How I came into writing     

I have written in recent years four books, which included a short story book, two novels and a  simplified version of Bhagavad Gita. Their  published copies have been available on popular selling platforms.  Many of the learned readers of my books, aware of my background as Government officer,  showed their keenness to know   how I got into writing. They talked  about my books with probing questions. In order to meet  queries , I have taken the convenient rout  to post in series  in my blog/website   about my books and  my journey as a writer.  

It is interesting to recall how I came into writing . As long as I was in position in Government, I did not pick up pen and paper except to write a few mid page articles in news papers. However, after my superannuation I had all the time to myself and began to jot down in leisurely hours recalling some incidents and occurrences of the past  which had left lasting impression on my mind. Then  I began  to pour out my thoughts from those picked up incidents and happenings and articulated them into a readable stuff.

 However,  it  did not cross  my mind to have them published until my friend  Prof. Pradeep Mathur,  a very  senior journalist, vouched with conviction  that this was  precious publishing stuff. He even  went ahead  to take upon himself the responsibility to have it published through his Peoples syndicate. That is how the first edition  of my book ‘My Times My Tales’, with twenty seven short  stories, was published. The book was formally released in the  year  2016 at  Civil Service Officers  Club, New Delhi.

Since Mr Mathur’s Syndicate was not professionally equipped to continue handling publishing and distributing responsibility, I assigned the job with his concurrence to a publishing house in the year 2024. That is how its second edition was out which is available at Amazon and other selling platforms. The feed back that I received from learned readers was very encouraging. Each story of the book ‘My Times My Tales’ has been  recognized  as  excellent narration of interesting tales.

 Going by the positive feed  back and growing demand for Hindi version of the these twenty seven short stories, I tried my hand and after successful translation of all the stories in Devanagari script, I got published the book under the title ‘Mere Samey Ki Meri Kahaniyan’. Thus the Hindi version of the short stories came also on selling platforms including Amazon and Flipkart.     

And with this first story book, both in English and Hindi,  began my writing venture. And the pen moves on.

                               

                          ........ Next post will be about my first book 'My Times My Tales' 

                             ......  Can also be seen on my website: https://dineshnverma.com/

 

 

 

                                       I Learnt It a Hard Way     

           He was five years elder to me and I was around fourteen then. We were sitting together to chew the meals served by his mother, my aunt,   with whom I had gone to stay with my father  during a short spell of holidays. While chewing the morsel I suddenly stopped eating and pushed my finger  inside my mouth to feel what had hit the space between the teeth. I continued using my finger to locate the culprit,  caught it  and threw it out, assuming that none was watching me absorbed  in this odd act. I was wrong. I was being watched by  my cousin who was sharing the meals with me. I did not notice it being too busy in my act, but his gaze must have been  fixed on my face contorted due to the hurt in my gums  and  my  finger in action with tears trickling from my eyes.

          He had waited for me till I had done with it in my crude way. And then, in a tone, that rings melody to my ears  even to this day, he said  to me, “You do not have to do it the way you did.” Then, displaying through the movement of his own tongue, he explained how, instead of finger, the tongue inside the mouth locates the unwanted small piece and pushes it out to be thrown away conveniently.

        The lesson that I learnt then in my teenage taught me never to miss an opportunity to learn if there was  scope for learning. Even after I had done my graduation and was pursuing postgraduation in English, I learnt with a pinch of salt at that stage that   there is no age for learning and that there is no end to  learning.

         For some unavoidable reason, my grandfather had to go to Moradabad to be with my uncle and had to stay there   longer than planned. I was then in Bareilly and had strict advice from him to be in touch with him  through regular correspondence.  The only means of communication  then being  post card and inland, I regularly wrote to  him and was always promptly responded by him by his neatly written postcards and inlands.

            One such detailed inland I wrote to him when my cousin, though elder to me but more a friend than a brother, was selected  for a job out of Bareilly. Overtaken by mixed feeling of pleasure at his selection and grief at his departure from Bareilly, I wrote in English with a congratulatory tone balancing it, with best of my ability, with words of agony. It was indeed an occasion for utmost rejoicing that my cousin got employment of his choice.

          After about a month my grandfather was back to Bareilly and,  as usual,  got busy with his routine of life. He had steel bed close to his wall almirah which contained   his  entire world  from books in  Persian(Farsi),  Urdu and English, scores of Unani medicines like Majoon Taba kusha to Tukham Balanga , heaps of papers, from relevant to irrelevant, tied in number of bunches.      

         One day, not long after his return,  I came into the Baithak (now called drawing room) for something and as I passed  through his bed he signaled me to wait.  I stopped abruptly and  looked at the open almirah and watched him with a sense of lurking fear of having inadvertently  annoyed him for some reason. He took out a bundle from where he snatched  a used inland. It was one of the inlands I had sent to him  when he was in Moradabad. I found a couple of lines of the letter marked in red. I was shivering in my shoes and was preparing myself to be at the receiving end. But it came like a cool breeze when he spoke  in a soft  tone. “ Look, you had written a very good letter, and I am proud of your love for your brother.” I felt like being patted on my back. But the next sentence he spoke was a bombshell that shook me as if shaken by a tremor.  “Did you know what it meant when you wrote: ‘Though I will be missing him, but since he is leaving for good, I am very happy about him.’ “Did you know what it implied?” he asked me. I looked at him with blank eyes. He explained,  “ The phrase  ‘to leave for good’ means to leave for ever. It is used for the departed soul.”  My God! I found tears trickling down my cheeks. “There is nothing to feel bad. We all make mistakes. The important thing is  never  to give up the desire for   learning. There is no age for learning; there is no end to learning.” I retreated with dried tears reflecting what my ignorance could have cost me if the letter  had been addressed formally to someone else.

           I have  crossed now my grandfather’s age, but I have not forgotten the words of caution passed on to me by my him. I have written five books and got them published but not without first passing on the scripts to  my knowledgeable friend, brothers-in-law and sons-in-law for having a close  look through them and thrice I was saved  from having  committed gross factual mistakes before pushing the scripts in the publishing houses.     

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