Saturday, 9 August 2025

            BS Murthy's 'Smart Books'

The excerpt of my Author Interview at Smart Books

https://smartbooksbuzz.com/interviews/bs-murthys-smart-books

How did you become an author and get published? Share your experience.

Generally speaking, while the author aura or writer fame push some into the writing arena, the urge to write pull others into it but as detailed in “My ‘Novel’ Account of Human Possibility” that is Googleable, it was altogether a different course for me, beginning with:

“Whenever I look at my body of work of twelve books, the underlying human possibility intrigues me no end, and why not. I was born into a land-owning family in a remote village of Andhra Pradesh in India that is after the British had folded their colonial tents from there, but much before the rural education mechanism was geared up. It was thus the circumstances of my birth enabled me to escape from the tiresome chores of the primary schooling till I had a nine-year fill of an unbridled childhood, embellished by village plays and grandma’s tales, made all the more interesting by her uncanny ability for storytelling. ….”

As for publishing my writings, it was all self-publishing in the public domain as free ebooks.

Would you like readers to have any specific takeaway from your book?


I hope my writings resonate with readers to make them feel that only fiction can lend scope for the full play of life.

Share some advice for aspiring authors. What advice would you give to your younger self?1. What is your favorite line from your book?


As writing is all about style and substance that can be acquired only through good reading, the old adage that ‘one has to be a good reader to become a good writer’ needs to be borne in mind. What’s more, one may let writing to beckon for good writing is seldom written but gets written.


Was there anything you had to research for the book?


The intellectual vacuity of the Indian media in dealing with the Godhra-Gujarat riots in 2002 impelled me to get onto the non-fictional course from my settled fictional path of three plot and character driven novels to ascertain the roles, if any, religions play in fomenting communal strife. So, I had gone through the so-called Holy Books, Martin Lings’ Muhammad and some other relevant works to formulate my ‘Puppets of Faith: Theory of Communal Strife (A critical appraisal of Islamic faith, Indian polity ‘n more), in a novel narrative. And it was some effort in those pre-internet days to make notes for quotes from those in my work.


Do you have any movie or tv adaptations in the works?


Given that the creations of unheralded authors are generally handicapped for adorning the silver screens as adaptations, my Benign Flame: Saga of Love, Jewel-less Crown: Saga of Life, Crossing the Mirage: Passing through youth (plot and character driven novels), Prey on the Prowl: A Crime Novel, Of No Avail: Web of wedlock, a novella, and Slighted Souls, a stage play, remain in the limbo.


Do you have any personal connection to the story or characters?

In my view, it is the aptitude of the author that shapes the canvas of creativity to lend scope for self-expression which defines the character of writing. 

Friday, 8 August 2025

    To Be The Land Of A Thousand Classics

 Originally published in Triveni, July-Sep 1999  

The universal success of The God of Small Things and the exuberant outburst of Salman Rushdie on ‘regional’ Indian writing call for a dispassionate approach to the genesis of Indo-English writing, nay, all Indian writing. Let us first propitiate the ‘God of Small Things’ before we turn our attention to the ‘Satan of Verses’

As Arundhati Roy’s success is of historical magnitude, it would be in order to follow the Gibbonian track to seek its causes. To this enquiry an obvious but satisfactory answer may be returned|: that it was owing to the newness of ‘The God o Small things’, exemplifies by the peculiar and pixilated use of the language to weave a sensuous story in a sinusoidal fashion, and the magical power of the narration, repetitions notwithstanding, that enthralls the reader throughout. But as truth and reason seldom find so favorable a reception in the world, and as the wisdom of Providence frequently condescends to use passion of the human heart, and the general circumstances of mankind, as instruments to execute its purpose. We may still be permitted, though with becoming submission to ask, not indeed what were the first, but what were the secondary causes, to borrow from Gibbon, of the unprecedented success of The God o Small Things, it will, perhaps, appear that it was most effectually favored by the three following causes. 1. The Indo-Christian ambience of the subject 2. The extraordinary hype bestowed upon it in a sustained manner, 3. The glamour and intelligence of its author.

As the second is widely felt, and the third truly perceived, it is the first of the secondary causes that needs to be delved into at some length for a general understanding. While ‘The God of Small Things’ is selling in six figures in  The States, the other two most publicized faces of |Indo-Anglican writing, Salman Rushdie and Vikram Seth, reportedly, have come a cropper there. The reason, perhaps, is all too apparent on appraisal, notwithstanding the relative merits of their works. Rushdie’s writings are about Indo-Muslim ethos, while Seth’s ‘Suitable Boy’ is in essence Indo-Hindu, and both of which are alien to the American cultural mindset. On the other hand, the Christian experience conveyed in Roy’s book, abetted in the exotic Indian setting, could vibe well with the American cultural consciousness that helped it to position itself, for months on, on The New York Times Best Seller List. For the very same reason, perhaps, the book got patronized, in translations, in many European countries as well.

However, the culture-literary scene in England, where Rushdie and Seth too sell well, not to speak of Roy, is altogether different. Owing to historical causes, the British and privy to the Indo-Hindu as well as Indo-Muslim socio-cultural nuances, and for nostalgic reasons tend to condescend to patronize Indo literary products packaged with the right kind of market mix.

This inherent anomaly of Indo-English writing seems to have been grasped by many an aspiring writer to stay afloat in the treacherous literary waters. One feels constrained, so it appears, to pave hi literary way to the Western markets over the trans-continental route by transplanting assorted alien characters, for no rhyme save for a reason, in the Indian social sub-soil. But in spite of this promising recipe, or perhaps, because of it, most of the fare turns out to be stale literary kichdi. Most of this effort seems to lack conviction as superficial alien pegs are sought to be placed I soulless holes of the shallow native soil. Paradoxically, this compulsion occasioned the wastage of much Indian literary talent. Besides; the formula in most cases, failed to click in the West leaving many a hopeful stuck.

This is where Arundhati Roy scores. Being a Syrian Christian herself, she instinctively captured the ambience of her community ethos, and artfully crafted the East-West equations, albeit Christian, to make The God of Small Things refreshingly appealing, and eminently readable, to one and all in India, and the world over.

What about the compulsions and quality of the Indian regional writing?” the prose writing –both fiction and non-fiction-created I this period (post-independence) by Indian writers working in English is proving to be a stronger and more important body of work that most of what has been produced in the 16 ‘official languages’ of India, the so-called ‘vernacular languages’, during the same time. Thus spake Salman Rushdie, ruffling many a vernacular feather, and occasioning much regional breast beating. And the decibel levels of the retaliatory counter-trumpeting that followed could have made Rushdie more sleepless than the fear of the fatwa ever did earlier. To be fair to Rushdie, he did concede that he came to this conclusion based on his reading of the available body of translations, which obviously failed to inspire.

Why single our Rushdie when Naipaul is not flattering either. In ‘An Area of Darkness’, he wrote- |”the feeling is widespread that, whatever English might have done for Tolstoy, it can never do justice to India ‘language’ writers. This is possible: what I read of them in translation did not encourage me to read more. Premchand turned out to be minor fabulist. Other writers quickly fatigued me with their assertions that poverty was sad, that death was sad. Many of the modern short stories were only refurnished folk tales…’ can there be smoke without fire, or are these two highly successful and decorated writers jealous of their poor vernacular cousins to insinuate in like manner? But before we go into that, we should have a look at the other side of the coin as well. |U>R. Ananthamurthy, President, Sahitya Academy, sounds eminently reasonable when he states: “that no Indian writer in any of the languages can assume to know what is happening in the Indian languages. Rushdie does not even live in India. How can he make such an enormous assumption?”

But would human curiosity leave the issue at that so stoically? Doubtful, given the human propensity for comparison. Why, for that matter, don’t we come across people who claim their language is the best evolved, ad that their literature is better? It does not stop at that either: endless arguments ensure among the literati of the same like about the perceived merit of some writers over the others of their own language. Can one deny such debates ensuring literary introspection besides improving human understanding? By being privy to the varied experiences of the people of our vast lad, all Indians should stand to gain intellectually. And the only way out for effecting inter-linguistic cultural interaction is to bring all the noteworthy works in Indian regional languages into the English mainstream through translations. This enables the worth of the composite Indian writing to be judged on a single platform, by us as well as by others. But in the solution seems to lie the problem itself.

It has been, more or less, accepted, even by the protagonists of the regional language pre-eminence, that the available quality of the translations is woefully inadequate, for most part, robbing the Preston beauty of the originals. There is another school of thought that the real taste o the regional works cannot be captured in English translations owing to their unique linguistic flavor. First, let us turn to the alleged poor quality of the translations. Assuming the translators at work are novices, who are unable to capture the nuances of the original regional masterpieces, why should the professionals be shying away from the calling? For sure, there would be sufficient number of well read professionals capable of experiencing the nuances of the regional masterpieces, why should the professionals be shying away from the calling? For sure, there would be sufficient number of well-read professionals capable of experiencing the nuances of the regional works, who could also have been exposed to the intricacies of English, in all regions, to run out competent translations. What could be preventing these learned bi-linguists from bring the masterpieces of their mother tongues to the international like light? Besides attending to the patriotic calling, there would be chance too to make a name for themselves, if not money, in the process. But this, as alleged by many, is not happening. But why? Could it be possible that those who savored the best of world literature while acquiring mastery over English find the native stuff unsavour? It would serve well the regionalists to open channels with their bi-linguists, who hold the international literary barometers, to exchange notes, and then to update their efforts if necessary. Till then Rushdie will get away by default.

About the untranslatability of some of the vernacular works. The exponents of this theory, without their realizing it, may be admitting to the queer nature of such works in regional languages. If some works appeal solely for their unique vernacular glitter, which obviously does not lend itself for translation, then they deserve to remain where they are, for the greatness of world literature owes itself to substance in the main.

But where will all this lead Indian literature to? Shall it rest on the laurels of small things for all time to come. Going by the potential of our diverse cultural backdrop, to inspire varied literary expressions. India should, one day, be the land of a thousand classics. But to realize the dream there seems to be a need for the change of attitudes- of the writers, of the publishers and, of course, of the reading public. Firstly, our writers should weave ‘modern’ stories around our varied cultural canvas, than seeking worn-out western crutches as props, to explore true |Indian fallibilities and possibilities. When asked to buy, as of now, the Indian readers may say there is nothing inspiring, barring an odd ‘God of Small Things’ for them to venture into the arena of Indian creative writing. The vital links in the chain are the publishers who should consciously look for, and promote rue Indian experiences sans Western trespassing. It is only thus, in time, we may have our own Tolstoys and Zolas, who one day could trod the world literary scene as colossuses, and make India the land of a thousand classics.


 

 

 

 


 BS Murthy's Lit Linc Author Interview

https://litlinc.com/interviews/bs-murthys-lit-link-author-interview 

When you're working on a book and a new idea pops up, should you pursue it immediately (also known as 'UP syndrome') or finish your current project first? What do you think is the best course of action?

I had a slightly different experience in that after I completed my maiden novel, Benign Flame: Saga of Love, the idea of Crossing the Mirage – Passing through youth, also a love story cropped up in my mind. However, so as to avoid the possible carry over effect on my muse, I worked with Jewel-less Crown: Saga of Life before I set out to cross the mirage.

What are some books or authors that you would recommend to our readers?

I urge readers to read the classics of Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Ivan Turgenev, Emily Zola, Gustav Flaubert, Marcel Proust and Robert Musil to name a few literary giants that is apart from 'yours literally'.

Would you like readers to have any specific takeaway from your book?

While my fiction had emanated from my conviction that for it to impact readers, it should be the soulful rendering of characters rooted in their native soil but not the hotchpotch of local and alien caricatures sketched on a hybrid canvas, all my body of work was borne out of my passion for writing, matched only by my love for language.

Did you always want to be an author? If not, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Given that Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Ivan Turgenev, Emily Zola, Gustav Flaubert et al are literary deities (I hadn’t read Marcel Proust and Robert Musil before I began to write), were, and are, my literary deities, and how dare I, their devotee, to envision myself in the sanctum sanctorum of the novel. But, how in my mid-forties, I happened to be a writer is My ‘Novel; Account of Human Possibility that is Googleable  https://share.google/77k2PoAcXHhoov6Yi. But, how in my mid-forties, I happened to be a writer is My ‘Novel; Account of Human Possibility that is Googleable  https://share.google/77k2PoAcXHhoov6Yi

How long did it take you to write this book?

But for my novella, Of No Avail – Web of Wedlock and the critique Inane Interpolations in Bhagvad-Gita (An Invocation for Their Revocation), the rest ten, as if to synchronize themselves with nature, took nine months for their fruition.

What other hobbies do you have outside of writing?

So to say, I am a man of many hobbies, penchant for reading, pursuing politics, ear for music, passion for Bridge to name a few that tend to lend substance to my writing

https://www.youtube.com/@BSMurthyAuthorSpeak

Thursday, 7 August 2025


 Inside the Mind - BS Murthy

(Excerpt of the Author Interview in 'Find Books & Authors' https://findbooksandauthors.com/interview/inside-the-mind-bs-murthy ) 

What inspired you to start writing?

So to say, my tryst with writing began with letter-writing to express my youthful feelings in private spheres. Later, it was my urge to articulate my professional ideas that led me into the arena of articles. However, in time, I happened to enter into the ‘novel’ field to examine the human condition, as Jane Austin put it, in a fictional mirror. All this I’ve pictured it in my memoir of an article, My ‘Novel’ Account of Human Possibility, that is Googleable https://share.google/87mnyS5oFnEuTo8OS

Can you tell us a little about your maiden novel?

Some way into Benign Flame: Saga of Love, having been convinced that I’ve something unique to offer to the literary world through the same, I did not want to die till its completion. In the end, what Spencer Critchley, a Literary Critic, said about it - the plot is quite effective and it’s a refreshing surprise to discover that the story will not trace a fall into disaster for Roopa, given that many writers might have habitually followed that course with a wife who strays into extramarital affairs – made me feel vindicated.

How do you create your characters?

I happened to provide fictional forms to human proclivities.

What does your typical writing day look like?

I tended to write twelve to fourteen hours a day, day after day for the most part, with intermittent half-hourly breaks to reset my fatigued mind, till the completion of each of my twelve books, made possible by the absence of my professional obsession.

What has been the most rewarding part of being an indie author?

As so aptly stated by Leo Tolstoy in Anna Karenina, I derive my true reward through writing itself.

What’s one challenge you’ve faced in your writing journey?

Getting published, and but for the free ebook sites my body of work would never have seen the literary light.

Do you have any favorite writing tools or apps?

None at all; while my fiction had emanated from my conviction that for it to impact readers, it should be the soulful rendering of characters rooted in their native soil but not the hotchpotch of local and alien caricatures sketched on a hybrid canvas, all my body of work was borne out of my passion for writing, matched only by my love for language.

What advice would you give to new or aspiring indie authors?

Wait until writing beckons you to write for good writing is seldome written but gets written.

How do you handle book promotion as an indie author?

I’ve placed all my twelve books in the public domain as free ebooks and my unceasing endeavour has been to make them available in every website that hosts them for free.

What’s next for you? Are you working on a new book?

Save an occasional article on provocation or an essay through brainwave, I presume I’ve done with my writing for after all individual creativity too has its plausible limits that I sense I’ve reached with my twelfth book. Besides, with my diminished enthusiam, I'm afraid that I'm in no position to push the literary envelope for any meaningful purpose.

Tuesday, 15 July 2025


            New Light on India’s Plight

 

‘What ails India’ has been the subject matter of the left-lib right-wing tussle for long, what with the cynics chipping in, in between. However, the right-wing assault on the left-lib ‘Idea of India’, facilitated by Narendra Modi’s nationalist rise in the Indian political firmament, has only increased the intensity of the scrimmage. Be that as it may, this is to throw a new ‘right’ light on India’s ‘left’ plight that has been Bharat’s bane, for a fresh look at it.  

In Kitab al-Hind, Al-Biruni had stated that “the Hindus believe that there is no country but theirs, no nation like theirs, no kings like theirs, no religion like theirs, no science like theirs”, and that was in the 11th century CE. Wasn’t it the current American parallel of yore? But still, by the 20th century, the sangh pariwar, in order to make Hindus feel proud of being Hindus all again, had no option but to come up with the slogan, garv se kaho hum hindu hain. But then, what it was that so adversely affected the Hindu morale that led to the initial decline and the eventual downfall of Bharat that is India is the subject matter of this exercise.   

That the Hindus felt what they felt in the 11th century, despite the 1st century evangelical forays into Malabar by St. Thomas and the 8th century Arab conquest of Sind, in a way, is a giveaway of the cause of India’s plight, past and present – the abject ignorance of the Hindus about the exclusivist ethos of the expansionist Christian and Islamic faiths, and their utter disregard for the perils their followers posed to India’s social harmony, political unity and national integrity. However, given their social ethos of religious amity, this sedate Hindu failure of yore, to grasp the divisive credos of the alien faiths, is understandable, though not anymore. Even so, as the sanatana Hindu non-varnas were socially kept away from Bharat’s varna mainstream, the precedence of Buddhism and Jainism that sought to correct this self-negating social code, were more of reformist offshoots than rebellious branches of the otherwise all-encompassing sanatana dharma that, lo, holds Charvaka’s atheism too in its Hindu fold!

Whatever, given the inadequate growth of these sub-religious trees, as they failed to provide much of a reformist shade to the non-varnas, the practice of their debasement, if not enslavement, persisted in the Hindu social arrangement. Sadly but inevitably, this social wedge became the Achilles heel for the proselytizing Christians and Muslims to pierce through the Hindu body politic. Even so, the Muslims needed the might of their sword and power of patronage and the Christians, the guile of enticement and the guise of charity for their religious headway. However, it is a testimony to the Indian social resilience that together they could only uproot, up to a quarter of its Hindu roots that too in a millennium. Ironically though, it is this intellectual complacency that makes the Hindus the ‘once bitten not twice shy’ kind, showing a blind eye to the unabated conversion of their disgruntled sections into these alien faiths to India’s demographic detriment.         

Just the same, Maryam Jameelah in her book, Islam and Orientalism, lamented that “If the Mughal monarchs had assumed their responsibilities as Muslim rulers and organized intensive tabliq or missionary work, the majority of Indians would have embraced Islam and hence the necessity for partition and all the disasters that followed in its wake, never would have arisen.” If only Jameelah had read Al-Biruni, she could have envisaged the haughty hurdles of the Hindu varnas that the Mughal tabliq had to surmount. Besides, as the unceasing tabliq would have entailed a perpetual jihad, probably, the Sultans staid put in their palaces annexed with harems in the limited lands that came under their sway. All the same, they spared no efforts to pluck the low hanging Hindu ‘non-varna’ fruits to substantially fill their Islamic religious baskets.  

Eventually though, signaling the end to the eight-hundred years old partial Muslim rule, Robert Clive planted the British colonial foot in the Battle of Plassey, plotted by Jagat Seth’s avenging ‘financial’ hand at Siraj-ud-Daulah’s  insult of him. Nevertheless, the Nehruvian school curriculum, as if to deprive the Hindu kids of the feel good revenge, made the game-changing event seem an all-Muslim affair with Mir Jaffar as the quisling. Whatever, given the Mughal decline by then, but for this Cliveian twist to the Mughal legacy, it is not inconceivable that the Marathas, Rajputs and the valorous rest would have given a Hindu turn to the Muslim history. Be that as it may, by ending the Muslim influence in India, the British had enabled the Hindus to feel at home in their ancestral land, at long last that is. But all that turned out to be a false start for them as the British Macaulayzed their educational mechanism to uproot generations of Hindus from their sanatana grassroots to upend their cultural legacy from their collective consciousness. Hence, as if to prove that ‘there’s a price to pay for freedom’, history threw the Hindus out of the frying pan into fire. That it affected an encore for them is the irony of India’s history!

Not just that, the British pauperized Bharat by ruining its industry and degrading its economy, from some 24% of the world’s GDP to around 4% of it before they had to leave its shores for their own safety. However, it’s another matter though that the centuries-long Islamic turbulence had earlier brought down the Indian economy by ten notches or so. Even as the British rule impoverished India that hurt all, still the Muslims couldn’t care less for their holy book hath it that “Naught is the life of the world save a pastime and a sport. Better far is the abode of the Hereafter for those who keep their duty (to Allah). Have ye then no sense?” Not only that, having barred the secular education to their kids for the fear of its intellectual corruption of their irrational belief system, they had confined them to madrasas for further cementing their blind faith in their tiny heads. As ummah is change averse, the Muslim conditions apply even now and maybe into the foreseeable future as well. Thus, it’s no wonder that this inimical feature of the Muslim character has become the cornerstone of the electoral strategy of the cynical politics – Give Muslims their Islam and be done with them.

But then, even as the patriotic fervour began to awake the Hindu nationalism, the Islamic craving for a Muslim homeland started taking its political shape, both anathemas to the British colonial masters. It was then that the much-wronged Hindus needed a visionary leader to guide them to their rightful place under the sun but instead they got the silly but wily Gandhi, who sadly fouled it for them, so to say, for all times to come. However, Muslims found their messiah in Jinnah, who delivered the hoped-for Pakistan to them, so to say, on the Hindu platter of his own ancestors. Surely, Gandhi was erudite enough to know about the Muslim religious obligation to strive for the establishment of an Islamic rule in dar al-harb, which India was, and still is for them. Even then, instead of tackling the ummah on the separatist front, by appeasing the Musalmans in every which way, he naively persisted in his attempts to avert India’s inevitable partition with disastrous consequences. It’s thus, even as he was unequivocal about the Hindu non-violence, he was ambivalent on the Muslim violence, be it Moplah massacres or Swami Shraddhanand’s murder to cite but two examples.

More so, it was Gandhi’s lack of foresight leading up to India’s partition that hurt the Hindus the most, to appreciate which his wooly Hindu-Muslim sadbhavana should be contrasted with Ambedkar’s robust take on the Muslim psyche: “…the allegiance of a Muslim does not rest on his domicile in the country which is his but on the faith to which he belongs. To the Muslim ibi bene ibi patria is unthinkable. Wherever there is the rule of Islam, there is his own country. In other words, Islam can never allow a true Muslim to adopt India as his motherland and regard a Hindu as his kith and kin.”  Thus, failing to see the Muslim intent to break India, even after personally witnessing the Direct Action Day’s virulent violence, he remained pigheadedly adamant against India’s inevitable, even necessary partition, albeit with the population exchange on the respective religious grounds, advocated by Sardar Patel, not to speak of Ambedkar. Just the same, as if he had a premonition of the post-partition calamity in the offing, on April 6, 1947 he lectured that “Hindus should not harbour anger in their hearts against Muslims even if the latter wanted to destroy them. Even if the Muslims want to kill us all we should face death bravely. If they established their rule after killing Hindus we would be ushering in a new world by sacrificing our lives.”

If only Gandhi had a knack for realpolitik, seeing the writing on the Muslim-fractured Indian wall, he should have brought about an equitable religious separation in an amicable manner, which would have saved the catastrophic outcomes of the haphazard partition for Hindus as well as Muslims, more so for the former. But yet, he showed no remorse for his foolhardiness in opposing a planned ‘population exchange based’ partition, but instead had allegedly stated that Hindu and Sikh women should get willingly raped by their Muslim violators. Capping all that, his incalculable harm to India lay in the unilateral anointment of Nehru, the most English of them all (in his own words) as its putative Prime Minister by immorally sidelining the Hindu nationalist Patel, opted by the congress party to lead the nascent nation.

Not just that, with his fast-unto-death stunt later, he coerced the Indian government into releasing to Pakistan its share of the partition funds that is in the midst of their military engagement! Sadly for India, this anti-national stance of Gandhi on his utopian moral ground turned out to be the proverbial last straw on Godse’s patriotic back. Whatever, sensing a godsend opportunity to grind his political axe in Godse’s senseless act, Nehru cleverly dubbed the murder of a maverick as the martyrdom of the Mahatma. But equally cynically, so as to smoothen the way for the Muslim aggrandizement in India, he forged the ant-communal hammer on the anvil of that human tragedy for smothering the resurgent Hindu nationalism. Why, he did proclaim that he was “English by education, Muslim by culture and Hindu by accident.”

However, his Muslim affinity, as can be seen from his midnight missive to Padmaja Naidu, wherein he penned his ‘relief’ at the British military action that killed 400 Bihari farmers indulged in a retaliatory Hindu rioting after the Noakhali Muslim carnage, was more cynical than cultural. What is worse, it is an unambiguous giveaway of his anti-Hindu disposition that he was wont to exhibit throughout albeit in the secular garb. Here are a few lines from that ‘insensitive’ letter for all to ponder over:     

‘’.. I learnt that the military had fired on a peasant mob in the rural areas some miles from here, and about 400 had been killed. Normally such a thing would have horrified me. But would you believe it? I was greatly relieved to hear it!”

“And so when the news came that they have been stopped at last in one place and that 400 of them had died, I felt that the balance had been very slightly righted.” 

Oh, bemoan Gandhi for having entrusted the fate of the trusting Hindus to such a cynical person, who was emotionally as well as intellectually anti-Hindu. But then, the crux of India’s plight is that both these crass characters were at chasing the mirages of their false images - Gandhi as an apostle of non-violence and Nehru as the messiah of non-alignment – by turning its interests into a desert of despair, which apparance is seldom appreciated by the wronged Hindus themselves.

No less significant is the start of Nehru’s epochal Tryst with Destiny address to the Indian Constituent Assembly – “Long years ago, we made a tryst with destiny; and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially” – that is an intellectual indicator of not only his limited ambition for the independent India but also his lack of belief in the Hindu potential to reclaim its ancient glory. But, lo, as India’s ill-fate would have it, he happened to helm it for the first seventeen years in its making as an independent nation! However, it’s true that he shaped the ‘temples of modern India’ in the form of giant public sector undertakings and ushered in the elite Indian Institutes of Technology, ostensibly to train their pujaris. Nevertheless, as it turned out, these prized pundits invariably sailed to the American shores for ‘bettering themselves’ and, in time, the Nehruvian temples were turned into white elephants by their ‘socialist’ attendants. That’s not all to the litany of the national, social, moral, material, and political ills that have come to plague India, courtesy his unsavoury legacy, made worse by his daughter Indira and her daughter-in-law Sonia, who lorded over India for long. No denying, there are books and books, about India’s plight, but doubt if any of them pinpoint the root causes of the malady, and what follows is but an attempt at that.

So to say, to enable the Musalmans to feel at home in the Hindu India, for reasons better left for researchers to explore in the future, Nehru had ensured that the Hindus have no cause and effect to feel it is their own country, which  proved to be its double jeopardy. It’s thus, with its caste-centric Hindus lacking nationalist impulse and its Muslim residuals devoid of any sense of belonging to it (recall Ambedkar’s words) forming its demographic triad, with the ‘neither here nor there’ closet Christians, India has become the habitat of varied interest groups but not a unified nation with a unitary purpose. But still, the historic situation was never beyond redemption, if only the Hindus were made to believe that in essence India belonged to them and them only and so it was their bounden duty to make it great again, morally, spiritually, as well as materially, never mind the non-committal minorities, by and large that is. However, his dynastic successors, not content with engineering the caste divisions to fracture the Hindu mandate, had fostered the captive Muslim vote-bank to willy-nilly put India on the demographic path of future partition.  

But at long last, as if to give itself a rightful turn to its wrongful history, India had induced its indifferent Hindu electorate to vote out Nehru’s dubious descendants, who have become its nemeses since long, and vote in the nationalist Narendra Modi. Hitting the ground running, Modi had diagnosed India’s true malaise and started curing the same by restoring the Hindu religious virility and infusing Bharat’s cultural pride in the Indian national consciousness. It’s as if, so to say overnight, India has regained its lost Hindu josh on its march towards Modi’s Atmanirbhar Bharat, the veracity of which the Operation Sindoor has validated. By now it is apparent, more than ever, that the Hindus have come to believe that India is theirs to cherish, nourish, and protect against all odds and in every eventuality. What is more heartening is, the Hindus have come to believe that like the Sindoor, Atmanirbhar too is not a one-off thing, but an ongoing endeavour to usher in the Vikasit Bharat after Modi’s heart.

But yet, India has to contend with the nefarious nexus of the intransigent Islamists, obscurantist Muslims and their left-lib cohorts, who leave no stone unturned to impede its progress in every possible way, judicial activism included. So, it is only by defanging this venomous system that Bharat can become vikasit, and hopefully Modi would be able to do that in time so that the present and the future generations of Hindus would be blessed to be able to echo their ancestors’ modified motto, ‘there is no country but theirs, no culture like theirs, no society like theirs, no democracy like theirs, no religion like theirs, no science like theirs, no economy like theirs and no military like theirs’.      

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday, 28 June 2025

            Autumn Love 

    This is the story of moral conflict between marital fidelity and extramarital attraction in a woman’s emotional sphere, in the autumn of her life.

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She willed herself to not to check her phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated that she was constantly checking his ‘last seen at’ status and yes, he had logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn’t stop herself. This sinking feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable, almost tortuous.

And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.

But when she opened it and read it, she nearly stopped breathing. She didn’t know if he was joking or not. What was this? [*]

‘Is it a point of no return?’ she thought involuntarily moving to the edge of the chair.

Reading his ‘have you forgotten about the castration?’ message, she sank into the chair thinking, ‘is it a lighthearted joke or as a loaded message?’, and for a clue, began to recall the events of the year passed by.

‘Oh, how my life had turned on its head when I turned fifty?’ she thought in wonderment. ‘That’s when I immunized my heart against attractions and insulated my life from vacillations! So I believed, didn’t I? But when he enamored my heart to give a flirty spin to my life, didn’t it dawn upon me that I had only sterilized it for a ritual regimen, and no more. Oh, how his first glance pierced my heart to stir my life that very instant!’

Returning from a temple when she found him alone in the drawing room, she felt as if god had sent his angle to receive her in her own abode. The moment their eyes met, it was as if they began their joint search for a love ground to share, which they had to abandon as her husband entered the scene from behind the curtain.

He was a friend of her husband’s childhood pal settled in the States. Having spent the best part of his life there, he came back with his wife for good, leaving their two children, who were US citizens. That was six months back and they had since settled in Hyderabad, where, incidentally, both her married daughters stayed. As he happened to be in their town alone, to explore some business opportunities there, that evening, he came to call on her husband at their common-friend’s behest. Introductions over, as her husband wanted her to prepare some coffee for them; she went into the kitchen with a heavy heart.

‘While my missing his sight had understandably irked me, didn’t the thought that he too would miss my sight inexplicably hurt me?’ she began reminiscing about that dream encounter. ‘But then, how the smell of the boiling decoction lifted my spirits for it portended serving him some steamy coffee with my own hands. When he said he never tasted anything better, how I hoped he would leave some dregs for my palate to share his satisfaction. What a disappointment it was seeing him empty the cup and how exhilarated I was when he said he had broken his life-long habit of leaving the dregs. Then, as he was preparing to leave, how depressed I was, but how relieved I was when my husband invited him to visit us again!’

She got up from the chair and as if to walk down the memory lane, she walked up to the compound gate.

‘Oh, how that fateful evening changed the autumn tenor of my life!’ she went on reminiscing. ‘Were it the deities I pray that chose to pave a pathway of love for me? Or was it a case of my prayers gone awry? Before he stirred my heart, how sedate was my life, sterile though? After all, there was no material change after he had entered into it. Neither I did I venture onto his love ground nor did I let him into my sexual sphere. Why should life seem drab now as he cold shouldered me? Why not, won’t the change of heart alter the tenor of life? Even the one as dull as mine, well, but it did start on an exciting note for a provincial girl like me.’

She was born to humble parents, who felt increasingly proud of her as she grew up. After all, she turned out to be the small town’s beauty and the brains of its academics. When she was eighteen, calf love turned a new leaf in her life. The object of her adoration happened to be the stopgap lecturer from a nearby town. He taught maths alright but the equation was wrong for their marriage as he was doubly aged and twice married. Yet, amidst the protestations from her parents, with her tenacity of love, augmented by obduracy of adventure, she ascended the altar to be led by him to his native town. Her marital life, underscored by her zest for it, though clouded by his thrift, was exemplified by her two cute daughters born in quick succession.

‘Didn’t his thrift drift towards miserliness soon pushing my life into nothingness.’ she began to recollect that phase of her life when her children were growing up. ‘Why, as his passion for lovemaking too lost traction, how my life entered into the arena of frustration? Yet I shut my mind to adulterous thoughts, didn’t I? But did he stop at that? Why, he did acquire a sense of insecurity as well and how insensibly I imbibed both his vices! Maybe that’s why I learnt short-hand as a long handle for my secretarial security. Was it really so? Wouldn’t have my own fear of the future bred an urge for self-preservation in my subconscious mind? Who knows, I might’ve been.

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This story, written for “Write India Campaign of Times of India, 2015” on Preeti Shenoy’s prompt [*] is a part of the author's free ebook 'Storied Varied - A book of Short Stories', that can be googled.