Tag Archives: historical fiction

Independence and A Rose from a dream

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A Rose from a dream spans the decade 1942-52, a very special time in India, pre and post independence. I wrote about this particular era because for the present generation growing up in India and the US, freedom is sometimes taken for granted . They cannot even begin to understand the mindset of those who struggled and died so we could be free.

The book gives you a perspective from many angles:

Famous revolutionaries like Vanchinathan and Bharathiyar whose stories are legendary, known and recognized for their patriotic fervor  and the lesser known Swaminathan and Salih, ordinary folk who worked under the British yet longed for freedom.

The freedom movement was quite different in Bengal as compared to the south. In fact, young Kamu had no idea what was happening or that she was privy to a very special moment in time.  What  is refreshing is that for the first time you read about Indian History  from the perspective of the women of that time.

A Rose from a dream carries a piece of my heart: my love of country. Buy the book and walk through history.

Rose on Amazon

 

Here is a small excerpt

The atmosphere in the city was particularly festive. Thousands of people were in the streets, already holding paper tricolor flags and wishing one another Happy Independence Day, although that momentous event wouldn’t take place until midnight. Every government building in the city was lit up, the illumination particularly impressive against the darkening skies. There was a prediction of thundershowers and a collective hope that this wouldn’t dampen the festivity. In preparation for the grand moment, the entire street had been covered in a shamiana decorated with festoons of orange white and green. Tonight no one would sleep. It would be a night of celebration.

Rajam and Kunju had tears in their eyes as they watched the friends greet each other. They knew this day meant something really special to these folk. This was a group of people who had  fought for the freedom of the land with a passion. Perhaps never again would this spirit of patriotism rise in the nation against one common enemy. No one could ever understand the depth of feeling and the deep love for the land shared by this band of revolutionaries. Never again in their lifetimes would the longing for Swaraj (self-rule) inspire poetry that tugged at one’s heart strings making tears stream down one’s cheeks. These were very special people, this a very special time, and they were indeed privileged to live through it.

Cries of Jai Hind and Vande Mataram rang all around them, and then they stood, one nation, one voice. For the first time as free Bharat, they heard and sang Janaganamana, the melodic and evocative song written by Rabindranath Tagore, and adopted as the nation’s National Anthem. It was indeed a very special day, one of hope and of dreams as they stood together singing the national anthem. Every citizen, rich or poor, would have tears in their eyes, a combination of painful remembrance and visionary imaginings.

They were all in the streets greeting each other, laughing and cheering. The temple doors were open and people were pouring in to give thanks to the gracious God that had granted them the honor of this momentous day. Sweets were distributed and firecrackers lit the sky. The family was going to see the city lights, but for others, fatigue crept in and slowly the streets emptied and everyone found their way indoors, exhilarated yet exhausted from the emotional festivity.

As Swami lay down he couldn’t sleep for a long time. He led a sedentary life, and this was too much excitement for him. He thought about all the great martyrs who had died for this cause from Bhagat Singh in the north to Vanchinathan in the south, and he reminisced about his attempt to aid the struggle despite wearing a British uniform. For many, their minds had been kidnapped and brainwashed, leaving them with diminished self-esteem and questionable loyalty. Added to that was so much pain. The searing pain of communal riots and hatred, the partition of the land and the creation of Pakistan.. The nation had suffered, and it would take tremendous effort to begin the healing process. The scars of colonial slavery would take a long time to mend. But people had faith that the leaders were good and were ready to follow the guidance of stalwarts and erudite intellectuals like Nehru, Gandhi and Patel who would lead them from darkness to light. India would awaken to freedom and enterprise, to belief and tolerance, to hope and dignity.

My Writing process #Monday Blogs

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I have to begin by thanking my dear friend Feroza Unvala, the creator of all my book covers who introduced me to  her writer and social activist friend, Humaira Ghilzai.  Humaira I appreciate you inviting me to participate on this blog tour which has impelled me to reconnect with my writer friends and continue the blogging process which I thoroughly enjoy.

My writing process

1)     What am I working on? 

 

The culture that you are brought up with to a large extent defines who you are in the context of modern day living. It grounds you and gives you a sense of identity. Added to this is a passion to give a resonant voice to universal women’s issues. That said, 1930?s Colonial India was the  natural choice for the setting of my first novel, “When the Lotus Blooms,” which was published in 2011, telling the story of two child brides attempting to find identity in a patriarchal society. the novel includes the entire gamut of women’s issues from infertility to a domineering mother-in-law, rape and substance abuse to abortion and widowhood. Rajam and Dharmu, the main protagonists, are my grandmothers, Kandu, my father and Kamu, my mother.

I am currently working on the sequel which I hope to call, “A Rose from a dream.” The book spans a decade from 1942-1952 and brings in issues which I didn’t cover in the first book, including the institution of Devadasis, (organized prostitution) the Independence movement and the World war as it impacted India. Hopefully it should be out by 2014.

2)     How does my work differ from others of its genre?

 

My book falls under the category of historical fiction. While there are hundreds of books on the British Raj, most have a western viewpoint and none have showcased the span and depth of its culture especially from the viewpoint of its impact on women. More particularly, my books speaks about tradition and culture of the Tamil brahmin community.

What has been much more difficult to do as a writer is to speak out against social injustice in a voice of compassion that does not offend the sensibilities of thousands of brahmin women, whose life is defined by this very tradition. To use the pen to create awareness, conversation and perhaps change. The difficulty was in finding the right balance where I didn’t convert the book into a handbook of Indian culture, yet was able to talk about common practices that define the Brahmin community and change that needs to occur.

Most importantly I exist in every page of the book. Hailing from the culture gave me deep insight into the mindset and attitudes of Tamil brahmin women and I present the social milieu in a non-judgmental, participative manner that resonates with women from all walks of life, every culture and every society. Nothing has really changed. Social relationships, male patriarchy, abuse and subjugation; all these issues plague women even today.

3)     Why do I write what I do?

 

I write in two genres; spiritual non-fiction and historical fiction. I discovered writing after I learned a special breathing technique called Sudarshan Kriya. The breathing practices combined with meditation quieted the mind sufficiently for the latent talent to emerge. My second book was written in gratitude to share the happiness and peace I had miraculously discovered. I had finally chanced on writing and through the written word was able to express my innermost feelings and emotions. My earlier anger with the world, the resultant frustration and stress had just dissipated. The book is called “The Present: a Gift from the Divine: and it has been endorsed by my Master H.H. Sri Sri Ravi Shankar as well as H.H. the Dalai Lama. I have heard that nonfiction is more popular but I prefer the comfort of fiction!

My head is filled with untold stories. I see stories in everything from mundane tasks like drinking milk or going swimming to the more dramatic like child molestation.  A small and unimportant task like spreading cow manure on the floor could be converted in a scene of shame and control, to portray the very insecurity and fear that troubled Rajam all her life. It became stimulating to write because I could let my imagination and intuition take over and then watch the drama play out. The journey was much more exhilarating, and I was present right through at every important juncture in the lives of my characters  through my writing. I am not in the career of writing for money; I write because that’s what I love to do. Money and fame are a product of destiny. Self-publishing my book brought closure for a project dear to my heart. I am very happy with the end product, and having a small publisher in India has worked well for me to distribute and sell in the land of my birth. The only promise I strictly honor is to be true to myself and maintain my authenticity by writing on subjects  I am passionate about, and using the pen to affect change and create awareness. I guess I write because I have no choice. It is natural, gratifying and exhilarating.

 

4)     How does your writing process work?

There is very little planning involved when I write. My writing style is anecdotal and each chapter could stand on its own merit as a short story. I pick a character, take a deep breath and begin typing:  the story simple reveals itself without any special effort on my part. This is when I write fiction. For my nonfiction book I interviewed over a hundred people from five continents, after which I transcribed each interview. Following this, I created a spreadsheet using different headings like anger, lust, delusion, karma and so on. I would read the interview and enter the name under each category. Two years later I had 500 pages transcribed and no idea what to do. Then one day I just sat and began writing. I picked a topic pulled the interviews related to it and put it all together. I wrote for 12-14 hours a day for 2 months. I don’t know if this works for others. Research and information just acts a s a guide when I write. My writing is completely natural and intuitive. It’s as they say; there’s someone sitting on my shoulder telling me what to write next.

 

Meet my author friends

Keith .B. Darrell

Keith .B. Darrell is a prolific American writer of short stories, novels, nonfiction books, and newspaper and magazine articles. If not for his support and keen critical evaluation of my writing I would not have published my book. Thanks Keith!

Keith B. Darrell was abducted as an infant by evil Fae creatures, who replaced the author in his crib with a changeling doppelganger. By age 24,the changeling known as Keith B. Darrell had earned his A.A. from Broward Community College, his B.S. in Journalism from the University of Florida, his M.B.A.from Emory University, and his J.D. from the Emory University School of Law. He went on to become a member of the State Bar of Georgia and the Florida Bar.

Darrell is a cross-genre writer of speculative fiction, flash fiction, fusion fiction, fantasy, contemporary fantasy, urban fiction, sword & sorcery, science fiction, dystopian fiction, apocalyptic fiction, horror, slice of life, political and sociological fiction, humor, drama, gothic mystery, children’s fiction, young adult fiction and nonfiction. His short stories have appeared in three collections, Shards, Randoms,and Careywood, as well as in Kindle short story format e-books available from the Amazon.com Kindle store.

Website www.keithbdarrell.com .  Twitter @Keith_B_Darrell

 

 

Michael Cantwell

Michael Cantwell, CCIM is an author and commercial real estate agent in Florida as well as a published photographer. He was born in Ft. Campbell KY, raised in Trenton, NJ, graduated college at LaSalle University in Philadelphia, PA. He now resides in Palm Beach County, Florida.

Website:www.ksmmike.com                              Blog:http://ksmmike.blogspot.com/

Twitter @ksmmike

 

Dr. Shirley Press

In 2001, Dr. Shirley Presswon big in the Florida Lottery. In her book, Dr. Press takes
readers on a tour of her life from a poor girl in Camden, NJ of Holocaust survivor
parents to becoming a doctor and a lottery winner and the lessons learned from her journey.
PRESSING MY LUCK: A DOCTOR’S LOTTERY JOURNEY
Written by Shirley Press, MD. Published by Re-Spin Publishing Paperback, 274 pages. Paperback and kindle versions are available at Amazon. ePub versions are available at iTunes, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.shirleypress.com.

Twitter@ ShirleyPress

website blog  http://shirleypress.com/blog/ –

 

 

Appanshayal: My Spirit Guide

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Appanshayal

Appanshayal was my paternal great-great grandfather. My father spoke very fondly of his memories of visits to his grandfather’s home in Nagarcoil. It was almost as though he venerated his Grandfather Nilakanta Ayyar and more so his Great Grandfather Appanshayal. When I wrote this book I felt connected very deeply to my ancestors. As I wrote, I couldn’t help feeling they spoke to me, revealing their characters, their innermost thoughts and their lives. My writing style devotes a chapter to each character and I would meditate each morning asking for insight. Then I would go to my computer and write whatever came to mind. Nothing in this book was planned and it’s a miracle it all came together, because I had no idea where my imagination would lead me.

Each one of us has a special spirit guide whose presence we feel often when we avoid a dangerous situation or solve a complex problem. At such time we surprise ourselves and attribute such mini-miracles  to destiny, ESP or sheer brilliance. Such solutions spring from the inner spirit and have no reason to become known. This is when we feel the presence of the Divine and attribute it to heavenly intervention. It is said that ancestors and spirit guides communicate to us through such thoughts, notions, feelings and ideas and I have spent a good chunk of my time pondering this, wondering if I had such a guide. Who was this heavenly entity? Would this truth ever be revealed to me? When I meditate, I often ask for my spirit guide to reveal himself and most often the face of Appanshayal pops into my mind. I have no idea if indeed he is my guide or it’s just that I have this deep reverence for him. All I know is that I connect with him. This photograph is of Appanshayal with my grandfather Mahadevan. Look at the strength he emanates and the nobility of his posture.

Little tidbits of information became paragraphs and chapters. For some strange reason I wrote this episode when Appanshayal cures a young boy of a snake bite. I knew he was a yogi and very knowledgeable about Ayurveda but when my mother sent me this photograph of him I had gooseflesh. I was shocked at what I saw. The photograph was old and had some sort of impression next to the old man. It was without doubt an  impression of a King Cobra poised to strike.. Miracle or coincidence ? Who knows?

Here is an excerpt from my book ,When the Lotus Blooms…

Kandu ran to the outhouse where his great-grandfather Appanshayal lived, a quaint little house which he loved visiting. The outhouse had two rooms. The back room had plenty of books and on one side was a bedroll where the old man slept, meditated and prayed. One wall was covered with images of different gods and goddesses, under which was the pooja altar with many silver idols. Appanshayal met his patients in the front room. A low platform covered with a thin mattress stood on one side of the room. On the other side were shelves filled with glass jars, each containing a different herb or root. Appanshayal was very interested in herbal remedies, a very important branch of Ayurveda, the ancient system of Vedic medicine, and had trained under a famous teacher for many years.

  People had complete faith in Ayurveds and went to them for any and every ailment. Remedies existed for every conceivable disease, from snake and scorpion bites, to constipation and diabetes. Appanshayal got some of the herbs locally but every year, he made a trip to a hillock near Cape Comorin, where plenty of medicinal herbs are found, and spent many days physically collecting the herbs and roots he needed to make his medications.

Appanshayal ran a free clinic in his front room, and every evening for two hours he attended to numerous patients, mainly locals and villagers from nearby villages. He was especially known for his expertise in treating snake and scorpion bites.

When Kandu walked in, he saw his great-grandfather seated on the floor, his brown spectacles hanging on the edge of his nose, as he ground some herbs using a mortar and pestle.

“Hello, Appanshayal Thatha. What are you doing? Can I help you?”

“Who is that? Kandu? Come come. I was waiting for you. Do you want to help me? I find it hard to keep getting up, so maybe you can get me the jars I need.”

For the next few hours Kandu assisted his great-grandfather, helping to make all sorts of potions and powders, some of which were brewed in a pot over a small outside stove. Around lunchtime a man came running in with a small child in his arms. He was out of breath and crying. The inert child’s head lolled backward. Appanshayal knew immediately that it was a snake bite but the father had no idea how it occurred and exactly what type of snake had bitten the child. Very often the offending snake would be non-poisonous but the villagers, thinking they were bitten by a poisonous snake, would get all the symptoms and almost be near death, such was the power of the mind. The young boy was already exhibiting many symptoms. He was warm and in a semi-conscious state. The wound was red and swollen and the fang marks were clearly visible.

“Do you know how long ago it happened?”

“Maybe ten minutes ago. I don’t know. I picked him up and ran all the way. I live down the road, so it could not have been too long.”

“Did you see the snake?” Every bit of information was important for clues to decide on the right treatment.

“I only saw it disappearing into the bushes. It was black and maybe three feet long.”

“Probably a King Cobra,” said Appanshayal, judging by the bite and the father’s description. To Kandu’s horror, he put his mouth against the wound and started sucking the blood and spitting it out. After several minutes of that, he placed the child on the bed, making sure that the boy’s hand hung down at a lower level, so the poison would take longer to travel through the body. The poison was thick and slow moving but ten minutes had passed since the bite. Still Appanshayal knew if he slowed down the flow of blood to the rest of the body, the symptoms would become less severe.

Kandu sat down near the boy. “Is he alive or dead?” he asked, his voice low. He had never seen anyone so sick ever before.

“He is alive but the symptoms have manifested.”

Appanshayal combined his herbs and soon returned with two remedies. He put the one with a thick consistency directly on the wound and then began forcing a liquid potion into the child’s mouth.

After almost an hour, the child’s eyes fluttered open. The father, who had been beating his chest and lamenting the impending loss of his only son, was instead crying afresh at the unbelievable miracle. He fell down on the floor at Appanshayal’s feet, calling him a god, a savior, which embarrassed the old man. He handed the boy’s father the liquid potion and told him to give it to his son along with fresh honey for the next few days.

My Childhood Friend Ranjo Writes a Review in the Financial Times

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I met Ranjo when I moved to Bombay at the age of nine and we hit it off immediately. While the others played Hide and Seek, we discussed the world’s problems and our philosophy on life. Our family’s were close friends and growing up with her and her baby sister Mona, was so much fun. She was an “intellectual” even at the age of ten and I knew she would take up writing as a profession. With an incisive and critical eye she took a stand for what she believed in. This is how I remember her.

What I didnt envision was my writing a book and her reviewing it. All the characters Rajam and Muumy, she knew well growing up, yet her review is balanced and very complimentary. Our soul connection will never go and I hope I can return the favor to her some day.

Here is a sample of her review.

The skill that has been displayed in dipping into all these issues without losing the human stories of both Rajam and Dharmu is remarkable. The author does not fail to make the point that women were forced to live subservient lives in a patriarchal society, no matter how strong or powerful they may be. Even Nagamma, who controls her family with an iron fist and no perceptible velvet glove, is limited to being a domineering householder. There is no outside role for a woman of her capabilities.

To read the full review go to my blog. Ranjona Banerji currently resides in Mumbai and works as a freelance journalist. This was our last meeting in Bombay. 

I enjoyed this post which Ranjo wrote featured in the Mid Day on the Guwahati molestation.

Controversy at the Bangalore Book Launch

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February 18th; “When the Lotus Blooms,”  launched in Bangalore City at the CrosswordBook Store in Mantri Mall.

Those that have read the book know about Velandi the parayan. I blogged about it earlier, connecting it to ‘The Help” by Katherine Stockett. My editor warned me against inserting this piece as she felt it would give international audiences the wrong pictiure about India, but I felt compelled to include it because of my belief that in the life of the bramin, the parayan was important and to some extent their existence defined brahmin culture, taboos and caste rules. It was a practice I abhorred, yet I was filled with compassion for them and needed to highlight the importance of their role in society, something they themeselves were scarcely aware of. This section covers about 10 pages and is not in any way the main theme in the story, so I was very surprised when Vaasanthi brought up the use of the word Parayan in context of the current political arena in Tamil Nadu.To my horror a whole can of worms was opened.

The audience became very vocal, giving their reasons for the inclusion or exclusion of this term. I watched awestruck as the converstaion turned to antibrahmin sentiment, DMK ethos, Dalits and then boomeranged with vociferous calls for author’s license and freedom of expression.  ”Words banned today were common in the 1930?s and therefore had historical perspective,” they insisted. Vaasanthi warned that certain sections of Chennai society might find the use of this word objectionable and I should not be surprised if the book ends up being banned in the state. In my defense, I had no idea that the use of the word parayan was banned by law. It is considered as objectionable as the “N” word in the US and rightly so. Untouchability is reprehensible and their treatment abhorrent, which why I have tried to apologize in some way for this distasteful practice which exists in some parts of the country even today.

On a more positive note, the most incredible part of the Bangalore Launch was that it took place in the presence of my mother, Kamu Ayyar, who inspired me to write the book in the first place. It was really special because my sister Dammu, (Dharma Kannan) introduced me and I had my father-in-law and my brothers-in- law Mahendra and Kannan present as well.

My mother had been calling everyone she knew over the last month and  was terribly excited and anxious that everything should go as scheduled. We were expecting her friends to arrive in a string of wheelchairs and walkers!  The Chief Guest, Vaasanthi is a renowned author in Tamil language whom my mother recommended. My Publisher , Mr. Udayan Singh, has a strong presence in the north, but I was on my own in the south, and thankfully my sister Lakshmi had spoken to the store owner Mr. Pasha who was very helpful in arranging the launch at his store. In fact my book was the inaugural launch for this store. So really this event was the culmination of family effort.

After my sister completed the introductions Vaasanthi read out a very well scripted analysis of the book, after which we began a conversation. No matter how hard we tired to steer the conversation away the audience kept bringing it back to the topic of parayans. I was  not really worried. All it meant was that in addition to being my official photographer, my husband Rajiv would have to take on the ominous task of bodyguard as well, at the Chennai Book Launch.

All in all, several books were sold and many friends attended and supported me including celebrity Vani Ganpathy. Surprisingly, it turned out to be a good thing that there was no Press at the event.

Uma Parameswaran Endorses When the Lotus Blooms

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I contacted Uma Parameswaran a few months ago to ask if she would endorse my book. She is the author of several literary works, both prose and poetry specializing in South Asian culture.This she does in addition to her regular day job at the University of Winnipeg. If you haven’t already, I would recommend “What was always hers,” and “Cycle of the moon.” Despite her busy schedule Uma took the time to review and endorse my book. Here is what she has to say…

Kanchana Krishnan’s novel is an ambitious foray into reconstructing a space and time – the 1930s in Tamilnadu and East Bengal, when social and political changes were transforming the country. The everyday routine and inevitable conflicts within an extended family are scrupulously documented and the reader gets a conducted tour of  the customs and mores of  brahmin culture. The story is about two years in the lives of  Rajam,and Dharmu, their extended families and of servants who work for them.

Kanchana writes with authenticity and empathy about the culture of the era, a time when the middle class was influenced by British education and the national struggle for Independence, and also the weight of traditional beliefs. The number of characters in the novel is daunting but the author weaves them in and out of the narrative, affirming that the family, more than any single character is the protagonist.

—       Uma Parameswaran Author and Professor of English University of Winnipeg

Velandi -The Parayan (Untouchable)

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Posted: October 26, 2011

I saw ‘The Help’ last week with my daughter. As I watched the movie unfold, I was amazed at how they focused on the help using an outside bathroom, and how distasteful and demeaning it was to them as human beings. In India, this practice is commonplace. Even today, the servants have a separate toilet if any; the open countryside or side of the road suffices, and they sit on the floor and eat in separate dishes. Even the rice bought for them is of an inferior quality. No servant would dare sit on a chair in the presence of the family. This is something we live with, and though my sensibilities were offended by the ‘bathroom issue’ in The Help, I know that on returning to India I will not bat an eyelid at the treatment of servants in my home. And to be truthful in our home we respect and treat them well. If you look at the lives of the lowest caste in India thesudras, or untouchables, their condition is pathetic, and even hearing about it makes your blood boil. From beatings to burning and ostracism, the list goes on. In many parts of rural India this is still a way of life, where people belonging to this caste simply accept their lot and don’t ask for more. Of course there has been an effort to uplift the classes through reservation and education, but the effort is too small to impact society at the level of the village. This is why I introduced Velandi into my book to demonstrate the contrast between the classes and the sheer injustice of it all. This is an extract from When the Lotus Blooms

She stopped just outside as she heard the noise of water. The parayan had come early to clean the latrine. Nagamma was not going to be too happy about that. No one had used the toilet as yet, and smell would become unbearable by tomorrow when he returned once again to clean. The latrine sat on a raised platform with three steps leading to it. Every morning the parayan crawled through a small side door and scooped away the stinking remains that lay underneath. Rajam watched in silence as he poured water and washed out the filth. As he crept out from the aperture beneath the toilet, he gave her a toothless grin. He wore a dirty undershirt and had his veshti tied almost like a loin cloth. His hands and clothes were covered in the muck that he worked with all day.

Rajam felt repulsed and sorry at the same time. What a job! All day he toiled in the filth and dirt, making the world a cleaner place to live in. She wondered if he realized how important his job was to them. If he missed coming to clean even one day, it became impossible to use the toilet without gagging. Still, she could not bring herself to come anywhere near him and stayed rooted to the same spot till he finished collecting the garbage and exited through the back door into the street that only parayans could use. He, too, sensed how his presence revolted her and left the house as quickly as he could. She was a brahmin woman, and he was a parayan, an untouchable. He knew his place and did not want to transgress the strict rules governing his presence in the brahmin quarter.

He had absolutely no clue that his life or his job was of any value to anyone.

Mahadevan’s Dilemma

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Colonial Rule has been controversial in many ways. Trying to make ends meet in the Pre-Independence Era resulted in being forced to make several tough choices. What I refer to as the “Babu Syndrome,”–the Brown Sahib complex or whatever…. had its downside. For many of the cerebral elite the choice was a tough one, which invoked walking the fine line between enslavement and revolution. Mahadevan is Dharmu’s husband, and through the book you see his mental anguish as he deliberates over his chosen path. Here is one instance….

The second shocker came when the Indian contingent went up to the top deck for dinner. Although they did not have to eat with the servants, who thankfully ate in a separate mess, they were all put together in two tables in one corner of the room. Mahadevan felt demeaned. All of this — sitting for the ICS, going to England — was in ardent pursuit for acceptance by the ruling class, to become part of the British elite. In reality, to the British he was nothing but another Indian, inferior to the British Brahmins. It was like climbing a steep slope and moving one step forward and three steps back. By dehumanizing the natives, the British rulers alienated large sections of the local population who fervently sought their expulsion from their land. Right now, Mahadevan was experiencing the very indignation and deep humiliation that gripped the land. But he recognized he was no Gandhi; he did not have the moral courage to languish in jail for a cause. Instead, he chose the path of least resistance, one that entailed mental enslavement to British colonialism, just like many Indian intellectuals all over the nation. He would become as British as the British. He would get into their minds and find what made them tick; he would show them that he was as good as any of them by becoming part of the cerebral elite.

Long and Complicated Tamil Brahmin Names

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I had a difficult time deciding which names to use in the novel. Most Tamil brahmin names are long, and I knew a western audience would definitely have trouble getting their tongue around names like Mahadevan, Panchapakesan, and Doraiswamy. Unfortunately, using Jay and Ash; short forms that many Indians in the US have adopted, was not an option. The story had to be authentic.  So I decided to choose the middle path. I shortened some names Rajam, Dharmu, and Siva for example and of course Partha short for Parthasarathy.

This piece shows the anxiety and restlessness that meeting Rajam brings for Partha. Love at first sight only takes place in Romance novels…..or does it?

___________________________________________

Partha-Rajam’s husband

He had to meet her.  But how? He was 17 years old, definitely marriageable age. But how was he to approach her? He could not actually go up to her and speak with her directly; that wasn’t acceptable behavior. Then how was he to meet her? His mind whirled with a million unanswered questions popping into his head every second. One thing he knew was, if he were to marry, it would be to this girl. The “Lime and Spoon’ girl.”

The next few days were long and weary, with strategies made, vetoed, and then replaced, as Partha was consumed with finding the right course of action. He sat on the terrace with his math book open, rehearsing walking up to his mother and saying, “Amma, I think I want to get married.” That sounded too brazen. Then he switched to a more casual tone saying, “Amma, do you know Inspector Swaminathan?” That was too random. No matter what he tried, it just did not sound right. He had to make sure that he had an impeccable Plan A, so he did not have to resort to Plan B, which was marrying someone else.

After three full days of practicing, he decided the best course of action was to confide in his brother, Siva, who had been married for many years, and have him plead and present the case to his mother. That night, Partha brought Siva to the terrace after everyone was asleep and talked to him. At first, he felt sheepish and awkward talking about marriage, guilty about being preoccupied with a girl when he should have been studying, but the nature of the problem demanded urgency.

“Siva, you have to help me. I am going out of my mind.”

“Why? Did you fail your exams again?”

“No it’s not about school. It’s about …a girl.”

Siva smiled. “What’s up Partha, meet someone you like?”

“Yes,” Partha said bashfully. “And I need you to talk to Amma about it.”

“Why me? Why don’t you ask her yourself? After all, you are her Chella Kutti. I’ m sure she would oblige.”

“I may be her favorite, but I feel nervous about asking her. You are older and married. Coming from you, it will seem as if the whole thing were your idea. You know how Amma feels about boys loafing around. She won’t take me seriously.”

For the next 15 minutes, Partha talked nonstop about the pros of Siva talking toAmma, and the cons of talking to Amma himself. So intent was he on convincing Siva, he barely took time to breathe.  After he finished a 15-minute monologue, Siva smiled and patted him on the back, urging him to calm down and take a deep breath if he wanted to live to attend his own wedding.

Partha was overjoyed.

My Debut Novel “When the Lotus Blooms”

When the Lotus Blooms, women's empowerment, , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Friends.

There has been a lot happening preventing the book release on the scheduled date of October 1, 2011. I have since got a book deal from a publisher in India, and the manuscript now sits on the editor’s desk. I should have the updated manuscript by the end of the month and will inform you about the US book release which should take place by November.  I would also like to share with you the exciting news that Dr. Shashi Tharoor has written the Foreword to my book, a huge feather in my self publishing cap. You can read his entire review on my blog. By November 1,2011 my website should be up and functioning. You can access it at www.kanchibooks,com. Please do check out new updates on my blog and visit my Facebook author page at
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kanchana-Krishnan-Ayyar/252945498063541
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Thanks for your support
Kanchana Krishnan