I gifted over a hundred books of “O my darling, India” and god, it paid dividends more than I had bargained for. It restored my faith in the goodness of a human being as I had more than 15 “out of the world” reactions.

One lady folded her hands and almost had tears saying ‘Death becomes me” (a story in my book) reminded her of her own father’s last days. A top surgeon talks to me for hours at the local restaurant. Another retired chartered accountant gives me a lift in his car on the way back from weekend Swamiji classes. There is very dignified lady and I call her “akka”. A software engineer in Johannesburg has read over 300 of my posts and when he met me recently, he knew the name of even my Arabic instructor. So as you see, this book has done a miracle of my self-esteem.

Book-2 manuscript is almost complete; such reactions were the inspirations behind the effort. It will consist of 10 stories and there has been a huge learning and artistic maturity in them. The plots are more imaginative, the descriptions more vivid, and I am thrilled at the way this has shaped up.

My March, 2010  this manuscript will be ready on all accounts. I will not even approach an Indian publisher. I believe there is enough quality here to interest a literary agent in UK. Guess what, one of Swamiji;s student has a brother in UK and he is going try on my behalf.

Hopefully this work sees the light of the day. I concern myself with the writing (something under my control) and I refuse to involve deeply in the promotion or search of a publisher. If it has to happen, it will. Otherwise it would like be shifting a mountain on my bare back. I have the learnt the wisdom of destiny and its flow; I don’t want to speed it up or muddle the flow with my ambition. But one thing is sure; I will continue to write unmindful of whether I make a penny out of it.

For those - admittedly a very few - who follow these blogs, I am indeed happy to inform that my first book,” O my darling, India” is out.This has been published by Writers Workshop, Kolkata; the same people who first published Vikram Sheth, Pritish Nandy, and Jug Suraiya and the rest who went on the blaze the literary world.

Here is how you can procure this book: Just email your requests at writersworkshopkolkata@gmail.com asking about the price of “O my darling, India” by Sathyanarayanan and they would be happy to revert with price including postage.

It was a long-cherished hope that I publish my first book before I turned 40. I almost made it overshooting the mark by 4 months.

I will never insist that you go in haste and order the book. It is not a classic but eminently readable. So if you are an old time reader to the posts, maybe you would be interested as to how I concoct tales. But either way, it is not going to change the world or even you but aims at providing a few moments of solace.

With this I come to end of blogging here. It started in June, 2006 and I still remember the first post. Over the years, I have close to over 600 posts most of them in blogspot. I owe a debt of gratitude to these meaningless posts but they certainly did sharpen my pen. Maybe, it evolved me into a writer that I am today. Thank you and God bless.

I quit iland because I really don’t have a need today. I thank it for the evolution it provided. Let’s just say that I graduate finally. In any case most of these blogs were reposts from blogspot. As they say in Arabic, Sukran Jazillan. Thank you manifold.

(My old blogs for those interested are: http://writersathya.blogspot.com and http://observesathya.blogspot.com. Though I am averse to blogging, I might post a few now and then)

I was in Bahrain in the second half of 2003 for 3 months and it was the best time of my life. Sure the roads look more agreeable on the eye as cars speed past over 100 kmph, there is opulence everywhere (even a public bus is air conditioned), there is a mix of Europeans, a US naval base, and it is as international as it gets.

The Arabs are a fabulous race; they define what hospitality is. You stop on the road and even ask a construction worker for a public phone and he will walk you to that place even if is a great deal of botheration or interruption to his work. Or you can drop your wallet on the road and it will most likely be returned to you. There is a kind of honesty and fairness about an Arab society that it will boggle the imagination of an insect-infected and corruption soaked India.

I fell in love with Bahrain so much (it happens to everyone for it is best country in Asia; it is more Europe than Asia) that believe it or not; I became a writer. I would be so excited that I would write 5 pages a day recording it. Everything held me in awe; the beauty of Persian woman (they looked more like pencil drawing and their skin texture so smooth that you can see the veins carrying blood .God, has not fared better in making women beautiful than in the GCC), the discipline and ethics at the office (it is a pleasure to work in such a civil society) and the close bonding of the Indian community. I loved jogging on the beach, I even loved the pigeons, or the "Bank of Bahrain" building or even the Chinese girls at the McDonalds. I even joined the bhajan chorus at the "Krishna mandir" on Sheikh Abdullah road or reading the Gulf Daily News.

Given a choice, I would have stayed in Bahrain forever, such was the attraction. It felt like iron fillings to a powerful magnet. The Arabs essentially are very decent people. It is not a talking race at all and they speak with a lot of deliberation. If an Indian visits abroad, he or she will notice one thing. You need to improve your listening dramatically and you need to brush up on speaking without excitement. I was there in Bahrain on a visit visa and my sponsors were working on a 2 year work permit; but it was the days of Bahrainization (a drive to give jobs to the nationals that they refused to get in more foreigners) and my application did not get through the Labour Ministry. So after a brief tryst with paradise I was back to the Coovam (the dirtiest and most polluted river in Madras. It is so full of industrial waste and dump that it is the metaphor of all that is worst).

Last month, a friend in KSA suggested that I learn Arabic if I wanted to get back to the region. It made a lot of imminent sense; it almost had a penetrative wisdom to it. I started to scout for Arabic tutors and settled on the first available one.

Sreekrishnan makes an immediate good impression. He is 27 years old, stands over 6 feet, he is lean and his eyes sparkle implying a razor sharp intellect. He is very fair for a typical Brahmin complexion, a small face, and a mouth that is more used to domination. He takes classes in his flat at Thiruvanmiyur; about 2 kms from my place. He was trained in CIEFL, Hyderabad and that adds to the credibility. He is an expert in two foreign languages; French and Arabic. I once asked him as to how long he has been at it and he said,” I started Arabic when I was 12 and French when I was 14″. Which means this linguist has already 15 years experience in Arabic and 13 in French. He speaks like a native in both these languages and I can bet my last money that he can audition for a TV anchor job in both Paris and Dubai. He works in a MNC during the day and in his spare time, takes these tuitions.

I have 3 classes a week; an hour each and I come up feeling more favourable disposed as to my teacher.

First, I requested him to teach me conversational Arabic; we prodded along. He would write the Arabic greetings on my diary and I would go home and get it internalized. Then I would be taught the names of 5 principal fruits, vegetables, beverages, 20 common words and within 4 classes, I had more than 60 word Arabic vocabulary. That is the "survival" words; you can go to a grocer and order your requirement. Sree will not proceed to the next lesson unless you have mastered the earlier class; he will quiz you and only when satisfied proceed ahead.

Then we reached the stage of learning the numerals and I was amazed at my own progress. Sreekrishnan too was impressed to see a 40 year who seemed to have an endless appetite for Arabic. But it did not come easy; Arabic words have no familiarity with any of the languages I know. I would come home and write these small scraps of paper and keep memorizing at every available time.

I tell him," My IQ is only 125 and so please go slow".

He smiles at the humour," Sathya you are doing brilliantly for a beginner". I say," Please keep complimenting me for I dread that I am will stop learning". This age business plagues me really. Look at the kids on sports quiz; their brain is lightning quick and they answer before the question is finished. My mind too was that quick, once upon a time. Now I even take a minute to recognize a favourite singer on the radio. The mind loses its sharpness with age; worry, depression, and constant failure can make it dull as a blunt knife or a guitar with an intonation problem.

Now came learning the alphabets and you won't believe that I had scribble those on every bit of strewn paper at home; behind telephone bill or even stray envelopes or even behind magazine covers if I found some space. Luckily I get a lot of junk mail and these have a lot of free space.

Within the first seven classes, I have mastered all the 28 alphabets; what remains is to gain mastery on different forms. In Arabic a letter takes 3 forms depending on where it appears ' either beginning or middle part or towards the end of the letter. I am so enthusiastic about my Arabic that I keep practicing it while waiting for an interview or on the bus or even at the gym. Or better still write the names of my friends in "Arabic".

Yesterday, Sree said," I want you to get this Jack Straw book before the next class".

We have a lot of fun in the class; I was asked to decipher words like “mosque”, “chair”, “pen", "book" and things like that in Arabic. There is an Arabic textbook ' used for native children in Saudi Arabia; this blooming book is for little children and full of pictures but not a word in English 'and so our conversation went like this:

Sreekrishnan: What letter is this?

Me: It looks like a snake and so it must be "Ha"

Then, what is this?

I say," It looks like a woman's breast; so definitely it is 'dal'"

Sree doesn't like this trivialization at all but he enjoys the humour. He remonstrates," Please don't mix English and Arabic though beginners usually have this association problem".

I smile and say," You missed out 'ra'; even you will agree that it looks like a comma".

He too joined in the fun,” Each time you see an arrow, it is ‘jim’”

I winded up,” Doesn’t ‘ya’ look like the letter ‘S’”.

Oh, what fun learning a language is? It is just taken me 20 days to reach this stage and Sree says," It is so nice to see someone so committed. But you could do with less humour".

I tell him as an elder," What is learnt in pleasure is learnt in full measure".

At this point in time when I only see dark clouds of betrayal, disappointments, and depressions; I have these Arabic classes. This is my sole bright point in the day. I go into the class with a heavy burden of the earth on my shoulders and after an hour I am back to my jovial best. Thank you Sreekrishnan!!!

So between a shape of a woman’s breast, an arrow, comma, a snake, and a letter ‘S’; I plod through my lessons. For a change, they don’t make my head dizzy as people around. I happily realize that learning is the best antitode to a mind sunk in depression.

I don't believe in being politically correct for it is only sophistication and suave; which is nothing more than subtle lie.

For zealots, please read no further for I am exploring as to how much of an Indian I am. I am embarked on an exercise which most take for granted and so this will shock your patriotic nerve. So read further at your own risk.

Premise 1: I don't see India as a country but more as a concept. This INDIA cannot be one uniform form but more a cut and paste of disparate things coming together. Okay, try this for an experiment. If there are 25 states of this country, assemble a farmer from each state and you will understand what I labour; a Punjab farmer cannot interact with an Andhra fellow and both of them will ironically find the Assamese more a foreigner.

Premise 2: What is the common shared heritage?

Definitely not language; it is one of the most powerful unifying factors and this country doesn't have one. More than religion and other divisions, language is great binder. I am a Tamil Brahmin and I am more amiable to a Tamil Muslim or Tamil Christian than a UP Brahmin!!! So what is true for me will hold true to most.

Hindi is a language more forced but as a language it disappoints; it does not have either the history or the splendour of royalty. It is just a trader's language with less than 500 years of existence. (again entirely my opinion and you might  more likely have a different take).

So what we have is a hotch-potch of a nation?

Now let me consider my "Indian ness Index".

I have traveled far and wide in this country and these are my findings (for me).

a)      I grew up in Andhra Pradesh and so they are mana vallu (my people)

b)      I have a Tamil gene; so my inspirations will always be Thiruvallvuvar and not Kabir or Tulsi.

c)      I believe AP, TN, Karnataka are a lot similar culturally and these 3 states can be one unit. At a personal level, I will only buy a property or a retirement farm in these states only and not any other. I can relate to the farmer there, read the local newspaper and join the tea fellow for gossip or intervene in a fight of the roads or exhort the bus driver. I can't do that in any other place in India.

d)      Kerala has a distinct identity but still I can relate to it; Sabarimalai is there and so is Guruvayur. So there is at least a cultural ties here.

e)      Then my tirth places are:  Kadarnath, Badrinath, Rishikesh and likes. So these are again related to me in some form.

f)        There is nothing in common with Rajasthan and MP; UP and Bihar, I can explore some connections.

g)      There is absolutely nothing to bind me to Punjab or Sindh. I refuse to relate to these regions; this is revelry race and bhalle bhalle while my gene makeup is more tuned to introspection. I am again not a militant race and I have suffered a lot interacting with these denizens. My mind reaches a dead-end here.

h)      Kashmir again is too far away; Vaishnovi and Amarnath is more a North Indian pilgrimage than a junta for a south Indian.

i)        I cannot differentiate between a Chinese and an Assamese; so there is no connection here.

j)        Bengalis look a lot similar to the Tamilians; there are culturally distinct and take pride in their heritage; so there is some commonality here.

So where does it leave me?

I am 50% Indian; I can stand Gujarat, Maharashtra, 4 southern states, Orissa, WB, and then UP and Bihar in the north. This is my most charitable expansion of my mind; Punjab makes me swear that I cannot be part of this country. Surely, I don't want to be represented by such turbo charged testosterones like Yuvraj and Harbhajan!!!! I will go with a Kumble and Dravid any day.

A country united by bollywood and cricket is indeed a weak adhesive; we need to use fevicol more often.

For those who argue that we must have an open mind to accept differences; then I can only plead it as an universal value. Personally I love the Arabs more than Tamils but I have enough intelligence to know that I cannot club the two.

A definition of a nation means that it is a homogenous race and yet distinct from its neighbours. True, people everywhere similarly struggle but we are on an exercise of Indian ness here. There is a sense of déjà vu about this land; very difficult to love and be patriotic even if determined. Just today's news: a MP slaps a bank manger, then 17 years for Liberhan to write a report on Babri, Siva Sena to protest naming the new bridge etc.

(I feel that this post may attract a lot of flak. Please don’t get agitated and lose composure to shoot off toxins. Please express your annoyance civilly and understand that it is my right to express; better still don’t even comment if the mind is cussed. In any case, I am not the comment hunger blogger)

Each one thinks they have a sense of humour; but majority actually don't. In my 40 years of earthly existence, I can just think of two names who fit the bill. One was the incomparable and even inimitable Balakanth and other a good friend and ex-colleague S D Prabhakar (SDP hereafter).

Interacting with both these people was a sheer pleasure; almost magical. They had their wits about them and an amiable humour that could light up even the most morose days. I would define humour as one in which one can enjoy a joke at one's own cost; it takes a large heart for that. Fragile egos get easily hurt and defensive, the very anti-thesis of humour. It is only a healthy person sure of themselves who can crack jokes at oneself. Humour is definitely not reading a "party jokes" book and recounting it during a lunch recess!!!

There is a subtle difference between using humour for banter and sarcasm as a hostile tool to hurt. These two were brilliant and knew the nuances well.

Balakanth was a fabulous person to be with; he was a giant in any company. He had the appeal of a college dadha (the bully whom one would run to in times of trouble sure in the knowledge that he will smoothen it out). His antics look like Krishna's tale amongst gopis.

We would go to movies for the late show at Satyam complex and on one occasion the person next to him was wrestling for the lone and shared hand rest. BK just gave him one thump as he swung his thighs and thereby settled the territorial issue. He recounted this during the interval when I cautioned," Boss, they are four of them and all college students and what if they gang up". He chuckled," Sathya, let them. You don't know what I can do for I am an international crook. I shall start a riot here and thrash all of them".

I would frequently go to Ram Bhavan for breakfast with BK and he would divert my attention and swallow the puri from my plate. I would be bemused wondering where the food disappeared. There was never a light moment with BK around.

Once he said," Sathya, there is an attractive girl in the next table. Can you ask her name and date of birth?" I chickened out while BK went, spoke to the girl and came back," Her name is Aparna and she is 19". Later he told me the trick," I just went to the girl and said that I have a foolish bet with a foolish friend and all that was required of her was to give me a nod when I spoke to you". She was a sport and acquiesced.

Then on another occasion he saw a couple of girls in jeans and their backs, full and swaying with each stride. They were slinging a plastic bag containing ice-creams on the shoulder. BK stopped his bike and audacious enough to take out the stick ice-creams. They girls were shocked before BK smiled most endearingly that reassured that the joke wouldn't go further. He said handing back the ice-creams," I liked the way both of you walk and wish to complement you". They too took it in humour as we proceeded in his bike. I was 22 years old to BK's 40 and never have I seen a person who took more out of life. BK was the idol of my early 20s before he left for USA for good.

There are many lessons I learned from BK; happiness is independent of money and a smiling face is welcome anywhere.

Then in January, 2005 I joined Sinex Systems and got acquainted with S D Prabhakar. He was my reporting manager but there was no such artificial divide in our relations. We were more friends than manager-subordinate roles.

SDP as a person defines a gentleman; he is a natural well-wisher of anybody. At mid 50s, he is a person who has a lot of international work experience. He is incapable of gossip or rancour though as a boss, demanding. He will coax people in doing their jobs and sees himself more as a mentor of the next generation than a control freak. SDP's greatness lies in his extraordinary listening prowess; one gets a feeling of being heard.

I am full of pranks with SDP. I would trigger off saying," The water problem in Madras is because of too many Telugus here. It would be better off if they stay in Andhra than spoil things for us".

SDP, a Telugu, would not get provoked and instead say," Madras should be only for those people who can read and write Tamil and not for some silly assholes", hitting back at my Tamil illiteracy. SDP's Tamil is better than mine any day.

Whenever I am angry, I would address him as," Prabhakar Naidu". He soon learnt that trick from me as he would say more in repartee," You Sathyanarayanan Iyer". Once on my birthday he got a cake that read; happy birthday, jackal. After the office sang the chorus he asked," Sathya, what is your message to the world on your 36 birthday?" I was tickled so much that I cried as my stomach burst from too much laughing.

There is this famous equip," Prabhakar, you earn a lot of money and so does your wife. What do you do with all that money?" SDP has a daughter and she is happily settled in USA. We were so friendly that he did not mind even when I asked in front of others.

SDP once said," I have a recurring deposit account of my salary. Everything goes into my retirement savings".

Then each time, I see him I enquire about the progress of his RDs !!! There are many variants you can have with “what do you do with so much money?” For instance, how do you ferry your salary home….a truck!!! SDP would sometimes quip,” I loaned some money to Dirubhai Ambani” or “yesterday Ratan Tata was waiting for me at my doorstep with a bowl in hand” or “I am planning a holiday in space”.

Today he called in to wish the 11th anniversary of my heart surgery and I said," SDP you should change your car. I am sick of seeing the same old Santro. It should be no trouble since you earn so much money".

SDP said to a guffaw," I thought that you will get rich with your books and present me a nice car".

I said," Prabhakar, why don't you include me in your will?"

We went along most humorously along that track. I have never found more pleasure than talking with SDP. One can joke with him and he knows that my jabs are friendly. It takes a lion-hearted man to take those punches and still have the wit to get back.

In my life barring these two people, I have mostly seen people too full of themselves. They just can't take a little chaffing to their egos; so bloody uptight. The best conservationist is one who can differentiate between a slight and friendly banter and know how to kick the ball along.

Each time I speak to SDP on the phone, I laugh most of the time and realize that I could be so creative. He is a spark for my mind that brings out the child in me. I don't have anyone who can make me so lighthearted.

It was the end of January, 2005 when I found myself in Mumbai. Sinex Systems were one of the chief exhibitor to PopAsia; a congregation of outdoor display manufacturers in the country and this is one prestigious get-together for the trade. The exhibition is invariably in the last week of January and the venue, Nehru Centre, at Worli in Mumbai. Since I was under their pay, I was also ferried along to the conference.

I was part of a large team; in those uniforms and ties; explaining banner stands and Pop Ups to a stream of mostly disinterested visitors. We collected their visiting cards like sugar candy but actually bombard them with direct mail junk once back in Chennai.

Nehru Centre had two large exhibition halls and I went to the back door each time I felt an urge to smoke. That soon became the de-facto smoking zone and frequent smokers found themselves saying hello to other frequent smokers. It is one community united by nicotine and promises of early death.

In all these human affairs ; press guys clicking photographs at random or young girls walking around with microphones in asses protruding out and curling hairs intruding to the face and to be thrown back every alternate second, I chanced on these pigeons. Their actions occupied my attention and I learnt a lesson here.

In a place like Nehru Place the ceiling is over 25 feet and there was one alcove that stopped at 20 feet. A pigeon seemed restless and heavy; surely the female bird for another pigeon gave the game away. It just had a single-minded focus; be near the female bird and then fly down the rolled shutters of the gate ' it was a narrow gate and door carved out for limited access ' about 20 feet away from the alcove. It would nose-dive to the gate and go to the outside of the hall and grow stronger in flight as it preceded towards the trees and shrubs about 20 metres away; way past the lines of parking cars. It would come back with a twig and get inside the hall through the same collapsed gate and deposit that twig near the female. Each round trip would be a couple of minutes effort for the pigeon.

This went on relentless for 4 hours and the nest was slowly taking shape. The pigeon was so insistent that it did not bother about the company of smokers nor brooked any interference from humans blocking the gate. It just whizzed past to-and-fro with a bravery that can only be described as foolhardy. Slowly the flight of this bird registered in the smoker's community and soon they swelled a crowd of amazed onlookers.

One of the cops said," Even Ambani cannot afford a house here and this pigeon has made a nest in time for the eggs".

Another man said," I now understand what a family is". The small bird gave it all (really, everyone wondered at it tenacity and energy) to ensure that the female was comfortable and the eggs found a safe place.

As for me this was an inspiration; coming from a dysfunctional home I learnt my lesson. I can never forget this nest-building imprint in my mind; pigeons may be bird-brained but their commitment to their family is no laughing matter. We could do well to learn a thing or two on those things that really matter. That day in Worli the taxis honked at the traffic lights, businessmen impatient for a meeting, actors nervous on an audition, the sugarcane man out Nehru Centre sweating with sun on his face; but nothing matched the splendor of this humble pigeon.

For those gathered it was a sight that just refused to fade away from the mind.