http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml ASHWINI AHUJA---FICTION WRITER FROM INDIA: Excerpts Mon, 03 Sep 2007 08:34:03 -0500 http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/68b329da9893e34099c7d8ad5cb9c940_45142375.writeback Fri, 22 Sep 2006 12:55:01 -0500 The writer will submit some fiction work later after the release of his book- 'Sorry Sir' Please have a patience. Thanks. http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/263275862a60e5f4fe8c6a6d9ba7e5fe_44f7264f.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 13:11:27 -0500 In Chandigarh, life was different. It was an artistically constructed city. Roads were divided to each sector. And each sector had its life style. Streets were clean and dirtless. And cool breeze greeted the evening and morning came across the diverse sorts of twittering of birds from Himalaya. Modernity ran on every aspect of life. Kabir thrilled when he got to the city first time with friends. He was there to sit in an entrance test for admission in post graduation in Gandhian and Peace Studies. Brimmed with glee and comfort, he could not have faced the trivialities of small city there like of his own was. No body bothered who was with whom dating and whose relations with whom had soured or jittered. He loved the beauty of Chandigarh. Emotions had pervaded in each aspect of Chandigarh. He was excited as Mummy had opted for Chandigarh, a capital to two major states, abandoning the idea of admitting at pink city- Jaipur for his higher study. The most comfortable thing that pulled him was- university jean clad fashionable girls. In his tiny township, parents did not allow their girls donning jeans or so type of things and girls hesitated to communicate with boys. He amazed watching girls with their boys' friends, hand in hand and sometimes in university botanical garden lay embracing in each others' arms. In Chandigarh, he noticed that girls generally freed their silky hair on their backs but in his tiny township, there were a few girls whose parents allowed them to untie their hair. And importantly, in his tiny city, no body dared to hold a hand of girl in open even though they were good friends. And in his tiny city, girls rarely clad jeans. He was exactly twenty-three when Mummy permitted him joining the university after his graduation in tiny township. And he thought it had arrived the occasion he would hold a soft hand of someone beautiful girl and caress her artistic fingers. He was imaginative to girls' fingers are always a kind of art, blending with lively beauty and enchanting smell. He had touched many a time Aarti's tender fingers to explore aestheticism in them while making practice on computer with her. But Aarti hated his touch. Even she had censured him twice. However, Mummy, the very day of his departure for Chandigarh, had advised him to keep away from RSS for two years minimum, as these were the crucial years for his career ahead. And she again advised him to away from all what put the family in disgrace. He understood all what Mummy had said. But the influence of Mummy on him so far absolutely had washed off as he had grown an adult. University wonderingly turned him to be his own mind. His whims worked on him. Krishan ji wrote him twice a week encouraging him not to be absent from shakha and he had shot letters to those too, who were working for shakha in Chandigarh. And they people would have visited Kabir every so often to invite him to shakha. Whenever Kabir was off and they found his room door closed, they pasted message slip on the mouth of lock. Kabir unhesitatingly went together with them to shakha leaving his assignments unfinished. Professors panelised him for his negligence in study but he had no other way except for apology to them. He repented but he could not refuse to comply with the command of his senior shakha executives. ********* ********* *********** END http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/41cb2038627f44749be475166886ab99_44f725ec.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 13:09:48 -0500 But at that time, nobody was at home. Aarti tried to ask him about his father and she was reluctant to stay there alone but Jason didn't let her go and he too evaded her queries and then showed her huge portrait of his late mother, which he had painted himself. Really beautiful portrait. The woman in the portrait was flooded with emotions, dark hair, flawless complexion and eyes as black as charcoal pencil. She was donning a beautiful jacket over which a diamond necklace glistened, arching downward from neck. "She had died when I was sixteen" Jason said stoically. "Oh so sad!" Aarti took his hands in her and pressed them. "You are too unlucky to find the lap of mother for playing." She added. "I had never seen a pretty beautiful and delicate woman as Ammi Jaan was before meeting with you." Jason announced. Aarti again stole a look at the portrait and then at Jason. Jason inherited the looks of his mother. Her lips were very thin like Jason. Her cheeks showed dimples as she laughed. "Abba would say her heart throbbed in me," Jason said as emotions overwhelmed him and voice whistled before the sentence was over. "So beautiful" Aarti felt her heart heavy. "After Ammi Jaan's demise, I was terribly anxious how to cope with myself as I was always unloved and unwanted?" Jason put his arms around her and pressed her body against him. "Didn't Abba love you as Ammi Jaan did" Aarti tried to read his face. It was just a casual question. Why did Aarti ask this question? Jason thought for a while. "Hmm... can't say. Infact, business preoccupied him tremendously." "Businessmen are always short of time for their children" Aarti commented wisely. "No, Amma too was an insightful businesswoman. She was marvellously intelligent and she had always a lot of time for me as well for my sister" Aarti keenly observed that the whole lobby room was ablaze with paintings. The walls were lined with mementos case and bookcase together and back door of hall led to a small balcony where a painting of Lord Krishana was hung above the mantelpiece. Aarti for a moment surprised to watch Lord Krishna's painting in a Muslim family. "Bhagwan Krishan?" Aarti mumbled. "A Hindu deity" Jason said. "He was romantic and had lot of love affairs. You know?" "Yes, but he was not debauched" A tone of defence. Jason laughed. "I don't blame your god but I hear that he loved so many lasses at a time. Is it correct?" "No, he was seemed so but in fact he was not" Aarti uttered what Krishan ji explained to her once. "How could it be possible?" Jason astonished. "Miracles. God's miracles" "I see" Jason popped up his eyes. "Where did you get the painting" Aarti enquired. "A Hindu friend of mine presented me a short time back" "He might be your nice friend indeed" "Yes, very much" Jason stayed his hands over her shoulders. "He'd asked me to bow my head regularly before Lord Krishana and- I'm obeying him since then." Jason said and made the cuddle a little tight. Aarti smiled. She thought for a split moment that she would tell papa through her brother Rahul, as she could not face Krishan ji directly on Muslims' issue, about Jason how reverentially he prayed for Hindu's god- Bhagwan Krishan. This way Krishan ji might be delighted. It was the strange thing that Jason despite being a Muslim prayed Hindu deity Lord Krishana. Aarti had heard about a medieval vernacular Muslim poet Raskhan who was devoted to Lord Krishan and had penned down several verses eulogising his virtues. However, the room where they were standing was a dark tiny room. A beautiful bed was laid there close by it were a small round table and two plastic chairs on which latest issue of TIME magazine was landed. Aarti did not reach out magazine. She arrived at the shelf and took a book from the case and watched its title. It was the spiritual book of an American author. "Ammi Jaan loved to read books, even she devoured. She would generally lie awake late at night in bed to read books. Had so sort of fasciations for books." "Interesting" Aarti exclaimed and she took another book and scanned its title. "I love this place as I love Ammi Jaan and I take here those to whom I love passionately" "Have you many darlings making love passionately?" Aarti outwitted him. Her voice had the dubious tone. "No...it is you, only you to whom I love passionately" Jason remarked. "Never before you I've invited my home any girl" "Oh, thank you" "But sometimes I invite my male friends and they too rush in the balcony." Aarti nodded her head. Jason lay on bed and stretched out his legs over table. He held Aarti's hand and pulled her over him. She surprised marvellously. "Can my heart throbs in you, darling?" Jason asked her and cuddled her into his full arms afterwards. She smiled in response, did not speak a word and just after a moment drew herself back. She was always pathologically shy but she loved hearing the word 'darling' for herself. "Jason, don't put me in trouble" She said. Jason defying her appeal again pulled her over him, pressed her with him tightly. "Today, we have a drink together" Jason announced. "Drink?" "Don't you like it?" "No, let me walk off today, Jason. I have an appointment with someone" She declared and she knew she had lied to evade herself. "Only one drink- dear. For the sake of our friendship, sweetheart" "You know Jason, I rarely have a drink." "That will be fine" Jason stood, did no longer force her and hurried back to hall staring into unknown, filled with agony as if betrayed. "Do you annoy?" "No" He said but his face showed that he was perfectly annoyed with her. Aarti swung over his neck and laughed. "You know how much did I care for you?" Jason relaxed. "A white lie" Jason blubbered. Aarti glanced into his eyes with adulation. They remained silent for long moments. Aarti walked close on the photograph again and touched it, how beautifully it was hung over the wall. She exclaimed to herself. "Ammi Jaan might have been a very lovely woman." She broke the silence. "She was the queen of all hearts." Jason laughed which gave Aarti a smile. "Wonderful" "This home is her imagination but she could not live more" Jason struggled to cope with his despair. His eyes began to fill with tears. "Really, you have a beautiful home" Aarti volunteered to touch him and held his hand passionately. "Thank you" "And all the articles in your home are too wonderfully beautiful" Jason again thanked her. "Your body is also robustly beautiful" She flashed as she fell into shyness. Jason surprised what persuaded her to praise over his body and to arrive close to him. A moment before, she was even timid to his small touch. Jason did not at once show reaction but he was sure that today Aarti would make miracles. He felt a quick sense of comfort. He deliberately escorted Aarti towards the main gate to see her off. She was not ready to leave him. "Haven't we a drink together?" She smiled. "No, you go as you rarely drink and today you have an appointment with someone" Jason said. "But someone is not more important than you, darling" And she again swung over his shoulders. Jason pressed her against his body and kissed her. Aarti smiled with full heart. Jason was ablaze with passions she knew and she thrust her mouth into his chest. Jason laughed amorously and placed her into a corner of the wall. "Do you love someone other except for me" Aarti spoke emotionally. "Yes, to my Ammi Jaan who had made me great" Jason smiled and put a kiss on her. "Really, Ammi Jaan is great, Jason" Aarti caressed the hair on his chest. Hand in hand, they again visited balcony and both folded their hands before the portrait. "Thank you Ammi Jaan, you are alive even today. I can see you in my sweetheart. My Aarti" And then he fell into her embrace. "You're great, Jason" Aarti said and put her lips in his and shut her eyes. She had grown great and luxurious, unable to see the luxury of ecstasy with Jason. Jason lifted her into his arms and laid her on bed ...honey...let me fall into your heart' Aarti smiled and opened her arms fully. She felt the raid. She herself was ready to be plundered. She enjoyed hearing him say 'sweetie... honey' and embraced him tightly. ********* ******** ******** http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/c4d6dd977ad659458701e930b9cd1875_44f72547.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 13:07:03 -0500 A few days later, Aarti announced that she would join girls' college following year. University final exams were imminent. Just two months were left and they were hard for her. Unbelievingly, she was anxiously waiting for the next session. Her resolve to leave co-educational college was indomitable. Julia surprised what had happened to Aarti. Might she study in girls' college without Jason, without his tryst, without his funny jokes? No doubt, co-educational colleges are always better institutes than colleges only meant for girls but Krishan ji did not want his daughter study in co-educational institute. He hated his daughter possessing a bond with Muslim guy. And momentarily herself Aarti too had decided to abandon his friendship. Muslim boys were very affable to her despite knowing she was the daughter of a staunch RSS activist. They had nothing to do with her RSS family setting. However, her announcement delighted Krishan ji as daughter had taken right decision. And quick too. Shanti auntie too relaxed at her announcement. They talked to daughter softly. Did Aarti ever discard friendship with Jason? Aarti herself thought sincerely. Had she not lied to father that she had no relation with Jason? She had deep liaison with him, full of meaning. He was the throb of her heart. Her sincere boyfriend. Really very nice, cool, close to her heart, caring and emotional, fine, keen observer of values in life, having vast sense of compassion and lovable as well. Aarti poured her decision to him leaving co- educational college. Deeply minded at her decision, he threatened her to discard friendship if she didn't change her decision altogether. Aarti felt the misery of separating him but she had self-trust that she would manage it. She had been dating with her since she joined the college, had honest relations, not iffy ones as some girls in college developed with boyfriends. http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/156be0b9a3b87918c9bef7eb76973508_44f724d1.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 13:05:05 -0500 He called out Aarti with shrieked tone. She was not a bit nervous as if previously prepared for the disaster ahead of her. When the call struck down her ears she had been donning jean with T- shirt and comb in her hand as usual, standing inside the dressing cubicle, hairs still not to be tidied up, and high heeled slippers in feet dragging. She surprised as she emerged sluggishly. Never Krishan ji had yelled at her before. Then what had happened to him? Just Muslim guy? How stupid idea? "Yes, do you call me, Papa?" "Yes, I call you" Krishan ji stared at her. "Say, what you want to say? She made her expression a bit dopey. "There's nothing left to say, beti. Everything is clear" "Papa, what's the problem?" "Have you any Muslim boy- your boyfriend in your college" It was the straight question rather unexpected. No prelude. Aarti unable to face the oddity of question shivered slightly and inadvertently comb fell down her hands. "Don't confuse, beta" Shanti auntie made a seat between them on sofa and settled down her there. But Aarti grew enormously confused. Her eyes cast down. She anticipated that her father and mother would screech at her madly and she was readily prepared to snap them. Paradoxically, they talked to her humbly. "Beta, don't be puzzled. Tell the truth straightforward, your papa just asks you. He is worried far much as you know we are Hindus, beta." "I know well mummy we are Hindus" "Then why you develop friendship with Muslim boys? Why do you talk to them?" Aarti stunned at the oddity of question. Should it be a ban on dialogue with class boys? She wondered. Neck stiffened. "Mummy, there are so many boys in my class. Some are Hindus some are Muslims. They all are my good acquaintances. How can I stop talking with them?" Aarti spoke as she incongruously combed, sitting on the sofa. "Stop this silly comb first" Krishan ji irritated. Aarti flung away the comb and showed a pout which melted into sulk later. She disliked father's behaviour towards Muslims. "Mummy, don't punish me after silly questions" She stood up and defiantly stared into Krishan ji's eyes. If Shanti auntie had not clutched her hand tightly, she might have paraded out. "Avoid those boys ever if you can... otherwise." Krishan ji said as he had the sound of a threat. Aarti showed reluctance. "Your 'otherwise' is big stumbling block for her" Shanti auntie raised her brows. "Why don't you behave her unthreateningly?" "Do I threaten her? Do I? Huh! You always make the mess of everything" Krishan ji grumbled with regret. "Hmm... Mummy, is it easy skirting them without any reason? Tell, is it easy? They are men not issues, mummy" Aarti questioned disappointedly. "I don't know, is it easy or not? Are they men or issues. Remember, we are Hindus and your papa is dreaming of a Hindu Nation in India. Nothing else." Shanti auntie growled. Krishan ji was proud of his wife. 'Thank you my sweetheart- he whispered to himself ' "And we can not succeed in our mission by developing friendship with Muslims" Krishan ji declared. "I understand, mummy. I understand all what you say but why don't you try to understand me?" "I understand you, daughter. Why don't I understand you? You always befool us" Shanti auntie grew displeased. "No, Mummy, no" Aarti crabbed. "I know you're always right. You're quite right when you say- in those boys- in those Muslim boys, some are really great and you are proud of you" "Mummy, please" "You're proud of everyone except your papa-mummy and RSS" "Mummy...you please" "I know your 'please', it is just a cliché. Stop this nonsense, girl" Sulkily, Aarti moved herself, adjusted her slippers. "Where're you going, silly girl?" It grew Krishan ji indignant. He shrieked. "Nowhere" Aarti screamed in return. "Come straight to the point, Aarti- come straight before leaving this place. Right away, you speak to us. Did you choose a Muslim boy for yourself or not?" Shanti auntie enquired rudely as if enquiring to the daughter of an enemy. "No" Aarti came back with exasperation. "How can we trust in you?" "You know how? "If you any intention to marry with a Muslim guy?" Shanti auntie's interrogation was dangerously harsh. "Never" "You always say 'never' but you do whatever fancies your mind" "It is a hundred percent truth that I wouldn't choose a Muslim boy for myself, papa." She hastened inside the cubicle, throwing behind her slippers over the sofa and wept bitterly. Krishan ji chased her as if she was a sought-after criminal. "Now, please stop it, papa" She shrieked with embarrassment and hid her face behind palms. "Why do we stop it?" Shanti auntie glowed. Krishan ji was replete with assurance and smiled into wife's eyes. Aarti evaded eye contacts with mummy. Maybe, she had spoken her mind. Krishan ji thought. She would not pick a Muslim guy for herself. Possibly, she had got papa's emotions for Hindu culture and his dream of establishing Hindu nation in India. Later, he exaggerated to wife. "Believe- we've a good daughter." "And cultured" Shanti auntie added mockingly. It struck down Aarti enormously as she figured out insinuation. She floored down her head into ground. Next day, Krishan ji along with Shanti auntie went over Julia and enquired --'how did she possess the information of Aarti having relationships with Muslim boy.' Julia revealed the name of the boy- Jason. Krishan ji stunned. It was not rumours. Shanti auntie bewildered. "Did our daughter betray us?" "I'm terribly shameful" Krishan ji pained. "She was telling she didn't have a Muslim boy for herself. Why had she lied to us?" Shanti auntie uttered nothing except a deep sigh. "She throws dirt in our eyes" Krishan ji moaned. Mixture of anger and desperation in his eyes was ubiquitous. Julia continued to declare that she too had met the guy once and he explained to her that he had proposed to Aarti. "Propose?" Krishan ji's fury shot up. He was sure enough that Julia could not lie to them. She was his confidante. Shanti auntie too could have trust in her. Julia gauged the couple's emotions and smiled into Shanti auntie's bewildered eyes. "Bhenji, don't be worried. He is a moderate Muslim and moreover a nice guy" She then made eyes contact with Krishan ji whose face looked faded into anguish. ********* ********** ******* http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/ef9549f4923c82c776b5d0d68bf20007_44f723ee.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 13:01:18 -0500 After a year, in the chilly winter of December, when dhobis might have coldfrightened to wash in the open area of dhobi ghat or in adjacent fields, although it lost its existence with its demolition, and mist in the garb of coldness happily would have eaten out the old people. Oneday cruel destiny in the skin of wintry iciness smacked on Krishan ji's father and he frozen died. His was the single Hindu family in the Muslim locality. After father's funeral ceremonies in which the attendance was thin, only the bigoted Hindu families were noticed except for a small horde of RSS activists, Rehman too was absent conspicuously despite knowing Julia was there all day with the baby; Krishan ji decided to leave the colony as close relatives suggested him. Krishan ji's wife, who hated to see the beef baking in the colony, insisting upon leaving the colony as early as possible, was now elated on Krishan ji's decision and with all his possible efforts, Krishan ji so far had been unable to find out the executioner of cows in the nearby area from where Muslims got beef. As it was evident, Krishan ji did not walk Hanuman temple for days. He did not meet Julia as well as the baby son. Rehman was happy. Frantically happy. He jealously went down mosque and prayed for Allah to inflict doom on Krishan ji's wife as his pig- headed father. Allah was not so callous; therefore, he did not accept the spiteful prayer. More maliciously, he implored Julia, rather first time, to go to church praying for Jesus to inflict doom on her. Julia blatantly disapproved of his command and came to fruition- a torrent of cruel slaps. The locality people disfavoured the cruelty. They asked Rehman to leave the colony before the evening fell as the councillor of the ward directed him to mend his ways then come back. ******* ********* ********** http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/775c4bf85e4301ff0d7148a049f7ca55_44f7236c.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 12:59:08 -0500 "Cruel, say sorry to your wife" One of the women upbraided Rehman dangerously shoving him aside in exasperation. He stunned. None before could have dared to touch him. He had the idea to thrash that woman brutally but the inundated and obsessive lust for Julia stopped him to raise his hand against the woman. Rehman shivered with frustration, how pitiable he was, he mused, he could not exist a day without Julia. She was an intoxicant for him- comfortable and tranquil. After some contemplation, he uttered meekly. "Sorry" Julia sobbed and embraced into him. A smile on his face reflected like a mercury light. Rehman did not like locality people intervention. After another tight embrace with reassurance, he shooed the gathered folks away with the whistle of his lips. Julia laughed pleasantly and signalled the women to let them liberate to share some warm moments. Krishan ji was also in the horde of interveners. He did not leave the place immediately and saw Julia with the eyes of his heart. "Wonderful lady" He expressed and grinned. Julia was really a wonderful lady. Krishan ji again thought of her. Not only him, Julia sounded to all RSS swayamsevaks- a kind and loving woman as she loved Hindu mythology, the single lady in the locality loved Hindu culture, they boasted. She was very close to Krishan ji, Muslim women knew despite this, they respected Julia and day by day Julia was becoming the queen of all hearts. Julia met Muslim women regularly. When she did not find time for them she sent a message to them of her not coming. She helped all those- either Muslim or Hindu- in the hour of need who sought help from her. Importantly, she sometimes went for mosque with Muslim women and prayed with a stoop as Muslim women prayed. She occasionally went for Hanuman Mandir and read Hanuman Chalisa. It soothed her and quietened down Krishan ji too and he greeted her holding her both hands in his- whenever he saw her in the vicinity of Hanuman Mandir. ********** ********* ********** http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/127bc2eb838a5fd90109163e2f0ae3d7_44f722ea.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 12:56:58 -0500 Dhobi Ghat In those days- those were good days for good-for- nothing people, and for sure, in those days- it was an encroached and deserted slum area the poor occupied and exactly nearby the encroached slum, there faced a tiny colony of affluent landlords. Slum area people were really debased by cruel poverty that corroded their ambitions and pride and sapped their spirit and strength and wearied ego. Midst of the slum area and the richly colony there had been an open ground plagued with garbage horrible smell. People dwelling there were mostly washermen. They were really unfortunate people and they had good ease to have stench but affluent landlords detested the smell and they had opened their main gates to backward street. Washermen had nothing to do with their intention. They were liberated to do whatever they liked in the street. They washed their clothes on highly perched cement slab beneath it were a series of tiny gullies to course the water into adjacent field. And in the open field, their women hung dripping clothes on twine- kind thin string for to be dried off. The peaked horizontal cement slab had been constructed after the partition by the municipality for dhobis. Years went by. Now it invited reconstruction. Under the slab, near the tiny gullies and slightly beneath the water tap, there ran a small river which water flowed sluggishly to the fields, mingled with the dirt of washing clothes where peasants tiled and children played, women gossiped, and low caste gentlemen ( as they boast of their gentlemanliness) walked for jaunt. And landlords when eyed them they irritated. And sometimes in the dark night or in the early morning women went there for their lavatory. And in the daylight, donkeys shitted and pissed. It was a public place for all dhobis and particularly for their loving donkeys. But the fields where peasant tiled and their cattle grazed were not a public place as it was used by dhobis for drying off their clothes. Landlords threatened them not to mess the place but they had nothing to do with their intimidation. They rinsed their clothes heroically, stared their big-breasted young girls and their moms and their children enjoyed playing fearlessly. But some Muslim women hated to wash their clothes there as it was called Hindu Dhobi Ghat. At that time, the president of the municipality too was a Hindu gentleman particularly clean-shaved. He was not as bigoted as his Muslim brethren thought of him. Out of the sheer influence of local legislator, he declared the Dhobi Ghat free of cost for Muslim washerwomen sisters to woo them. It was just a gimmick and Muslim community understood it. They did not turn their faces towards Hindu Dhobi Ghat but as against, with declaration, Hindu women boycotted the president and abandoned the Dhobi Ghat forever. They did not want to pay the fee for its use. In those days, Hindu dhobis had been great influence over the political class because they were regarded the disciples of Bapu Gandhi and opposed the partition under his leadership but despite their strenuous efforts, they were unsuccessful to preserve Indo-Pak unity. As a result, the Hindu president was removed from his covetous post. And the then legislator lost his election later. It was the victory of dhobis and their dhobi ghat. Eventually, dhobi ghat was bulldozed as it had bulldozed the dreams of two ambitious politicians. Washermen suffered much. They began to wash their clothes on tube wells in open in adjacent fields and began to invite landlords' uninviting anger. ****** ********* ********* http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/b7cbdf132b507111600378221e773b02_44f7225e.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 12:54:38 -0500 Dhobi Ghat http://ashwiniahuja.zoomshare.com/2.shtml/5c257a6cc0258ec9560754027b0a7b5f_44f72170.writeback Thu, 31 Aug 2006 12:50:40 -0500 What the critics say about of the just finished novel 'Simply Swayamsevak' it is purely based on great idea of multi-cultural wrangle with the blending of mystery and love and romance. It is a love story of two university scholars hailing from different religions. It is also a story of betray, bigotry and national chauvinism of RSS saffron brigade. It sets around the time of after partition in India and highlights RSS (Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh) pseudo agenda, its values, its mission and its discordant role in Indian politics, its belligerency and its doggedness to transform secular India into a Hindu nation as neighbouring Pakistan is an Islamic nation, they opine- then why India is not renovated into glorious Hindu nation. So far not even a single novel has been written on the same theme therefore I value it and expect its huge success. The story of novel revolves around Kabir- a simple swayamsevak (volunteer) who works for Hindu fascists and fell in love with a Muslim girl defying the command of his RSS mentor who navigated him into shakha. His Christian mother accepts the girl but fascists play havoc with his family and assaults on his mother in view of her endorsement for Muslim girl. RSS saffron brigade dogged to transform India- a secular country into Hindu nation. Kabir hated the idea of breaking secular fabric of India and defied the command of RSS and braved the fury of RSS fascists. Indeed, Kabir- the protagonist- wanted to be a great gentleman and for this special purpose he had joined the sangh parivar but RSS men bruised him agonisingly. He earned post graduate degree in 'Gandhian and Peace Study' and followed the dogmas of Mahatma Gandhi who was the father of nation but RSS men hated Gandhian concepts of peace and reconciliation. In fact, Simply Swayamsevak is a good read. What the author say about his novel The inspiration for the novel was an idea, stunning one that struck into my mind ever since I joined RSS as a simple member. I resolved to carry on immediately but my English language was so poor and the very idea was dumped back into unconscious mind for the time being. Later I struggled myself to rebuild me writing this script and with the five years arduous fight I succeeded completing the script. I sometimes questions to myself if the novel is really completed. Yes, I admit, it is finished now. Kabir- the protagonist of my novel also exclaims-yes, I'm satisfied with my rebellion, with my desire to stay India as a secular fabric. The menace of conversion is perilous, not all Muslims are terrorists, not all Christians are humble folks, and veneer humbleness twists into wantonness when RSS mentor deceives institution's dogmas. Stupidity. This is all what the theme of this novel. The rest of the story just accidentally falls into culture clashes, why not? Infatuation between Muslim boys and RSS Hindu girl or vice versa accelerates the passions and sensationalizes the situation between both communities. This is just the key gives my novel a new skin different from others. Since I had been a RSS man- simply swayamsevak- therefore, the novel is almost like a part of me. Simply Swayamsevak is an inextricable mix of my experience and my mind's eye. The book is a very sad book, sad for me particularly because I had to brave ugly RSS dogmas when I was swayamsevak and somehow the sadness would stay with me till they fascists metamorphosed themselves into nice, secular citizens of India. Friends ask me if it is a biographical novel. I think it's an irrelevant question. Should an irrelevant query be responded? Certainly not. I think all fiction springs from your own experiences and autobiographical hue is mandatory despite the melding of imagination. Frankly speaking, I was born in a low middle class family, father had just a grocery store in the name of property, and our house too was on rent. I was unable to study in convent school hence my English had been dangerously poor ever since I joined the post of a school lecturer. I chose Hindi as the medium of my writing. Bullshit. Let me come straight to the point. English language is not reflexive thing for me but I choose because it is a great language and more and more people tend to speaking English in India. If anybody likes you only because of your English, honey. Let me reveal on you an outlandish thing. I think in Hindi but write in English. I try to follow the rules but rules crushes under the weight of my emotions and passions and I don't understand if I've broken them, really. I think structure is very important in writing a novel. While I'd been writing 'Simply Swayamsevak' I was terribly confused how to cope with my surging ideas. Emotions were gushed, language was lame, and I cry, I scrabble around to pick the suitable words but it was my experience and gush of emotions which developed my fiction finally. Today I' m really proud of myself writing a stunning novel. Believe me.