Daughter of a Watermill

Finally, after a long passing of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, suns and moons, seasons, I have been able to bring out my new volume of stories entitled, rightly or wrongly, Daughter of a Watermill. Is there a story by the same title? Of course, there is. Rest assured.

A road accident in the US ends a friendship in an odd twist; the 8888 Burmese Uprising has a strange connection to a father-son duo and cigarettes; the consequences of eating the forbidden are too much for a pious man in Kathmandu; a strange out-of-the-world relationship exists between a teacher and a mirror; a butterfly narrates the sequence of events that leads to death and beyond; the headmaster of a public school delivers a speech-in-mourning brewed with inspiration, anger and satire; and a teenage student narrates the tales of her abduction, at a very very wrong time, by the rebel guerrillas during the armed insurgency.

Find characters as weird as a buffalo or a narrator as unlikely as a mirror, or even a butterfly, in some of the finest stories the likes of which appear nowhere else.

So, what has changed since the last prediction?

First, no characters from the older stories have re-appeared. Rimi got late, of course. Others were slow as well and could not catch up. 

Second, the weird and the strange, unexpected, continues in this book as a whole. Perhaps, it has now become my identity and so has chosen not to leave me. A mirror will tell you a story, yes, believe it right now! Or if you think it can not happen, then there is a butterfly that does it in another place and time; across time's boundaries from two different worlds, in fact. 

Third, the characters are themselves common and ordinary. Their stories are not so at all. 

Last, the cover image has been arranged across cultural, social and language barriers despite the obvious difficulties. Thanks goes to Andrew Ioch.

HERE IS THE DEAL, FINALLY

THESE ARE THE MOST MATURE AND REFINED STORIES I HAVE WRITTEN, AND MOST INTENSELY EMOTIONAL TOO. I DOUBT THERE WILL BE ANOTHER VOLUME LIKE THIS ONE.

If you have gone through the death of a friendship, then I am really very sympathetic. We can even be friends, you and I.

If you have been associated with the 8888 Burmese Uprising, or are part of a father-son duo, or very similar, or have had to share smokes with someone, then I am definitely a friend of yours. (I am not promoting cigarettes or smoking in any way.)

If you are the one whose story is being told by a mirror, lucky you! You have been fortunate enough that you at least had someone, or something, rather, to tell your story.

If you are the butterfly that can flutter between two absolutely different worlds, befriend with me. I need just a connection like you to bridge two different worlds. Would you accept?

If you have eaten the forbidden, you share the same fate with me. I am living through the consequences.

If you happen to listen to one of those speeches in the desert heat, thanks god, you made it through. I could not.

But if you had ever been abducted by the rebel guerrillas during the insurgency for forceful recruitment as a cadre, then I am extremely sorry for your plight. But, yes, I can understand. I will definitely listen to your story.
      

THAT WAS A LITTLE BIT OF DISCLOSURE FROM INSIDE THE STORIES.

So, what's the fuss about?

Nothing in particular. There is no pride, no joy, no celebrations... But, O YESSSS! There's victory in having written something that seems so much difficult to express, so much more difficult to write. SO MUCH EMOTIONAL it made me during the whole of the writing process, so much disturbing it proved throughout. YES, THAT IS VICTORY!! Two of the stories are definitely out of this world, yes.

For a snippet, please go into one of the stories here.

(Cover graphics: Andrew V Ioch; Modified and used with permission. Cover designed by the author.)

Wind Chimes!!!

Some winds are mild and gentle while some are forcefully violent. Talking about life's music, some winds make calm and peaceful chimes while some brew hurricanes. It doesn't matter who faces the cyclones and tornadoes--the question is, who doesn't?--but how and for how long, to produce what music.

The beat, the pulse, the tempo and the rhythm... Winds across the terrains of my life definitely produce my own music. And music does not necessarily always sound beautiful to the ear.

* * *

Since the very beginning I have attempted to get my creative writings in print. My first book was published by a small publisher in Australia way back in 2006. After the initial print run, the publisher went out of business and got dissolved. My bad luck!

I tried most of the publishers I could find on the internet: in Australia, in the UK, in the US and in India. All were regional publishers. I got left out of South Africa, not by design though. All of them turned my books down citing the only reason that my creative work/s did not fit their publishing programme.

Then I found one in Kathmandu, others rejecting, for the very secretly maintained reason that I had no links to higher powers in the chain: I am neither a well-known politician nor a journalist. A small publisher formed by a bunch of friends worked in it but eventually they got separated and my bad luck returned back one more time!

I did not give up trying: I wrote to most. I sent queries, I wrote proposals. All good lucks but all rejections. No way! It should not have happened but it did.

Was I a bad writer? Were my writings not worth the market? Were they not of good beginnings or of quality? Did they not deserve a chance? Was I, in fact, a writer not worth publishing? Was I just a one-time writer after all, like many internationally best-selling ones, and not worth the salt to write any further, or, any more?

Many unanswered questions that plague and haunt me most of the time.

Then luckily, or unluckily, I got a break. I started self-publishing my works. Three books have already been published this way. Five are on the way.

What? Did I really say FIVE?
YES, and YESSS!!!

But what will they be? What will they contain? What will they look like? Have a guess!

The first one to come next will be a collection of short stories. Any continuations? Probably Rimi will come back if she is ready by the time. Another older story may also be back but with original and unmodified plot as against the modified one that had appeared previously.

The second one to come will be a non-fiction, and by the looks and appearances of it, shall take a very beloved position. This one will be a self-help book.

The third one to come will possibly be another non-fiction. If this turns out to be a fiction then the fourth will be the non-fiction. If the fourth becomes another fiction, then the fifth shall be the non-fiction. These three books shall definitely compete with each other to cross the finish line. The two fictions shall have their own positions but the non-fiction shall once again be a self-help book.

So here is a neat probable line-up (re-shuffling may occur).

*Fiction/Short Stories
*Non-fiction
*Fiction
*Non-fiction
*Fiction
*Fiction
*Non-fiction? Fiction? (Impossible to tell at present.)

So the race is on. Everything depends on the way things go with me now as I work on them. Circumstances being favourable, they will come out one by one, soon enough. However, circumstances acting on the contrary, they may take years, or even not get published at all.

But why so cynical? Are they not being written?
Yes. I am working on all FIVE at the same time. I work on one, then take some rest, then I go to the other. The process continues. The speed is the limiting factor, and it depends on things beyond my control. That is FATE, if realizing it is called cynicism or fatalism, or something else. Bad things happen to most people but at their backs, and so is with me. Things are really not that beautiful from many perspectives.

Worried?
Not a bit more than is necessary, no. (We all worry, and need to, but the degree differs.) Why should I be? It isn't a solution, ever, and doesn't provide one, to life's manifold problems. The realization of things slows me down, that's all.


But to cheer myself up, I think I have been in the past, and still am, something that dies many times but never gives up. I have been dead, yes, yet I have risen to fight the battle. To give up, I have never learnt because it has never been an option in my life. If fighting is a must, then either I need to get eliminated or come out victorious. There is no in-between...

Of course there is! That is why I am alive but not completely living!! If Darwin's natural selection process be applied, then my chances of getting selected to live on are rather grim. (If you happen to find out otherwise, please let me know.)

Disappointed?
Yes.

Frustrated at/with myself?
Yes.


What then to expect?
HOPE. There is no better medicine in the world than this. And DREAM. And wait. With PERSEVERANCE!

Things will be as they will be. Neither you can change their course, nor can I. We sing and waltz like wind chimes, the only difference lies in the tune we make in the end. Or we are like parachute-mounted seeds of dandelion carried by the mercy of the wind. Accept or deny, it makes no difference to the way of things. What matters most is how we encourage the good, and enjoy it.

So long then...