Hello everyone. It's a little late for the next guest but though February was a short month it was packed with things to do. And March has also been filled. With three other people I participated in a poetry reading set to music. If you are a poet you should try having a pianist play while you read.
But I am very happy to present to you my guest author for this month: Rohit Prasad. I met him through a mutual friend and immediately thought he should be on this blog. After you learn about him you will be very happy I introduced you.
Here is the interview we had:
Where were you born and where do you live now?
I was born in Bareilly, a small town in India where my maternal grandparents lived.
I now live in Manhattan.
I can see why you might move if you are in international banking.
Besides writing, do you have any other occupation? Do you have any hobbies?
I have been an international banker for the last 29 years.
I love reading books, drawing caricatures and watching sports.
Who or what influenced you to begin writing?
I am a voracious reader and a regular traveller. These experiences have heavily influenced my writing.
What inspired you to write your first book?
I always knew I had stories inside me. Once the idea of the book popped up in my mind, I knew I had to put it on paper.
Please tell us a little bit about this book: The Pilgrim: Inferno Redux.
Roy Aron goes on a journey, physically and mentally, on the fateful day of 9/11. He descends the bowels of hell, following in the footsteps of Dante Alighieri, as he witnesses the nine sins. He comes upon intriguing sagas showcasing the sins’ corroding powers. The reader accompanies him through the heart of darkness, lives through the transformational incidents, and emerges in the sunshine of hope.
What made you decide to write your second book, Mood Swings?
After I wrote about the nine sins, my mind started thinking about the reasons why man sins. It led me to the realization that we are prisoners of our emotions. So, I felt I needed to write about emotions and the decisions that they make us take.
I am interested to know how you got into drawing caricatures. Have you put any in your books?
I have been drawing since I was small. I gravitated towards caricatures and cartoons on politics and sports as an avenue to comment on current affairs. I have included sketches depicting imaginary beings personifying the nine sins in The Pilgrim: Inferno Redux.
How are you planning to promote your second book? I know you have already had an online book launch. Did you have an in person one too?
I have conducted book reading sessions in New York and New Jersey.
Where can our readers find you?
https://cynicseyeview.wordpress.com/
https://www.amazon.com/Moods-Swings-Rohit-Prasad/dp/9391813925
Finally, my last question I ask of every guest. Are you a plotter or a pantser? In other words, do you just write or do you outline before you write?
I always think of my storylines and make notes on my iPhone. Once I have most of the points covered, I sit down to type out my book.
And now you have provided us with some excerpts from your book. Here they are:
From short stories in Mood Swings:
From Story #9:
It was a short drive from her hotel. They reached an unassuming single-floor building whitewashed in white and light green. On entering through the iron gates, they come across a courtyard and a prayer hall to the right. They found a large empty hall with three decorated tombs in the middle of it. The walls were decorated with sepia-tinted photographs and framed Urdu poetry in exquisite calligraphy.
It was strange to see an Islamic establishment in such a broadly Buddhist nation.
Arjun commented, with an undertone of disappointment, “I am neither overwhelmed nor underwhelmed. Just about whelmed. You are losing your touch, Super Star.”
Joyita admonished him with her best impersonation of Q, “Patience, 007, patience. Now pay attention. I will say this only once. Do you even know what this is and where we are?”
Arjun shrugged his shoulders.
She explained, as if to a child, “This is the tomb of Bahadur Shah Zafar.”
He was taken aback, “Like The Bahadur Shah Zafar. THE last Mughal emperor.”
She nodded, happy at having pulled out a rabbit from the hat.
Still not sure about what he had heard, he asked, “But what the heck is he doing all the way here in Yangon?”
She settled in for the backstory, “When in 1838, he ascended to the throne, while his title of Emperor was very grand, his power was actually quite limited to mostly Delhi and neighboring territories. But after the 1857 Sepoy Revolt..”
He interjected, “The First War of Independence, please.”
Chastened a little bit at herself for using the Western title instead of the preferred Indian version, she carried on, “After The First War of Independence, the British considered Bahadur Shah Zafar a potential rallying point for the freedom struggle and banished him to Rangoon in 1858.
Do you know, in his exile, he wasn’t even allowed a pen and paper to write fearing that he would secretly use them to pass on messages to his supporters in India?”
Arjun was astounded at the new things he was learning every day on this trip.
She added, “Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor, died in 1862 miles away from his home and his subjects. Do you know the irony of it? I had read somewhere that, after losing the Third Anglo-Burma War in 1885, King Thibaw Min, the last Burmese monarch, and his family were exiled to a remote corner of India where they remained till his death.”
Arjun was just standing there with his mouth open.
“Well, this is quite a change from the pagodas!” he said aloud after closing his gaping yaw.
Joyita explained further, “The Britishers were determined not to make them martyrs. So they buried Bahadur Shah Zafar in an unmarked grave here to make sure his supporters would have nowhere to mourn.”
“Then how was he found?”
“Quite by chance, it seems. In 1991, during construction work in this prayer hall, the laborers came across these graves. Upon excavation, they found skeletal remains of Bahadur Shah Zafar wrapped in a silk shroud.
Realizing the importance of the discovery, the local community supported by the Myanmar government and the Indian government restored the graves.”
Arjun was left devoid of words by the moving story.
He thought out aloud, “Such is fate. In one moment, you are the king of the world. Literally the Shah Jahan. And the next, you are dying alone miles away from your loved ones, buried in an unmarked grave, unmourned in a far away land.”
Joyita, “Makes you appreciate history. Understand from the past. Prepare for the future.”
Arjun stressed, “For me, I think it makes you appreciate the present. Make the most of today, as we don’t know what the future will bring.
Carpe Diem. Seize the day. Get out of the rat race. Stop and smell the roses. Discover something new…
…Fall in love with someone.”
He said the last sentence looking intently at her.
He then grabbed hold of her hand and guided her gently out of the building. Once outside, he pulled her close and kissed her with passion. She also seized the day, and him, and kissed back with feeling.
They went back to her hotel and had brunch together, but did not let go of each other’s hands or break eye contact.
From Story #3 Mood Swings:
Susan whipped around, like a whirling dervish, every morning between 6am to 8am. Today was no different. It was that small window in the day when she had to get the two men in her life out of her life, literally.
The day started a bit earlier for her as she needed some caffeine in her to clear the cobwebs of sleep. By the time she had brewed her second cup, her husband of 22 years, Drew, attempted to get out of bed after an unsuccessful fight with the alarm clock and his duvet. This was a battle he tended to win only on the weekends. He muttered nonsensical admonitions at the preening alarm clock and lumbered to their bathroom to kickstart his engine.
Two cups of coffee, sundry strips of bacon and a buttered piece of toast added fuel to his simmering engine. He rumbled through his breakfast, keeping one eye on the newspaper headlines while the other checked the clock on the mantle every five seconds. He had an unhealthy relationship with the clocks in the house.
Drew was the typical middle-aged man, with half a balding head and a healthy beer belly. As a standing party joke, he would pat his few hair, caress his protruding stomach and murmur mirthfully, “Recession. And inflation. Can’t get away from them.”
Though Drew always wore his uniform of a suit, a white shirt, a striped tie and Oxfords every working day, as he did today, on weekends he loved wearing jeans and printed T-shirts with funny quotes on them, such as “Oh! The element of surprise” and “Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear T-shirts.” He got a kick when people saw them and giggled. He had half a mind last week to tell a young lady, who was intently gazing at his T-shirt, “Hey, my eyes are up here.” He wasn’t sure whether he wore those T-shirts to show that he was funny beyond his dad jokes or due to his deep seated need for validation.
He could not miss his train today as he had an important meeting in his office first thing in the morning. He kept multitasking when he heard the first signs of activity from his son’s bedroom.
Normally, their son, Colin, had to be dragged kicking and screaming from his bed. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. The morning routine consisted of Susan shouting in Colin’s direction every few minutes to check if he was awake and had not fallen asleep in the middle of brushing or putting on his pants. Colin took great joy and satisfaction in snatching the tiniest moments of sleep wherever he could squeeze it in.
Today seemed different.
Colin, fresh eyes and bushy tailed, came bounding down the stairs two steps at a time. He was fired up and ready to go. He did not want to waste precious moments today on mundane matters such as sleep or breakfast. He had much to do today and miles to go.
Susan and Drew stared at this unrecognizable avatar of their son.
Susan exclaimed, “Who are you and what have you done with our son?”
Susan reached out to touch Colin’s forehead to check for his temperature, pretending as if he was ill.
Colin brushed off her hand and spoke in an irritated tone, the default state of any teenager with its parents, “Mom, really?”
She could feel his nervous energy jump off him. She put her hand on his shoulder and slowly guided him to the dining table, “At least have something to eat before we go.”
Colin was in no mood for any morning nourishment and was antsy to go.
Susan admonished him, “It is not even 7am. The school does not open for another hour. What will you do at school so early?”
Colin had a couple of witty reposts, but thought better of them. He grabbed a buttered toast and started stuffing his face.
“Slow down, slow down,” warned his father.
He was as amazed by his son’s transformation as his wife. But he had other matters on his mind. The clock on the mantle fired the starter’s gun and he had to be off. He kissed his wife’s cheek and his son’s head and was out of the backdoor before either could shout their goodbyes to him.
They heard the car start and rumble out of the driveway. He was up, up and away, joining the ranks of a thousand other gnomes, off to slave in the goldmines of New York.
Wow, both of these excerpts make me want to read the whole story. This is a book filled with these kinds of short stories about different emotions.
Thank you so much, Rohit Prasad for being my guest on this blog. I have really enjoyed getting to learn more about you and your writing.
I wanted to let everyone know about this wonderful magazine: Wildfire Magazine. I have become a staff writer and have an article in it this month as well as a poem. The magazine is beautiful and filled with excellent writing. Check it out here:
Until the next time, which will be April 8, 2025, when my guest will be Leigh Grant, author and illustrator, who has written two outstanding historical fiction novels. I hope you enjoy the month of March. It is Women's History Month, and I want to end this blog with the poem I wrote about being a woman:
Being a Woman
We as women are too close to ourselves
to see anything but the flaws and scars
But women are beautiful in every way
We are the ones who power the world
With our strength and perseverance
to continue to strive when men might falter
We go on in the face of adversity
And we make sure our children
Are given the best life they can have
Yet many women suffer from not being enough
They are always wanting to have more or do more
Women are the backbone of society
We nurture and protect our loved ones
And in times of crisis it is a woman
who shows up with the chicken soup and love
To make sure her friend or loved one is okay
We are the makers of dreams for our men
And so many of us do not get to have our own
As we pave the way each day for everyone else
We sweep our dreams to the side
Until we have the time and sometimes never fulfill them
But many now do follow their dreams
Regardless of time or ability to focus
They write their books and excel in their subject
And they lead the way in both local and national government
Women are the strength of a nation
We are the ones who worry about the little things
And we face whatever comes our way with grace most of the time
Sometimes we hide the abuse and suffering
Since we have to continue with our lives
Some live in this silence for an entire lifetime
Never letting others know their pain
Biting their tongues to keep from letting you know
Women are mothers, daughters, grandmothers, wives, widows, mayors, governors, Congressional representatives, Senators, and now Vice-Presidents and in some countries leaders.
We are at the forefront of everything including music, TV, and movies.
Women are firefighters, teachers, doctors, lawyers, engineers, construction workers, architects
Women are a strong force, and we are over one half of the population
Yet men continue to hold the lead
Like the king of England now sits in that position
Men want the world to think they run it
But look closely and you will see a woman is there behind them
When our last President gave his speech he gave it to his wife
who was beaming down upon him
the strength to say the words he had to say
Women are there for their husbands, sons and daughters
And we will continue to be there
For our goal is to make sure our loved ones
Are safe and happy in this very chaotic world.
Copyright 2025
by Barbara Ehrentreu. All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment