The Story Behind the Stories

 

As you all know that The Way We Are – Dark Tales from the Himalayas is available for sale now in all Amazon channels, and today I thought that it would be interesting to share the story behind the stories; of how it came about and what they mean to me.  I started writing The Way We Are in Sweden. The inception of the stories began in the winter ravaged walking/cycling route that meandered quietly past the backyard of the flat we used to live in, in quiet old Kalmar. I used to take long solitary walks until my face would go numb and my toes as well, even inside those well insulated boots. It was on one such walk a voice arose within that said, write it! get it out! At that point I had been missing my life back home in the hills quite desperately. I missed everything about my shabby little town and a certain kind of yearning to just drop everything and travel back home devoured me incessantly. I dreamed of going back home, of having lazy late mornings, of being pampered by familial hospitality and home food. I pined for the attention and care that I found lacking in the west. I used miss having bed tea served with a rack of biscuits while you were still in bed and for the opportunity to be able to just recline on the bed or lounge in your corner all day long reading a book, watching a film or the telly, just existing in a state of languid inertia, without feeling an ounce of guilt. Life in Europe is a bit more different than life back home. Everything you do comes with a consequence, and quite a dear one at that. There is no time for lazy contemplation or profound cogitation nor do the  people around you have patience for it. The more you are on your toes, the more you run instead of walking, the better it is. It is a society driven by lack of time and the total sense of time. And there I was trying to make sense of where I came from, carrying all the essence of what made me and where I found myself. It was the kind of transition that did not hit me during the early years abroad, it was more of a gradual revelation that revealed itself atom by atom, moment by moment, minute by minute until, over the years it moulded itself into a huge question mark. The longer I live abroad, the bigger and stronger the question mark gets.

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Behind: The Way We Are – Dark Tales From the Himalayas

 

After two years of writing and editing these stories. I have finally found the courage to publish it on Kindle. These stories are precious as they are my babies whom I have given birth and nurtured them until they were ready to cross the threshold. Countless cups of teas and countless hours of contemplation, character building, shaping and reshaping the stories have gone into the making of The Way We Are and I cannot be more proud to see the end result. I cannot be more happier to share the book with you all. I do earnestly hope that it receives the love and support it deserves.

 
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Some place better

“I give you this to take with you:
Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can 
begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.”

- Judith Minty, “Letters to my Daughters”

We left the winter beaten landscape of Sweden drooping like wilted flowers dying for a single ray of sunshine. Over the years, Scandinavian winter had cast its ominous spell heavily on us until we recognised the melancholic and uninteresting streak that had begun to bend us out of shape. We could hardly appreciate the brisk summer because we knew that winter was longer, darker and it was coming. There is something about a severe winter that gives one a feeling of being trapped in a white prison. A month or two or even three of this can be romanticised but a six of those every year is enough to turn one acerbic like wine turning into vinegar. People like us are not built to survive long winter months; neither are we built to sustain scalp-piercing heat. We are simply constructed to live in a place where the weather doesn’t interfere. And where would that be? We wondered and we dreamed of it every day of our lives. Without our knowing, our children had become like us searching for the one place they could call home where life wasn’t about thick layers of clothing that was too difficult to peel off, or about being baked alive under the sun. “It’s just a matter of time. We will find it dear.” We reassured them with enough hope that hugged our dreams tight at night. What we didn’t know was, that they were growing like lotuses in a pond with roots floating lightly in the water. They could grow into beautiful individuals or into despondent creatures with no desire to ever root themselves. That was the repercussion that was likely of our flights for the search of a better world. But we braced for it with the hope of seeing them turn into fantastic human beings who had the best of many worlds and for whom adapting would be like their second skin. Perfect people for the future they await, we imagined. We could be wrong but we liked to believe that we were right.

* * *

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After setting the sun rises again


With

a smile on your lips
a dagger underneath
fingers clasped tightly
around the hilt slyly
you let me in

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Owning up to it

A life fit for a king
a song fit for a sing
we all dream

No matter how poor
no matter how sore
we all want more

How do we stop
how do we drop
staying on the top

where do we find
peace from this grind
a calm within the mind

rummage, dig, rake
let the ugly surface
let it
evaporate into nothingness

Could you be?
as deep as the sea
as rooted as the tree
as dark as a starless night
as cruel as the knife
as gossipy as the Meerkat
as broken as a door latch

I think you could
but I doubt it
I seriously doubt it
because you’d never own up to it

Image by www.deviantart.com

On the brink of an apocalypse

 

My gentle respite
safest of havens
my past
my origin
my sleepy little
hometown
it used to be

Puddled roads and
over-stuffed drains
monsoon rains
rush like the river
gush like the river
on the pock-marked road
carrying sins
carrying curses
diseases and
obscenities
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To My Creator

The little zygotic parasite
under the dome of flesh
feeds and floats
stretches and grows
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A Cocoon

A cocoon
they say
we live in

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Story Published in New Asian Writing

My story The Perpetual Traveller has been published in an online literary community called New Asian Writing and I am very excited about it. New Asian Writing compiles short stories, essays, novel extracts and poetry from Asian countries. At the end of each year they publish and Anthology of short stories in print. New Asian Writing has a collection of enthralling short stories by both aspiring and published authors. What is interesting about NAW is that it houses short stories from all corners of Asia. So you might be reading a story about a culture you have not read about earlier. Please read my story there and enjoy it and please do not forget to leave a comment.

Thank you and have a wonderful day!

http://www.new-asian-writing.com/2369/the-perpetual-traveller/

 

The Day the Stranger Stood on the Porch

The computer-generated image of a T-rex, devours a smaller raptor in a feast of carnage.  The documentary drones on the bright screen while the three year old cavorts in front of a flat screen TV; the nine year old grumbles but sits on the dining table doing his homework nevertheless. Sharp smell of garlic hits the air as soon as small, diced bits sizzles in hot oil. The mother tackles dinner as usual. Chicken curry with rice, the only dish that each member of this family relishes without complaint.
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Yoshay Lama

I welcome you warmly to my blog. This is the resting place of most of my creative work. This blog consists of book reviews, articles, poems, mere reflections and excerpts from my stories.

Please feel free to read and comment. I appreciate my readers tremendously.

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