இந்த வார நாட்க்குறிப்பு: 26.03.17 பத்திரிகைகள் ஏன் இப்படி இருக்கின்றன?

இந்த வார நாட்க்குறிப்பு: 26.03.17 பத்திரிகைகள் ஏன் இப்படி இருக்கின்றன?

திடீரென்று இந்த விஷயம் ஏன் ஞாபகத்துக்கு வந்ததென்று தெரியவில்லை.

1960-களில் பல குடும்பங்களில் வார, மாதப் பத்திரிகைகள் தொடர்ச்சியாக படிக்கும் பழக்கம் இருந்து வந்தது. ஆனந்த விகடன், குமுதம், கல்கி, கலை மகள், கல்கண்டு, குங்குமம், (பின்பு) சாவி, பொம்மை, பேசும் படம், …இப்படிப் பல. அந்தப் பத்திரிகைகளில் தொடர்கதைகள் மிகவும் பிரபலமாக இருந்தன. பல எழுத்தாளர்கள் பிரபலமாவதற்கு அந்தப் பத்திரிகைகள் உதவியாக இருந்திருக்கின்றன. பத்திரிகைகளும் பெருகின. திரு. கல்கி, அகிலன், நா. பார்த்தசாரதி, பாலசுப்பிரமணியன், சா. விஸ்வனாதன், பின்னர் சுஜாதா, ரா. கி. ரங்கராஜன், ஜாவர் சீதாராமன் அதற்கும் பின்னர் இந்துமதி, சிவசங்கரி…இப்படிப் பலரின் தொடர் கதைகள் வழக்கமாக ஒன்று மாற்றி ஒன்றாக பல பத்திரிகைகளில் பிரசுரிக்கப்பட்டு வந்தன. அந்தத் தொடர் கதைகள் வாசகர்களிடையே மிகவும் பிரபலமாகப் பேசப்பட்டும், விவாதிக்கப்பட்டும் வந்தன. (ஏதேனும் முக்கியமான பெயர்கள் விடுபட்டிருந்தால் மன்னிக்கவும்) எல்லாப் பத்திரிகைகளிலும் பல சிறு கதைகள் படிப்பதற்கு சுவாரசியமாக இருந்தன. சித்திரக் கதைகள் இருந்தன. பயணக் கட்டுரைகள் இருந்தன. ஒவ்வொரு ஆண்டும் வெளி வரும் தீபாவளி மலருக்கு பலர் ஆவலுடன் ஏங்கி நின்றனர்.

ஆனால், எல்லாக் குடும்பங்களாலும் எல்லா பத்திரிகைகளையும் விலை கொடுத்து வாங்கிப் படிக்க முடியாத நிலை. பெரும்பாலான குடும்பங்கள் நடுத்தர வர்க்கம். அதனால் ஒரு சில தனி மனிதர்கள் எல்லாப் பத்திரிகைகளையும் –தேவைக்கேற்ற படி - ஒன்றிரண்டு பிரதிகளை விலைக்கு வாங்கி வைத்து பல வீடுகளுக்கு மாதச் சந்தாவாக ரூபாய் பத்தோ இருபதோ வாங்கிக் கொண்டு இரண்டு அல்லது மூன்று நாட்களுக்கு படிப்பதற்கு வாடகைக்குக் கொடுப்பார்கள். அந்த வியாபார முறை மிகவும் பிரபலமாக இருந்தது. சிறுவர் முதல் வயதில் முதியவர்கள் வரை எல்லா வர்க்கத்தினரும் படிக்கும் படியாக பொதுவாக எல்லாப் பத்திரிகைகளிலும் ஏதேனும் விஷயம் இருக்கும். ஏதேனும் ஒன்றிரண்டு சினிமாச் செய்திகள்தான் அவற்றில் காணப்படும். சினிமாச் செய்திகள் படிக்க வேண்டுமென்றால் பொம்மை, பேசும் படம் போன்ற அதற்கென்று தனிப்பட்ட பத்திரிகைகளை வாங்கிப் படிக்க வேண்டியதுதான். பத்திரிகைகளில் வரும் தொடர்கதையை பத்திரமாக பிரித்தெடுத்து சேர்த்து வைத்து ‘பைண்ட்’ பண்ணி வைப்பார்கள் பல வீடுகளில்.

இன்றைக்கும் சிறிய ஊர்களில் இந்த வியாபார முறை தொடர்ந்து நடைபெற்று வருகிறது என்று கேள்வி.

பத்திரிகைகள் படிக்கும் பழக்கம் மிகவும் பரவலாக இருந்தது.

பின்னர் ஒரு சமயத்தில், மக்களின் சினிமா மோகம் அதிகரிக்கத் தொடங்கவே பத்திரிகைகளும் தங்கள் பாணியை மாற்றிக் கொள்ளத் தொடங்கின. அதில், குமுதம் பத்திரிகை முன்னோடியாக இருந்தது என்று நினைக்கிறேன். கொஞ்சம் கொஞ்சமாக சினிமா பற்றிய செய்திகள் அதிக பக்கங்களை ஆட்கொளத் தொடங்கின.

பின்னர் வந்தது தொலைக்காட்சி. பத்திரிகைகள் படிக்கும் பழக்கமும் தொலைய ஆரம்பித்தது. ஆரம்பத்தில் தூர்தர்ஷன் மட்டுமே இருந்தது. வேறு வழியில்லாமல் மக்கள் புத்தகங்களையும், பத்திரிகைகளையும் மறந்து தொல்லைப் பெட்டியின் முன்னே மணிக் கணக்காக நேரத்தை செலவிடுவதை தொடங்கினார்கள். பின்னர் 1990-களின் ஆரம்பத்தில் போட்டிக்கு பல தனியார் தொலைக்காட்சி சேனல்களை அனுமதித்தார்கள். பத்திரிகைகள் படிப்பது நின்றதோடல்லாமல் மாணாக்கர்கள் பாடம் படிப்பதும் நிற்கத் தொடங்கின. கவனம் சிதறத் தொடங்கியது. தனியார் தொலைக் காட்சியின் மோகத்தில் பாடத்தை கோட்டை விட்ட கதை எங்கள் வீட்டிலேயே நடந்திருக்கிறது.

பின்னர் வந்தது கம்ப்யூட்டரும், செல்ஃபோனும்.

போச்சு… எல்லாமே போச்சு.

பத்திரிகைகளில் வரும் கதைகள் பஸ் டிக்கட் அளவுக்கு குறுத்துப் போயின. சினிமாக்களும், விளம்பரங்களும் பத்திரிகைகளை முழுமையாக ஆக்ரமித்துக் கொள்ளத் தொடங்கின. காலை எழுந்ததும் பல் கூட துலக்காமல் செல் ஃபோனில் எஸ்.எம்.எஸ் தகவல் பரிமாற்றங்களில் சிறுவர்களும், இளைஞர்களும் ஈடுபடத் தொடங்கினர்.

பின்னர் வந்தது Social Networking வலைத் தளங்கள். Orkut, Facebook, Twitter…இன்னும் எத்தனையோ…எல்லோரும் பித்து பிடித்து அலைகிறார்கள். வயது வித்தியாசம் இதில் எதுவும் கிடையாது.

பத்திரிகைகள், புத்தங்கள், செய்தித் தாள்கள் இதையெல்லாம் படிப்பது பழமை விரும்பிகளுக்கு மட்டுமே என்றாகி விட்டது. ஆனால், இன்று வருகின்ற பல பத்திரிகைகளில் பெரும்பாலும் சினிமா சம்பந்தமான செய்திகள் அதிகமாக காணப்படுகின்றன. கிசு கிசுக்களும், செய்தி என்ற பெயரில் விலாசம் தெரியாத நிருபர்களின் கருத்துக்கள், கவர்ச்சிகரமான புகைப்படங்கள் … இவைகள் தான் அதிகம் காணப்படுகின்றன. சிறு கதைகள், தொடர் கதைகள் அபூர்வம். நீளமாக எழுதினால் யாரும் படிப்பதில்லை. எல்லாமே ஒன்றிரண்டு வரிகளில் சொல்லி விட வேண்டியிருக்கிறது.

பல பத்திரிகைகள் இணையதளத்திலும் – சில இலவசமாகவும், சில சந்தா கட்ட வேண்டியதாகவும் – கிடைக்கின்றன. எது தேவையோ அதை மட்டும் படித்தால் போதும். புத்தகங்களைப் பாதுகாக்க வேண்டிய அவசியமில்லை. ஒரு பத்திரிகையை கையில் எடுத்தால் அதிக பட்சம் பத்து நிமிடங்களில் பார்த்து முடித்து விடலாம். பாதிப் பக்கங்களில் விளம்பரங்கள்தான் இருக்கின்றன. மக்களும் ‘பிசி’யாக இருக்கின்றனர். இருந்தும் புதிது புதிதாக பத்திரிகைகள் வருகின்றன. பல பத்திரிகைகளில் வரும் கட்டுரைகளைப் படித்துப் பார்த்தால் மேலெழுந்தவாரியாக எழுதியது போலத் தோன்றுகிறது. மக்கள் கையில் பணப் புழக்கம் அதிகமாக இருக்கிறது. எப்பொழுதும் பறந்து கொண்டிருக்கிறார்கள். தரமான பத்திரிகை (அப்படி இருந்தால்) படிப்பதற்கு எங்கே நேரம்?

காலம் மாறுகிறது. இந்த நிலையும் மாறும். நம்புகிறேன். பத்திரிகைகள் எல்லாமே மோசம் என்று நான் சொல்வதாக எடுத்துக் கொள்ள வேண்டாம். அங்கங்கே நல்ல தரமான பயனுள்ள கதை, கட்டுரைகள் இன்றும் வந்து கொண்டுதான் இருக்கின்றன. உதாரணத்துக்கு, நெல்லையிலிருந்து வெளி வரும் தினமலர் வாரமலரையும், சிறுவர் மலரையும் அடிக்கடிப் படித்திருக்கிறேன். ஓரளவு நன்றாகவே இருக்கிறது.

"The Outsider" - A book review

The Outsider

-          My Life in Intrigue

By

Frederick Forsyth

Frederick Forsyth is one of my favorite authors. I have read some of his earliest books like The Day of the Jackal, Devil Alternative, Dogs of War, and Odessa File during the early and late 1970s, if I remember correctly. While working in New Delhi, I had lived in Karolbagh and Old Rajender Nagar. There were a couple of old books, pavement shops on the corner of Arya Samaj Road and Ajmalkhan Road. Many second-hand books by popular authors were available for throwaway prices and I was one of their regular clients. As I was on a transferable job, my biggest challenge was to transport my book collections, which took away most of the transport allowance I received from my employer.

‘The Day of the Jackal’ is about the assassination attempts on the then President De Gaulle of France. ‘Odessa File’ was about the secret files maintained by an International German organization - ODESSA, established before the defeat of Nazis in the Second World War, to protect the former officers of the SS after the War. ‘The Dogs of War’ is about the secret mission of some British, colluding with a few African mercenaries, to depose one of the African nations. I currently do not remember the theme of ‘The Devils Alternative book.’

I didn’t read any of his subsequent novels.

After nearly, thirty or so years, I stumbled upon “The Outsider – My Life in Intrigue” by Frederick Forsyth in Sunset Library, Chandler, Arizona. This book is, in fact, his own personal story – a compilation of his memoirs from childhood till writing the book. All his earlier novels are suspense crime thrillers. Many of them are inspired by the intrigues of his own personal life. This book is about those personal experiences.

Frederick became a pilot of the British Royal Air Force, when he was only nineteen. However, he couldn’t be a regular Air Force pilot. He became a correspondent for Daily Express, a British daily and then in Reuters. Even during his studies, he had developed sufficient skill in French, German, Spanish and Russian languages that helped him to get into the desks of overseas correspondents. By a stroke of luck (or ill-luck) he was posted to East Germany. He had escaped the wrath of an arms dealer in Hamburg, Germany. He had narrowly escaped being torn apart by the bullets from the machine guns from below, tearing through the small gap between his thighs as he was hitchhiking, lying down on the floor in a cargo flight during the horrendous Nigerian War. He had smuggled a package for the Firm (read: the British Secret Service Organization) from East Germany to West Germany in the middle of the night. He had landed in Guinea-Bissau, a West African country in the middle of a bloody coup. The Stasi, the State Security Service of the erstwhile East Germany had arrested him. He was saved from the turmoil in Ireland while living there for nearly five years, by some top leader of IRA. And many more perilous personal experiences, mind chilling to read about.

Frederick has a powerful story-telling talent and this book, though only a collection of several personal memoirs, reads as thrilling as his earlier thriller novels. I am happy reading his book after a long gap. He is currently aged more than seventy living in England. Many of his books have turned into successful movies too.

T.N.Neelakantan

www.tnneelakantan.com

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Hornet Flight by Ken Follet

Episode 3/Chapter 21: What, If Our Dreams Come True!

Chapter 21

The eclipse started at about nine thirty in the morning and lasted nearly two hours and fifteen minutes. The Sun went behind and there was gloom everywhere. People believed that Rahu and Kethu, the two ‘snake constellations’ were swallowing the Sun during eclipse and so the eclipse period was considered inauspicious. I waited for the eclipse to be over. When the Sun appeared again to signal the end of the eclipse, I was ready on the river to take a bath. There were priests waiting near the river bank, offering their services to those who wanted to perform ‘tarpan’ and these priests were usually offered a small ‘dakshina’ for their services. (Dakshina is a small fee paid to a priest). When I was about to finish my bath, Adhi Kesavan too came running to join me and pleaded with me to wait for him for the tarpan. We finished our bath, changed our dress and went into the mandap on the banks of the river. The mandap looked cleaner for that day’s ritual. We joined a small group of people who were about to begin their tarpan. When the tarpan got over and people started dispersing after offering their small dakshina to the priest, we too approached the priest to offer ours. As we neared the priest, I was aghast with what I saw.

There, where the priest was sitting, just from above his head, a beam of sunlight passed through the ceiling and fell exactly on the crown of his head. His head was completely shaved except for a small tuft at the back. He, probably, felt the heat of the sun rays on his head. For a moment he looked up, raising his right hand just below his eyebrows as a cover, squinted, murmured something to himself and moved a foot to his left. Where the sun rays fell on the floor, we saw a two by two foot stone slab fixed to the ground and on this stone slab, was cut a small sculpture of a Brahmin prostrating before the Sun. And the sun rays fell exactly on this stone.

I looked at Adhi Kesavan and he also noticed this. His face brightened like thousand Suns. We knew what it meant. We quickly went out to a secluded place along the river bank, to work out our strategy.

*****

We allowed things to rest for a few days. Then, we chose a full moon day for our operations. When the village had gone to sleep, we slowly crept to the river side. During the intervening period, we had silently uprooted and cleared many bushes, for our easy passage to the mandap on the river side and we had also practiced moving through this passage even in darkness.

We went inside the mandap and located the small, two by two foot stone slab, cut with the sculpture of a Brahmin prostrating before the Sun, fixed to the ground. We had carried with us a chisel and a hammer besides a stick wound with cloth wig on one end to be used as a torch and a few other commonly available sundry items that we felt might be needed for our job. We chiseled along the edges of the stone slowly and steadily, but in the silence of the night, the noise was deafening. It appeared our forefathers were great engineers and they had far superior technology. The binding material was very strong and didn’t come out easily. We didn’t want to break the stone slab and make a shoddy show. We didn’t want people prying into our operations. Our bodies hurt, as we tried harder to separate the stone slab from the adjoining ones. It was past midnight and we hardly had two or three more hours at our disposal, as we knew most villagers would come out of their houses in the early morning hours to ease themselves in dark corners of the river side.

We tried and tried. We froze for some time when we suddenly heard the sound of a bullock cart moving on the roadside. ‘Would the farmer driving the cart have heard the noise of our chiseling?’ Probably not!

If he had, he would have responded with a loud shout. He ought to have been half asleep; the only sound that came from him was calling forth the bullocks ‘hei, hei’ to keep them on their track. From the distance, we heard the feeble sound of the bells tied to the neck of the bullocks. Nothing more!

Once the cart moved away, we continued our operations. Something crawled close to my legs and I jumped frightened. It could have been a snake, I didn’t know. Luckily no damage was done. My heart pumped feverishly and I breathed heavily.

‘Am I committing a mistake?’ I wondered for a moment.

Adhi Kesavan seemed to be stronger than what I originally thought. We were in the middle of peak summer and the air was damp. He was sweating profusely, as he concentrated on the job. I felt sorry that I couldn’t provide much physical help.

Suddenly, Adhi Kesavan raised his both hands jubilantly, signaling he had succeeded partially in disjointing the stone slab. It took some more time before he could completely remove it and we could touch the soil below it. With great urgency, we removed the subsoil. It went deeper and deeper until we hit with something.

‘Was it a lid of a box?’ We moved our hands slowly on the crest and tried to determine what it was. We avoided lighting the torch unless it became essential. After several minutes of inspection, it dawned on us that it could probably be a lid for something below. Could it be a trap door to a tunnel? It was made of metal. We tried to locate any bolt or handle, but there was none. We moved our fingers slowly along the edges and tried to lift it. It didn’t budge. We tried several times, but in the darkness we couldn’t find a way to open the door.

We noticed the wee hours lighting on the horizon and we knew soon people would be out of their homes. Feeling dejected, we hurriedly dumped the soil back into the pit, covered it with the stone slab and left the place.

*****

“I am sure there would be a passage or tunnel below the trap door.” I told Adhi Kesavan. The map pointed towards such a possibility.

“Will it be accessible?”

“I don’t really know. But there are some issues involved.”

“Like what?”

“You know, if at all we locate something beneath the ground, whatever that be, we need proof that it was retrieved from such and such place. People want proof. Anything underground is government property and we can’t claim private ownership. Besides, people might say that whatever we found was a hoax. So, we need witnesses that we indeed recovered something from there. And that witness must be irrefutable.”

“So, what should we do?”

“I have an idea. People tend to believe anything that is Western. We don’t seem to trust our own abilities, heritage, and talents unless an Englishman or an American vouchsafes for it. Many good things about us need to be lauded from abroad, for us to recognize. Our self-esteem had fallen so low these days, thanks to our subservience to Mogul, Europeans and British for centuries. So, I am planning to write to one of my friends over there. He is a very trustworthy person. He is now in England.”

Adhi Kesavan was looking undecided and confused. Then I explained to him about my association with William who gave away all the money he received from the sale of his estates for the construction of dams in Papanasam area. I also told Adhi Kesavan about Jhia, the street gymnast and acrobat, who had since married William and was now in England. They were happily married, before William finally left India and they now had a daughter.

“What can William do?” Asked Adhi Kesavan.

“He has contacts there. He can arrange for a television crew who would film our entire operation as a witness. If we find anything, they will telecast it as a story and discovery. The whole world will know. Then our rulers will tread cautiously in dealing with the issue, whatever might come up. We may have some defense and protection. If something very valuable was found, I am sure we are bound for a long legal battle.” I told him.

He was still unsure, but nodded his head - may be due to his realization that after all he had no choice in this matter.

*****

William’s mail arrived after a few weeks. It said he was trying to pull strings with a few influential people over there, to arrange for a TV team from a popular international television channel. He added that he needed to be extremely discreet about revealing details of our operations and that as soon as he succeeded, we would be intimated. He also wrote with pride that his daughter Dweepa had now picked up several words to speak and she had carefully learnt to pronounce my name too. The letter also said Jhia was very particular that Dweepa spoke Tamil too. Dweepa looked very cute and sweet in the photograph attached to the letter.

After a suspenseful wait for a month, his next mail arrived. Within the next couple of days, I was in Madras to receive the television crew. The crew arrived by a British Airways flight. We met at the airport and introduced each other. Welsch was a national broadcasting corporation’s reporter and he was accompanied by Donald, the cameraman. Welsch was once a cameraman too and so he too could cover the event if needed. We reached Ambasamudram by train, after changing over at Tirunelveli and they were put in a hotel that came nowhere near the standards they were used to. But they were quite accommodating and were excited about the work we were about to begin. I briefed them about what we might expect from our operations. I also briefed them about the legalities of the issue to the extent I knew.

Within the next couple of days, we left for Brahmadesam.

“Shall we hire a car?”I offered to Welsch and Donald.

“No, we shall use that…..” His fingers pointed out at the bicycles parked outside the judicial court complex. So, we hired bicycles from a cycle shop for a few days and we pedaled our way to Brahmadesam. It was hot during the day and we were sweating profusely. But the Englishmen seemed to be enjoying the hot weather and the cycle ride. A few onlookers wondered what we were up to.

I introduced Adhi Kesavan. Once again we briefly narrated the history of the place and the history of our apprehension about the possible evidence that might lie buried underneath somewhere that might entitle Adhi Kesavan to the ownership of properties that were endowed for public good several centuries ago. We reiterated our commitment that if such evidence was ever found during our operations, we intended to recover the properties and put them to good use benefitting people at large. We also explained that in our country many properties that rightfully belonged to several public trusts, temples, mutts or even peromboke lands belonging to the government had been usurped and that we had no personal agenda in the whole exercise.

Our entire conversation was video-graphed and recorded. We had to decide upon the timing for our operation.

“Do things that people least expect you to be doing,” said Welsch after inspecting the mandap. Initially, when the Englishmen arrived, the locals looked on with great curiosity. Many were eager to photograph themselves with the Englishmen. Donald liberally obliged them. Many villagers invited them to their simple houses for morning breakfasts that invariably happened to be some porridge made from cereals and vegetables. The Englishmen enjoyed their breakfasts. Donald was particularly very accommodating about the food, people and village atmosphere, though Welsch was much different.

“We have two choices. Either do it when everyone is asleep. Or do it during broad day light when no one bothers about us. Personally I would prefer the latter. That is during broad day light. The mandap and the riverside are deserted during the mid-afternoon. No one seems to notice anything. That is the ideal time. Besides, we may have better lighting, if we really have to go under the ground.” told Welsch.

We all agreed.

One fine afternoon, when Sun was at its peak, we went to the mandap. By now, many in the village had seen us together going around in bicycles, taking pictures, sitting at odd places, sleeping under the trees, doing nothing in particular and th villagers gradually learnt not to take us seriously.

We removed the stone slab and once again removed the earth beneath. We hit the lid. We examined the lid carefully in the broad day light. We found a small slot which could be used to lift the lid. We all tried, but it didn’t come off. The edges seemed to have been sealed with some kind of chemical and it stuck without budging. Where did they find such binding chemicals centuries ago? Or, had they become rusted and sticky over time?

“We might better bring in a welder to cut it open,” said Welsch.

“But the problem is  - the news would go out,” feared Adhi Kesavan

Undecided, we abandoned our operations for that day and we all returned back to our places.

*****

That night, I had a severe stomach pain and I struggled for long to get sleep. When I finally slept, I had a dream. In that dream, I saw someone resembling Sudalai, the one who was in charge of cremation ground at Papanasam, laying his hand on the lid under the stone in the mandap and the lid coming off. I saw him stepping inside the opening and disappearing for long. I was jolted and woken up. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, though my stomach pain disappeared mysteriously.

That day, there was a postcard for me from Papanasam and the sender was none other than Sudalai. Someone had written the letter on his instructions.

“Respected Sir,” thus began the letter. “I had served in the cremation ground for more than five decades and have now decided to take retirement. Burning dead bodies, day in and day out, all my emotions and feelings seem to have frozen. Now I want to go on a pilgrimage, to lighten my heart and I wish to see you before I proceed. My son Marimuthu, who started off helping the workshop people when the dams were under constructions near Papanasam, is now a professional welder and he has his own shop now. He has asked me to convey his enquiries and regards to you. I am coming to see you in a week’s time.”

What a coincidence!

‘Thank God! We now have our welder who we can trust to maintain discretion.’ I immediately dispatched Adhi Kesavan to Papanasam to find Sudalai and his son Marimuthu and bring them here.

When they arrived, I explained the job on hand and the need for secrecy.

“Probably, my first pilgrimage would begin under the ground inside the tunnel, if there is one,” Sudalai commented promptly. He continued saying, “If my guess is correct, the tunnel might lead us to the temple. I have heard people saying that in old days, the temples and palaces had secret exits under the ground through tunnels for the safety of kings and queens and also to bury valuables.”

Marimuthu went back to bring a complete welding set. We began our effort once again enthusiastically. Sudalai cut open the heavy lid. The strong hands of Sudalai and Marimuthu lifted the lid. They stepped back quickly to avoid the heavy dust and pungent fumes that came out of the opening.

*****

Short Stories For Young Readers: For Personality Development - Book 1

I proudly announce my fifth book: Short Stories For Young Readers: For Personality Development - Book 1.

The book is available on Pothi.com

https://pothi.com/pothi/book/t-n-neelakantan-short-stories-young-readers-personality-development-book-1

Avid readers, please let me know your comments after reading the book.

What, If Our Dreams Come True! An Uncommon Meeting with Lord Siva

Over the past several weekends, I have released the first full episode of "What, If Our Dreams Come True! An Uncommon Meeting with Lord Siva" through my other blog: www.tnneelakantan.blogspot.com

For the sake of operational convenience, I have since decided to shift the 2nd and subsequent episodes and chapters through my regular blog: www.neel48.blogspot.com, One chapter will be releaed over every weekend.

I have since received good reviews about the first episode and I thank everyone who had sent in their comments. There are 6 more episodes to come. I hope readers would continue to enjoy reading the remaining episodes too.

To read the entire book online, click: What If Our Dreams Come True!

To buy the print version, click: What, If Our Dreams Come True!

Greetings to everyone.

T N Neelakantan

Pre-release of my stories from my forthcoming book of short stories

Dear FB friends:

I have successfully written and self-published four of my books. Two of them are collections of short stories and the other two are novels. My short stories have the basic objective of reaching young readers from middle school upwards, towards helping them develop their personality for their success in life. I have embarked upon my third book of short stories and I would like to release some of my stories, to get readers’ views and opinions.

I know reading as a habit has not died completely and there are still avid readers everywhere. I look to them to help me refine my writing by offering their comments on my stories. This would also help my stories become purposeful towards the objective I have in my mind.

The themes I have currently chosen for my book are:

        1.       It is all about your attitude

        2.       It is all about your beliefs

        3.       It is all about the choices you make

        4.       It is all about your determination

        5.       It is all about your self-esteem

        6.       It is all about your strengths

        7.       It is all about your energy and enthusiasm

        8.       It is all about your vision

        9.       It is all about what you love to do

       10.   It is all about your awareness

       11.   It is all about your perceptions

       12.   It is all about your dreams

The target readers for the new set of stories are students of higher secondary schools and colleges, though every youngster can read them and be benefitted.

Click for link to one of my stories:

or
copy and paste the following link

http://www.tnneelakantan.com/interests/writing/my-short-stories-it-is-all-about-your-beliefs/

“Mightier than Sword” – A book review

This is the 5^th Part of Clifton Chronicles, by the internationally acclaimed thriller novelist and bestselling author, Jeffrey Archer. As I hadn’t read the earlier parts, the dramatic opening of the novel with an IRA bomb exploding during the MV Buckingham’s maiden voyage across the Atlantic really confused me.

The novel revolves round

1.       Harry Clifton, the newly elected president of English PEN who launches a campaign for the release of a fellow author Anatoly Babakov, who is imprisoned in Siberia for a writing a book called “Uncle Joe”, the release of which is feared to seriously damage the iconic image of Stalin.

2.       Emma, wife of Harry Clifton, the chairman of Barrington Shipping that owns MV Buckingham.

3.       Sir Giles Barrington, the brother of Emma, a minister of the British Crown, whose diplomatic mission to Berlin didn’t end as a success and his political career is being challenged by his old adversary, Major Alex Fisher.

4.       Lady Virginia Fenwick, the former wife of Sir Giles Barrington, never giving up her efforts to bring down Emma from her position as Chairman of Barrington Shipping.

5.       Sebastian, the son of Emma and Harry, making a name for himself in banking and his beta noire, Adrian Sloane who wouldn’t stop at anything, to ruin Sebastian. There is a minor plot about the American Samantha with whom Sebastian was in love; but Samantha walks out because she doesn’t consider Sebastian to be a man of his words.

The novel plays around the on and off the courtroom battles between Emma and Lady Virginia to take control of the Board of Barrington Shipping and the battle between Adrian Sloane and Sebastian to control the bank that was taken over by Adrian Sloane using cruel and dubious means, even while Harry tries to get Babkov released from the prison. The novel takes a reader to London, Bristol, New York, and Berlin, before the collapse of the German Wall.

The first several pages of the novel appeared dragging to me, but then Archer gets control of the flow soon. The plots and counterplots thickens and intrigues, keeping a reader engrossed. However, a clever reader can make a reasonable guess of what is to happen. But the last para of the novel was something that baffled me and left wondering what really happened. A very important letter, written by Fisher, which could possibly compel the juries to come to an agreement in the libel case filed in the court by Lady Virginia against Emma, and carefully preserved from others seeing it by the Emma’s lawyer is found in the hands of Virginia’s lawyers. How come and what happened,I didn’t understand. Probably, I need to wait for reading the Clifton Chronicle 6 to understand.

Writing of a novel - What inspired me?

Thenews item: Zameen Devarkulam a tech-savvy village that appeared in The Hindunewspaper on 15th Dec, 2014 makes interesting reading.

The article proves again that where there is a will, there is a way.

Incidentally, I am compelled to write about writing of my novel: “WHAT IF OUR DREAMS COME TRUE! AN UNCOMMON DIALOGUE WITH LORD SIVA”

A few of the initial readers of my novel had commented that the novel was idealistic and a ‘feel-good’ book. Some had said it was filmatic. However, what I wrote in the novel was actually my dream too. As a stubborn commoner, a disciplinarian, an idealist, a perfectionist and generally someone who is in the wrong place most times, as I believed about myself, I had unique dreams. I detest many things that go around me, like many of you. I had always felt powerless in the face of many happenings around me, again like many of you. I had cursed myself for my helplessness and lack of courage to do something about what I see around me. All that I could do was to dream and put my dream into words in the form of a book.

I was inspired to write this book based on my memory about a news item that I read several years ago that a village in Tamil Nadu decided to manage its affairs on its own without looking for any support from the district or central administration.

Here is the broad synopsis of my book: WHAT IF OUR DREAMS COME TRUE! AN UNCOMMON MEETING WITH LORD SIVA

“It must be sometime around 1945. Poornam, a teenager and orphan, had some severe stomach pain and was in a local hospital. Medicines hadn’t relieved him from the pain. Lord Siva appeared before him in his dream and cured him instantly. HE also ordained Poornam to visit HIM in seven of his places.

Based on the advice of a local, village astrologer, Poornam set out to visit Siva temples along the banks of the river Tamirabarani, to pay obeisance to Lord Siva.

His first destination was Courtallam, a beautiful land of waterfalls along the river Chitharu, a tributary of Tamirabarani . There he was confronted by a Sadhu who lured him to his eclectic hideouts in the dark hills. Spending his initial seven years, chasing the ever-eluding Sadhu, Poornam received his enlightenment in a dark cave, after several traumatic experiences.

Armed with his enlightenment at a young age, his next destination was Papanasam, a renowned aboard of Lord Siva, where, in the hills the river Tamirabarani has its origins and where, as people believed, Lord Siva relieved people of the karmic effect of their past sins. The places around Papanasam had witnessed several floods in its history and several villages had been deluded when the river Tamirabarani was in spate flowing down the rough, sloppy terrains. Poornam felt that the area needed several check dams to prevent flooding and so that the water became available for the agriculture. A tumultuous period of seven years struggle followed before he could begin the construction of three check dams with money coming from people all over the country and from abroad.

His next destination was Brahmadesam, another aboard of Lord Siva, close-by. Here, Adhi, a great descendent of one of the Brahmins of 15^th century who had received a vast piece of land as a grant and endowment for a public purpose from one of the then Venad kings, awaited Poornam’s arrival. Over the centuries, the vast land had already been usurped by several people regardless of caste, creed, and religion. But Adhi had evidence that could prove beyond any doubt that he was the legal heir to those properties.  The final proof was dug under the ground in the temple of the place. Poornam and Adhi retrieved the proof. With the help of a Samaritan judge in the court, who relinquished his job to fight for Adhi, they fought a remarkable, legal battle to retrieve the land for its original purpose. The seven year legal case became a historic event for future usurpers of temple land and properties.

Poornam then went to Cheranmahadevi, Tiruppudaimaruthur, Sernthapoomangalam and finally, Srivaikuntam, all places along the river Tamirabarani and in each place, he had a unique struggle for something that touched everyone’s life, something we all dreamt about, but felt completely helpless about.

When Poornam was past his eighties, an international television channel decided to air his story for the world to know and he died watching himself on the television.”

To read the full story, you may have to buy the book for online reading from www.amazon.com. Please search for books by T.N.Neelakantan in Amazon and you will get all my books published through it.

My fourth book: “Lonely” is available in the print form through www.pothi.com

Why we in Tamil Nadu are still unable to eradicate begging in public places? Chapter 39 of "What If Our Dreams Come True!"

I was returning from Madurai by train, a couple of days ago. At Thiruthangal station, an adolescent boy, his hands crippled somewhat, came begging window after window, with very little success. When he knew that I was about to take out my wallet to offer him some money, he made a request to give him ten rupees so that he could eat something for the day.....................http://neel48.blogspot.in/2014/11/why-we-in-tamil-nadu-are-still-unable_8.html

Here you go with:"What If Our Dreams Come True! An Uncommon Meeting with Lord Siva" - Chapter 39
                                                 ******

Chapter 39: Story of Ambika

Ambika was in her early teen-age. She had lost her father when she was only three or four. Her mother brought her up amidst tremendous challenges. Her mother hailed from U.P and married her father when he was working in a construction company there. He lost his job when he lost his limbs in an accident in the construction site. Vexed, he decided to return to Gangaikondan in Tirunelveli district, his native place, to make a living. But soon, calamity struck the family once again. He fell sick with an unknown disease and died. Her mother had liked the simplicity of the place and people. She decided to stay on, as she had already familiarized herself to the place. She was very pleasing to people and hard-working. She managed a number of odd jobs and somehow pulled on. She took care of Ambika as best as she could. Ambika grew up as a very attractive girl.

Durai at Bombay was her only lonely cousin and visited them quite often. He always brought a number of gifts for her. Durai was at least ten years elder to Ambika. He claimed that he had a decent job earning well. Ambika and her mother were fed with a large fanciful image about his job and his life in Bombay. He talked eloquently about Hindi movies and his connections to the film industry. He hinted that Ambika could easily become a popular film star besides a great singer. Ambika spoke Hindi quite fluently coming from her mother and enjoyed visits from Durai.

So, when Ambika came to age and when Durai suggested about his marrying Ambika, her mother agreed readily, as she thought that the fatherless Ambika might see some comfort in life if she married Durai. She didn’t mind the age difference. 

Though Ambika liked Durai, she was confused. She took him as a brother and friend. Besides, Bombay was a huge city and she would have to live among total strangers. Gangaikondan was a nice little place and she was reluctant to move away.

But her mother persisted. Durai visited more often and applied pressure. Having very little choice, finally Ambika agreed reluctantly to marry Durai. Their marriage was held in a simple ceremony at the local temple and Durai packed off with Ambika to Bombay the very same week. He assured to come back soon to take her mother too so that they could all live together.

During their travel to Bombay by train, Durai told endless stories about Bombay. Ambika’s initial fears slowly started to vanish. When they landed at Victoria Terminus in Bombay, she was aghast to see the human waves at the railway station. She travelled by a taxi for the first time in her life and felt elated. She looked on with great awe and amazement at the huge buildings, the roads, the people’s dresses, and the vehicles.

When they reached their place and when she was taken to a ten into ten small apartment room that Durai claimed as their residence, she had her first shock and disappointment.

“Bombay is a very costly place I told you! Even to get this pigeon hole, I had spent several hundreds of rupees as ‘pagadi.’ (*Pagadi was a kind of lump sum money deposited with the owner or the previous tenant of the tenement at the time of leasing a building and was a very common practice in Bombay.) His tone had altogether changed once they were inside the ‘ten into ten’ tenement.

She didn’t understand the word ‘pagadi’ and many other things that happened soon after her arrival at their house in Bombay.

From the next day onwards, they had a number of visitors. Durai introduced them as his friends and colleagues. They all constantly stared at Ambika and openly commented on her beauty. She didn’t like their looks and comments from the very beginning. They used a lot of vulgar language in their conversations and she was irritated to know that even Durai enjoyed those conversations. They spoke a mixture of Hindi, Marathi and Tamil. Some of them even teased Ambika and merrily laughed. She noticed mischief in their eyes. But Durai didn’t seem to mind their staring looks and pricking comments. Ambika felt something was wrong. When one of them touched her, she was shocked to know that Durai didn’t object.

When they all left, Ambika told Durai that she didn’t approve of his friends’ conduct and chided Durai. “You were a country girl all along. That was why. You will understand everything slowly.” That was all he said.

*****

But Ambika understood very soon. She learnt about Durai’s perverted mind and his evil motives. She felt trapped. She realized that Durai was not what she had been made to believe.

On many days, Durai returned home very late at night. He was drunk, smelled like a rat and behaved roughly to her. He assaulted her sexually and behaved like a beast on bed with her. She understood that his earlier behavior was a façade. She understood that she had been cheated. He started complaining about not having enough money with him to run the family and wanted her to work. She was willing to work and support him, if that could mitigate his financial problems.

One day, Durai took her to a mansion where she was introduced to a rich middle aged person who was said to be looking for an assistant. Durai accepted a generous advance from him and left Ambika in his place, cautioning her to behave well with him.

The same evening Ambika understood why she was brought to that place and before it was dark she ran away from that place. That night, she received her first beating from Durai. The torture continued day after day. He forced her to go with him to different people who were all the same. She had somehow managed to escape at every place.

A little more than a year passed by in pain and agony for her.

She never wanted to reveal her condition to her mother. But the situation was becoming intolerable. So she wrote a letter to her mother hinting her problems. She was shocked when her letter was returned back with the remark ‘undelivered – addressee deceased.’ She cried. She was puzzled why she got no news of her mother’s death. Now she had no one to whom she could tell her woes.

When Durai returned home that night, he was drunk as usual. Ambika told him of her mother’s death. She also complained why no one told her earlier. Durai told her arrogantly that he was already aware that her mother died due to some sickness. He also told her indifferently that he had burnt all the letters received earlier from her mother.

‘You orphan girl! Consider yourself free now to do what I want you to do. You don’t have to fear anyone, anymore.’ He didn’t stop there and continued heaping abuses. Ambika became furious now. She was already grieving and now Durai was adding salt to her wound. In her fury, she went to a corner and returned back with a sickle knife. She raised her sickle knife and wanted to stab Durai regardless of any consequences.

‘How dare you are?’ Durai shouted and those were his last few words. His knees caved in all of a sudden and he fell down heavily on his back. Ambika panicked, threw the sickle knife to a corner, and rushed to hold him. But Durai was already unconscious. She ran to her neighbor who quickly managed to rush him to the nearby government hospital. Durai had his last few breaths on his way to the hospital where he was pronounced dead.

Even before Ambika could arrange for his cremation, she had the second shock of her life. She had sudden nausea and giddiness. The neighbor suspected that she was probably pregnant and the same day the doctor confirmed her pregnancy.

Ambika was in total disarray. She had no money even to cremate Durai and she was now pregnant. Somehow, with the help of a few friendly neighbors, she arranged to cremate Durai and the same night she boarded a train to Madras without a ticket.  On the way, she was accosted by many, including the ticket examiner. ‘Are there no good men and women?’ she cursed.

Back in Gangaikondan she learnt that her mother died a few months ago in great distress. Ambika had no place to go and roamed around places aimlessly. Everywhere she found people ready to use and exploit her and her good looks. In course of time, she delivered a baby girl in a government maternity hospital.

The baby resembled Durai more than herself and it reminded Ambika of her painful days at Bombay. One day, while sitting on a pavement with her baby she was dejectedly singing an old song and some people passing by threw a few coins and notes in front of her. All of a sudden she rediscovered that she could sing well. She went from place to place singing and that brought her some money to buy milk for the baby and at the least, one meal a day. She never bothered to buy tickets while travelling by train and she reached Cheranmahadevi one day without any clue about what lay ahead.

*****