TBASS

Monik despised procrastination, that sneaky little pilferer of time and opportunity. Besides, she liked a project. Her love of projects had caused her to walk down the aisle on two occasions because she couldn’t resist planning a new phase of life after the sad demise of a husband. It was time, however, to look to the needs of others.

Natalia needed a man.

At the novena the following week, there was the usual shuffling monotony about everything. Then a voice from the recesses of the church: “For all those who are lonely. We petition Thee, O Heavenly Father, to look upon them with pity. Saint Anthony Wonder Worker, pray for us.”

Could it really be? After all these years? It did sound a bit like him.

It was. Mathias Faleiro had returned.

After the service, he came up to her. “My dear Monik…”

“Mathias, how absolutely wonderful! When did you get back? Is it for good?”

“A week ago. Ah yes, we’ve returned at last to glad Goa.”

Glad? A man who smelt of camphor and old coats probably turned every celebration into a happy requiem. Still, here was a man. But just a coconut-plucking moment. “We’ve returned? You mean you got marri…?”

“Oh, no, no.” Mathias looked at his toes. “I mean Barkis, my trusty canine friend, and I. I retired from teaching five years ago. Then we lost Galileo, and it was a little too painful to stay on. Besides, the ancestral place here was falling to pieces.”

“Galil…?”

“My parrot.”

“Oh.”

“I promise to drop by sometime, Monik, as soon as I can get my place fit for habitation.”

Poor, ignorant man. He had no idea that he was going to be dragged to Villa Rosa. On-a-leash.

“Mathias, do. Please.”

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By Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé

jessica-faleiro-pix

Let’s get down to brass tacks. Why do you write?

To do otherwise would be to deny an integral part of myself. I write because I must, because of my addiction to the feel of an ink pen between my fingers scribbling word-code onto one blank page after another. To me, writing is an aesthetic pleasure that sets every fibre of my being into vibration, when I’m actually doing it. The other reason I write is to be able to make sense of my own thoughts and feelings, and creatively express them onto the page or screen. Sometimes, just the writing process is a form of catharsis for me, even though my scribbles make no sense.

Tell us about your most recent book or writing project. What were you trying to say or achieve with it?

My last book, Afterlife: Ghost stories from Goa, published by Rupa (2012) is a novel that follows the lives of X generations within a Goan family. At a get-together to celebrate the patriarch’s 75th birthday, there is a powercut that leads organically to the family swapping ghost-stories. Through the process or sharing oral histories, the family history and some secrets are revealed. The structure became an important part of telling the story of the family; I used a frame narrative device to interlink the individual stories. It’s more of a commentary about the social mores of South Goan society, diasporic culture and religious aspects among other things. My intention was to create a story that wasn’t just about ‘ghosts’ but about the things that haunt us emotionally and psychologically.

Describe your writing aesthetic.

Excavating words to reveal complex layers of emotion. At least, that’s the aspiration!

edwinthambooRenowned author Edwin Thumboo got nostalgic during his Goa visit when he opened the fifth edition of the Goa Arts and Literature Festival (GALF) here.

Speaking after the opening ceremony, Thumboo, 81, recalled his childhood teachers, a Goan couple, who shaped his growing years here.

“I also recall when I was eleven-year-old, we had two Goan families living in the city. They were the example of what a person should be,” said the Singaporean poet, who is regarded as one of the pioneers of English literature in his country.

Entries are now open for the first Publishing Next Industry Awards, which recognize and reward talent, initiative, entrepreneurship and quality in book publishing, across all Indian languages. Publishing Next is organized by CinnamonTeal Publishing, a Margao (Goa)-based publishing house that provides publishing services to authors and publishers.

Established under the aegis of the Publishing Next Conference, a platform furthering discussion and networking within the industry, the Publishing Next Industry Awards seek to celebrate innovation and leadership in the book trade.

Chris MooneySinghIt was a rare sight. When a ruddy Caucasian Sikh with a full flowing beard, dressed in loose Punjabis and wearing a turban, comes on stage and full-throatedly recites divine poetry – one sits back feeling that things must still be somewhat well in the world. Enter Chris Mooney-Singh, another revelation of The Goa Art and Literary Fest 2013. Poet, novelist, dramatist, musician, teacher, events organizer, journalist and broadcaster; life as led by Mooney-Singh seems to be a wonderful example of how following one’s passion can lead to a very broad band of experience.

‘A Self-Styled Messiah’: Maheshwar Peri (Outlook)

TejpalThe stupidity of our nation gets greatly exposed with the extreme reactions to Tarun J. Tejpal—the cult following of his journalism at one end, and the lynch mobs baying for his blood, following the outing of his sexual escapades, at the other.

Tarun comes across as a sexual predator, on the prowl, in search of his next victim. He used his power and influence over young women half his age.

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A former editor speaks: Hartosh Bal on Tehelka’s ‘overdue’ demise (Firstpost)

Firstpost reached out to former Open editor Hartosh Bal for his view on the impending end of Tehelka. Bal was hired as Bureau chief at the inception of Tehelka magazine in 2004 and served for nearly 18 months. Moreover, as a veteran journalist, he offers an astute and startlingly candid view of the magazine and its place in the media landscape.

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The desire, the assassins and the masks – Tehelka: the unmaking of the maker (The Telegraph)

Sankarshan Thakur on Trun Tejpal and Tehelka: The great pity is, it’s not all about Tejpal or his dual lust for rarefied celebrity and subaltern stardom, Sir Vidia Naipaul and Soni Sori. Nor only about the bolt of disrepute he has called upon himself. The great pity of it all is that this is also about a brand he created and an institution he failed to craft.

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