Writing to me is as natural, and as rejuvenating, as taking a walk through a tranquil Himalayan forest. When I sit at my writing table, my mind transports me to the pristine virgin beauty of the Himalayas, inducing a serene calmness in my heart. Description of the bountiful nature has thus become an indispensable part of my writings. Regrettably, I discovered my love for writing quite late in life … for the thick cloak of life’s commitments kept my avocation concealed for a long time.
That pain of having left behind a beautiful life for the scorching, almost unbearable summer heat of the planes, slowly began to wane. I learnt that to accept and enjoy each phase of life is the most prudent choice.
It all began with nostalgia. You come to know the value of something only when it becomes distant. This is human nature and I am no different. Having been born and brought up in the Himalayan town of Shimla, love for the town, the natural beauty surrounding it, the cool summers and the cold snowy winters–all of it is deeply entrenched in me. Once I left all that behind me, I was pounded by a painful longing. Time passed but the longing remained. My children soon grew up, they grew wings and flew away to pursue their dreams. And then began my journey as a writer, as for the first time in life I had empty time to fill. I fervently began to pen down my memoirs. I relived my journey from childhood to youth, filled with laughter, fun, and tears. I once again explored the splendour of nature on the mountains, felt the warmth of love and friendship, as I poured my heart into my writing. Thus ensued my first literary work, Fluffy and Me.
And believe me, that pain of having left behind a beautiful life for the scorching, almost unbearable summer heat of the planes, slowly began to wane. I learnt that to accept and enjoy each phase of life is the most prudent choice. And, in the process I made the most prized discovery; my passion for writing.
Meanwhile, I watched the world being torn apart by unwarranted conflicts –– the horrendous exodus of Kashmiri Pandits, the cobra-head of terrorism spreading its fangs in Punjab and Kashmir, and slowly expanding its hood to annihilate the world. The wars in Congo, Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, Kargil … the common man of the world was slowly getting engulfed by unjustified mayhem. People were being massacred, rendered homeless, and were desperately seeking shelter in regions totally alien to them. Many refugee camps for the displaced Kashmiris had come up in Delhi. My helpless silence culminated on October 29, 2005, just two days before the festivals of Diwali and Eid, in my narrow escape in Sarojini Nagar bomb blast. I was only ten metres away from the site where forty men, women, children had died in a split second. Those innocents, who had come out for festival shopping like me, were sacrificed in the mindless violence. I had to do something before the fabric of amity of the society was ripped apart by the aggressors. The only weapon I had was my pen.
I knew the conflicts were all of political origin, but worse … the delicate thread of brotherhood was being sacrificed at the altar of egocentricity. That’s what led me to write Tears of Jhelum, a story of a moderate Kashmiri who dared to defy the terrorist bullies, and struggled to save his family. I tried weaving the expression of pain, haplessness, agony and courage into a fascinating story.
After completing one book, comes a period of void, when the writer desperately looks for the theme for the next project. The idea for the next book materialized with a question from a reader who wanted to know the fate of a character of the story, as the story had ended without revealing much about him. Thus a sequel to Tears of Jhelum became imperative, and I found my new project.
My recent publication Ghosts of the Silent Hills, a collection of unbelievable, chilling and mysterious events based on real-life paranormal incidents, divulges the realm of the unexplained.
Despite Stolen Dreams, which was the outcome, is a tale of conflicts, resilience, courage, love and all things that make us human. This story takes the reader on a journey from the land of chinars to the pulsating heart of India, through our strife torn world where people struggle even for a simple existence. It is an insight into the forte and perception of the human mind. Through both the books, I wanted to depict that the discords in the world escalate nothing but the woes of the common man. Yet, it is that common man who stands with resilience, strength, and perseverance to face the brunt of the vicious designs. Once again, it is the common man who rises above the artificial divisions created among us by the people with vested interests and tries to preserve a harmonious world.
My recent publication Ghosts of the Silent Hills, a collection of unbelievable, chilling and mysterious events based on real-life paranormal incidents, divulges the realm of the unexplained. These episodes once again took me back to my childhood days. Coming from the hills, that are rife with the tales of the supernatural, I had grown up listening to many. A few incidents had transpired with people I knew quite well. I felt I just couldn’t let these manifestations slip into oblivion. So, I explored this totally different genre for those who love mystery.
I have explored the miscellaneous worlds for my literary quests … from the joys and travails of life to terrorism that has brought the world to its tenterhooks, to now the paranormal. What will be my next venture? An idea has already begun to take shape in my mind.
Anita Krishan is a versatile writer, each of her literary works appertains to a different genre… from the joys and travails of life, to terrorism that has brought the world to its tenterhooks, to now the paranormal. She has travelled extensively around the globe absorbing the diverse human ethos and cultures—the delectable food for her thoughts. Presently, she lives in Gurgaon with her family. The views expresses are the author’s own.