abm.reads and you

         

‘There is a story in all of us! If not a novel, a damn good short story for sure!’ Jeffrey Archer.

Perhaps one of the greatest joys as an author is to serendipitously eavesdrop a discussion between two reading enthusiasts about their work in a bookstore.

For me this happened recently. Not at a bookstore, but at the launch of my book ‘Terribly Mushy Tales: An Anthology of love stories, just some whispers of the heart’, attended by some close friends, family and well-wishers.

Two of my friends were discussing at length about the central theme of this collection of short stories, and the peculiarity of nicknames and nostalgia.

“What made you write this book?”, one of them asked me when they realised I was lingering about.

There are two ways to look at this question.

Why did I write this book? Implying – Why did I choose to write a book?

Or,

Why did I write this book? Implying- Why did I choose this theme for my book?

I started writing TMT during the depths of the COVID despair. By then it had been a few years after I had published my first novel: The Fall Before the Rise.

The Fall Before the Rise had already faced its fair share of criticisms, especially from close quarters.

The story is good, but the writing is average, the writing is decent, but the story is fragmented and so on and so forth.

Anticipating cheerleading from close friends and families came with its own perils. But then expectations are indeed the root of disappointments.

When I couldn’t get my closest friends to read the book, let alone leave a review, I was crushed.

Like a petulant child I was disappointed and concluded I’m a misunderstood genius and the entire world is conspiring against me. I befooled my own ego with lofty claims such as ‘how many people have accomplished writing a novel by twenty-three?’.

However, dreams built on such shaky premises don’t stand the test of time. And expectedly, they gave way for disappointment and bitterness.

Bitterness was then quickly consumed by procrastination. Because, frankly, I was not up for receiving more criticism and apathy for simply wanting to write.

Before long, it had been years since I had written a word. One day when I decided to write a short essay, I couldn’t even find the inspiration for a coherent sentence. I was furious at myself that I had let judgement be the reason my art takes a backseat.

I have long believed that stories write themselves, I’m merely a medium. A year and half down the line as I finished the first draft of the book, I realised that the characters in these stories, however fictitious, are the sum of many people I have met in life. They even have elements of me in them.

Amidst the pages, we encounter characters with grandiose dreams—stars burning fiercely in their eyes. Their cunning edges cut through life’s tapestry, unravelling secrets and testing boundaries. Love and hate entwine within them, a tempest of emotions that knows no moderation. One stands sentinel over their aspirations, fueled by unwavering devotion. And then there’s another—a resilient spirit who dances with adversity, knowing that falling is merely a prelude to rising.

Between my corporate career and building my life from scratch as an immigrant in a new country, I have had the chance to embark on a journey that has shown me that we need to listen to our hearts. For that we need to inculcate self-awareness. Because only when we are truly aware, we can know what brings us joy. Even for that ephemeral, fleeting moment.

TMT is the result of me trying to eternalize that ephemeral, fleeting moment of joy.

On the day of my book reveal an acquaintance caustically made a remark that ‘ ‘hobbies’ such as writing are for the privileged. A commonly understood nod that hints following our ambitions should come with the bureaucracy of societal permission. However, I agree to a certain degree that I am privileged.

I am also a constant pursuer. And humbly so because I know the joy of achievements can quickly make one complacent.

I love writing because it helps me share stories that otherwise go unheard. The everyday stories, the everyday emotions. It helps me become the man I want to be.

Strive to be instead of to have!

I have always been a storyteller. I vividly remember daydreaming rather complex stories to escape the reality of those childhood years.

There were times I told plain lies to myself. Especially, when things were dire. Because the intellect often challenged my rock-solid belief that things will get better.

One could argue that a liar makes a great storyteller as the imagination is colourful. By the time I was sixteen I started channeling this ability to dabble in essays and short stories. Over the years, the short stories gave way to novellas and full-blown novels. Even today the intent is to be an honest storyteller.

It is a humbling thought that imagination and inspiration are not always enough to help you take your stories to the world. Other faculties like discipline, agency and humility are key ingredients. Writing is a lonely job; there are no instant gratifications in the world of likes and subscribes.

The judgments are ready even before a word has been read. Constructive criticism from those who haven’t constructed anything in their lives.

It takes months and years to write something decent. It takes longer thereafter for the work to see the light of the day. However, this is where our true selves are revealed. Perseverance, hard work, discipline, honesty are put to test.

I needed to be able to challenge my ego each time someone read my work and pointed out the mistakes. A comma here, a full stop there. But most importantly, when the writing was average, the characters lacked substance, and the plot was lackluster.

There have been days when I have written close to thousand words in a single seating. Yet, there have been days when I have sat there with three cups of coffee staring at an empty blank page. But gradually the characters started presenting themselves to me when I dug deep and asked myself, ‘Who am I?’ ‘What do I stand for?’ ‘What are my roots?’

Stay true to the dreams of your youth. And embrace that fear of failure.

For it is better to try and fail than to not have tried at all. The taste of failure can often be more inspiring than the bitterness of wishful thinking. All of us have the right to become who we want to be, to chase after our dreams, and unapologetically so…

Success is providential. When we fail, we might look a fool, but we can become better versions of ourselves.

‘There is a story in all of us! If not a novel, a damn good short story for sure!‘

Indeed.