One Million Project by One Million Project

SPRING 2017

Contributors

Jason Greenfield Sheena Macleod Sharon Rhoads Hope Donnellan Kate McGinn Katherine Anderson May Waters Charlotte Snares Moinak Das Xanxa Raggatt Victoria Stoyanova Michele Potter Rachel Wollaston Soleil Daniels

Lora Tabakova

I Tasted Death By Amy Waters

The incident My name is May Waters. I’m 40 years of age. In the last 20 years, I’ve been wondering what death felt like. Sometimes I even wanted to throw myself into the arms of Death for protection, because life was so difficult and painful! But I have never done it until the last day of last year. I did it for my first book, a story about happiness and pain. It happened in the afternoon of 31st December, 2014. A few days earlier my PC was infected by some vicious computer viruses. By 5pm of 31st December, it crashed. As a result, all of my data, including my first book - the future of my career, were lost. When I discovered that horrible fact, my world collapsed. All of a sudden, I remembered all the tears I shed and all the pains I’ve experienced in my life. In a split second, I made up my mind: I don’t want to live anymore and I want to end my miserable life right now!

Before I knew it, I locked myself in the toilet and took several packs of sleeping pills. As soon as I'd done it, I started to regret it, because I suddenly realized that if I died, my book would be gone forever. That was unfair, because it was not just a fantasy story purely for entertainment. It was based on my personal experience. And I wrote it with my heart. What I shared with the world was not just a story, I shared the lessons I've learned. A book like that deserved to be published and read. The moment I realized this, I stood up and went to the door. Just before I unlocked the door, I suddenly remembered something important: In the UK, suicide was a criminal offence. As soon as I remembered that, I hesitated. Because I didn't want to go to jail! Although I've never been in jail, I knew that was the worst place on the planet! In the next few minutes, my mind was in a constant fight. Part of me wanted to live. Part of me was afraid of the consequences. When I started to feel dizzy, I knew there wasn't time for me to think. I had to do something before it was too late. So I opened the door and I ran downstairs to tell my husband Dave what happened. I said: "Dave, I did something stupid: I took 5 packs of sleeping pills. What should I do now? Should I try to get them out of my body by forcing myself to vomit or what?" Then I showed him one of the packages. Dave was shocked. His face immediately lost colour. He thought for a few seconds, then said to me in a determined voice: “No. We have to call 999.”

As soon as he mentioned 999, I panicked. I can almost see myself in prison uniform locked up in a cold and horrible prison cell. I would never permit that to happen to me! So I immediately said to him: "No, Dave. Please don’t. If we call 999, I may end up in jail. That’s not a good option. Please think. There must be another way. There's always another way." Before I finished my speech, he had already dialed 999. To stop him, I stepped forward trying to grab the phone.

Dave always kept his promise. And he had lots of experience in life. With his promise, I knew I would be OK. So I nodded. At this time, the ambulance people knocked on the door and I started to loose control and fall into a dream-like state of mind. I believe they noticed that. Because when I asked if I can go to the toilet, they asked me not to lock the door. The last thing I remember was that I lay in bed in the ambulance and drank some black stuff (charcoal). Then I fell into a very long and deep sleep. It was so deep that I even forgot my own existence! That was all. A long and deep sleep! I didn’t see any bright white light or any spirits. And there was no flash back of my life.

Unfortunately Dave was a lot taller and stronger than me. I couldn’t even get close to the phone. Whilst he was fighting with me, he told the person at the other end of the line what happened and our address. When he finished the conversation, he said to me gently: "May, please listen to me. Don’t worry too much. Like you said, there’s always a way. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you won’t go to jail. I promise!"

Nothing!

Charlotte Ann Snares Azrael - Angel of Death

I Tasted Death Reveiw by Kate McGinn I Tasted Death is a story of a woman’s strength as she overcame her dissatisfaction with life in a most traumatic way. The short story is the true account of the author’s brush with death after an attempted suicide. May’s life had been a great disappointment to her following her immigration to the US. A successful interpreter in China, May searched for employment translating Mandarin to English. When her pursuit of a career as a translator never panned out, May had been left feeling inadequate, rudderless and severely depressed. She read self-help books trying to bring positivity back into her life. The suggestion to write down her feelings seemed like a good one. So, she started to document her anguish onto the pages of her first book. Putting her words on paper turned out to be therapeutic, giving her a creative outlet and personal gratification.

May had been translating her story from her native Mandarin to English when the absolute worst thing a writer could imagine happened. Her many months of hard work were deleted courtesy of a computer virus. The loss of her story -- the thing which had pulled her from the depths of despair -- sent her spiraling back into the dark abyss of depression. Her emotional connection to her life story ran deep. The destruction of the book became her own destruction. The hours spent writing were negated as if that part of her life had merely been a wisp of smoke fading into nothingness. Those feelings of utter loss led May to do the unthinkable – she determined she would end her unhappiness with a handful of pills. The author chronicled the fears she fought while she attempted to reverse the rash actions bringing her to death’s door. Coming in and out of consciousness in the ICU, she tried to make sense of the happenings around her. Physically, May struggled through a painful recovery during which she worried about the legal ramifications of her actions. Her days became an endurance challenge with a multitude of tests, doctors, and counselors who peppered her with questions about whether she would make another attempt to end her life. May Water’s story is one of human contrasts. The darkness of despair is offset by her strength of spirit and with a courage making her strong enough to claw her way out of the depths of depression. The computer virus took her written words, but it couldn’t take away the memories her story chronicled. May Water’s “taste” of death helped her discover what it means to live.

Charlotte Ann Snares In My Head

Questions and Answers with.....

May Waters What made you want to become a writer? I always like books. I was born into a teachers' family. My father was a literature teacher. So I was exposed to literature since I was a young kid, and I fell in love with books as soon as I was able to read. I've learned lots of useful things from books over the years. Becoming a writer is as natural to me as air to any living being.

Have you written any other books that are not published? Yes, I wrote a Chinese book which is closely based on my life experience, which I'm not going to publish. Because it's too personal. But I'm going to write another one which will be a fiction loosely based on my life experience. I'm going to start this project after I get my driving licence in March.

What is your writing style?Â Pen, typewriter, or computer, etc.? Pen and computer. It depends on the mood I am in. Generally speaking, pen and paper feel more personal and easier. But typing into computer is a lot more efficient.

Do you write alone or in public? With or without music? Alone, no music. I like to be quiet, which fits with my Chinese first name, Jing (meaning peaceful and quiet.)

Does your story have a lesson? a moral? I suppose so. I wrote it to share the lesson I've learned: life is precious.

What is your favourite part of the story? I've never thought about this. I guess it's the moment I was given the second chance. That was the best gift I've ever received, except for the ones I received from my husband, of course.

If you could spend time with one character from your story, who would it be, and what would you do with them? My husband. It will always be him. I'll share my life with him, good and bad.

What character in your story are you least likely to get along with? If I was asked this question a few months ago, it would be my brother's girl friend. Because she's quite a forceful person. I don't like that. But now I think I'll be ok with her. Because that's who she is. She can't help to be like that. With this understanding I believe that I can manage to get along with her.

What do you read for pleasure? In the past I spent lots of time on reading novels as an escape. Now I mostly read self-development books and well-written books about interesting historical figures, such as Empress Dowager Cixi and Mao The Unknown Story.

Who are the authors/artists who inspire your work? Loads. Over the years I've read hundreds of books both in Chinese and English. Each of them has inspired me in some way. I think it would be unfair if I only name some, not others.

What is your favourite book? Why? I don't have one favourite book. But I do like a few books very much. They are: The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet, The Meaning of Life and Awaken the Giant Within. I've finished the first two and am currently reading the last one. Although I've gone through the first two many times, I still re-read parts of them on a regular basis. Because they show me what life is really about and how to play the game of life in an enjoyable and fulfilling way. They help me understand who I am and what I am capable of. I find both subjects fascinating.

Why did you decide to participate in the One Million Project? It's a good cause. I'm proud to be part of it.

What do you do for living? I was an assistant engineer in a large state-owned company many years ago, which was my first job. About 15 years ago I decided to pursue my passion for language and became a professional translator, which I still am. I am working towards becoming a professional writer.

What are your favourite things to do when you arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t writing? Going out for a walk, cooking, reading and sharing time with my husband.

Do you have any plans to continue writing in future? Yes. I'm going to write my first book for publishing after I get my driving licence in March. Writing will become my next profession.

Charlotte Ann Snares No Vacancy

Questions and Answers with..... Charlotte Ann Snares

Who are you and What do you do? My name is Charlie, I am 36 and I live in Norfolk, United Kingdom. I am a spiritual counsellor, Holistic Therapist, Reiki and Shamanic Healing Teacher of over 12 years, Writer and Spiritual Artist.

Why did you join One Million Project and what inspired you to do so? I feel passionate about helping good causes, this is something I already practice, selling my art and wood work to raise money for Action for M.E and Fibromyalgia Action UK as I suffer with both illnesses. I felt OMP was a way to get my work out there to a wider audience and also continue to support charitable organisations.

Why do you do what you do? Due to health being not great, I made the decision to focus upon work that helped me heal and I could manage in my own time. I find creative pursuits bring me great pleasure, when I am painting I am in my own world, and expressing myself creatively is very therapeutic for me. How do you work? Through pure inspiration, if I see a flower it inspires me, if I see suffering, it creates compassion within which leads to pouring out my feelings through my work.

Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s your background? I travelled around a lot as a child, my dad was in the forces. Finally, we settled in Norfolk when I was 12. I went to high school in Dereham. I started working at 17 for the government in administration. That was my vocation for many years on and off, but my health has always caused problems since I was 11. I took a counselling diploma in 2007 and holistic therapy diploma in 2009. I started reiki and shamanic healer training back in 2005. So over the past year or so I decided to dedicate my work to a high cause and make use of all my skills and follow my true passion.

What’s your strongest memory of your childhood? Moving to Germany. I loved it there. It is a beautiful place.

What makes you angry? Dishonesty. There is no need for it. Speaking your truth, even if it’s not what everyone wants to hear, is far better than lying, especially about yourself.

What’s your most embarrassing moment? Probably getting a bit tipsy and saying something that I shouldn’t have said. lol

What superpower would you have and why? Telepathy, it would make life so much easier to know what people are thinking honestly rather than trying to guess.

What jobs have you done other than being an artist? Administration mostly, but now it’s all holistic therapy.

Name something you love, and why. Reiki, it’s my passion. It creates balance within oneself and I really enjoy seeing people’s reactions after they have a session and how amazed they are by its healing ability. Especially a skeptic, I love opening people’s minds.

Name something you don’t love, and why. Not sure I have one, maybe timewasting, annoying. Favourite or most inspirational place? Mine would be Australia. I loved it there. I would happily live there. What’s the best piece of advice you’ve been given? Be true to yourself, there will always be those who disagree with you, dislike you and challenge you. Rise above it. The only approval you ever need is the one from inside you.

Questions and Answers with.....

Katherine Anderson

You recently started your own publishing press- DarkInk Press. Congratulations. What were the ideas behind this? Dark Ink was born out of a desire to make publishing work for new authors. So many of us hop on Amazon, hoping to write something that someone will notice but we are largely alone in the process. Dark Ink is a place where authors can come and learn from other authors, marketing experts, and professional editors. You can come with a completed book and get cover creation, formatting, and publishing assistance; or you can come with an idea and get feedback from a group of authors dedicated to building books people want to read.

What genres/types of books are you aiming to publish through Dark Ink press? Dark Ink specializes in books with a dark or historical twist. We print mainly mysteries, historical fiction, horror, and paranormal fiction. We also accept certain types of nonfiction in history, architecture, art, photography, psychology, or certain aspects of popular culture.

You have published a number of books yourself. What is the inspiration behind your own work? My work is inspired by my art. I’m an urban exploration photographer, mainly historic architecture and generally abandoned buildings. I started my career writing nonfiction about mental health and asylums then shifted into fiction about the buildings I’ve photographed over the past decade. I found that a good deal of people were uncomfortable talking about mental health when approached from a nonfiction angle, but were willing to discuss it in the framework of a cozy mystery.

Hospital Hill is one of my particular favourites. Did you know this hospital? I actually knew this hospital very well. Northampton State was the first insane asylum I ever photographed and the cover is one of the first images I ever took of the hospital. I spent years researching the history of the asylum and its evolution as well as the changing face of mental health treatment before building the fictional characters into the very real environment.

What is your favourite part of Hospital Hill? I think my favorite part is Valerie’s reminiscences of her time on the wards. I’m fascinated by the concept of the mid-century American madhouse, very similar to some of the depictions of Victorian madhouses in the UK, and I wanted to capture the mystery of life on the wards of an asylum.

A person of many talents, you are also a keen photographer. What inspires your photography? My photography is all about telling the story of a place that’s no longer alive. I prefer abandoned buildings because I can use art to imagine the people who once walked the halls of these places. Who are the photographers who inspire your work? My early photography was heavily influenced by Brassai—moody black and white work, cityscapes. My later work has been influenced more by film than by photographySession 9, Asylum, Girl Interrupted

To get back to writing, what is your favourite book? My favorite book changes regularly, but I’ve always loved the Nancy Drew mysteries and Sherlock Holmes. Those have been great influences on my reading habits and on my writing.

Why did you decide to participate in the One Million Project? The group came highly recommended by Sheena MacLeod and when I decided to launch Dark Ink, I knew that the OMP group would be a great support with a similar approach to writing and authors.

What do you do when you’re not writing, publishing or taking pictures? I’m the Dean of Special Education at an inner city middle school and have been teaching for twenty years. I also have a travelling lecture series on the history of asylums and mental health treatment. What are you currently writing? I’m currently working on a novel set largely at the Ohio State Reformatory where Shawshank Redemption was filmed. I’m also co-authoring a book on Danvers State Hospital.

What advice would you give to someone considering publishing through Dark Ink press?

Interview questions by Sheena Macleod

I encourage anyone and everyone to submit to Dark-Ink. Even if your work doesn’t fit what we print, we are a great community of writers who support one another and we work to help writers find their best fit!

Katherine Anderson

Tontine By Jason Greenfield THE CASE OF THE UNOFFICIAL TONTINE From the Journals of The Deacon It was late in the summer of 1885 when I returned at last to the sedate confines of Holyoke City, that bastion of refined eastern seaboard civility, not thirty miles from the centre of Boston. After eight months abroad on the lecture circuit of Oxford University, taking in the great medical city of Edinburgh, the delights of London and of course within my own field -the cathedral cities of Coventry and Salisbury; I thrilled and exulted at the hustle and bustle of Americans out and about conducting their everyday business in an American City.

Of course there were vast similarities between Eastern Ivy League cities such as Holyoke and the cities and large towns of the United Kingdom, but back home there was a sense of barely repressed buoyancy beneath even the most dignified pillar of the Holyoke community that threatened to burst free at any moment, as opposed to the dry, calm, sometimes plodding pace to be found in English cities such as Oxford. This air of excitement gripped me from the moment I stepped off of the gangplank onto American soil. I was seized with such an urge to be out "doing" that I had to mightily resist the temptation to unpack my long compiled ecclesiastical notes on the spot and dash off a chapter or two of my planned "Journal of the Modern Church: Its Differences Between Continents and Modern Practices Thereof," which Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll admit is a mouthful to say and I'd confess a recipe for curing the insomnia of the common man should he be put upon to crack open the first volume. Nether-the-less, as a churchman interested in the arts of writing, philosophy, medicine, politics and the workings of the human mind, I fancied myself able to tell a fascinating factual tale which would both be useful and enjoyable to those in literati of like mind. I digress, however. Let us skip forward to the second evening of my return to the United States and the point wherein the pertinent events of this narrative commence.

The Tem Street Gentleman's Club, so named for its founder, a Mr August Tem, dated to Revolutionary times and traced its origin to the Republican movement in Holyoke of the 1770s. These days it was a fine traditional establishment catering mainly to gentlemen of high professional standing and the occasional gentleman of means but no regular occupation. It was one of the latter types I chanced upon in the billiards room ... an old friend in fact. Captain David Merryweather and I had shared lodgings for a fouryear period until I had purchased my property a year ago. Spying me, a look of delight crossed his usually stoic darkly handsome features. "Deacon!" he cried, "My lord, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s good to see you again!" At this point an aside to note that although my name IS Nathaniel Deacon, it is much of a standing joke that due to my past, firmer affiliation with the Church and the coincidence of my name; among friends and professional colleagues I am often referred to as "The Deacon." Now, a word about my good friend Captain Merryweather. As previously noted I had first made his acquaintance in the year 1880 shortly after his retirement from the service, although he was still only in his late twenties. Merryweather and I had both applied for the same set of rooms and on meeting had taken an instant liking for each other and thus decided to share for companionship and to defray expenses.

He presented a fine figure of a man, standing well over six-foot in height, his build an impressive reminder of his service days that he had kept up. In looks he possessed the dark wavy hair and Byronic features that would set many a society lady to blush in his presence, yet he remained distant and aloof to the charms of the cream of Holyoke society. It was several months into our acquaintance, when our friendship had begun to grow, that Merryweather first began to mention the dark days he had spent in Burma and even longer before he imparted the full tragic tale of his lost love, the Princess Afzula. Altogether the Captain was a fascinating man. He had been born in Europe of mixed parentage - his mother a quarter Hungarian-American gypsy and his father an English soldier who had died during his childhood in Burma. Merryweather, possessed of dual nationality, had returned at the age of seven to America with his mother to rejoin his maternal grandfather's travelling circus. His mother had learned the arts of animal training from adepts in Burma and young David had spent his early years surrounded by magnificent great cats with whom he had developed a surprising affinity. Then a few years later his mother had died under circumstances Merryweather has never disclosed to me and he withdrew even further from the company of men, preferring to associate mainly with the favoured tiger of his mother called Roxanne.

Mr. Greenfield writes as if he lived in this time of good cigars and brandy, men’s clubs and shy maidens. Following the ongoing story of trials and tribulation, we learn more about the protagonist and survival in a world unlike our own. This is a masterful detective story in the style of the old greats. Refined tastes and select details make for a compelling read.

Tontine Review by Michele Potter Reading this delicious romp through the eyes of “the Deacon” takes the reader back through the mists of time. The English gentlemen on the shores of America are the epitome of fastidiousness and cool courage under fire. Using detective work reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes, the protagonist and the great Captain Merryweather uncover a devious plot and eccentric histories. Merryweather’s mysterious past begins to come clear as the story advances; yet we are left with suspense to know more. Will they find the greedy criminals? Will the captain relate the rest of his story? The literary device of “stories within the story” is used with skill in Tontine concerning Merryweather’s past and the Colonel’s strange story. “Some day the story will be told ... but not this day!" Merryweather tells his friend (our narrator). Details are scattered as bread crumbs to tantalize the reader, until we can hear the rest of the story. The Colonel also weaves a wonderful backdrop on which betrayal and subterfuge are built.

The Littel Christmas Tree Story and Original Concept by: Paul “Skelly” Skelton. Edited and Redrafted by Jason Greenfield

CHAPTER ONE: THIS WHOLE WORLD ‘Ey up Jack lad, yer Uncle Jim’s nodded off, he he he,’ laughed Dick ‘He has, he he, he has Granddad!’ Jack re-plied, ‘Granddad? Do you ever nod off?’ ‘Nay lad, I have to keep alert, being the biggest and oldest tree in this whole world.’ ‘Keep alert Granddad? What do you have to keep alert for?’ ‚Well...er... just to look out for us all, ahem…yes, that’s it. You know Jack lad, I make sure we’re all happy, and safe. Mm yes.’ Dick smiled benignly at his Grandson.

‘I always feel happy and safe with you Grandad, and Uncle Jim, but, well, how big is this whole world Granddad?’ asked Jack earnestly. ‘Ah, yes, well you see them common trees, them shabby ones way over theer?’ (Jack was too small to see them), ‘Well, they’s near the end of this world and, fur-thermore ..,’Dick continued importantly, ‘...it’s about the same distance whichever direction you look.’ ‘WOW!’ exclaimed Jack excitedly ‘How do you know that Granddad … coz we’re, we’re rooted aren’t we? So, as we don’t move, how can we know over theer is the end of this whole world? Is it just coz we’re intelligent?’ ‘Oh yes we’re Nordic pines, we ARE intelli-gent, as are the birds, to some extent. They fly about in all directions and bring us information... Plus I was here at the beginning of time, just after this world was formed and there were no other trees back then and I could see in all directions Jack lad.’

‘Granddad, if you were the first tree, where did you come from?’ ‘The first seed, Jack lad.’ ‘And where did the first seed come from Granddad?’ ‘Well, that came from the first pine-cone, which fell from the sky.’ ‘Gosh you must be very clever Granddad.’ ‘Ho ho ho,’ laughed Dick ‘Yer Uncle Jim doesn’t always think so.’ As if he could sense he was being spoken of, Jim chose that moment to wake up with a massive tree creaking yawn.

The Little Christmas Tree Review by Xanxa Raggatt I don’t know Paul Skelton at all, but from reading this story, I would imagine that he is a nature lover. Most of the story is written from the perspective of the three Nordic pine trees – Dick the grandfather, Jim the uncle and little Jack. The story is told in a manner which will suit readers of all ages. The fake swear words make their meaning clear without being true profanities, so parents can quite happily let their children read it. I found this story amusing and entertaining. I love the idea of the trees having personalities. After all, how do we know that they don’t? The trees’ conversation is especially well done, with several references to the fact that trees are far more intelligent than humans. “Nordic pine wisdom” seems to be far superior to any other species of tree and increasing one’s “pine-cone count” and “feeling comfortable in their own bark” appear to be a priority for these proud and noble trees.

Also worthy of mention is the cheeky Mickey the Magpie. His banter is colourful and his personality reminds me a little of a slightly less than honest market trader or used car dealer. The trees are reliant on Mickey and the other birds for news of the world beyond their forest. The story takes the reader through the seasons, guided along by the witty dialogue of the trees. Jim turns out to be the serial moaner and merchant of doom, while Dick has a more stoical demeanour. Both of them regale young Jack with their observations on life, including denigrating the “two legs, no brains” humans and comparing them unfavourably to other animals, who at least use all four of their legs to walk on. The humans are cast as the villains of the story, intent on chopping down the trees for Christmas. However, it would seem that the trees are far from helpless in the battle which ensues. Most of the story relies on dialogue, only interspersed with a few narrative passages. However, it still reads more like a book than a play and it flows smoothly, giving the reader a different perspective on one of the most celebrated seasons of the year.

Not everyone lives happily ever after, but the ending is well constructed and justice is served.

I would recommend this book to anyone wanting a refreshing slice of arboreal and avian humour to brighten their day. I would definitely be interested in reading more of Paulâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work based on this story.

Within India

Article by Moinak Das @moinakdas26

A lot of times, while travelling within India, I have come across a lot of foreigners, or firangees, as we love to call them (it is not a racist slang, don’t worry). And every time, I had this urge to go and ask them about their country and their culture. Now after all these years, it was my turn for the payback. When I was asked to curate something interesting about the Indian culture, its religions, its people, I just knew I didn’t want to miss this opportunity. Though, personally, I feel that writing a single piece of article on an entire vastness of a country's culture is completely unfair. And I don't think anyone can summarise a culture and do justice to all at the same time. But someone has to do this dreaded task. So here we go!

I am going to do this in a non-conventional manner and trust me; I won’t bore you with too many institutional stats and facts. I am going to stay away from all those things which you might find on the internet very easily. In fact, I am going to curate only the things that might have missed your attention all these years. So starting with a few textbook facts about India; it is one of the oldest cultures in the world offering a phial of deep-seated wisdom blended into the fabrics of deep-rooted practices and in some cases, narrowly constrained beliefs. But still, it is the least obdurate of all the ancient civilisations, having vied to transform herself whenever necessary. It has a staggering population count of 1.25 billion and it is the 7th largest country rated against the total land available, while still proudly offering the largest democracy to the world.

Now speaking about its culture, I always state that India is an umbrella nation when it comes to cultural diversity. Time and again, India has triumphantly endured differences of the caste, creed, colour, culture, cuisine, custom and costume, and still rallied around a consensus for all these years. Yes, it is a diverse nation! Let’s talk about some interesting aspects of the Indian Culture to exhibit the extent of truth in my claim. And I will do so by sharing a lot of interesting one-on-one experiences and observations to help you skim through the most of it. As India has survived a vast history spanning over some thousand years, the ‘Indian Culture’ has deeply been influenced by ‘history’ time and again.

Namaste! Confused? Don’t worry. I am just greeting you. Indians believe in greeting everyone in a very sophisticated yet interesting manner. We passionately join both our palms, bow down a little and say Namaste or its regional counterpart to almost everyone we meet. The word ‘Namaste’ is more or less the same in every language that is spoken in India. The word is derived from ‘Naman’, which means to bow down in respect. For a few, this might detract from the more common, easier and somewhat universal method of greeting that prevails in most parts of the globe; a ‘handshake’!

The family structure in the Indian subcontinent differs a lot from the rest of the world. Here people follow the traditional joint family system more than often. Joint family is the traditional type of family system where a large number of family members from more than one generation live together under one roof. However, this approach has been gradually diminishing with the change of philosophies of the modern generation of people as more and more set of people are nowadays preferring the concept of the nuclear family where more and more families decide to break apart and live in small clusters; thanks to the urbanisation and economic development. The concept of Marriage in India also sounds a bit different, especially to the westerners. Arranged marriages are widely prevalent here. Parents of the bride and the groom participate in the matchmaking business in India. Though the winds of change have started to make an impact here, too. A recent survey showed that the percentage of people opting for arranged marriages is decreasing gradually, thanks to the modernisation and western influence. Masculinity is another big thing here. It has dominated the gender hierarchy of India’s culture for too long, which has finally triggered a movement against this ‘gender bias’ by a group of revolts collectively known as the feminists.

Masculinity: The society here has been patriarchal since ages past as India has witnessed gender inequality from its early history due to its socio-economic and religious practices that resulted in a wide gap between the position of men and women in the society. Parents here value boys more than the girls, as boys are generally assumed to be capable of doing more laborious tasks and turning into potential breadwinners for the family. For the girl, being a good mother and a housewife seems satiable. The notion is, however, changing with time as more and more people are getting educated and hence are getting liberalised from this age old misconception. Food! It is again a very important part of India’s culture. And no wonder, India is one of those rare countries which enjoys an insane diversity in its cuisine, too. Indian people love to cook and enjoy a variety of cuisine, carbohydrate being a mandatory staple in each one, though. Indian spices are also famous all over the world. They offer a brilliant touch to an already exotic recipe.

This diversity in food can, however, be neatly divided into four broad categories: South Indian, North Indian, East Indian and the West Indian. Maybe someday if you come to India, you can be sure that you will never run out a variety of foods available here. Being a multi-cultural country, India also enjoys a variety of festivals. People here celebrate Holi in the month of March, then move on to Eid, thereafter moving ahead for the Dussehra and Diwali and finally ending the binge with Christmas. Gurunanak Jayanti, Lohri and Makar Sankranti happen to be a few other prominent festivals in the country. Other than offering a lot of national holidays to its citizens, this diversity also helps in spreading a sense of secularity widely within the country as people from all sects and religions mingle with each other and celebrate the festivals with an open heart and mind. Coincidentally, India is also called the ‘land of religions’ for this. Interestingly, the Indian subcontinent gave birth to four of the major religions in the world, namely, Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Sikhism. Though, a horde of other religions is also followed in India, namely, Christianity, Zoroastrianism and Judaism.

80% of the people follow Hinduism, while 14.2 % people follow Islam making these two the most followed religions in the subcontinent. The Constitution of India however, strongly promotes secularity and condemns any action that works otherwise. Finally, comes the Language. We have 1652 different types of languages in the country. No, seriously! An official census says so. India has a total of 22 official languages and it still is one of those rare countries which doesn’t have a national language. So we have a unique language reserved for almost each of our states. Let us now delve into those four major religions that have come out from the womb of Mother India. Hinduism: Hinduism is often regarded as the oldest religion in the world. Its roots can be traced back to the prehistoric times, probably some 6000 years ago along the banks of the Indus River. The word Hinduism is derived from the Sanskrit word Sindhu, which was the Indo-Aryan name for the Indus River during Vedic Period. The oldest religious texts that have been recovered safely are the ‘Vedas’, namely, Rig Veda, Sama Veda, Yajur Veda and the Atharva Veda. The Rig Veda is the oldest of them, probably composed in around 1500 BC. Now leaving behind these boring details, I will share a few of my realisations with these religions.

Hinduism is actually a ‘way of living’, hence more often referred to as the ‘Sanatan Dharma’ by many research scholars. Sanatan Dharma means the ‘Eternal Law’. It is basically a law beyond human origins. The concept of Hinduism deals with the worshipping of many different forms of God. Hinduism has over 330 million Gods in total! Do you know why this staggering number after all? When all other religions can do with one or mostly two deities, why do we Hindus have to have a team of 33 crore Gods and Goddesses? The answer is very simple. Hinduism is more of Polytheism and less of Monotheism. Hinduism understands that in a vast group of people there will surely be philosophical differences in beliefs and views. And not everything is ‘white’ or ‘black’. Some things are just ‘grey’. Period. Even the agnostics are welcome to be a part of this dharma. A few years back, I thought I would be an Atheist. But it turned out that even after years of practising Atheism, I am still a Hindu. What others would have called blasphemy and heathen talk, Hinduism calls just another version of ‘the truth.’ So now you can also question your God in Hinduism. You can both believe in him and be a theist or you can simply not rely on him and call yourself an Atheist. Hinduism always accepts you, raw.

According to the Supreme Court of India, “Unlike other religions in the World, the Hindu religion does not claim any one Prophet, it does not worship any one God, it does not believe in any one philosophic concept, it does not follow any one act of religious rites or performances; in fact, it does not satisfy the traditional features of a religion or creed. It is a way of life and nothing more.” Jainism and Buddhism: Interestingly, the religious modernism and diversity in Hinduism allowed the birth of other major religions. And the movement responsible for this was the Shramana Movement. It was basically a rejection of the principles of Hinduism in pursuit of spiritual liberation. Hence Shramanas are also referred to as monks or ‘seeker’. Before 6th Century BC, this Shramana Movement gave birth to Jainism and Buddhism. Jainism was founded by a Jain Shramana called Mahavir Jain and Buddhism was founded by his counterpart known as Siddhartha, a Buddhist Shramana. Sikhism: Very similar to the Shramana Movement, Hinduism had a Bhakti Movement which later revolutionised into Sikhism. It all started during the 7th Century. The founder of Sikhism is Guru Nanak.

Now I will give you some brownie points by discussing the Writers in India and their literary works as compared to the global scenario. A most notable writer during the colonial period was our most legendary, Rabindranath Tagore. He was not only an excellent writer but also an exemplary artist and a great musician. He has single-handedly been credited for modernising Indian Literature, though most of his prominent works were written in the Bengali Language. Interestingly, English literature is more of a post-colonial invention in India. Before the colonial period, literature was mostly in vernacular languages and it was mostly sacred texts and historical records that marketed in the subcontinent. But nowadays, with the advent of a revolutionised print culture and publishing houses, more and more people are taking their hobbies to the next level. To name another prominent writer of India, I would go on with R.K Narayan. He is considered a giant of the early English literature in India. His books like The Dark Room, Malgudi Days (my personal favourite), and The Guide paved way for fresh original English literature in India. You could actually relate to all of his stories. He has often been compared to William Faulkner, who also created a fictional town that stood for reality, brought out the humour and energy of ordinary life, and displayed compassionate humanism through his writing.

In the recent times, we have had many writers like Amitav Ghosh, Durjoy Dutta, and Chetan Bhagat and so on. Some of them have an innate talent for storytelling in them. While some are born with a decent yet colloquial style of writing.

So you are getting me? Things are not as grave as they look. India is just another country who needs a little more time to grow up, to grow up into a rich patrimony one day!

Since most of the literature that is written in the current times is repeatedly trite and vapid, people from all across the world might empathetically feel that India is devoid of a serious literature. But you are wrong! And you might want to make a note here. Just like any other country India, too, had its genuine share of excellent to decent to below average literature. The thing is, India is a very young country, having lived only 70 years after attaining freedom. Before that, we didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even have a homogenous language system that could make things work. The best literature is the literature that has been written from the heart and when people speak from their hearts, it is mother tongue that becomes our linguistic channel. To date, the only Nobel Prize in Literature won by any Indian was because of his works in Bengali and not in English (Rabindranath Tagore). India has a vast literature work preserved under the Mughal Legacy, but all of it is in the Persian Language.

New Book Releases & Art Projects by OMP Members

Images From A Wondering Mind by Soleil Daniels Sleep My eyes fluttered open. Vision still blurry from the deep sleep that had consumed me. Was it the door closing that woke me? The strange sensation that someone's eyes watched me filled my body, and the hairs on my arms began to raise. A shadow came into my view, and my body stiffened. As I focused my eyes, the shadow became familiar. â&#x20AC;&#x153;What are you doing here?

I thought you were supposed to be out of town until next Wednesday?" I asked, my voice still rough with sleep. "We got back earlier," he said. "Oh," was all I managed as I rolled to my side to let sleep reclaim me, content with his answer. The bed gave under his weight as he crawled onto it. I felt him hovering over me. His warm lips brushed my neck. I'd not been sleeping well that week, so the fact that I had actually been in a deep sleep for once, before his coming in had wakened me, made me groan in protest. His advances furthered, flicking his tongue back and forth over my earlobe. It felt so right, but something about it was wrong. I rolled to lie on my back, giving into him. His tongue continued to flicker in and out of his mouth, sliding over my skin, and running across my cheek before stopping on the bridge of my nose. As it had glided across my cheek, I felt how narrow and long it was, but it was only when his tongue hit my nose did I notice it ended with two points.

My eyes went wide. Adjusting quicker to the dark than normal, I saw that this thing was not the person I thought it was. Its flesh was alabaster. The irises of its eyes were a milky maroon. The breath caught in my throat, no matter how much I wanted to scream. I froze as he—no, it—straddled me, pinning me to the bed. "You look surprised," it hissed. "I guess, I'm not who you were expecting. This will only take a minute, and then it will all be over." Its hands went to my neck; thumbs resting on either side of my throat, and its fingers wrapped around to the back, resting under my hair. The nails from its fingers grew and began to bury themselves just below the base of my skull. Pain shot through my body, and the scream that had been trapped in my throat finally erupted from my mouth. "

I sat straight up in bed, gasping and fighting for air. A faint whisper filled my ears as my eyes opened for what seemed to be the second time from a deep sleep. "You have to sleep, sometime, and you will. When you least expect it, I'll be back to take what I came for."

What folks are saying about Images From a Wandering Mind “well-written to a sickening degree!” “horrendously splendid!” “wow”

“Very dark, disturbing, haunting, yet well-written.”

“the stuff of nightmares” “These are my nightmares.” “The deTail is excepTional, and scary – yikes!” “Very twisted stories!”

“excellent bit of mayhem” “brilliant. Totally my cup of tea.”

Reign of the Marionettes by Sheena Macleod

Mass hysteria sweeps through the country with deadly consequences. Beneath the wit and laughter of Charles II’s Restoration Court, political and religious tensions mount, and Countess Elizabeth Herbert tries to keep her family safe. When Titus Oates, a minister begging on the streets, claims to have uncovered a plot to kill the King and replace him with his Catholic heir, no one is safe from accusation. When suspicion falls on her husband, Elizabeth’s life is thrown into turmoil. As a tangled web of lies and deceit unfolds, Elizabeth realises her husband is a pawn in a much larger game. Caught up in the mass hysteria sweeping the country she’s forced to fight back to stop his execution for high treason. But, how can a woman take on the most powerful men in England? Set at a time of religious and political turmoil, when the fate of English rule is at stake, and it’s impossible to know who to trust ‘Reign of the Marionettes’ brims with historical detail and intrigue. Now available https://www.amazon.co.uk/SheenaMacleod/e/B01N32QPOJ/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1

Shadows in the Ward by Katherine Anderson

Anna Gilman is at the top of her class in graduate school and is about to start her internship in psychiatric nursing at Westborough State Hospital; however, when she arrives, her supervisor, Valerie Martin, warns her not to settle in. With Valerie’s words ringing in her ears and a new group of patients arriving, Anna begins to sense that something isn’t quite right about the asylum. Peder Roderick is a handsome, enigmatic literature professor who has been in and out of asylums for most of his adult life. For some reason, he has his eye on Anna who is well aware that Peder has a history of violence. As Anna struggles to keep her increasing uneasiness and anxiety at bay, Peder pursues her relentlessly, tormenting her and sending her spiraling out of control until Anna realizes that nothing at Westborough State Hospital is what it seems.

Now available https://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Ward-Katherine-Anderson/dp/153901133X

Seeing Blue: A Mermaid Mystery by Rachel E. Wollaston

A young girl is rescued from the sea with no recollection of who she is or where she came from. Inessa Woods is a girl with a troubled past, but is determined to help this mystery girl find her identity. When the police take control of the situation, Inessa decides to do a little investigating herself. But is she really prepared for what she is about to uncover? There is only one clue this mysterious girl can give Inessa: She can see mermaids . . .

Now available https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1540337596/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie =UTF8&qid=1486150003&sr=1-3&keywords=rachel+Wollaston

Nails! by Tyke Evenese Book Review by Kate McGinn Upon hearing the title, I had preconceived notions about what this book would be like. I pictured a tale about a group of young women gathering at their favorite salon for manis and pedis. Nails is set in a salon and manicures and pedicures are given there, but the story heads in a much different direction. This well-written piece explores the differing worlds of the wealthy and the impoverished. In addition, it explores a central theme – the extreme lengths desperate people will go to solve their problems. The main characters are Elvira Carillo, a Latina woman who is treated as an almost invisible entity working in the salon, and Claire Tisch, a society matron who feels invisible to her husband. Both women are trapped in the worlds they inhabit. Financial circumstances maintain a stringent hold on them. It’s such a strong hold each are willing to relinquish aspects of their self-esteem to remain within those circumstances. They are proud women entrapped by the shackles of their own classes.

Elvira works in a position reminiscent of indentured servitude with endless hours and little promise of future financial rewards. Claire is a society matron whose husband cheats on her sending his wife and her own selfworth on a downward spiral. Each woman is at the very end of their proverbial rope with few options left. Their paths cross and the results of their meeting adds significantly to the burdens they shoulder. The wealthy woman’s anger and disdain is tainted by her nagging conscience as she attempts to vindicate her own actions during their encounter. The Elvira character loses not only money, but the loss of her pride and moral integrity. By the time I’d finished Tyke Evenese’s emotional story, I’d been transported from the depths of a dark cellar where eight women slept to the penthouse apartments of the elite. The portrayal of the characters and their worlds was realistic. Aspects of this story reminded me of the 1939 film “The Women” in the respect to the character of Claire. Unfortunately, Claire didn’t have the same support network of friends as the characters in the movie. Although women have achieved more rights than they were allotted in the past, women in many societies including our own continue to be shackled and downtrodden. Some by their own societal network as their financial and social standing changes. Others less fortunate are forced by their lack of any choice to abandon their pride, and on occasion, their morals to stay alive. I would highly recommend this gritty and human story.

Sitting above, he was eighty-three meters away from life. Rishikesh, the land of tranquility, saw a commotion from thousands of visitors each day. Bhairav was sitting quietly on the edge of the cantilever of an old structure that stood tall offering a picturesque panorama of MohanChatti village, fifteen kilometers away from Lakshman Jhula, the heart of Rishikesh. Though Bhairav was an acrophobic thirty-year-old, today his senses were too numb, from a December morning chill, to experience the phobia. As he sat on the metallic edge, deeply contemplating his life, the distant ripples of the river, eighty-three meters below him weren't loud enough to disturb him. When he looked down the cantilever, everything was so small that he could actually see the entire Mohan-Chatti village from up there. In this village, there stood thousands of people spread around like ants. The people below him and fuss they created about their trivial problems, everything seemed just vague from up there.

"Sir, may I help you with anything? You seem so depressed about something?" His contemplations drew end as he was jolted back to reality by a stern voice behind him. "Stay back!" he sprung up. "I said stay back. Give me some time. I am not going anywhere. And I am warning you, do not dare come near me" he turned his back to the man once again. And he continued with his introspection, which brought tears to his eyes. He fought hard as he tried to hold them back. He looked down from the cantilever again. Maybe his friend, Shahid, was somewhere down there in that crowd of ant-sized people. Maybe he was frenzied by now. Maybe he was searching for him. Maybe he had even filed a missing case for Bhairav with the local police. He suddenly started crying out loud, almost involuntarily. He thought of all those times he had failed to make his parents proud. Times when he failed to be a good son, a good friend, a good boyfriend and a good person, all sprung up in his mind.

Everyone he knew had almost called him a coward at some point of his life. And why not? He had been a coward up until now. He didn't know the reason why he was suddenly crying out so loud. Was it the jolting from his deep contemplations, was it the remorse of an ordinary life that he had spent all these years, or was it just his phobia taking over him as always with his numbness finally drawing aside. He couldn't take a chance again. He had to finish this fast, for once and for all. He needed to free himself forever and this was his last chance. The bells of a distant Mahadev Mandir sounded different today, more like the death knells. Yes, he was afraid. He looked down one more time, heaved himself up on his heels, and tilted forward. The gravity was about to do the rest. There was again that same voice from behind, "Sir! Shall I help you with something?" but it was already late. Gravity isn't as indolent as human beings. Soon after the fall, Bhairav began to descend like a frenzied missile. Shearing through a gushing stream of wind, he was falling down each moment with an acceleration of about ten meters per second squared.

His speed increased every second with the fall. Such was the beauty of acceleration. With his head down and feet up and the wind ripping through his hair, he saw the ground approaching him, getting bigger each second. After having fallen for a good few seconds all his anxieties had now subsided. All his phobia and nervousness disappeared eventually, very much like the calm before a storm! And suddenly, he came to a halt! The bungee had finally stretched to its limit as Bhairav felt a pull on his stomach. He was now ready to move up once again and prepare for another adrenaline rush. As the session finally ended with Bhairav riding his way back up to the cantilever one last time, he looked down, he looked up and then looking all around he shouted at the top of his voice, "WOOOOO HOOOOO. I did it. I am not a coward. YAAAAAAAAY." He shouted at the top of his voice, the sounds of which echoed far and wide in the valley.

Sometimes it is wise, not to run away from the things you fear. In fact, sometimes, running towards the things that you fear is the only way to conquer them. And Bhairav didn't just run. He accelerated towards his fears.

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