“I can’t say that I planned to write this book. I don’t believe the story told itself—as it is neither fiction nor a memoir in a conventional sense. I did not have the privilege of hindsight as I wrote in my diary. I’ve narrated the creative process and entrepreneurial journey in real-time as it unfolded in my life.”
My second novel The Merchant of Stories is dedicated to my great-grandmother Kamala Nagindas. I write this, not to honour her death–but to remember her life.
On the positive side of this pandemic, we have taken advantage of this time to pursue our hobbies in addition to our regular work. In the past couple of months, we have done many things that we were beautifully procrastinating on till now. All of us have some sort of guilty pleasures to keep us optimistic in such trying times.
When our hearts break, the first thing we wish to do is to forget all the sweet memories of our beloved. The best memories become the most painful ones. And on our lonely nights, the memories come back to remind us of the stark contrast between our past and present. Yet, our heart is unable to forget them as it doesn’t come with a ‘delete’ button.
Poetry has a way of touching the deepest corner of our hearts and talking directly to our souls. The trail of the essence that it leaves in our minds is what makes us relate poetry to the most beautiful art of the Universe. It’s like painting on the canvas of the soul with words from Heaven.
I first came across the concept of co-authoring in a post on Co-Authors. It inspired me to research further, brainstorm and come up with a few techniques through which writers can collaborate to create their best work yet.
My eyes turn their gaze toward the celestial ones. A blanket of stars wrap me in their embrace. It is quiet and cold. I am in the Negev Desert. The last time I was here was close to a decade ago. It was Hanukah and we’d come here on a school trip. Why did my my mind’s eye bring me back here?
For a long time, Tagore wasn’t allowed to leave the premises of his house. But he wanted to see the outside world. When someone visited their house, young Tagore asked them to narrate stories of the world outside. The more he heard, the more his desire rose. Yet, there was no escape.
4,300 years ago in ancient Sumer, the most powerful person in the city of Ur was banished to wander the vast desert. Her name was Enheduanna, and by the time of her exile, she had written forty-two hymns and three epic poems— and Sumer hadn’t heard the last of her. Who was this woman, and why was she exiled?
No age had ever been able to produce such a great talent. A common belief goes that one cannot complete reading all his literary works in one life – such is the vastness of his genius. No doubt, he is almost worshipped by the Bengalis. Tagore wrote short stories, poems, novels, dramas and songs.