Forget

Yesterday, the 16th of October, 2025, I launched my 5th book, the title being “Forget”. The function was held in The New College, Chennai 14, with the first copy being presented to Ms Jennifer Arul, by Professor Eugenie Pinto.

With me on the dais were: Eugenie, former Principal of Queen Mary’s College, as well as Principal of Patrician College, Mr Syad Sarmadh Ahmed, the HoD of the English Department, and Mr Akram Dulvi, the HoD-In-charge, both of whom were my students in the 1990s. It turned out to be a very pleasant morning, with a packed hall of around 50 people, many of whom were my former colleagues. So, it was a homecoming of sorts, for both the past stalwarts of the teaching profession and the present enthusiastic students, who mingled freely in an ambience of intellectual curiosity.

The book’s front cover is adorned with a pencil-sketch of “my Daddy”, the art work done by my publisher Mr Harry MacLure of “Anglos in the Wind” fame. The book was published by Anglo Ink, a self-publishing platform that deals predominantly with writings by AngloIndians.

Just remember, I use the word AngloIndian, without the hyphen, because I believe we are no longer a hyphenated community with no “voice”. More and more Anglos, young, middling and senior, are now coming to life with an outpouring of books regarding the what, the where, the who, and the why-still-clinging-on, way of life that is as unique as it is singular, to a life-style that most people secretly admire, but shun in public. We are not a two-faced race, we say what we mean, and we may often be criticized for our assumed “sing-song” accent, but that is one more of those erroneous and highly exaggerated half-truths, perpetuated by the “Raj”-lovers and others of that ilk.

Yes, my “Daddy” is the protagonist of this slim volume. I introduce him to the world because he is one of the millions-upon-millions of soldiers who received no recognition at all. I, therefore, stake the claim that he has every right to be recognized as a hero, because even the country that he fought for—Great Britain—lost all trace of him. Of course, dear Reader, I leave you to be the judge, so don’t forget to pick up a copy and have your say.

So, yes, the book. It is priced—reasonably, I think—at Rs 300, but for my India readers, that will include the cost to post the book to you. Again, don’t forget to give me full details—address, phone number (which I will keep confidential) and any special “dedication/s” to be appended. I’m sure all of you will agree that, for that price, it will be next to impossible to get an autographed, first-edition, anywhere else. And don’t be shy; if you want more copies to give to your friends for the upcoming festive season, I’ sure I can match your orders.

For my outside-of-India readers, I will be taking a limited number of copies with me to England, where I will spend 3 months—from next month to January of next year. So, I may be able to get a copy to you.

The back cover categorizes the book as “Non-fiction”. It is, actually, much more than that. It is biography, autobiography, documentary, confessional, philosophical and visual, all rolled into one small book. I hope, dear Reader, that the book will give you as much satisfaction as it gave me while I was composing it. The only catch—you have to have a copy of your own.

Hard sell, eh?

Who ever said that the small man has no “voice”?