Narvan: The Metropolis
How I got my book printed through a villager.
Let me start with this, no, it is not a metropolis in the way that you are imagining it, but yes, it is in a very different sense. I always laughed at my grandpa when he said that Narvan is not a small village, “it is actually a city.” He obviously said this because he wanted us and everyone else to think that he is not living in a far off corner- shut off from the world. This tiny village has a post-office, a hospital, grocery store, a bank and the newly built hardware, mobile and electronic repair store. It even has a small restaurant, a lodge and a chinese food stall. Interestingly though, Narvan was once shut off from the world. There were no roads leading to Narvan. I have heard stories about people docking their ship in Jaigad and then taking a small boat across the creek to Rohile, from where they walked some 15 km, crossing two small rivers to reach Narvan. Times have changed.
.. and nothing signifies change more than my book getting printed by a guy who lives in our wadi, in Narvan. Yes, you heard me. No online book service, no ingram or KDP printed my book, but a guy who lives 200 meters from my house, in a tiny village, like Narvan - which doesn’t even have a cell phone signal on most parts - actually printed my book and what’s more shocking is that he did a phenomenal job!
After the initial pushbacks from Delhi-based literary agents, I was almost certain that I should give up this entire project. Things weren’t exactly going well and I kept telling myself that God is testing your perseverance. A friend from Scotland and a couple more friends from India kept pushing me. They were certain that this book deserves an audience - this walk deserves an audience. Finally I got myself together. God, or whatever force that is, it helped me in going through this time of uncertainty. I would sit down and meditate, speak with that force which revolved all around me, it was with me when I walked, I called it ‘mother’ - I started acting as if someone was watching me at all times and if God had given me good times then it was fair that she gave me some bad phases. (I use God as in the Daoist sense where God doesn’t have a gender. So spare me if I call she or he throughout this.)
Until now, I have lived a life where I have no hold over any of the consequences that have happened. I like not knowing what is going to happen in the future. I like uncertainty and one verse in the Bhagavad Gita sums it all..
कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन। मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भूर्मा ते सङ्गोऽस्त्वकर्मणि॥
(no I won’t expect you to read that) It means, you have the right to work only but never to its fruits. Let not the fruits of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction.
I kept in my mind that this is how God has planned it.
Bible says it too,
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Its thy will be done not my will be done. And just like that I put it on God to create a world for me. My mind was already clear of many doubts and all the ever-lingering questions had subsided. If it had to happen then he will make it happen in his own way. My way would be arrogant, I thought.
I was right. I gave up the plan to publish and went for a break to Goa. If it had to happen then he will make it happen and he did.
One day I got a call from my grandma,
“Ashu, weren’t you looking for a specific type of paper and a printer? I have Sandesh here in front of me, he says he can deliver you what you need. Would you like to speak with him?”
A random guy, who I have only met a few times in my village, knows what I want? ..and knows the technicalities of book-making? That was strange and almost unbelievable, but I saw that tiny opening in the clouds from where light was coming in. This was it, she had closed many doors but she knew which one she had to open. It had to be God’s plan. Moreover when this call took place, a yearly festival was taking shape. The village Gods were dancing in a palkhi (palanquin) in our front-yard. Of course Sandesh was back in the village to attend this festival.
Here you can see the villagers dancing with the local Gods, who are sitting in that palanquin. It was all so random and this randomness had a flow to it. It felt as if it was pre-arranged. How else on earth would I find a man, in my village, who was cut out for a job that many well-established printers were incapable of. The paper I needed was only available in bulk, that too in Delhi and no printing press was getting a hold on it- other than the big ones who printed Penguin and HarperCollins’ books and they were never going to print my book.
I spoke with Sandesh,
“This feels like a weird co-incidence.”
“Lets meet and discuss,” he said.
Like I said at the very start of Saving a Village, many villagers had to migrate to the urban areas in search of a job. Sandesh too had to migrate to Mumbai in this search. Remember Shankar, who provided us the cement poles and wire - more about it in Wild Buffalo Rampage - his daughter Ranja is married to Sandesh. I know Ranja tai (tai as in elder sister) since I was a kid. Ranja tai, much like Chanda tai took me along with her in her cattle herding escapades. We would pick up wild-berries on our way home where we would walk past Sandesh’s house. Would would have thought back then that this guy would some day be married to her and he would one day help me in a dire situation. Strange how life works, isn’t it? When you look back, you see everything that has happened so far- it has a wild co-incidence to it. You could have never guessed it.
I kicked my bike and took off to Narvan to meet Sandesh. For a moment, I was extremely happy about this urban migration. Sandesh had made a name for himself in the printing press and thus rose to a position which helped him to set up a tiny press alongside a friend.
“I can certainly get this done. Let me send you a mock copy of the book and then you can decide whether you’d like to go ahead”, he said.
I instantly agreed.
Granny was in tears. She saw my struggle and knew instantly that this was the final breakthrough. Since coming back to India and deciding to take this step, she was the only one who had trusted me. Even my parents were at odds with me, but not my granny. She saw my intent and always kept pushing me, “Ashu, your intent is clear. God will help you out in whatever you are doing. Keep trust in him.”
She asked me to take blessings from the Village Gods whereupon I walked into Vishram ajoba’s house where the palanquin was rested on the floor to give the Gods some much needed break from all that dancing. I knelt and prayed to that force, just like I do in any church or temple or a mosque. I knew that something was happening and I was asked to accept whatever was coming. Granny was looking over towards me, tears in her eyes, wiping it off with the end of her saree, so that no one saw her crying under her glasses.
A few days passed, this is when I was looking after the farm, writing Wild Buffalo Rampage. Then one evening, I received a call from Mumbai, it was Sandesh, “I have sent a mock copy with the bus driver. Can you collect it from Sangare-wadi?”
I remember leaving in excitement, and holding the copy in my hand. It was better than what I had imagined. I was sitting in Shankar’s front yard, talking to Ranja tai, who had stayed back. It was all an emotional ride. I started off from this village where many of the villagers, including Shankar came to see me off. When I left the Sea in the morning, each villager was standing outside their house, greeting me and wishing me luck. This was a full circle. I believe that this was much better than what I could have ever planned. The book was getting printed by a villager. It could have not been more local.
When the books finally arrived, we did a small launch in the village. Grandpa was extremely proud. I reminded him, “Narvan is not just a tiny village, it is a metropolis”, he laughed.
This is last of any book-related article. I’ll keep a note at the end about my book from here onwards, but recently my time has been divided between book related events and online promotions, so, I apologise in advance if it has been too much. I would be pleased if you could share the book with your friends and family.
If you are still here, I would take this moment to direct your attention to a book I have written. This book is almost 2 years in the making. In 2022 I left off on a walk across India and ended up walking 1800 km from Narvan on the west shore, to Visakhapatnam on the east shore. Initially to document the issues plaguing rural India, the project unfolded to become an unforgettable voyage of self-discovery; involving sleeping in unfamiliar places, venturing alone through the Naxalite insurgent jungles, and even being interrogated in a jail cell.
After contemplating on what is the right way forward, I have come to the conclusion that I will self-publish it- and I did. If you are interested in reading about my journey and supporting me to become a full-time writer, please consider buying “Journey to the East”- which is currently available through my website. www.ashutoshjoshi.in
If you wish to buy me a coffee - paypal, www.paypal.me/ashutoshjoshistudio
You can buy my first book “Journey to the East”, a memoir about an 1800 km walk through India, through my website .
If you would like to buy prints of my photographs, you can choose the photographs you like on my website and send me an email. I will send you custom quotes for the sizes you’d like.
Providence was looking after you.
I love how personal this keeps getting :) Thanks for sharing it with us.