My Times My Tales - An Introduction of book

As we move through the passage of time, all of us come across one incident or the other on our way, and while most of them slip into oblivion as a passing phase, a few of them cling to us as part of a precious treasure. Such happenings keep lingering in the recesses of our minds aching to be expressed through our fond medium, be it a piece of art, a lyrical composition, a novel or a short story.

Overtaken by desire to express myself on episodes which either touched my inner chords or stirred my sensitivity on matters of relevance to society, I chose to articulate my thoughts and feelings in the form of narratives. My book ‘My Times, My Tales’ is a compilation of 27 such tales which I have articulated to share with learned readers. Long back I was catapulted into travelling by a passenger train which, instead of being irritating, became a memorable journey. And I narrated my experience in my tale ‘Delusion of Appearance’, ‘…. I started enjoying the journey for its leisurely movement, crowded and yet specious. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry, not the train atleast. I could look at the faces that spoke volumes, heard peals of laughter reflecting carefree attitudes, eyes that wept without trickles of tears telling tales of want and misery. It brought me face to face with the bitterness of human existence ………’ But it was for a sharp bitter pill which I had to swallow that day that the journey became memorable.

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On another occasion, while travelling from Kalka to Delhi by Himalayan Queen with friends’ families, I observed the conduct of a limping vendor in the compartment. And the ‘Thud’ ‘Thud’ ‘Thud’ sound that I heard there kept reverberating in my mind for a long time because it was the sound of self-respect. ‘….. As he moved…. with his head held high, I could not take my eyes off him. …..Famous philosopher , Henry Ward Beecher, perhaps had this proud man in mind when he uttered his famous words: It is the heart that makes a man rich. He is rich according to what he is, not according to what he has.’ In the tale ‘My Encounter with Ghosts’, I have narrated an incident that would have left me a die-hard believer in the existence of ghosts but for timely disclosure. ‘…….As I entered the labyrinth of the old market complex, my bicycle suddenly came to a grinding halt, as if stopped from behind….I quickly checked the bicycle and found nothing wrong…..I was already jittery ….I looked around like a dove caught between hounds . The more I thought, the more I felt the horror of the rhythmic steps of ghosts dancing around me with mocking gestures…….’

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Now, having lived in Delhi for decades, I have no hesitation to admit what I have stated in my satirical narration, ‘Delhi: Paradise of Spirituality’, ‘….it occurs to me at times that great saints whose quest for eternal truth took them to the difficult terrain of Himalayas to undertake extreme penance for attaining eternal salvation, the ‘Moksha’, only wasted their time and energy . They could have easily achieved their spiritual goals if they had lived in Delhi as a common man………. Every time I have to go a medical practitioner, I come back with an experience that forces me to recall doctors of my childhood days. The extract from the write up ‘Dr Commonsense’ indicates the reason ‘…..there were many in those days like Dr Shambhoo Nath whose primitive style of treating patients, based on their extraordinary level of commonsense , was tolerated because it made up considerably for modern day technological advancement and over commercialization of the profession ….’

And every time I read in the newspaper report about parents taking a teacher to task for having

punished their child, I cannot not help recalling my school days, for, in my mind, there linger the words of my mother about the attitude of my father as narrated in the story ‘The Sweet Bitter Pill’ “…..He deliberately thrust the bitter pill down your throat …... He was least bothered whether the teacher was right or wrong … …He never wanted his children to grow disrespectful and impertinent towards their teachers whom he placed on a much higher pedestal than even the parents….’ Then there is the story of ‘ An Angelic Commoner’ about whom the more I thought the more I became convinced that while there is enough of depravity to lead one to sink deep down to unfathomable depth of dirt, there is no dearth of goodness as well that touches the topless tower to beacon the earth with its sharp soothing brightness .

There is also an interesting story that narrates the journey of a simple ring which becomes fascinating ‘cosmic joke’ perpetuated with macabre sense of humour. And in the same veins have been written some other tales like ‘An Unusual Burden’ and ‘Bags of laughter’.

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There are many more in the book, each one with a different colour and flavour as I have endeavoured hard to treat them with utmost care and felicity to sustain readers’ interest.