.

I knew I were driving home a very pressing point.

And...

In in the history of over one decade of writing, no author had dared to write a fiction without dialogues.

That, too, was motivating.

That's why I continued and continued.

The tedious task of editing one's own work, and proof reading it, is only a fraction of the full story that the world gets to know!

All for the sake of a cause I was passionately involved with.