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I did not know initially I am writing a novel....

It was December 2013 and I was in Indore for Industrial visit to Reliance Comm. My acquaintance Gopal Uncle, a 50 years old man who earns 2 lacs per month but who behaved so cordially with me that I sometime felt he is someone of my generation, was the highest authority there.

My days in Indore when I had started writing MPM. The man with grey sweater is Gopal Uncle. Rest are engineers. 
Next day I got opportunity to visit his grand office which was crowded with engineers and thanks to him I soon dissolved with the employees there. However, apart from practical works there was nothing 'interesting' there and i would often feel sleepy and bored sitting for hours in his cabin (especially when he used to leave me alone for meetings). To add to the worst, many of the employees would stare me from outside which was really embarrassing. Two days passed as usually. My embarrassment had reached to brim and hence the third day I decided to pretend them that I am busy too, in fact busier than them and so I asked for few white pages from the manager which he thankfully gave. I sprang to Gopal Uncle's cabin for some solitary. It was in his office where I wrote the first page of MPM.

Now, as I have stated earlier too that I did not write MPM intentionally. In the process to show others that I'm busy i started to write. Initially, I wanted to write feelings of an 80 years old man who is now retired of all his responsibilities and has no work to spend his time. And eventually, about his feelings, when he gets nostalgic about his initial marriage days, his time spent with his wife who is unfortunately no more with him. It started like a story- a story of every common man who remembers his young-hood days and his mistakes done in those initial days of maturity. He also remembers his achievements, his successes, his failures, his love and eventually her.

MPM is a politically motivated romantic story. The romantic part was designed and amended as per the requirement to keep the story moving. Aarti is completely my imagination. However, the character of Faizan is inspired from one of my friend from Kashmir. Faizan Sheikh or more comfortably Faizan bhaiya was my room mate for however just two months during my engineering years in Bharatpur. He is the most honest and sweetest man i have ever met in my life. I always miss those days I spent with him.
Diwali moments: Me and Faizan Bhaiya (in left)
Nevertheless, during those days election campaigns were a common scene in which terms like Hindu, Muslim, Kashmir, and Pakistan were frequently used. We had a TV set and we would watch news channels and then often debate on such issues. And he would frankly tell me what he feels for India, Pakistan and Kashmir and issues related with them. It was the first time when i realized the pain, the Kashmiris are going through. His every word was important for me because he was not just Muslim but a resident of Kashmir.
Moreover, I was fortunate enough to learn various facts from the Holy book of Quran. Faizan bhaiya would passionately describe me the stories and facts of holy Quran, especially about the true meaning of 'Jihad'.

Apart from it, as you already know, that in those times rumors were spread about our respective Prime Minister Shri Narendra Modi that if he came to power he would riot Muslims, which was of course not true as we already know it today. However, most Muslims (including Bhaiya) did not like Mr Modi and most of them expressed their discomfort on him being the PM as shown on various news channels.

Apart from politics, various riots such as Muzzaffarnagar riot and many others disturbed my spirit of being 'Indian' as Hinduism, Muslim, Bihari, Marathi etc were somehow oppressing our integrity and I did not like this. It was not acceptable. It was then when my anger, my provocation started taking shape of MPM when i picked up pen & paper and portrayed my disgust against such anti-national feelings. MPM is an outcome of various political activities that happened in last one year + my personal thoughts for religion, country and humanity. It is an effort to revive our dedication towards national integrity and hence highlight the fact that when it comes to country and religion, country comes first.              


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Sample chapter 5

5. Faizan and Aarti first meet
“Doctor…doctor…the patient is awake” cried a nurse loudly calling the doctor as I found myself in a hospital crowded with many other riot victims. An abrupt anxiousness to enquire about my present location bewildered me as soon as I recovered consciousness.
“Wh...Where am I?” I enquired groaningly as I tried to lift up.
“Relax! You are in the city hospital. You are safe now,” replied the doctor simultaneously inspecting my nerves.
“But I was… How did I get here?” I asked to the doctor as pictures of last attack gradually summoned up in my memory.
“Thank her…. She is Dr. Aarti. She saved your life.” I turned to see her. She was the same girl, the girl in the blue. The divine one.
“You are very lucky. She brought you here just in time” replied the doctor as I retried to lift myself up.
 “Do not move. You were brutally attacked by the mob. You must rest. Please lie down” she replied making me lie down to the bed. The doctor later quizzed me about my family and…

Sample chapter 2

2. Bereft Aarti
My eyes stick to a photo frame sometimes whenever I dream of my house, which is unfortunately now is bereft of us. It should be still there, perhaps, in our bedroom. It is so strange that even at this stage of my life I still remember every moment, every corner, every memory linked with that house. We got it snapped when she had finally accepted to marry me and there was a kind of celebration all around the country. The TOIs, The HTs and many others had headlined in its first page ‘Finally Aarti says yes’. But there were also some orthodox people who had protested against our wedding. It was a tough time for both of us. Whenever I see that picture moments freeze, time slows down and past memories surround me all around. Then tears, before I realize, huh! …eyes twinkling with tears and filled with emotions pour down. We had snapped it in Saharabad, the place where it all began and all ended.
“Sorry we could not save your wife” This was exactly what they (the doctors) tol…