Of Life & Loss

There are days when you can sit under the winter sun and see your whole life flash across your eyes; when the distant bustle of moving traffic, the chirp of the birds or the whistle of the trees add a strange melancholy to the universe.

It is surprising how there can be so much grief and sadness everywhere you look and yet life never slows down. It will march ahead at the same unrelenting pace and you’ll have no option but to keep pace with it.

But above all, it’s surprising how it will knock you down harder than you thought possible, and with the same breath show you the strength to rise up again.

Death of someone you’ve loved unconditionally your whole life is a powerful learning experience. It is humbling, and it helps you realize things nothing else ever would. It tells you the greatest human gift is the ability to adjust to almost anything, to accept the worst and to embrace it. It teaches you that Death is the hardest thing; not for those who have passed, but for those who are left behind. You’d never understand the inexhaustible ability of time to fix everything till you walk into a familiar room once again and do not feel weird at the strange unfamiliarity to it. You don’t realize how uncertain, unpredictable and astonishingly terrible life can be until you get that call in the middle of a meeting or the middle of the night and just like that, every thing around you dissolves in smoke and the world goes blank.

But above all, it tells you Life is never ending and transient; death but a negligible incident and that it shouldn’t ever mean the end.

I lost my Dadi- or Maa, as every one called her- on 28^th January, 2018. I lost my Nanajee on 3^rd February, 2018. It’s been one long never-ending day with no concept of time and space. If I look back, I’ll never know where it started and I don’t know how it will end. I have breathed and I’ve soldiered on, but I don’t remember the last time I lived.

My Nani- or Chachi as everyone has ever called her- died on 1^st June 2015. I was 21 back then, and I still remember that day clear as ever. Nanajee, at 91, was frail and not in the best of health but had nonetheless made the journey to the hospital just so that he could meet her once again. I was never as heartbroken as I was that day when I saw him slump in the chair next to her, hold her and sob, ‘Tu chali gayi. Ab mera kya hoga paro?’ It gives me immense satisfaction that after almost 3 long years of Separation, the grand old man will meet Chachi again, only in a better place. Nanajee worried about everything and everyone his entire life; and it is reassuring how for the first time in probably 75 years he is free from that tension he carried everywhere.

Maa and Dadaji had a love marriage; and by definition a 64-year long love affair. Once, not long ago when we asked her to tell us how it started, she said, ‘Humare zamane mein, Chajhe mein se maine inhe dekha; chajhe mein se inhone mujhe dekha. Aur bas, pyaar ho gaya.’

And so all Dadaji does now is sit on his bed and think. I remember him saying ‘Ab ye toh chali gayi. Jee nahi lagta,’ two days after she left us and it breaks my heart. He’s the only one now. My last connection to a phase of life that very few are blessed to experience over such a long period of time.

It’s going to take time before I can walk into their rooms again and not notice they aren’t there anymore. It’ll take time before I get used to not looking at their face, or talking to them. It’ll take time before I stop regretting how I didn’t meet them enough; or get used to the realization that I’ll never meet them again.

And while it’ll change life as I know it, Death will never affect that old life I’ve lived with them. That will remain untouched; unchanged. I’d still talk of them like I’ve always had, as easily as ever; the household name they always have been. Life is unbroken. Life is continuity. And just because they aren’t here anymore doesn’t mean they cannot be a part of it.

All is well.

I love you.

Young & Free

Years ago; in another age now that I look back at it, I had a stupid dream. A dream fueled by adolescent enthusiasm and the conviction that you can only afford when you’re young and free. I was 16 and had only just begun writing, spurred on by a rather inconspicuous quote by the wildly celebrated Professor Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore. The quote went thus: Words, in my not so humble opinion, are our most inexhaustible source of magic. The dream went thus:  To become a best-selling author before I graduate from College, to feature on the cover of HT Brunch and, to be a multimillionaire author before I turned 24. 

I dreamt big. And I had the conviction to do it. At the age of 16, I had my priorities sorted enough to sign a three book deal with a leading publishing house. At the age of 21, I was lucky enough to get a chance to feature on Brunch. I was young, full of ideas and a misplaced sense of superstardom. I was writing like a dream; the words flowed like magic. You see, I have always been incredibly vain when it comes to my ability with words. In my defense, I was getting everything I wanted; no matter how incredulous. And I was egged on by this belief that maybe I was God’s favorite child, with this supreme conviction that when you want something from the deepest recess of your heart, the Universe, with all its unfathomable power, will come together to make it happen for you. 

Incredibly naïve; incredibly stupid, don’t you think? But I was getting all of it. And more. I was going to LitFests and Book Fairs. I was signing books. I was inspiring people to write. I was giving interviews. Doordarshan made a short documentary on me. I had it all. I was, and I am, in a way, famous.

But all of this was before the pressure of the real word caught up with me. Before I was caught in the mad frenzy of being successful and safely placed somewhere when I graduated from college. Before I started fretting more about the next internship I could fix and how it would look on the CV rather than worry about the fate of Arya and Sealand. Before not falling behind others became more important than finishing the next project I wanted to work on. 

And so here I’m, three months and thirty days shy of turning 24, pouring over hundreds upon hundreds of pages of acts and rules looking for an obscure section that might help my case; working a 10-10 job and going back home with nothing other than 7 hours of sleep and the pending deadlines on my mind; my parents casually commenting on how I’m never really present at home despite living with them; the dreams and ambition for my 16 year old self all but forgotten. 

And it gets me thinking. How often does it happen that we are so intimidated by the idea of making something for ourselves when we graduate from college that we forget the things we used to love at one point of time? How passions take the form of hobbies as we settle into a life governed by billable hours and the clock, and masterpieces that we could have created consigned to little notes on the margins, that tune in our head, or random scribbles and doodles on the back of a note-book? It doesn’t happen with all of us. There are people who rebel against the established order and go out there and achieve their dreams; but for every two who do, there are hundreds who live with the knowledge that it could have been so different if they had the courage to strive for the unconventional. A happier life, if not more comfortable and settled than the ones who probably have? 

Because somewhere in the struggle to land up something big, we forget that once, years ago, there was this one talent we all had that could have put others to shame. The 23 year old me is striving hard to get that perfect job that would make sure that not only am I making money, but I also have the time to spend all of it in ways I’ve always imagined; hardly having written anything new in over two years. 

But the 16 year old in me still wants that Literary Superstardom that would rival the kind of success Rajesh Khanna had at his peak, still there, somewhere, afraid to over-power the practicality in me. But I think that is what makes the successful people successful; the ability to throw caution to wind and take risks when you have a more comfortable alternative.

Someone once said, “Find what you love and stay close to it.” Writing this, that’s all I can ponder about. 

The Hills Have Eyes.

We had been planning for the vacation for more than a couple of months now. It had become a sort of tradition over the last three years of college- a Goa vacation in the winters and a mountain getaway as soon as the spring/summer semester got over in June.

The idea of going backpacking to Lohaghat was Robin’s. We were in the middle of one of our Horror Marathons at Banga’s place when he had first mooted the idea of taking off to Lohaghat.

‘Wouldn’t it be scary and cool?’  he had asked incredulously.

Akanksha had scoffed at the idea instantaneously. In our group, she was the one who was the easiest to frighten. I still remember the time when Banga had quietly put his phone by her bedside following a night of binge-watching Paranormal series and then called on his number from the other room. The scary HUHAHAHA ringtone had sent Akanksha screaming and running madly throw the dark house. Banga had carried a black eye for the rest of the week.

‘We are SO NOT going to Lohaghat.’  She had said pointedly, but ultimately gave in because the idea caught our fancy.

‘Aaand we can record it! Our very own Blairwitch Project!’ declared Robin as he took out his Samsung Galaxy S4 Zoon and flashed it proudly.

For the uninitiated, Lohaghat is supposedly one of the most haunted hill stations in India. A picturesque town situated in the high hills of Uttrakhand, Lohaghat has long been known for the legendry Abbey, a colonial bungalow where even the bravest of hearts have shuddered to step in.

On the morning of our departure, it had rained cats and dogs. Akanksha had been going on and on about signs of ominous tidings ever since she had gotten in the car, or that’s the first thing Banga told me when I met them at ITO Metro station at 7 in the morning. We had planned to leave at around 5, but the rains had greatly set us back. Lohaghat is almost 10 hours from Delhi on a good day. We wanted to check in to the only Villa we had found on Airbnb before sunset.

The journey was remarkably uneventful. We stopped once at the McDonalds plaza just out of Meerut and once after Roorkee. I took over the wheels as soon as we started our ascent. That is the deal I had cut. I would drive in the mountains if they wanted me to come. This was the first time we had decided to drive ourselves rather than get a cab and I wouldn’t trust others with mountainous road. 

Sometime after crossing Champawat, Tripti and Banga had started making out in the last row of the Innova. Robin had immediately taken out his phone and started recording the action. I laughed, Akanksha scoffed like she had done pretty much through the day, but Tripti and Banga didn’t seem to notice. We had rolled down the windows and the music was really loud. It was completely dark by now and we hadn’t come across another soul ever since we had passed through Champawat.

‘Guys, STOP IT. You’ll have plenty of time once we are at the villa.’ Akanksha chided, but was asked to shut up by Banga.  She was the easiest one to scandalize in our group. 

‘DJ, Stop the car. I want to ride shotgun. I am not sitting at the back and watch them exchange saliva.’  She scoffed.  I laughed and brought the car to a halt and she quickly exchanged places with Robin and we set off again. Robin was now sitting directly behind and had presumably started recording again.

We drove in silence for the next half an hour when we reached a fork.

‘Which way, Banga?’  I called out to our ‘navigator’ busy at the back. He ignored me, but obviously. In his place, I’d ignore me.  I looked look at Akansksha, exasperated. Just then, we heard the unmistakable roar of a Bullet and sure enough, there was a headlight flashing brightly in my rearview mirror. I waved a hand as the lights drew near, and the bike came to a halt right by my side. Somewhere behind me, I heard Robin whistle.

‘Lohaghat?’  the tall blonde foreigner asked me, her hair flowing behind her. She was clad in black, top to bottom and the kohl lined eyes. Damn, I was sold. She leaned in through the window so that her lips were barely an inch from me, and said softly, ‘This way,’ as she pointed towards the left. She withdrew just as suddenly as she had leaned in, and added, in a quiet undertone, ‘If I were you, I would turn the music down. The hills don’t take kindly to intrusion.’

She kicked the bike hard, and was off before I could say anything.

‘Woah, dude did you look at-’ Went Robin as soon as we resumed her journey, but was immediately cut short by Akanksha, ‘What did she mean by “hills don’t take kindly to intrusion”/ Don’t you think she was weird? How did she know we were going to Lohaghat? I don’t like this. We should go the other way.’

I never got a chance to reply, for at that very moment, a rickety scooter over took us from nowhere. It was green in color, and there were two men riding on it. The one who was riding pillion looked back at as they passed us, and slowly, his neck turned one eighty degrees. He looked at us, and smiled. The most eerie smile I’d ever see. His teeth were crooked, and his tongue jutting through them. He gave a screech, and the scooter turned a bend, and disappeared. Akanksha screamed; Robin cursed, and I 

brought the car to a screeching halt.

‘WHAT THE HOLY FUCK WAS THAT?’  

The Unbreakable Vow

"The sky shone bright with stars, while the half-moon glowed faintly. Apart from the occasional wisps of the cloud, nothing obstructed the clear sky. For a while, the loud singing and music, the laughter and the hullabaloo followed him, but slowly, they grew faint, and ultimately died." -Emergence, book 2 of the Avaasya Trilogy.

 I have oft been told that I write like a dream, and not in the conventional sense of the word; but the kind of writing where you forget a mere 16-year-old has written what you’re reading. I have also been told more than enough that I am terribly vain when it comes to my writing. But I suppose that’s okay? If you’re good at something, might as well be proud of it. After all, they say, ‘rule the words; rule the World.’

A lot of people have wondered how a guy studying in class 10th could come up with a plot as complex and write details as vivid as what makes up The Avaasya Trilogy.

I think a major reason for my success- howsoever small it might be- is the fact that I was a voracious reader growing up. I would read anything and everything I could get my hands on and would get so overwhelmed by the ability of the words to transport the reader to another world all together that I always knew writing stories is the only way forward. I was 11 when I decided I’ll surpass JK Rowling one day. I was 19 when I decided I want to be the Rajesh Khanna of Publishing Industry. 

Obviously, the fact that I am smooth with words is true not just for The Avaasya Trilogy or my Blog, but also extends to my conversations and interactions with people in my personal life. The kind of person who knows how to say the perfect things at the perfect time-? Who can smoothly put the most scandalous of questions to you in the most nonchalant manner ever. The kind of guy who gets his way around things every time. You get the gist, I’m sure?

The question is, why am I writing all this on my blog?

Because, the reality is, I haven’t written anything new in the last four years apart from a handful of blogposts (I finished writing Emergence in two months after I got done with Equilibrium. I was 17 at that time. I’ll turn 23 this July.) Every time I have to add something to Emergence during the edits, life suddenly becomes a real struggle. Whenever I have tried to sit down and write a new short story or something… anything, words and imagination have failed me alike. A few days ago, my editor and I decided to add another chapter towards the end of Emergence. I thought it’d take me a couple of days at the most to write the 7-8 pages I thought we needed. I eventually mailed her 2 pages at the end of the week. Right now, I’ve managed to type in 500 words, having been at it for almost an hour. And this is how it has been for the last so many months. Years.

Where words once flowed freely, all there is nowadays is a blank piece of paper, and a pen. And a lot of people won’t understand what’s the big deal. But imagine waking up one day and discovering you can no longer breathe on your own. Or walk without support. Or run. Or swallow food. Drink water. Ride a bicycle, drive a car.

Imagine the struggle. The helplessness. The restlessness. And imagine living with it day in and day out.

 And I have only myself to blame for it. They say power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. As I grew up and started realizing the ease with which I could get anything I want simply because my words were smooth and the magic never waned, I started losing focus. You know the drill, I’m sure? The thrill of a new hunt, the charm of a new game?

And somewhere in the middle of all this, I forgot to read. And more importantly, I forgot to imagine. The way I look at it, the only way out of this fall is to be honest with myself. And the only way I can get back to writing the way I used to is if I have something to prove. To myself, more than anyone else.

So beginning today, I’ll try and post a new short story on the blog at least twice a month. That’s my Unbreakable Vow. For where’s the fun in the game if there’s no challenge?

Rajesh Khanna, the biggest Superstar there can ever be, had the most remarkable of falls because he refused to be honest with himself.

I don’t intend to be the Dark Star.

Tales of the Year Past.

31st Dec 2015. The last day of the year.

Like all the lasts, I think there's something really romantic about the last day of the year. It gives you a sense of closure. It encourages you to put behind what happened in the preceding 364 days. It gives you hope for a better tomorrow. And more than anything else, it reminds you just how fast time flies.

I mean, it was only yesterday that I first entered college. And here I'm, closing in on what will be the last winter break of my college life, doing what I love best on the last day of the year; reminiscing about the year gone and the chances lost.

In a lot of ways, 2015 has been a watershed year. At least for me on a personal level. It is an year where I learnt something new every day. I learnt not everything lasts forever; that fairy tales, more often than not, are a stuff of dreams. I learnt publishing a book is not everything and doesn't really get you anywhere. I learnt what disappointment actually feels like, and what is it like to nurse a broken heart. Not the kind that kids get from a failed relationship. But the kind you get from failing to fulfil your own expectations. I experienced loss, and the astonishing power of time to heal just about anything. I also realized how time doesn't stop for anyone, and that one day the absence of someone wouldn't really trouble you anymore.

But most important of all, I discovered faith. The kind of faith that does not ask for anything apart from belief. The kind of faith that tells you this too shall pass. The kind of faith where you know you're not alone. I discovered faith doesn't mean believing in a higher power. It doesn't mean believing in someone else's hallucination. It does not mean believing in something that cannot be explained. It simply involves having the belief that everything happens for a reason, and everything happens for good. That the one person you choose to put your faith in wouldn't leave your side even when everyone else does. And for discovering that kind of faith, I shall forever be grateful to 2015.

But there's something really romantic about every Last. We waste an entire year doing nothing, and then suddenly we find it's December already, and then before we know, the year changes. And we suddenly realize how much time has passed by.

And then we tell ourselves how the coming year would be different. And then the coming year becomes this year. And then the year past. And this is life.

So with a profound sense of humility, I bid adieu to 2015, knowing that at the end of the day, tomorrow is just another day, and the only thing that'll really change is the date.

 Like it changes every day.

 Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

In Loving Memory of the One That Was So True.

They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. For twenty one years I had no idea what it meant. For twenty one years.

Until today.

The time is 8:45 PM. I’ve just settled down to watch the latest episode of Game of Thrones. My sister walks in the room. She says, ‘Paras, we have to go.’

It’s about Nani- we call her Chachi. No one in living memory has ever called her anything but chachi, except Nanajee, of course. The story goes when my mother and her siblings were younger, their cousins would call nani ‘chachi’ because obviously she was their ‘chachi,’ Mothership and the siblings picked it up, the neighbours picked it up, the maids picked it up, the grandchildren picked it up, the great-grandchildren picked it up… even their friends picked it up. 

Nanajee lovingly calls her Paaro. And perhaps it’s his final ‘Paaro’ that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I shut down the laptop and jump out of the bed. She’s been unwell and in hospital for almost a week. We all have been dreading this ‘last ride’ to the hospital every waking moment ever since. On a certain level, we’ve been prepared for the eventuality. But no matter how prepared you are, there’s nothing more difficult in life than accepting the fact that a person you’ve loved all your life will one day simply stop being there. In every way possible.

Chachi hasn’t been well for the last so many years. I can’t remember the last time I saw her walking… or even sitting up straight without support. I can’t remember the last time I saw her without a tube up her noise to help her breathe. I can’t remember the last time she didn’t need machines to help her survive. She had a hard life. She had trouble breathing, trouble sitting, couldn’t walk. She had weak bones. She sometimes had a memory lapse. She had trouble hearing. She had trouble chewing. For the last three months, she was totally bedridden, steadfastly refusing to sit for even a few minutes because the pain in her bones would be simply unbearable. Because even with a nebulizer it would be impossible to breathe… and yet she is the most remarkable person I’ve ever met. Or I’ll ever meet.

Imagine having to stay confined to your bed every single day. Hardly able to sit straight. Unable to eat yourself. Unable to turn your head and watch TV. Unable to breathe without a machine. Not knowing what’s happening outside… Imagine doing this day in and day out for years on end. Imagine living in pain. It will drive even the hardest of us insane.

And she took all in her stride. She was never bitter… Never angry. She would say, ‘kya kar sakte hain.’  She would regale us with stories from her childhood, our parent’s childhood, and stories from another age… every time we met her. Every time we’d call her, she’d only ask, ‘Kidadi aaogay?’ when will you come. She loved when all her children and grandchildren were in her room. Oh the happiness on her face. The joy it would giver. She’d never fail to ask us to stay the night over. Spend some more time with her.

She would Pull our face close to hers and kiss us softly and sloppily, stroke the head, and ask us what we’re doing in life. And when it was time to come back home, she would ask us to stay… stay for a while. Her world was in her room. Nanajee by her side, the family all around her. The stories she would tell. The memories she would stir. The laughter. The jokes. Everything.

And it’s all gone in a flash. Twenty one years of knowing her. Twenty one years of seeing her every weekend. Twenty one years of her unconditional love. And it’s all over in a matter of minutes. She’s there, in her hospital bed. You could swear she’s sleeping.  Peacefully.  You would never be able to tell she’s been in so much pain. And now she’s in a better place. Away from the all the pain. The sufferings. The hardship. It’s how funny how sometimes you have all the money in this world, and yet, you don’t have anything. For as they say, there are somethings money can’t buy.

Nanajee is frail, and he comes to the hospital every day to meet chachi. He is there today as well. But he’s come late. Chachi has already passed on. He sits near her, looks at her once, and breaks down. Nanajee, before whom a thousand people bowed their heads when he was in his prime, is clutching chachi, and crying like a baby. He whimpers, ‘Paaro, tu chali gayi, ab mera kya hoga paaro.’ 

Oh, the astonishing pain of watching him in this state. I could never been more heartbroken.  They were together for almost seventy odd years. For so many years, nanajee’s entire day revolved around worrying for chachi..  And now he has nothing to do, and he has to live all alone in a room he has shared with chachi for the last thirty years.

It’s third June today. It’s been three days now, and all he does is cry.

So there would be no more of ‘Chachi-chachi’, no more of sloppy kisses, no more of the tender hugs. No more of her concern. No more of her stories… nothing. She is just not there anymore. Gone...Forever.  Never to come back.

But why am I writing this? The loss of someone so close has to be a closed affair. A family affair. A private affair. But death is a humbling experience. It tells you how you cannot take anything for granted. It tells you how uncertain life is. But more than anything, it’s about the terrifying realization that life doesn’t stop for anyone. It goes on. That one day Chachi would be just another memory. A person who loved us unconditionally for so many years would cease to be anything but a memory. We’ll walk into her room, and won’t find her absence awkward. We won’t call her every week. We won’t meet her every week. We won’t ever hear her voice again. And it would all be normal. Maybe it doesn’t really make sense. Maybe nothing makes sense.

But consider this. How often do we meet our grandparents? Just how busy are we with our lives. My Dada-Dadi live in Noida, and we, the grandchildren, hardly go to meet them. Hell, hardly ever remember to call.

Grandparents- they ask us to visit them, stay with them. Spend time with them. But aren’t we all too busy with our own plans? Hell, don’t we tell ourselves we’ll go next week, and then that next week becomes next month, and this is life?

For twenty one years I’ve had the privilege to have received the love of both Dada-Dadi and Chachi-Nanajee.

Until today.

And I suddenly realize that life is too uncertain.

So cancel that plan, put down that call. Go sit down with your grandparents. Jeeyo, khush raho, muskurao. Kya pata, kal ho na ho.

RIP Chachi, Godspeed.
I miss you. We all miss you. 

In Loving Memory of

the One that was so True. 

Reflection

Almost four and a half years to the day I first had a daydream which eventually morphed into an idea that spawned a trilogy; here I’m, penning this blog as I wait on tenterhooks for the launch of my first book.  I guess it is the logical culmination of a long process that started with my getting inspired by JKR and writing Emilio Esparda and the Sword of Life way back when I was in class 5^th- a mere 11 year old writing a novel! From Kalazar Kai (like Salazar Slytherin) to a Governor of Magic, it was a vividly imagined resplendent world I had filled with characters liberally borrowed from Harry Potter, my first hero.  

From being on the editorial board of the School Magazine, to basking in the glory as my English teacher in class 7^th went around the department telling others to just learn from how well I structured everything I wrote (I guess one of the biggest reasons I took to writing in a big way is the sheer encouragement I would receive from here every time I wrote something. The last time I met her two years back, she said, ‘Hopefully, we’ll see a book written by you in the market soon!’ Can’t wait to go back and tell her, ‘Ma’am, this is all because of you!’), from reading every kind of fantasy fiction to having this steadfast belief (often bordering on arrogance) that I am a pretty good story teller, this has been one heck of a journey.  A special shout out to my cousins, Pramath Parijat and Shubhankar Parijat. The Avaasya Trilogy began as collaboration between us before we shelved the project, only for me to take it up again after an year!

The last few weeks have been frantic; the last few months surreal.  I have seen myself grow, learn become wiser and change as a person. Experienced remarkable highs and depressing lows. I have learnt how writing a story is probably the easiest part of it all. There have been phases where I have doubted the story, the book, and myself. Phases where I have been disappointed let down and left with the feeling that perhaps the book isn’t good enough. That perhaps I’m not good enough. I have gone through phases where I have been unable to write even a paragraph.  Equilibrium is a book I finished writing in under a month when I was seventeen! It’s a book that had Red Ink Literary Agency sign me solely on the basis of four sample chapters ( I started writing after I was signed) It’s a book that was bought by my publishers when I was eighteen. And yet, it’s a book that took three years to see the light of day.

Those who know me intimately would swear by how I have been going on and on about my book ever since I signed up with Red Ink. From going on ‘bragging’ about the book to stop talking about it altogether because of the sheer embarrassment of not having an answer to ‘When is it going to be published?’, I have been through it all.

And it is this intervening period of three years that has probably been the most magical part of my life. Looking back, I can proudly say that this has been a coming of age experience for me.  I have spent hours sitting on my bed, staring at my book collection and imagined about that time in the not so distant future when my own novel would occupy the place of honour in that collection. I spent hours realizing how that ‘not so distant future’ is simply not happening. But I guess it was all worth the wait. Someone once told me everything happens for a reason and everything happens for good. I guess all the delay made me more mature.

I have learnt the importance of dreaming and relentlessly pursuing it to the point that no one can deny you. I have learnt the importance of giving something your everything and that the greatest happiness in the world is when the thing you have dreamt about every waking minute is finally happening.

I have met some wonderful people who influenced some of the characters in the series quite heavily. I have shared my dreams with people who aren’t around anymore. I have acquired a new perspective. And probably, have learnt not to take everything for granted. I don’t even know why am I writing this, but just felt I needed to thank so many people for just being there and occasionally dreaming this dream with me.

I hope the book doesn’t leave you disappointed. Thank you so much for all the support on Facebook these past few days. It means a lot. This book is my dream… everything.

Paras Joshi!