Faceless Gods (Second Edition, Vol 1)

 Dear all, presenting the second edition of my novel Faceless Gods (Vol. 1). Kindly use coupon code SPRINGGIFTS to avail 40% discount on the book available at the link

https://notionpress.com/read/faceless-gods-1388339

This story was written around the turn of the century. I was in my twenties and the world almost a mirage viewed through emotional prism. That is primarily the reason for the work’s poetic overtones. Now when I look at it, it seems a long verse written in prose conveying poignant, hard-hitting emotions. But anything not too near, out of compulsion, formalized decency and polished made-up diplomacy is nearer to truth by default. Truth is bitter as they say. But I have tried to mellow down that bitterness by the use of sweet poetic language.

For two-and-half decades since the book was born I have sent it to hundreds of publishers and literary agents. I have written countless mails. Nothing goes waste. It at the least gave me a very nice writing practice.

It’s natural to get bugged with skepticism about your own worth in the face of endless rejections of your creation or when you don’t have a single response kindling some hope. But if you still feel the call of your art, be sure that it’s your real destiny. If your script gets rejected a thousand times—like mine—and if you still feel motivated to write and in fact feel better while pursuing your write-ups then believe me writing is your destiny. Recognition and being famous has absolutely nothing to do with it because you have already crossed the golden threshold to become a nishkam karmayogi, the one who gives her all to a task without getting bothered about the outcome.

First, you have to recognize that this is worth your time and effort. Self-evaluation is the benchmark through which others will evaluate you. And that dear readers keeps me going.

Many people tell me that my language is on the harder side, that I use words that don’t fall in conversational genre, that my sentence structure is complex, which slows down the pace of reading and comprehension. They may have a point but so have I. As far as difficult words are concerned, why do we have them in the first place? Do we keep them in the dictionary only as examples never to followed or used? If we believe it to be so then it sounds an abuse to language and linguistics. In my understanding, it shows our lack of skills rather than the suitability or unsuitability of those words.

We have the words, in the first place, because they have relevance and ought to be used simply because they have been devised to be used. If we come across a difficult word, we should try to know its meaning. Those who overemphasize the importance of smooth reading maybe keep a book just for ‘reading’ instead of ‘studying’. Hell doesn’t break loose if we pause while ‘reading’ and ‘study’ the meaning of a new word. That differentiates ‘reading’ from ‘studying’. The latter makes you a student for life. My books are basically for the ‘students’ who have chosen to be the eternal learners of life, living and language.

I know the publishing industry is dominated by the ‘readers school’. It fetches big numbers and still bigger business. Nothing wrong with that. Thankfully, the self-publishing platforms provide the writers like me plenty of options to continue their writing passion in the hope that out of thousands of readers there are a few students who will take up the message contained in the book. It may not add dollars to a publisher’s account but the contents will surely add something positive to the life of a student in many ways.

The present edition contains some added chapters and changes that I deem it fit to be included as per my present knowledge and understanding of the issues involved in the story.

It is a slowly moving story, meandering like a river in its journey through the plains. It is just an effort to highlight some sober facts like the true meaning of nationalism, religion, politics and humanism. Some people may think that the work has very sharp political connotations. This but is an espousal of the cause of clean politics. It may sound dreamy but the basic contours of humanism are almost utopian in nature. How will the things change if we don’t dream of a perfect state of affairs? A utopian dream is the womb in which even the worst gets transformed into a tolerable reality.

https://notionpress.com/read/faceless-gods-1388339

Fathers and Sons

 

In the past, an old man’s wife found fresh dose of love in her late fifties. She ditched him and eloped with her middle-aged lover, leaving behind a brood of five grown up men and women, two of them already having little children of their own. I happen to overhear a row between the old man, in his eighties now, and his graying son. They are very angry at each other. ‘Your wife ran away with someone. You are fit for nothing,’ the son probes his fingers in the hurtful corner of the old man’s heart. ‘And your mother eloped with a goon,’ the old man countered. Then both of them turned silent under the weight of the family history.

Cheering Sixers for Tau

 

A decade back, I once took a photo of one of the taus in our village. ‘I know why are you taking my photo,’ he said as I clicked the picture. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Because you think I’m just about to die and you will be able to see my face later,’ he looked hurt.

He is still around after ten years and most importantly can see reasonably well. I need to take his latest photo so I approach him. He is near the century of years and loves cricketers hitting centuries. He loves those who meet the three-figure mark and hates those who get out in the nineties. He hates them even more than who get out on zero.

He was watching an IPL match. That was the time when luscious cheer-girls danced in skimpy skirts to celebrate the hits to the boundary. I am not sure whether he loves the boundaries more or the dance. I think both of them cheer him up. Once after a hit to the fence they forgot to show the dance. He looked very disturbed and the next boundary took a few more overs in coming. He grew impatient and jittery. ‘Why would they hit boundaries if the girls turn lazy and don’t dance? The girls didn’t dance on the last hit,’ he held a grouse against the girls.

He had another issue about them showing the same dancing reward for both fours and sixes. ‘They should do something better for a sixer, which is far better than a four,’ he reasoned. I was about to say, ‘Do you want the skirts to go up tau to celebrate sixers?’ But I kept the query hidden within me because in that case he would have surely taken a sixer-type swipe at my legs with his well-oiled stick.

Lazy Doves and Smart Buzzards

 

Hope you remember the spotted dove episode? The broken nest is still there. Without any doubt, all doves are very lazy. They seem content in their small, peaceful world and take the trouble to coo sometimes and walk with gentle strides. They show a bit of urgency only when they take off. They flutter their wings pretty loudly to even scare you sometimes. In comparison to their eased living, a tailorbird looks weary and stress-battered.

The nest is just an assemblage of few dry twigs at a height where you can easily touch it with your extended hand and raised heels. A pair of laughing dove now decides to occupy the abandoned house. They aren’t deterred by the painful recent past. They make some flimsy, make-believe adjustments to the arrangement of twigs. You can literally see through the nest when you stand under it and scan it for its safety features.

A honey buzzard lands onto the small curry patta tree bearing the nest and the honeycomb. The birds haven’t laid eggs yet. They fly with a loud beating of wings. The nest is empty but he gets a bonus, the little ball of honeybees. It’s a small hive because flowers are vanishing from the planet and my little garden is sufficient for a tiny hive only. But the eagle gets a little sweet beakful of honey. The dove couple looks adamant and returns after some time. They will surely lay eggs despite cats and the eagle stalking them. They are into it with a single-minded focus. In between, some biggest favor by luck favors them with a successful hatching. However, given their lazy ways, it seems a miracle almost.

The Story of a Tiny Beetle

 

Darkling beetle isn’t named after its dark color. It’s a gray ground beetle that loves to stay in the dark. Its Latin name means ‘seeker of dark places and trickster’. But some are active during the day also. They are generalistic omnivores feeding on rotting wood, decaying leaves, dead insects, fresh plant matter, fungi, larvae and much more that we hardly have any clues about.

It’s an unpretentious armored beetle. Under the sunlight, as per the scheme in the beetle world, it would count as travelling by the night. Nights carry risks for us. The same is during the day for these nocturnal insects.

Even while at a run, it seems a leisure walk, something like a jolly, happily portly twaddle of a rotund gentleman. It crossed the garden, walked across the courtyard, walked up to the floored inner yard. As I came nearer, it feigned a perfected death. I moved away and it abandoned its acting and started again.

It looks an adventurous beetle on a long walk. A carpenter ant comes from the opposite direction. They stand face to face, greet each other, shake their antennae to convey bye and move on. An ant—far smaller—hurries past from behind. The ground beetle doesn’t care. It loves it gentle, leisurely pace. Another carpenter ant also goes speeding up as it overtakes and takes a U-turn after going a few yards. What is the use of speed if you aren’t sure of the direction? It’s better to go slowly with a clear sense of direction. The returning ant is in much hurry, so forgets to greet the gentleman like the earlier ant did. 

The ground beetle tries a hop but seems a funny miniature version of a rhino on slow trot. It but realizes its mistake and goes back to its natural pace. There it crosses the inner yard and arrives at a hole in a corner. It’s a nice, cozy, secure hole in the flooring. It seems an ideal spot for a hiatus. It snoozes around the opening. A skink raises objection at the encroachment. The beetle is too big for her mouth and she herself is out of reach for the beetle. So there is no confrontation.

It tries to climb the wall, goes with the slowest of a cautious crawl like an expert mountaineer sticking to a sheer rock face. It realizes that heights aren’t for it and wisely comes down. A very wise decision indeed, a proper estimation of its abilities. It then moves cautiously, slanted over the edge of a stone slab. A journeyman on the move, it goes into the verandah, then into the room. Who am I to stop its march? I can just look at it.