“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.
Dipa Sanatani is back with another book and this time it’s a non-fiction. And yet it tells a story. Her story. Listen carefully and you’ll hear its song…Woven with a fairytale-like narration, The Merchant of Stories has all her musings, experiences and knowledge put together in a single book. The book builds a magical world of awe without the hint of any supernatural element in it. Well, life itself is magic… Isn’t it?
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.
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?