This morning, from a place where there were no urban luxuries, in the far eastern part of Asia, I resumed Termites. Surprisingly, I ended up writing over 1,000 words in the 2nd part of the book. I believe writing is a meditation: it sustains life, heals the mind. The moment I began to feel the flow of emotions, running in my veins, that reaches the pen that I hold with care and gentleness, is the opening of the gates of mind, and it begins to purge, and finally appears before my very eyes in form of words, sentences, paragraphs and chapters which gradually uncloses a novel. The immense skies, fertile earth, green trees, blue waters, colorful flowers and diverse animals, all in one word ? The powerful nature, Yes, if a book can be the epicenter of that power? That is how I feel about Termites when Barsha talks…