I rambled through time today

It is somewhat difficult to capture with sharp precision the vanished decades of a person’s life, especially at a time when one’s memory is not his best strength and the cavalcade of memories reach the window of mind seeping through mists of very distant times. In these conditions one is left with two choices, either to take the flight of fantasy and create a fiction or to share one’s unusual story by remaining anchored to the actual events in one’s life and the saga they unfolded. I have chosen to do the latter.

I am not a great believer in religions. The awareness about the presence of a profound cosmic energy plying beyond the chains of human mind has sufficed to help me find my bearings and lighten my trail. Somewhere, a long time ago, below a desolate and icy mountain top, I had settled for the religion of humanity and had done away with the rest.

Often I have wondered, what prompted me to write this story, the pages of which you are now holding in your hands. Being just another speck in an ocean of millions, I had asked myself, who would ever want to read my work apart from maybe a few close friends or family. It is, after all written by an amateur writer lacking in experience and proper professional skills. The reasoning side of me argued why would anyone even wish to pay attention to my book when there were so many books already written by known authors. It warned me about the possibility of it not even being noticed. I knew the chances were bleak, but I had always wanted to write this book which I had promised to her, so I simply ignored all these uncertainties looming over my head and went ahead.  

Inexperience often dictates the need for caution. I decided to plan this project in two stages; begin with a limited edition print run of the book (for private circulation) to get the first feel of what my friends and others think of it and invite their opinions, before seriously committing myself to a larger public release. 

In any case, regardless of the final choice I make and whether the story reaches a wider audience or only stays close to my friends and family, its purpose has already been fulfilled. The sensory journey of nostalgia and the emotional enrichment it has rewarded me with are a lifelong treasure which no amount of commercial success, gain, or fame can ever match. I feel contended with the work I have done and the promise I have kept. There is nothing more I desire.

It is finally you, the astute reader who would eventually decide whether to accept my work or to dismiss it. In all fairness I leave this judgment to you. I am waiting to prove myself wonderingly right or curiously wrong.

It began one evening in late October. The mild chill of autumn had just set in, we were sitting in the balcony watching the pink bougainvilleas vines swaying in the light breeze, when she said; “Years are passing, why don’t you try and record your experiences and some of the events of our life in a story”. The suggestion took me by surprise, but after a while I began to realise that this thought had also been tossing around in my mind for over a year. None of us on Earth know, when it is time to disappear from its surface, leaving behind a story. I could not sleep well that night. The next day around dawn, I began to write, the result of which is now with you.

It was the commencement of an experience that was as much overwhelming as it was emotionally draining. It began to bring back strong memories and each day kept reminding me of the nature of time, the flow of years, which to me now suddenly seemed had slipped away a bit too quickly and turned into an era embedded in unnoticeable history. Through this ‘story’ I have tried to re-live those moments, at least some of them, if not all. The drift of decades in anyone’s lifetime are too long a span to be covered in one single attempt.

This book is not about great feats, triumphs or achievements. It is about the spirit of youth, it is about the crusader inside each one of us who yearns for the strength and freedom to do things his way. This saga is perhaps a tribute to those who have dared to be different and have tried to blaze their own trail in life through the maze of conventional beliefs, confusing influences, fixed mindset societies and misleading distractions.

By the time you reach the end of the book, two things are likely to happen - you will either never again desire to read my writing or you will want to be with me on every journey that the logs of my Black leatherbound diary inspire me to write about. I shall have no regrets either ways. If this book inspires some of you to travel more, to discover more, to love more, or to look at life from a different perspective then I would say, the two and a half years I have spent writing it have been worth it. If not, I have enjoyed recording what you are going to commence reading.

I hope this work has some lasting effect on those of you who will find the time to read it. All the characters you are going to meet as you move through the different chapters are the ones I have come across. They are based on the real people, I have tried to recreate them from my memory. It feels like yesterday, such is the luminous soul of human moments lingering in lost history.

It is very true I enjoyed writing this book for well over two years, but I still have no clue to which unknown energy or intensity guided me across this long time. I guess it could be the allure of re-enchantment by living through flashes of the bygone years and all those encounters during the course of writing it. This and the invisible prompt of divine seemed to have kept me going.

Initially when I had started writing the book my idea had been to write it in first person, however a month later, I realised that the narrative in first person was imposing several limitations on me and was challenging me to deal with some sense of awkwardness during writing. It was also in some ways barring me from including some interesting informations and background facts for the reader. I finally decided to write the book in third person. This not only granted me wider flexibility of thought and narration but also veiled me in anonymity with which I felt a lot more comfortable.

Before you open the first chapter, I want you to know that it has not always been easy to recall in vivid details some of the moments, nonetheless I have tried to strike justice to my intentions and have strived to seize the essence of the moments. In doing so, I have at times, sparingly used the writer’s privilege of factual imagination.

The story begins in the monsoons of 1980. I was an aspiring youth of 22. She was 19. Looking back several decades later, today I realise it was destined to be a saga of extraordinary darings, the spirit and radiance of which was to remain ever alive in the form of an endless nostalgic glow.

And I hope some day, when I once again decide to trace the beckoning silhouettes of those bygone times through the logs of my Black leatherbound diary and pick up my pen once more to write, this ‘untold saga’ will continue into the next part of the story. 

- Neel Thakur (Author) Gurugram

There are several people I wish to thank for their support during the writing of this book, some I can instantly recall, others remain thoughtfully in my heart. I gratefully acknowledge the attention they all have given my work during its various phases, including those living halfway across the world who spared their time specially for me and treated my visits on priority which helped me to trace, recall and replay many of the details and situations reflected in the book. 

There are several other lovely people that come to my mind whom I should thank for being there to spur me on or for contributing valuable pieces of long lost informations about the family’s tree and history. They include some of my cousins now scattered in different far off lands, especially those living in parts of America and Europe.

A very special gratitude to one of my favorite (late) maternal uncles, whose sharp memories of the bygone times especially relating to those of my (late) father, helped me to dig into a lot more than I could have possibly recalled on my own. I also thank my sister for her encouragement and for realising the significance of my initiative to begin writing this book.

I also acknowledge the support of numerous other people with whose co-operation I could recollect many essential details of the various important events mentioned in my book. The list of people is long and I am thankful to each one of them. My heart is full of gratitude for all the support and understanding I have received from everyone here in India and in other countries.

There is another person I wish to thank, but for an altogether different reason. I acknowledge the help of my son for being an exceptionally bold critic of my work; without his sharp observations, I might still be struggling with the flow and impact of my writing across the chapters, considering my moderate command of the English language. I quickly realised the competence of superior education, with his Cambridge background, what occurred to him almost instantly, mostly came to me after some thought and debate. 

No words or deed can ever be enough to fully acknowledge her support, nor will I ever succeed in thanking her enough for bearing up with my unconventional ways and odd hours of working, sometimes in the middle of the night. It is her care and sacrifice that made it possible for me to complete this book. Indeed, wives can sometimes be angels in disguise. I remain indebted to her till eternity.

Finally, I wish to express my deepest gratitude to my publisher and his entire team for trusting the work of a novice and for their understanding and encouragement. It is my sincere hope that my work will be worthy of their high repute and will provide value to their esteemed readership.

- Neel Thakur (Author) Gurugram