Today I am hosting Laxmi Hariharan in celebration of her new release
The Destiny of Shaitan. Check out
the guest post below and make sure to enter the giveaway at the end of this
post for a chance to win either a $15 Amazon Gift Card or Autographed Paperback
of The Destiny of Shaitan.
Partially set in a dystopian Bombay of the future, The Destiny of Shaitan is a
coming of age story, painted against the backdrop of a post-apocalyptic world.
Yudi, Tiina & Rai embark on a mission to save the universe. Sent to retrieve the Isthmus from the ruthless Shaitan, Tiina seeks more than the end of the tyrant; she seeks herself. Shaitan is determined to stop them at any cost. The three friends must learn to trust each other and overcome their fears as they fight towards the ultimate showdown. The universe is at stake and the combatants determined. Will Shaitan's ultimate destiny be fulfilled?
Yudi, Tiina & Rai embark on a mission to save the universe. Sent to retrieve the Isthmus from the ruthless Shaitan, Tiina seeks more than the end of the tyrant; she seeks herself. Shaitan is determined to stop them at any cost. The three friends must learn to trust each other and overcome their fears as they fight towards the ultimate showdown. The universe is at stake and the combatants determined. Will Shaitan's ultimate destiny be fulfilled?
My secret: How I gave birth to Tiina
by Laxmi Hariharan
The unerring precision of
being caught in that act by him sends goose pimples up her arms. She plays it
out in her mind, examining it from different angles.
These were the first lines I wrote for The Destiny of Shaitan. It was 2004. Wanderlust had led me to Hong
Kong, where I lived in a tiny four-hundred-square-feet apartment (I kid you
not! If you have seen pictures of the high-rises smothering the Hong Kong
skyline, well I share a secret—they are all apartment blocks. I lived on the
eighteenth floor of one such tower.) “Eighteen—lucky number,” the landlord had
reassured me, as apparently, was the street address—Eight Hollywood Road. The belief in numerology runs deep in the
Orient, with local businessmen shelling out millions of dollars for a car license
plate which bears the number Eight.
But I digress, for I am here to share my secret with you.
One afternoon I was walking down Hollywood Road, wearing my
favourite pair of thin cotton cut-off trousers, and a baby-T-shirt. In that
eighty-degrees-heat the less one wore the better, and I had learnt very quickly
that even wearing jeans felt claustrophobic in that climate. Cotton was best,
to keep the skin ventilated. Rain had started pattering down, and a slight
breeze rising from the sea crept up, enveloping me in its cooling embrace
before fading away. I raised my eyes in delight and put out my hand to catch
the drops of calm in the palm of my hand. “Thank you, one above!” My phone rang
just then, startling me out of my dialogue with the greater force of nature.
“Enjoying your walk?” It was the man I had met last night at the
salsa bar. Hong Kong—believe it or not—is a salsa hotspot, and most nights I
managed to make it to the gym and then onto a salsa class to give myself over
to the rhythm of my heart and the pure enjoyment of becoming one with the
music. I was a novice and he was obviously a seasoned dancer. I was flattered
by his attentions, and for the rest of the evening we twirled, sashayed and
swayed together.
Seemed he was in the bus that had just gone by and seen me. “I saw
you talking to yourself” he told me that night. I blushed, wondering why it
felt like he had caught me in the act of making love to myself. Perhaps because at that very moment I had
been one with the universe, in a very private place, wearing my heart on my
sleeve and he had seen a vulnerable side to me that I had kept to myself so
far?
There are no coincidences. So what was this? All it had been was an emotional exchange, yet
the attraction felt wrong, it felt as if coming from a wellspring of hope which
I had not known existed within me.
A gaze, lust. A touch, sizzle. A
beat of music, caress. A drop in time, like the rain which chattered down while
I had looked up and floated away. Why did it feel so
wrong, as if I was cheating on my boyfriend of that time? When all I had done
was look into his eyes and felt a connection?
About Laxmi Hariharan: I am a
writer, technophile & dare I say, a futurist, with a penchant for chai and
growing eye-catching flowers. Wanderlust drove me out of my home country India
and I travelled across Asia, living in Singapore and Hong Kong before coming
home to London. I am inspired by Indian mythology; I draw strength from the
stories my grandmother narrated to me as a child. It is in acknowledging my
roots that I found my voice. When not writing I love walking in the woods with
my soulmate, and indulging my inner geek.
- Terms are as listed in the rafflecopter.
- It's the author/publicist's responsibility to ensure that the winner gets the prize(s).
Thank you so much for posting this and being part of the tour - you rock!
RépondreSupprimer~Marie, Novel Publicity
Hi Miki, Je vous remercie de m'avoir accueilli :) I hope I got that right? I actually went to a convent school run by French nuns in Bombay (believe it or not!) So learnt French through high school. I can write and read French but my pronunciation is atrocious! Its a pleasure to meet you. Hope your readers enjoy my post! Laxmi
RépondreSupprimerHi Laxmi, it was a pleasure to host you. i guess my english pronunciation isn't reaklly good either and you did nearly perfect ^^ the only detail is that being a female it should be " Je vous remercie de m'avoir acceuillie" ( i'm sure the nuns were strict on the "accord du participe passé"- but even from native sometimes it's hard)
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