"Sometimes, Waiting For The Right Time Or The Right Product Is A Better Bet"

If you haven’t read The Homing Pigeons, then, well, you should. It is one of those pieces of beauty that is always a delicious treat to any avid book reader.

To read the full review of The Homing Pigeons, click here.

Today, I am in conversation with Sid Bahri, the author of The Homing Pigeons.

Congratulations Sid on your debut novel. It was a pleasure reading it and we would like to know more about you.

In case you find any question offensive, you can skip it. I apologize in advance for such instances.

The Homing Pigeons have been receiving rave reviews everywhere. Did you expect such a heart-warming reception to your debut?

I’m happy that the book is so well received. I’d be lying if I said I expected my book to be a dud but I didn’t expect this overwhelming response either. The Homing Pigeons took five years to be completed and published. It was written by night while I was working a day job. It was rejected by various publishers. Yet, when a reader or a reviewer appreciates it – it all seems worth it.

How did you conceive the plot of The Homing Pigeons?

Quite by accident. When the book started out in early 2008, it was only Aditya’s story and his journey during the recession. When I revived the book in 2012, I thought that I’d add a character of Radhika, who was a millionaire widow. It could have been a love story between a widow and a gigolo but I didn’t think I’d be able to do justice to that story. Also, because I was trying to catch up on Aditya’s story that was written earlier, I thought that I could build a story around their past and I did.

The story has been told in first person narrative, alternating between the two characters. As a writer, how was this journey of shifting from one character to the other, understanding their point of views and presenting them distinctly?

I don’t think that was half as challenging as writing in two separate tenses. It was highly distracting to shift from one tense to another. It also meant having to read the manuscript over and over again. Overall, writing the book has been an exceptionally enriching experience. I’ve tried to use a unique narrative technique and thankfully, it’s come out well.

Tell us something about yourself, about your upbringing and your family.

I grew up in Chandigarh and Delhi and spent most of my adult life in Delhi and Gurgaon. Today, I live in the hills of Ranikhet, having given up my career in the outsourcing industry to follow my passion of writing. I’ve been able to do it because of the support of my wife – Puneet.

As a child, I was a voracious reader. I guess I inherited that from my mother. She encouraged me to read and maybe, that’s why I’ve been able to learn to write from a lot of authors.

Which authors inspire you the most? Apart from authors, who are your role models?

I like Jeffrey Archer, Ken Follett, and Sheldon amongst others. I read The Help by Kathryn Stockett while I was writing The Homing Pigeons and I knew that I had to change my narrative style into a first person account. I think in that sense, Kathryn Stockett would be my inspiration.

I think Steve Jobs is another person that has left me inspired.

Let’s imagine that your story is reproduced as a movie. If you are the film-maker, which Bollywood actors would you like to play the roles of Aditya and Radhika?

Aditya – Aamir Khan; Radhika – kajol. Two great actors who can do justice to the characters. I just hope their dates aren’t a problem ;-)

How would you describe your whole journey right from the conceptualization of the plot to the publication?

My journey into publishing has been fairly bumpy. The manuscript got rejected by various publishing houses before Srishti agreed to publish it. Even before that, it was a challenge to find the time to write whilst working in a full time job. I think one of the most defining moments in my journey as an author was when Mrs Bhagat – Chetan and Ketan Bhagat’s mother called me to tell me that she really liked the book. It’s those instances that make me feel that the pain was worth it.

What would you like to say all aspiring writers?

Writing a book is a very difficult job. It takes months, sometimes years to create a book and even then it may be rejected. There is only one way to deal with it – by being honest with yourself that your art is worth the market. I trashed the first book I wrote because it wasn’t worth a read. Sometimes, waiting for the right time or the right product is a better bet.

What would be your message to the readers?

I’d love to hear from you. I’m reachable on twitter, facebook, e-mail or my website. Your views about the book will help me improve. If you’ve liked or disliked the book, do drop me a line to tell me how I can give you better stuff in times to come.

Finally, after The Homing Pigeons, what next?

There is a sequel that’s being edited and then there is another book that refuses to complete itself. Right now, the promotions for The Homing Pigeons is taking up a lot of my time. I’m not being able to write as quickly as I normally would.

Thanks a lot Sid for your time. All the best for your current and future goals.

It’s been a pleasure answering the questions, Amrit. Thank you for having me over on your blog.

Ballet

Oh, those azure eyes

how he wished he had asked her

to ballet tonight

This Haiku is shared with Haiku Heights - Ballet.

Shepherd

princess sways

to shepherd's tune

no prying eyes

no prying eyes

love needs no mean guide

eyes show the path

This Haiku is shared with Haiku Heights - Shepherd.

Neil Must Die - Review

When his brother's newly-wedded young wife, Tuli, falls in love with Neil, it is considered blasphemy in the conservative Bengali household.

With his own emotions and sense of justice congesting him, Neil decides to run off from the cataclysm. Aimless, rootless, he is soon drawn into untoward methods of survival and self-destruction. But then he learns that Tuli is expecting his child. This is when Neil decides to turn around and take life by the throat. And then, life decides to slip out his hands and Gods decide Neil must die...

About The Author

Kaberi Chatterjee is a journalist-turned-author-turned teacher, born in India and grew up in a stately house under a conservative joint family system. She spent most of her childhood lost in her mysterious, huge house. Her imagination was fueled from here and she began writing poems and stories from the age of six. Born a Hindu and a Bengali, Kaberi attended an English medium Christian school where she grew up in learning about Christianity, singing hymns and carols. Kaberi grew up becoming a humanitarian by religion and spiritual by belief.

As she blossomed into a young girl, she saw life's realities and got deeply affected with the extent of poverty, hunger, unhappiness, corruption and hypocrisy around her. Soon she realized it was very difficult for a young mind to adopt a definite path of righteousness under these circumstances. Her own pain tortured her. Escapism was the sole resort. These thoughts gave birth to Neil and she wrote Neil Must Die.

“Neil Must Die” – so says the author, but do we agree? True, Neil isn't mortal, and neither is he a saint. He is sketched in black and white, the complexion of his character basking in the shades of grey, not the type of hero we would idolize. “Neil Must Die” – so says the author, but do we agree?

Neil lives his life, and then runs away from it, only to try coming back to his own self. As we roll over the pages in anticipation, the constant urge to walk with Neil, and to fight with the world alongside him, flows parallely within us. We succumb to his gentleness at times, and then try to evade his raw rustic persona when situations are unfavorable, oblivious to the fact that we are gradually falling in love with Neil.

And then there is Tuli. A girl so vibrant, lively and brimming with life, perhaps her name symbolizes her nature. She is ‘Tuli’, a paint brush, painting the canvas with her own set of dreams and imaginations, often challenging norms and pursuing habits one may term as blasphemous. But then, you can’t, and you won’t blame her, ‘cause you simply fall in love with her.

For all male readers, Tuli is that girl you often craved for in your fantasies, perfect yet bordering around imperfection, and that’s what makes her all the more appealing. For all the female readers, Tuli is the friend you would have loved to have during your teens, climbing trees, smoking in hushed silences, and laughing all day.

Tuli is pretty, and she knows it. She can be childish and mature at the same time. She wishes to fly loose, and then restrains herself at times. Tuli is the girl we know, and yet we do not recognize her.

Neil falls in love with Tuli, his brother’s wife, and the story catches pace. This is the segment I loved reading the most – their passionate love making combined with the fear and confusion that comes coupled with such a relationship. While they are madly in love with each other, they can’t confess it to the outer world due to obvious reasons. The friction in their relationship, the turmoil within their souls, and the angst in their hearts heightens the curiosity of the readers, and that turns out to be the biggest plus point of this book.

However, the author tries to dabble with different genres, shifting from romance to thriller to crime, and perhaps that’s where the plot starts dragging a bit. I, as a reader, would have loved it, if the author had focused only on the love story and not tried to venture into the other genres.

Credit should go to the author to have come forward with beautiful protagonists who will stay forever in the minds of the readers for long. Tuli in particular captures you heart, and you wish her to be happy with Neil. You question fate when they face tough times, but sometimes, destiny too is etched by the writer’s pen.

 “Neil Must Die” – so says the author, but do we agree? Read this novel, and let me know.

Title: Neil Must Die
Author: Kaberi Chatterjee
Publisher: Blackbuck Publication
Binding: Paperback
No. of Pages: 264
My Rating: 4/5

Thunder

(Image Source: http://lilliemcferrin.com/five-sentence-fiction-thunder/)

It never rains without a warning, and tonight she heard loud thunders, bellowing somewhere high up in the heavens.

The line went dead; the unspoken decisions were taken, as her voice staggered in the lonely night, choking with the streams of tears that threatened to smear her kohl-lined eyes.

Work had to be done, quickly, efficiently, and time was running out.

She wore her raincoat and gum boots and crept onto the wet streets, the clouds shouting at her, but in vain.

Her hands slid into the pocket of her faded denim; the metal of the gun felt cold, and soothing, and she smiled for the first time in several days.


This Micro-Fiction is shared with Five Sentence Fiction - Thunder.

Endless Skies

sketched in paper

the endless skies and the stars

her joyous scribbling

This Haiku is shared with Carpe Diem - Endless Skies.

Don't Think Of A Blue Ball - Review

Don't Think of a Blue Ball is as light or as deep as you want it to be, depending on how Plugged In you are while reading it. It aims to give you all you need to truly live the life you want and be joyful as you pursue your dreams and desires. Plug In and do the effective, tried-and-tested, exercises derived from Malti Bhojwani's extensive study and hours of coaching her clients. This book includes scientific explanations where needed, wisdom from timeless philosophers and authors, teachings from the scriptures together with the author's own personal poignant experiences to beautifully illustrate how you too can live a life you desire instead of one of default. For the first time, an easy to read book that entwines humor, simple analogies and a firm voice in twelve chapters to show you how to make lasting changes in all areas of your life by making empowering decisions that will instantly help you experience joyous living. You will not only learn how to take action towards your desired life by following steps like in many other self-help books, but also how to change the way you talk to yourself, enabling you to feel, walk and dream in a state that will magnetise everything you desire even while you sleep. Don't Think of o Blue Ball will help you become aware of who you are being twenty-four hours a day and how to create a successful life by being a manifesting body that radiates joy and gratitude.

As a life Coach she aims to serve, not to fix or to help. Malti Bhojwani is the founder of Multi Coaching International, a professional certified life Coach with the International Coach Federation (ICF), NIP practitioner (Neuro Linguistic Programming) and an author. She coaches using her empathetic enquiry that leads her clients to personal empowerment, fulfilled goals and consistent success. Being a life-long learner, she is also mastering Ontological Coaching with Newfield Network to hone her skills, as she still considers herself only a 'white-belter' in the field of personal transformation. Born in Singapore in May 1971, she lived in Jakarta for many years, though she spent most of her adult life in Sydney, Australia where her grown-up daughter Drishti lives. Her first published work, Thankfulness Appreciation Gratitude My Journal has gone into several reprints.

Life is a lesson that we all go through, and yet there are numerous occasions when we fail to understand the intricacies associated with it. We fail, and we get depressed. We blame poor fate and get absorbed in all the negativity that the dark energy has to offer. Some become too burdened with this weight that they forget the true essence of living.

Malti Bhojwani’s Don’t Think Of A Blue Ball addresses these very same issues. It is a self-help guide that flows lucidly with wise anecdotes and interesting snippets of stories based on real life events. The author describes several experiences of her own lives and explains how she dealt with those situations. The book traverses the journey of the author as she rises through her hardship to finally become a Life Coach and an inspirational writer.

It is this journey that makes the book special. The chapters are real, and you can relate to them. There will be times when you would sit up and exclaim, “Hey! This is written for me.” The author does a good job with collating bits and pieces of her life’s experiences and weaving them in words. She narrates the various phases of her life and the struggle accompanied with them, which in turn provides us the motivation to work harder towards eliminating our obstacles and setting our sights determinedly on our goals.

Malti Bhojwani illustrates the power of manifestations, and how positive thinking can take us to our target. We often ponder on ‘if onlys’, ‘should haves’ and ‘could haves’, thus bounding our thoughts to the unwanted events of the past. As a result, we fail to identify the brightness of the present, and fear to embrace the future. This book seeks to empower the minds of the readers, providing them with the confidence to look and plan ahead.

The twelve chapters in the book are neatly etched, each dealing with various topics that rule our emotions and lives. For example, the author talks about plugging into a higher source and energy to better realize the purpose and meaning of life. Often we get distracted by events that are not to our liking. The book plots the points that would help us in going back to the right track.

What I really liked were the practical exercises that the author has highlighted. There are several ‘do-it-yourself' activities which can be followed by the readers. As a result, the readers can connect better with the words in the book. The author doesn't elaborate the concepts in a preachy manner. Rather, she justifies the points in a scientific way, thus stressing upon the saying that we can live our life the way we want to.

The language used is easy which tends to light reading. However, at some places, there are repetitions that slows down the pace of the book. Perhaps, it would have been a more compelling read had these been avoided. But then again, several points mentioned in this book were inter-related, and thus repetitive mentions at some places were inevitable.

All in all, this book serves as a good self-help guide. It helps you to understand your life better, and motivates you to achieve your dreams. 

Title: Don't Think Of A Blue Ball

Author: Malti Bhojwani

Publisher: Om Books International

Publication Year: 2012

Binding: Paperback

Genre: Self Help, Personal Growth

No. Of Pages: 240

My Rating: 3/5

Buy this book here.

This book review is a part of The Readers Cosmos Book Review Program. To get free books visit thereaderscosmos.blogspot.com.

I Am Blessed

She is nothing short of an enigma, perhaps more angelic than human. You will get a whiff of her dreamy halo the moment you talk to her, the solitude within your heart evaporating, condensing in the form of a blissful rain that lazily penetrates the pores of your arid heart.

"Are you real?" I asked her once. She smiled in response.

Often I have been enamored by her beauty. The distinct radiance emanating from her silken smile does more harm than good. It makes me lose my memory, and deviates me from the chain of thoughts that I had weaved all this while, leaving me blank and clueless. Like an idiot, I just stare at her, and she, making a mockery of my distressed state, laughs, knocking me over further.

Irrational relationships are undefined. Our friendship do not boast of years of togetherness, neither scores high in compatibility parameters. We are different in many ways, yet bound by a unique, unseen commonality that helps us wade through sullen climate and rejoice the happy ones.

We had our shares of rough weathers too; often falling prey to misunderstandings that nullify our senses and vacate the emotions in our hearts. We have fought, cried, and avoided each other. Yet, this inexplicable bond brings us back to normalcy all the time. We acknowledge the faults, and we continue being in this camaraderie.

In ways more than one, she is special. Very special.

At times when I am low, I give her a call, and her soft whispering voice soothes my soul. I realize then that all problems can be overcome if she is there with me, holding my hands.

Trust me, she is nothing short of an enigma, perhaps more angelic than human. You will get a whiff of her dreamy halo the moment you talk to her, the solitude within your heart evaporating, condensing in the form of a blissful rain that lazily penetrates the pores of your arid heart.

And it is then that I know - "I am blessed."



This Micro-Fiction is shared with Three Word Wednesday.

A Lonesome Bat

a lonesome bat

hanging from the branches

he knows no friend

he knows no friend

as he flies through the caves

night after night

night after night

he watches the moon

designing the skies

designing the skies

the moon plays with him

hide and seek

hide and seek

one night, the moon was lost

in the maze of clouds

in the maze of clouds

the bat traveled here and there

but in vain

but in vain

hanging from the branches

a lonesome bat

This Haiku is shared with Haiku Heights - Bat.

Essence Of Madness

As the two hands of the clock conjoined, I found myself standing outside my house; the office cab that had dropped me here was now flying away in full gear, befriending the dust of clouds that followed it in this moonless night. I took out the key from my wallet and unlocked the door. Having pursued my school education in a hostel in the hilly areas of Darjeeling, and then my engineering in a residential university on the outskirts of West Bengal, I was accustomed to staying away from my family. However, my current job provided me the luxury of spending time with my parents, as I was posted in Kolkata, my hometown.

My parents were already deep asleep. I silently opened the door trying not to wake them up. I stepped into our drawing room and took a deep breath. It was dark except a faint light from the diya lighted in front of Ganesh-ji’s idol. A wonderful you-are-home aroma filled the room from the agarbatti sticks mom lighted for Ganesh-ji before she went to bed.

Another hectic day had passed and the project delivery went successfully. The client was satisfied, and thus was my manager. I seemed to be heading on the right track towards my promotion.

I looked around. I was surrounded with a lavish set of furniture, sophisticated home decorations, and expensive electronic gadgets. I was satisfied. It was a perfect life.

I sunk into the cosy couch, and lighted a cigarette. I inhaled the smoke, let it fill my lungs and do its regular slow damage, and then exhaled. Ah! It was relaxing. I went into the kitchen, and soon was back with a cup of hot tea. Tea went best with cigarettes (worst health wise). As I took my first sip, that strange unique aroma, a mixture of cigarette, tea, and agarbatti smokes, suddenly sent a weird thrill down my spine. The smell was so familiar. There was something so delightfully exhilarating about it, yet something was missing. I tried hard to figure out what, as I loosened the knot of my tie, and then it all came rushing back from past. I got up and sprayed the room with Ambi Pur room freshener -the missing link. In the next few minutes, in the dark, filled with a fragrance of cigarette, agarbatti, tea and room freshener, I walked eight years down the memory lane.

I was sitting on the bed of my stingy hostel room, smoking, with a textbook in my hand. Two single cots were joined together to make enough space for four guys.

Rahul entered with an aluminium kettle in one hand, and a pile of four empty glasses in the other. Manoj was still making rough notes while Satish nervously flipped through the previous years’ papers. We just had two more packs of cigarette and fourteen long hours left before it would be morning. I was starting to worry if we had enough supply of fag to last the whole night. It was the night before the exam-the night when no one slept.

As Rahul handed the glasses, Manoj screamed agitatedly, “Can’t any of you see that my cig’s over? Light me another!”

I immediately handed him my cigarette.

We treated Manoj like God. He was the only one among us with the willpower and brain to fathom those Hebrew lines of the undecipherable subjects of Electronics Engineering on the very last night before exam. We would light him cigarettes (like my mom lighted agarbattis to Lord Ganesha), bring him tea and worshipped him. He would jot down all the key points for us to remember easily, which, of course, we would be too sleepy to read ourselves, and then he would read them out loud to us.

But as it happened, we always used to score about a grade lesser than him, in every subject. Firstly, it was an enigma. But Rahul dug a little deeper and found out that he always elaborately omitted a couple of topics when he taught us. I was hurt.

We were soon chanting the prayer-like lines as narrated by Manoj, when suddenly our hearts simultaneously froze with the knock at the door. There was only one man who could be here at this hour- the Devil himself-our hostel warden. He had a bad reputation of giving late night rounds to check if any boys were indulged in  illegal stuffs inside the rooms, and we were-smoking!

If we got caught, it would lead to an hour long lecture, followed by the dreaded suspension.

We instinctively threw our cigarettes out but it still smelled distinctly of tobacco. After all, we were in the world’s smallest confined space where maximum number of cigarettes had been smoked in the minimum amount of time.

“Light the agarbattis, light the agarbattis!” hissed Rahul under his breath.

We always had agarbattis though all of us were atheists.

I lighted a bunch of agarbattis, as Satish went spraying the room freshener all around.

“We can’t light agarbattis without some God’s idol or photo or something!” Satish squeaked.

“We don’t have one!” I blabbered.

“What do you mean?” Manoj shouted at me, “You know your room is the study room and you don’t have hazard safety equipment! What do we do now?”

The knocks continued, as we heard the man shout, “I can hear you speak, open up!”

I mumbled awkwardly, “we need a God, we need a God.”

That’s when Manoj pulled out a loose sheet of paper and drew the world’s most hurriedly drawn Krishna-ji. We placed it on the wall behind the table on which the agarbattis now stood.

Satish opened the door.

“Yes, sir”, he smiled broadly, “Come in. You have come in the right time. We were just doing our night-before-the-exam puja.”

“What puja?” asked the warden.

We all relaxed tremendously. Instead of asking, “What smell?” he asked something else. Anything else was good.

“Like you know, we are very religious. We pray every night before the exam. See four agarbattis, each from one of us.”

“What is that thing? Where is the idol or picture of your God?”

“Look, sir,” I remarked, trying to sound convincing even though my voice was as shaky as the mobile phone’s vibration, “It is our belief that if we create the picture with our own hands, Krishna-ji will be happier. In case you do not have such beliefs, please do not join our puja.”

The warden frowned.

“Just light the agarbattis, no need to fake a puja. Some people may actually find that more offending than smoking,” he said.

We froze. Satish, the weakest, was going to burst into tears.

“Anyways,” he continued, “Next time I catch you smoking, you are coming to the principal’s office. Now study hard. Only God can save you, if you don’t.”

And he left.

It was then that I realized, he hated us so much that he wanted us to pass out of college even more desperately than we did.

After he left, Rahul shouted, “Ah Satish, your breath must have given it all away! Why didn’t you have some mouth freshener before opening that stupid door.”

The tea in my cup was over.

I was back in the dark room filled with cosy furniture.

Ever since then, I would wake up in the middle of the night, go to the living room where the agarbatti burned tirelessly, spray some Ambi Pur room freshener, sip a cup of tea and smoke a cigarette. Sitting at a living room filled with luxurious furniture and classy decorations, I would inhale the essence of madness and would be lost in the nostalgia of some other exam night in my congested stingy hostel room, my home during my four years of college life.

NOTE: Smoking is injurious to health. It causes cancer.

This is my official entry to "Smelly Air to Smiley Air" contest organized by Indiblogger in association withAmbi Pur.

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