::: BEAUTY LIVE IN THE WORLD :::

She stands there in my garden, beautiful and grand, spreading her branches out as far as she can to give shade and fruit. For almost seventy years she has been the pear tree that was the envy of all who came to visit us. The garden was attractive indeed, but the pear tree held a special place for those visitors and relatives who had the privilege of hearing or witnessing real-life experiences that centered around her.

As kids, we came home from school in Darjeeling once a year for three months during the winter season. There was always the excitement and anticipation about sitting around the clay makkal on the warm floor of the common family room and listening to stories about spirits and ghosts that supposedly lived around the tree.

On those cold winter nights, my mother made it a point that after supper, we sisters sit in a small circle with the makkal in the middle—close enough to be warm and comfortable. So it was a discipline that we maintained each winter. My mother would pour glycerin into our hands followed by some drops of lemon. We would then rub the palms of our hands together, place our hands over the glowing fire and rub our faces and neck with the potion which would prevent our faces from chapping. It was almost like the “happy hour” that I and my friends often enjoy talking about—things that range from politics to spiritualism!

My mother who by then would have chatted with us, heard our enthusiastic and lengthy tales about school, the nuns, events, etc. would leave us happy that we were progressing well in studies, that we loved school and were excited to be home.

Then began our happy hour as Badi, the stately lady who was the focal character of our household, told tales about the saga of the pear tree. Widowed in childhood, Badi left her home in the mountains, as many young Brahmin widows did in those days, and descended to Kathmandu. We never asked her details about her life then as we did later, but knew that she was no maid in our house but a part of the family who jealously guarded every bit of the premises. And there was Hari, a young cook, who would sit with us at times confirming and reconfirming those eerie tales about the white khyaks (ghosts) that slipped in and out of the trunk of the pear tree in the dead of night.

We looked on, wide-eyed, listening to these tales and digested every bit because we had been used to hearing stories about those kichkandees—female witches, beautifully charming and cunning—who lured men, chased them and destroyed them. Such stories about those witches with flowing hair, heels in front of the foot and toes behind, went around Darjeeling like wildfire and names of men, often love-lorn students who studied till the late hours of the night became victims, obsessed by these vivacious witches who sucked their blood and turned them into skeletons till they withered away and died.

Hari, the cook, full of wit and energy, would swear that these white, child-like, male, luminous ghosts floated out of the tree trunk every night and skirted the compound only to return and slip back inside the trunk. And sensing our fear as we clutched each other’s hands, as if never to let go, he said there was no need to be afraid. These were the good ones who were harmless and had the power to bring joy, health and wealth The black Khyaks were to be feared as a bad omen, for they had brought about illness, bankruptcy and death amongst many families. And so these stories were confirmed by our immediate neighbours as well as the milkman, the vegetable walla, the big stout halwai, the sahuji, the nagini—the local manicurist, and our even our conservative next-door neighbours who looked upon my parents with great awe and curiosity, unable to fathom how they remained poised and content with seven daughters on their heads and no son! It was whispered in the neighbourhood that the compound was blessed by these khyaks that bestowed such calm and quiet.

The pear tree and her inmates knew it all. The wise spirits had seen the struggles and the challenges so that any visitor to the house went away with great admiration for my parent’s contentment, zeal and forward vision.

The years rolled by and the bungalow with the pear tree fell into my lot. My curiosity about the angelic ghosts remained and many a night I circled the tree, listening to the faint ruffling sounds inside the tree trunk which, with time, has become hollow. The khyaks are now accompanied by a naga (serpent) that stealthily makes a dutiful round of the premises and slides back into the trunk. It has been many years now—ghost and man have learned to live in peace and the pear tree, so old and weary will one day, I’m sure, open it’s secret about the good little khyaks and the gracious naga.

That will happen soon enough, for the tree is tired, her branches no longer sway gently in the wind as before but threaten to snap at the slightest use of force. The ugly crows have become territorial, snapping at other birds that dare chirp on her branches. The pears have shriveled in size and number. Wriggly worms are regular visitors. Yet she does not give up!

And as long as she clings on so dearly to life so will the ghosts who have been her companions.

The evening comes on with a gush of wind followed by dusk when all is quiet. I watch, earnestly waiting to witness the comings and goings of these spirits and to listen to the sweet rustlings within the hollow of the tree. I have not been fortunate enough to see them but have heard their sweet music and know that someday, a treasure hunt awaits me when the pear tree reveals her secrets and how she mesmerised her little friends to grant us those blessings. The naga is rarely seen—but is still believed to be there.

Meanwhile my fears have turned into strength with a tenacity of—Come what may! The legacy of the pear tree will continue—the music may change but the spirit will live on.

Inspiration for writing, says Faulks, is a process of turning things around all the time. "When you are a writer, you think about of writing all the time, whether you are sleeping, eating, drinking, it is all you think about. You are always processing ideas and thoughts."

His books are read all over the world, and what he feels has made a connection with the readers in his writings is "the language I use".

"I also take them into areas of experience and feeling that are unfamiliar to them."

It was at the age of 14 that he decided to be a novelist as he was inspired by Charles Dickens and DH Lawrence, among others.

He spent a year after university to write a novel. Two years later he got a job running a small book club called the New Fiction Society.

In 1979, Faulks joined Daily Telegraph as a junior reporter, but dedicated his evenings to writing books.

He was living a simple life without much amenities.

And with no TV at his place, most nights were spent writing.

It was his fourth book that he finally felt was good enough to be published.
When he got news from a publisher about the book which he titled A Trick of Light, he said he felt like it "was the beginning of something after long dark days". Faulks also worked as a feature writer for the Sunday Telegraph and then joined the Independent as Literary Editor. He later wrote a monthly column for The Guardian and a weekly for Evening Standard.

Amidst all this, his novel The Girl at the Lion d'Or came out in 1989. However, it was his widely acclaimed novel Birdsong that got him into the spotlight after which many novels have followed which have made it to the best-seller list.

To be a good writer, he feels one should never write about one's own life.
"Write about unfamiliar things -if you are a man write about a woman, if you're from the 20th century, write a story based on the 19th century," he advises.

And there are ways to help you get it right, talk to people from the place or time, check up on the Internet and find out more about it and maybe you can even ask the people from that era or place to read your script to make sure it feels real. When you are young, you should venture into different areas and try to write different things and later on when you find your ground, write what you are best capable of.

For a novel to be good he thinks that the words one chooses are very important.
"It should give pleasure in themselves, it shouldn't be only informative, like someone giving directions, it should be more than just plain information. One should write sentences that are interesting and exciting to read. It should be a huge leap of imagination."

Talking abut his own works and his writing style he elaborates, "If it pleases me, then only can it please the reader. One should write at the highest level, push oneself very hard to please the reader."

While one should not undermine the readers intellect as well, one should always keep in mind that the reader is more clever than you, advises Faulks.

In 2006, Faulks was approached by the late Ian Fleming's family and asked if he would write a one-off James Bond novel to mark the centenary of Fleming's birth. He accepted. Though his books have been made into plays, TV series and of course the wellknown James Bond book Devil May Care, he says, "Most people think that if a book is made into a movie, then you have reached the greatest height, but actually it's the other way round. The book is the top of the mountain. It is very unusual that the movie is better than the book."

Dismissing all the dark moments and the difficulties a writer goes through he says, "It is a sense that the world is not what it should be that makes you write, because it is only through writing that you can make it a better place, it gives you a sense of determination of mission."

What do you do inside your adobe the whole day? This is a question thrown at me wherever I go. I smile in reply without offering an explanation.

Of course, it is a very rhetorical question, of course, which does not call for a reply. Anyway, what do I tell them?

Tell them I spend my time reading.

That I am a kind of " readoholic! I may have invented a word but it does describe me completely. Me and so many others like me, I suppose, are irrevocably addicted to the written word. If there's something to read, I read it.

If someone has taken the pains to write and print something, surely we are obligated to award it a little bit of out eyeball time. And this, in a nutshell, is what keeps me housebound most of the time! Consider this, we get newspapers delivered at our doorstep every day. While other family members simply glance at the headlines and toss the paper away, I feel I must read these from the front-page to the last. And, since one does not read old, yesterday's newspapers, I sit surrounded by the sheets for hours on end every morning and mid-day, speed reading like a maniac. And then, there are books from the British Council Library on my bedside table. My table lamp burns bravely late into the night as I tackle the stack.... So, tell me, where do I find the time to hobnob with the neighbors, sip tea sitting in the warm winter sun, or snatch a siesta in the afternoon.

And then again, I am blessed with a memory lien a sieve. I tend to forget the plots of stories so rapidly that it is possible for me to re-read these again and again with undiminished pleasure. I forget, after a while, who married whom at the end of some stories, and who murdered the woman in the library in a whodunit. Other may not understand the compulsive reader who forgets what has been read giving reasons to go for it once again.

When it comes to me...

I think I should grow.

As I was lazing around in my bedroom doing nothing creative at all,sipping coffee and smoking lots of Marlboros and listening too much of Pink Floyd, I thought to scribble down something .Till now I am just thinking what to write, as bloggers are becoming too critical with each passing day. When I see the bulk of newspapers and magazines thrown onto my balcony, I just wonder is reality, so complicated?. The same things occurring day after day. Stocks were rising and falling, retail sector coming in a big way, new multiplexes, new mobile schemes, mergers and acquisitions phew!!!Really business news sucks out my whole blood and at last I try to pull off my hair and scream…give me a break!!! Well how much you can develop ,how much you will go ,how much competition you will face ?Lastly you seek for the divine happiness which is as hard as finding a safety pin lost in a marbled room. I still wonder the fast paced life is just going towards a robotic world where people will have everything expect a soul. I can see the world turning into a science museum where human beings like you and me will be showcased, labeled as “extinct creatures.” Well I can remember Darwin now…survival of the fittest!!! Darwin must have thought the same thing when he was distributing his theories.

I am not here to criticize the growing pace of life but I am here to give you a glimpse of the world if mankind stops using their hearts and go with the flow.Well,we may be labeled as a loser if we try to run away from reality and seek solace in a virtual world ,but this belief is totally a misguiding light for those who want a real big space to exercise their creativity. When I was kid I use think why writers, poets ,musicians, painters keeps long beard, why they stay in an old apartment amidst cockroaches and lizards and those unclean unhygienic cobwebs sticking to their just –to-break walls? After so many years I got the answer as I want to do the same thing if given a chance. I want to be termed as a mad guy as sometimes I think so much that if somebody possesses the strength to look and hear whatever I speak in my mind, he would surely show me the way to any mental asylum. But as every insane fellow says that he is not mad I contradict them for a change. I want to flaunt my madness in the form of words. I want to reach to everyone who is tired of the harsh reality. Everyone who wants a break to break free and are really stressed out!!!Well I remember one guy telling me how he spends his evening as he is also from our tribe of escapists! Well he wears an overcoat and with his hat on, go for a walk and talks to himself and whenever he sees somebody crossing him he just sings a song in order to hide this madness. He is not the only loner talking to himself, Lost in thoughts, there are many such types of would be extinct creatures as mentioned above wondering without a focused aim or they are waiting for a miracles to visit them. You can even observe many heartbroken lovers walking and singing ‘sau dard hai’…well guys I can understand your pain as I went through every situation in my not so old life. But I believe everyone belongs to some community or other.


A businessman will find this article useless and a total crap and broker cant even understand it but someone like you and me know what we basically think and seek for. Again a thought is running in my head to write something about those people who tries to suppress you down whenever they get a chance. Those people are energy vampires, they really tries to show us that we are nothing!!!What to do with those kind of people who possesses a complete materialistic heart. They hardly try to understand human feelings rather they try suck our blood with their unfathomable gaze. Well I should end today here by saying that “We will not be in the museum at least as we have also studied Darwin for sure” So guys like you and me still have hope to show these people, what they can’t see with their blurred vision!”

Today every memory is visiting me and in every memory I can find a story!!!

Well this is not my diary of nostalgia but a story untold. Can I stop those unspoken echoes of my soul to get washed out with the sands of the so-called Time? Well my journey of life can’t continue without those lovely incidents which I found in my trip…. to my destination. How can I overlook those people who brought smile to my face whom I never met, never knew… don’t even know whether I will meet them in my entire journey or not but moments shared with them will always remain in the backdrop of my mind….Oh!!!When I look flipside, I can see a group of friends …self-proclaimed pied pipers with full zest preparing for presentations….. Busy in photo sessions for their promotion .The photo perhaps never got planted in the walls of their college! But you can hit upon it in someone’s room now…..Why memories make me crave to bring together those happy moments spent with my friends…I remember last year’s valentine’s day when I met someone very sweet…we became so close that day that we forgot the world and really tried to make our own little kingdom of dreams….but you know nothing is forever so again my friend walked away slowly without saying a bye….those parties ,the cafe near our college will be remembered…but life has to go on ….You lose old friends and then new friends comes to replace them and again a new relationship starts ..And you become happy….Well 2009 …..My first distant trip to Spain once more brings some unforgettable memories …the maple leaves and my first look of the beautiful city of Madrid beckons! Well I enjoyed my trip to the land of bull fight where I did a below lip piercing. Life isn’t so short I guess. It’s difficult to capture those beautiful emotions of my life, those smile in only one page…..Someone rightly said that…Stop pacing the aisles and measuring the distance. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice-cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, and love more. Live life as you go along. So I decided to continue my journey …..relishing every moment….Well 23rd November, 2009 is again a day of my life as my dear sister walks away with glory in her bridal suite leaving us to an another family…..though that day I didn’t even cry because I felt so dry inside.….the heaviness inside my heart is still felt when I said my last bye to my sister….childhood memories came as a flashback where I saw myself and my sister fighting for some chocolates!!! I saw my dad’s eyes… I can see the pain of being a father and handing over his daughter to another person and a family…but still this is life and I enjoyed my sister’s marriage fully. Thought of even getting married! Well I can’t end this year without saying about some of the nicest people on earth…with whom I talk whole day….with whom we talk ‘bout our traits… I really love to be with them…I know they will be smiling reading this because they know how important they are for me…..they are my support system…..well today , my mind is full of some unbreakable resolutions….hope I will succeed in keeping them…..I want to make this year…. “A year of love and happiness”…hope my dreams see the light of the day…..well this recollection will never fade as I have treasured them now…. So my boy can see a bright light of star shine is calling him……He is found walking towards the light now….well life has to go on ….So is the tale of that boy called ‘me’!!!