Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Writing is a hard job and a long journey

Writing is a hard job and a long journey
Writing is a hard job and a long journey. The whole world is at writer's finger tips not at his feet. Writer's profession is the most difficult one in the world and his voyage is the most solitary. Writer's life is then called a Sadhana or Tapas of a Yogi.
If the writer wishes to be a winner at the end of writing life the writer is to be truly and deeply convinced of writing vocation, is to have enduring courage and commitment to the call lest writer falls on the way and perish. Who endures and suffers wins the race.
We have in modern time an excellent model in J.K.Rowling. She felt her calling in life was to write for the children. Who would write novels for children? Who would publish? Who would read? Such questions never bothered her. She wrote and wrote continuously, convincingly and courageously.
Think of those 12 publishers who rejected the original submissions from J K Rowling! Did she throw up her hands in horror and despair, did she burn her manuscripts, and did she decide she was a failure?
Not at all. She sent out more submissions and was accepted. The Bloomsbury editor, Barry Cunningham once advised Ms. Rowling to get a day job, since she had little chance of making money in children's books.
Look where her solitary journey has taken her from the late 90s when she was a divorced single mother, sitting on a delayed train scribbling notes for a story to pass the time, to the present day.
She seems to be the first modern writer to earn more than $1billion from her writing.
The final book in her series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, was released on 21 July 2007 and broke its predecessor's record as the fastest-selling book of all time, selling 11 million copies in the first day of release in the United Kingdom and United States.
The series, totaling 4,195 pages, has been translated, in whole or in part, into 65 languages. We read that the latest Harry Potter film had grossed over $500 million in its first 10 days.
Rowling had the conviction of her vocation in her life and had the courage and commitment to reach the finale of her call. Her steps were then clearly meticulous.
Let us listen to her words. "It took me a long, hard five years to complete The Philosopher’s Stone. The reason so much time slipped by was because, from that very first idea, I envisaged a series of seven books - each one charting a year of Harry's life whilst he is a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And I wanted to fully sketch the plots of all the stories and get the essential characteristics of my principal characters before I actually started writing the books in detail."
When once asked about the number of times she drafts and rewrites, Rowling said, "Loads and loads and loads. The worst ever was 13 different versions of one chapter (Chapter 9 in The Goblet of Fire). I hated that chapter so much; at one point, I thought of missing it out altogether and just putting in a page saying `Chapter 9 was too difficult' and going straight to Chapter 10."
We are not concerned about Rowling's financial success that is a consequence and corollary to her creative writing spirit but about her religious dedication to her call for writing books for children. She worked hard and journeyed alone. She achieved success in her vocation
Her story is not unique. One day any one reader of Katha Kshetre shall become another J.K.Rowling, a winner in achievement. George Orwell wrote, “Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness."
The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. - Mary Heaton Vorse - Editorial of current issue

passage through the mist

for the last couple of months I could not write anything on blog. I felt that I was passing through fog and mist, of ourse mental fog. no feeling, no enthusiasam, no energy, low BP, lazziness, sting of depression, pinch of pessimism etc
Anyway I am going to overcome my this phase of life.
I will be writing on my blog at least once in a week. Watch for

KK.VOL.10.NO.04 OCT-NOV-DEC 2009

Katha Kshetre.vVol.10, No.04, Oct-Nov-Dec 2009 issue is complete
Anyone interested in shall receive a copy in MSWord format pls contact J.Kaval,

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Kahtalok Publications

We started KATHALOK PUBLICATIONS in 2000. Our main objective was / is to help aspiring self publishing authors. We provide the authors with Kathalok logo and ISBN Number. We also offer the authors services of editing, printing on POD and publishing the book. We charge the author 10% of the total cost as our service charge and 100 / 1000 copies of the book published. We may arrange for its formal launching at author’s expense. There are other options too.
We have so far published 13 titles:
01. MANY ROOMS MANY VOICES (An anthology of short stories) Ed. By Dr.Cheriyan Alexander, pages 172, price Rs.200.00 USD$10.00
“These stories, mostly told in the realistic mode, have enough skill and variety in them to attract the lay readers as well as to draw the attention of discerning critic. Most of the writers seem to have learnt the subtle art of properly beginning and ending a story; most of them also seem sincerely committed to this ancient art of narration.” Dr.K.Satchidanandan, author, poet and critic
The book contains 24 short stories of authors who reside in and around Bangalore city - Publisher

02. TAPESTRY (An anthology of short stories) Edited by J.Kaval, pages 90, price Rs.80.00 USD$6.00
“It is kaleidoscopic journey across the many shades of Indian life; an impressive array of new talent from Bangalore.”
Dr.Cheriyan Alexander, St.Joseph’s college, Bangalore.
“It contains a treasury of shared human experience.” Prof.Annice Chandy Mathew, director, Unisun Publications, Bangalore.
“A charming selection of stories touches a uniquely Indian sensibility. One feels a strange sort of connection and empathy with all characters” Vidya Virkar, Partner Strand Book Stall Bangalore.
We received about 50 stories for the short story contest. These are the best stories adjudged by the judging panel - Publisher

03. MIDNIGHT DAUGHTER (novel) Dr.M.S.Riyazulla, pages222, price Rs.200.00 USD$10.00
“The Midnight Daughter is a highly interesting novel. In a time and space, when societies are being torn apart by divisive forces for ulterior motives on the false pretext of protecting caste, community, religion and region, I admire Riazulla’s sincere and honest effort in pausing for a while for a deeper understanding of the happenings. He does reach the core of hidden motives of proclaimed agendas and programs.” Dr.Ajai Kumar Singh IPS, DGP of Karnataka, author and poet
“It is the poignant story of Rumana: her birth, plight, flight and her fight against the odds of life in Delhi, Lahore, Dacca and Mumbai, together with her father Madar, the victim of partition, communal hatred and religious intolerance prevalent in India and Pakistan.” J.Kaval

04. THE EDEN OF INDIA (novel) Dr.M.S.Riazulla, pages240, price Rs.200.00 USD$10.00
“It is an interesting story line, set in Bangalore and Kashmir with elements of romance, terrorism and secularism all mixed into a pot pourri of ideas.” Seema Mustafa, resident editor, the Asian Age, New Delhi
“Bold personal struggles of people and the compelling love story culminating in high political intrigue are very absorbing.” Dr.M.S.Sathyu, film director and theatre personality, Bangalore.
“In this romantically beautiful novel the author suggests a solution to the problem of Kashmir.” J.Kaval

05. THE CITY OF PEACE (novel) Dr.M.S.Riazulla, pages 184, price 200.00 USD$10.00
“A thrilling story of terrorism laced with romantic love between a Muslim youth and a Jewish blonde. The story begins in Bangalore and ends tragically in Jerusalem. A pleasant reading for the readers and a manual for the terrorists. Terrorism is no answer for peace in Middle East but love between God’s people.”

06. FOR A GOOD TURN (stories) Prof.Abdul Majeed Khan, pages 130, price Rs.100.00 USD$5.00
“These short stories give us slices of life and the kinds of characters one comes in everyday life. The protagonists in some of these stories are persons who have a regard for uprightness and a sense of values and proportion. A few of them take the reader into the rich dense forests of Malnad.”
Prof.V.K.Janardan Iyengar

07. UMPIRE’S WICKETS (essays) Prpf.Abdul Majeed Khan, pages 114, price Rs.100.00 USD$5.00
“The essays in this collection include personal reflections, humorous anecdotes, critical evaluations, travelogues and tributes to great artists and writers. Some are serious and analytical. While others are lighthearted and playfully free of distracting ‘literary’ gimmicks. There is something here to interest almost every category of reader.” Dr.Cheriyan Alexander

08. FROM THE PYRAMIDS TO THE DOM OF ROCK (travelogue) Prof.Abdul Majeed Khan, pages 37, price Rs.135.00 USD$5.00
“The book is very interesting and informative as well. It is all about the holy places of both Christians and Muslims. It has 30 pages of excellent photos of important tourist spots. It is a must read for those who intend to visit holy land and Egypt. It deserves a place in all the libraries.” J.Kaval

09. RINNY’S STORIES (stories) Rinny Eapen, price Rs.50.00 USD$5.00
“His involvements are deep and informed which is why his writings reflect a unique energy that comes from knowledge and experience. What is more, Rinny has a robust sense of humor – an elusive attribute in a crowded field of self appointed bores. Eapens’s books are worth more than just a casual read, they deserve permanent place in any well stocked home library”
Shoba De

10. RINNY’S FABLES (stories in Kannada) Rinny Eapen, price Rs.50.00 USD$5.00
“Reading Eapen’s essays and stories and skits has been both pleasant profitable just as acquaintance with Mr.Eapen is”
Prof.L.S.Sheshagiri Rao
“Rinny Eapen is the sort of maverick the whole world loves to laugh at, on what appears to be outlandish ideas, but the same crowd comes raving and ranting the moment he achieves success with one of his pet schemes”
Indian Express

11. AKSHAYA JYOTHI (one-act plays in Malayalam) C.P.Devassy, price 65.00 USD$5.00
“A handful of one act plays carefully crafted and beautifully presented for the benefit of Malayali audience. These plays could be stages easily anywhere. Plays are like gunshots spitted out through the barrel of dialogues. Each play presents a stark truth with a moral message. Schools and colleges will benefit very much from this book. In drama contests these plays will ensure the prize” J.Kaval

12. FATHERS FROM HELL (an anthology of stories) Edited by J.Kaval, price Rs.40.00 USD$2.00
“The stories in the book reveal the disaster of broken families and the agony they suffered from Aids. What would happen to your family if one of your members was found HIV positive? You have 18 stories in this books that will shock you, make you weep and offer hope. The book ia also a warning of AIDS.” Publisher

13. WOMEN BARED AND DARED (stories) J.Kaval, price Rs.40.00 USD$2.00
The stories contained in this volume are all about women who withstood men. They will touch the sense and sensibilities of the readers and also will inflame them.
Sarojini, Nalini, Judy, Ramani, Tamar, Maggie, Leena, Mahalath. They are heroines” Publisher



Beyond Faith (essay) M.G.Nayak, pages 78, price Rs.48.00
We Want to Live (stories) M.S.Riazulla, pages 114, price Rs.100.00
Managerial Excellence (essays) K.Sukumaran, pages 182, price Rs.120.00
Phoenix and the Flame (poems) Abdul Majeed Khan, pages 54, price Rs.50.00


01. FLOWERS FROM THE EAST (novel) J.Kaval, price Rs.50.00 USD$5.00
The book is about the agony and ecstasy of housemaids from India, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Philippines and Thailand working in Bahrain. It unfolds the romantic but tragic love story of John from Kerala and Nalini from Sri Lanka. It has 95,000 words, 12 parts and 45 chapters. Each chapter is an independent story. The saga begins and ends within 12 days. The curtain rolls up on a certain Monday and rolls down on a Thursday.

02. (IN)-DECENT ENCOUNTERS (Erotica. For adults only) J.Kaval, price Rs.100.00 USD$10.00
The book contains spicy romances and intimate sexual relations between man and woman. Each encounter carries a human interest story. There are three parts. The major characters in this volume are Joe, a young robust handsome boy, Tome a young playboy working in Bahrain and John a matured and somber adult. The book may be a blessing to some and to some others it may be blasphemy. The narrative may be decent to some. To some that may be indecent.

03. THE FOURTH TEMPTATION OF CHRIST and Other Stories (stories) J.Kaval, price Rs.20.00 USD$2.00

The book contains 22 critical stories based on Bible characters, presented as flames of faith. The stories are not retelling of Bible stories. Enjoy the stories but sharpen your thinking

04. PEPPERMINTS (Mini stories) J.Kaval, Price Rs.20.00 USD$2.00
Informing and entertaining pieces. They are like orange-lemon mittais

05. TIPS ON CREATIVE WRITING (snippets) J.Kaval, price Rs.20.00
A hand book for the aspiring writers and the seasoned ones as well. All the tips are tending towards art of creative writing.

For details contact J.Kaval < >

Place your order along with the DD and receive 10% discount and free shipping at:

J.Kaval, Post Box No.9705, Vidhyaranyapura Post, Banglore -560097, Karnataka, India. Ph.080-23649154

Visit: < >

Tuesday, August 11, 2009


Hi friends
Katha Kshetre -Vol.10.No.03 Jul-Aug-Sep 09 issue is out. A copy of the journal in coral draw format will be emailed to any one ask for it

Creeper's Keeper


After having concluded the solemn high Mass Fr.Joe blessed the water drawn from the well of the convent. He began the holy ceremony of House Blessing. He started with the chapel and then proceeded to the school building, dispensary, vegetable garden, cattle-shed, kennel, well, servant’s quarters, teachers’ lodging, common bathroom and toilet area, kitchen, refectory, recreation hall and the parlor all the way praying to Angels to ward off evils from those places and to guard them against invasion of Satan and his brigade. He was sweating and wearing out. ‘It’s all over’ He thought.
Rev.Jude the mother of the house accompanying him politely asked him, “Father, you have to bless our living quarter. Let us go in.”
“Dear Mother, your living quarter is the most sacred and sanctimonious spot in the convent. Does it really need a blessing?” He looked at her quizzically.
“All our previous chaplains did. Never anyone asked any question about it.” She whispered.
“Sister, you should know, even the angels dread to venture into your private living booths. Not even bishop is allowed inside. Isn’t that the holy of holies?”
“I don’t know of its legality and regality. I know it’s our religious ritual to be performed rightly for guarding our body and soul against temptation of flesh and mind while we are alone in our cell. Please…”
He at first hesitated for a while then obliged. He went on blessing the living cells of aspirants, postulants, novitiates and the professed ones partitioned by thick bamboo lattices and cotton curtains. They were around thirty partitions. When that ceremony was over mother politely directed him towards the Sick Room at the end of the line on the corner. He entered the room. He was shocked to see Jacintha his sweet heart sitting on the cot. She wore a loose nightie with no buttons and bra. Her face was swollen. Her lips seemed dry and dark, her eyes lethargic and bloodless. She emitted foul smell. She was in shambles. She looked like a possessed woman. He felt very sorry for her. He knew she needed help very badly and urgently.
“What’s wrong with her?” He asked Rev.Jude.
“We don’t know. She said she vomited a couple of times and felt very weak and miserable. She has fever and headache. She has taken neither food nor water. She’s sick. Today we will take her to doctor.”
He went near her and asked mildly, “Hi Jacintha, what’s happening to you?”
She raised her head and stared at him for a long while. She suddenly got up, closed in, held him tightly against her bosom and began kissing him lavishly and passionately.
He was knocked for six. Mother got stunned. For several seconds they could neither move nor utter a word.
After a while Jacinta breathed heavily and sweated profusely. She felt drained and weakened. She dried out and shriveled up and fell on his chest like a withered flower.
He held her firmly lest she fall on the ground.
After some time he whispered into her ears, “Jacintha, wake up. Behave yourself. Please leave me.”
She didn’t.
“I’m broke, Joe. I’m terribly sick” She heaved, babbled and cried.
Sr.Jude became very much worried.
“Jacintha, what are you doing? Are you mad? Oh God! Are you under the spell of Satan? He’s a priest. He’s our chaplain. I say leave him alone.” She ordered, “If not I’ll call for help. We didn’t know you are in a very bad condition.”
Jude began to move out. Joe suddenly turned and held her hand and said, “Don’t. Dear sister, please stay where you are. Be calm and composed. You are a matured woman in sanity and sanctity.”
Jude abruptly stopped, stood still and leaned on to the door.
“Sister, do not panic. Let her for a while. Heavens won’t be broken down here. Please pull a stool, sit quietly on it and pray for us. I’ll bring her back.”
Moments tickled by. Commotion in the Sick Room waved around.
After a long while Joe mumbled, “My dear Jacintha, I love you. Listen to me. You look beautiful. You are a wonderful woman. It’s been long time since I saw you. God gave us a golden opportunity now. Let us talk. Sit. Please…Will you?”
His words soothed her soul and softened her body. She quietly loosened her grip on him. He carefully moved her like a broken glace and made her sit on the cot. He sat beside her.
She put her palms on her face and began to sob uncontrollably. Warm tears streamed on her cheeks.
He laid his anointed hand on her head. He slowly caressed her tousled tresses and patted on her back. He felt her feverish.
“Jacintha, it’s all over. Cheer up. You are educated, matured and still charming. You know. Long ago we worked together for years for the needy and the poor of our parish. When we turned up at our turning point of life we discussed about our future. We debated for weeks. We decided to give up the goodies of our life, our parents and our home for God. I selected my route. You choose your way. You traveled for years as I did. My dear, you know. We think wise. And God think otherwise. If not, my dear, you wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here. I never thought of seeing you here. What a graceful event!”
“Joe, I knew all that. I kept my word of promise truly and truthfully. I kept you aside. Yesterday eve Mother announced about your appointment as our new chaplain. She added that you would officially visit us today. I just thought of you. In a flash our past love life opened up. All of it came down rolling over me like a roller-coaster devastating me. I became restless. Many a time my heart was torn apart. I prayed and I cried in silence. I couldn’t open up to anyone. I couldn’t contain myself. I suppressed. Suddenly something erupted in the pit of my stomach. I felt feverish. My temperature rose up. My body ached. Twice I vomited. I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares invaded me. I am afraid I will go mad. Please…Joe”
“Yea, exactly, you went mad after me. You held me captive, hugged me and kissed me warmly. And then you cried. You bared your self and poured out your emotions on my face. Now you’re a spent-force, an empty shell. You will have to fill it out again. I can’t do that. Am I correct?”
She lightly shook her head a couple of times. She looked at Jude.
“Mother, I’m sorry. I am really sorry for this mess. I feel guilty.” She confessed.
“Sorry? What for? Why feel guilty? Jacintha, you hugged and kissed not a stranger on the street or a handsome worker in your convent, but me your friend. You are seeing me in person after five years. My name might have stormed your mind and heart. My presence perhaps boiled up your heart. Is that a crime? No. Is that a mortal sin? No. Jesus loved women more than men. He hugged them, kissed them, lived with them and cried for them and their children. Mental or emotional blow ups between the loved ones are genuinely human. Some times it happens all of a sudden like tsunami. There is nothing to be ashamed of them. Let us not see sex and sin in every nook and corner of our Christian life. Jacinthamol, listen, God is not a trigger happy sharp shooter shooting down his children into heaven and hell. He’s neither a task master in the circus ring nor a policeman on the street. Jesus broke almost all the rules and regulations of his community. He never threw stone at woman. I am sure you never meant malice to anyone. I know you are a lovely creeper chosen by God for his great work in his vineyard. My dear, I am one of His keepers here. Do you understand?”
Jacintha nodded. She gleamed at him through her welled up eyes. Warm tears flowed on her cheeks. She whispered softly,
“Yes, Joe, you’re. Forgive me. I embarrassed you and my people. Sorry. I understand.”
He fished out his kerchief and wiped her tears.
“Jacintha, I have no hesitation to hug and kiss you in front of your community and to disclose ‘Hei dear sisters, look, this sister is a gem among you. She is a beautiful lady, energetic and efficient one. She will become very fruitful member in your congregation. We have worked together for All India Catholic Students Federation and National Social Service. She has been my right hand for four years and a girlfriend too. Now she’s yours. Take good care of her’…Isn’t it nice to say? Will they be scandalized? They will be delighted and happy about you.”
Intuitively and instinctively she moved away a little from him.
“How’s your life here?”
“What are you?”
“Head of the school.”
“You happy?”
“Very happy”
“How do you feel now?”
“Quite well. Joe, no word from you for the last six years. Where have you been?”
“At Benares Hindu University teaching Biblical Jesus and learning Indian spirituality and mysticism.”
She looked at him and smiled liberally and adoringly.
“Joe, I feel thirsty and hungry.”
“Good. Me too. Get up. Freshen up. Tidy your self.”
He held her hand and turned. He got his second shock. Senior sisters of the house were on the corridor behind the Mother near the exit watching and listening to him in monastic silence. He blinked at them.
“Yes. We do understand now better.” Mother said for all of them. They smiled at him lavishly.
“Let us pray” He said. They prayed ‘Our Father’ together.
In the end Mother cried out, “Deo gratias! Today let us celebrate.”
They clapped their hands and sang ‘Ave Maria’
[This is a chapter from author’s forthcoming book WITHIN THE CLOISTERED WALLS]


Date: 11-09-09
Time: It must be in between 02.00am and 04.00am. I woke up at 04.15 am.
A crowd of people out there was searching for their opponents in our locality, a peaceful people of different caste and creed. I saw the hunters had red bindi on their forehead and ear rings for their ears. They wore Kakhi trouser and white banian. They held lathis. They were all young men robust and well built. I knew none of them. The neighbors were running hither and thither for safe haven. I and my son hid in the upper cell of the kitchen of our Tharavad where firewood was kept. The head hunters found us. They dragged us jubilantly chanting ‘Jai ho matha’ along with our neighboring families. I saw my wife among them.
We were herded into a big hall. Where in the world? I didn’t know. We were deposited in a corner. There were many men in the hall, from very young boys to the very aged. The old people wore white aramundu. Some of them had Poonool. They were angry with us. Their look was vicious. I knew they were going to torture us. Why and what for? I did not know. They did not say. There appeared in the hall a couple of men vested in yellow juba and white pants. They seemed to be their leaders. One of them pointed me to his followers and said, “Hi, look at that old man. He seems to be the senior. Take care of him at first.”
Immediately a couple of handsome young men marched towards us. They picked up me from the crowd and dragged me. They laughed at my shabby figure. They poked fun at my dress. They ridiculed me for wearing a scapular that betraying my religion. They verbally abused me. They handed me to their elders. The elders looked like Brahmin cooks in temple kitchen. They pulled away my scapular from the neck and the white mundu from my waist and threw them into the oven. I stood there stripped and naked. They made me sit in an uruli. I closed all my windows of my body to the outer world. I went inside my self. They poured steaming hot water on me liberally. They sprinkled rasam all over me. They rained on me sauces and curries over my head. I just remained stony like a Sivalingam. After an hour they poured cold water lavishly. No one was talking to me.
When the seniors finished with me the youngsters took up. They burnt my index finger with match box. It burnt and swelled like papad. They hit me with cigarette buds and also with burning needles. They shot me at my forehead by their slings. Bang… Bang. Stone pellet could not move my head an inch. They shot at my rear head. My head withstood.
When the turn of youngsters was over, kids took over. They were four in number. They were dressed like Sri Krishna. They raised their right hand. Rays of light like comets rushed towards my face and hit. They couldn’t enlighten my face. My face looked like black bronze bust. Some of the children shoot Soolam. I raised my right hand and defended my face. They then shoot Trisoolams. I raised my left hand and arrested them. My wrist took the impact.
Suddenly there was a commotion in the hall. A man (like film star Saikumr (?) son of Kottarakkara) handsome, robust and tall vested in yellow juba and saffron mundu. He was whispering to the leaders. H looked at me several time. Once he stared at me for a long while.
I heard his lieutenants muttering to him “The old man’s unbreakable, looks like made of solid steel” Then I saw the leader gesturing with his fingers.
After a while the youngsters carried me to the backyard of the hall. They threw cold water at me. They then dumped me on the corner. I woke up from myself. I spread my tentacles to five windows of my body and opened them to the outer world. I could feel, smell, hear, see and taste my saliva. I saw my wife, son, and my neighbors being shepherded in a procession down the hill. I heard the shouting of hunters and the cries of the hunted...
Why this terrific dream (= loose, tangled and intertwined images like wild horses in a wide stable)? In conscious state one has control over the images in the mind’s store. In subconscious state one has no control over them. Images become children in a UKG class without its teacher.
I do not believe in dreams both good and bad alike as if they were fore-castes of my proximate or distant future. I do not subscribe to dream-ology. Nevertheless at this stage of my life I do have a few dreams. I hope to realize them before my sunset.