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'Novel' Pain

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I wasn’t poor, being not rich  Life was fine, thanks to hope  All that changed, owing to muse,  With one ‘novel’ passion pure Affairs I had, ten of them  Unknown to the lovers of books, Coldshouldered by publishing folk  Manuscripts those ten make pillows  In my bed to cause nightmares, With hope dead, I can’t dream Now I’m poor, robbed of hope.  ---------------------------------------- This was penned before I turned the 'ten' into free ebooks only to add two more.  https://bulususmurthy.blogspot.com/2024/08/preeti-venugopalas-april-26-2020-book.html   My 'Novel' Account of Human Possibility https://bulususmurthy.blogspot.com/2019/08/my-novel-account-of-human-possibility.html Domain of the Devil - A Satire on Indian English Publishing https://bulususmurthy.blogspot.com/2019/09/domain-of-devil-satire-on-indian.html My maiden 'Novel' Blues https://bulususmurthy.blogspot.com/2019/09/my-maiden-novel-blues.html On Attitude to Money...
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   Absurd Proposal Though not nonplussed at having lost her virginity, Nithya, nevertheless, began pressuring Vasu for the nuptial. Yet, his assurances to tie the knot made her give him more of her own that was till she felt he was taking it easy. When she began denying him the good time to drive home her point that only made him indignant, she could figure out the consequences of his indifference. Thus, feeling vulnerable, she forced herself to humour him even more furthering his fulfillment all the more. But even as he procrastinated over their nuptial, his seed began to evolve in her womb and things came to a head when she missed her periods. When confronted with the development, Vasu could dodge no more, and spilled the beans. "I understand your embarrassment," he began. "What an understatement!" she said in consternation. "We shouldn't have jumped the gun." "It's neither here nor there," she said, worried over his prevarica...
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    Swap for Nope "Here is that fact beyond fiction," he began to narrate with a parental pride that didn't escape my attention. "What a handicap it was to be divorced, thought my son; self-service at home and harlot-solace in a brothel; what service and how much solace! Women were ever scary of even wealthy divorcees as if divorce underscores one's incompatibility once and for all, and a whore was no answer for a wife. Surely some featureless young thing could be willing and that's no choice of a wife any way; but a lucky guy could bump into a desirable dame in the blind alleys of the Cupid and that's a rarity anyway; as for affairs, they were seldom, even for the well-heeled in their prime, but as life is meant to be lived, he resolved, one had to go about it regardless and how to make the best of time was the essence of existence." "Envisioning liaisons through friendship magazines seemed to him no more than chasing the mirages of lust,"...
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  BooksShelf Interview  https://www.booksshelf.com/interviews/bs-murthy When did you start writing? Reared in Telugu, the Italian of the East, I groomed myself in English, the language to converse, in which my youth made me pen ardent letters of crush. Subsequently the imbibed art of letter writing enabled me to craft a number of novel letters in the fictional arena as well. What makes writing your passion? It is my love for the language and its scope for expression that lends passion to my writing. How long have you been writing? When I was thirty-four, I began publishing articles on managerial issues and ten years later, my devotional reading of the continental fiction thus far seemingly impelled my muse to enter into the arena of novel writing. What was the feeling when you published your first book? The manuscript of my maiden novel, Benign Flame: Saga of Love, which I believed would enrich the world of letters (I craved to live till I finished it), afforded me the top of ...
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        My maiden 'Novel' blues After letting me pen over a score of articles, though my muse prompted me to enter into the arena of fiction, yet it made me struggle to come up with the opening lines of my maiden novel for over ten days or so before “That winter night in the mid-seventies, the Janata Express was racing rhythmically on its tracks towards the coast of Andhra Pradesh. As its headlight pierced the darkness of the fertile plains, the driver honked the horn as though to awake the sleepy environs to the spectacle of the speeding train. On that, in the S-3, were the Ramaiahs with their nine year-old daughter Roopa.” But then “the train stopped at a village station, as though to disrupt Roopa’s daydreams of modeling herself on the lady doctor at the Christian Medical College Hospital, and as she peeped out, the ill-lit platform seemed to suggest that the chances of her being Dr. Roopa could be but dim.” Indeed, a s Roopa’s father couldn't help her become...