I am back after a long hiatus. I had consciously stayed away from blogging, reading fictions or following fellow bloggers in the last few years as I had to devout time to my debut novel. Besides, that was also one way to ensure that my writings did not have a shadow of others'. Now that 'A Dowryless Wedding' has been published, I am back to blogosphere where both known and unknown beings lurk to entice people away from the madness of gadget induced short attention spans and lightning fast reading (if you would call so).


One hundred ties is the story of one hundred ties one could establish on a dance floor. Dance floors are notorious for breaking as well as hatching relationships. I haven't personally seen any romantic relationships blossoming there. But, have witnessed many friendships break over women fighting to get a dancer's attention, or men vying for a lady's attention- the latter rare, the former frequent especially when a handsome white guy is involved.

My first dance festival was the 3rd Latin Festival Madras & Kizomba Conference 2016.  I had lived in Chennai for more than eight years and it felt good to be back. Chennai is a paradox with whom I have always had a love-hate relationship. One day I might get into an autorickshaw whose driver dreams of becoming a billionaire by fleecing me and just when i start to hate Chennai for that, I would find myself in another autorickshaw whose driver goes the extra mile to help me out. Life in Indian metropolitan cities require a special set of survival skills.
I danced a bit, spoke a bit, and watched the floor a lot, in classic introvert style. Everytime I retired to my seat, next to me was a Malaysian gentleman whom I admired for his passion for salsa and unique style. Let's call him B. Lee. Believe me, B. Lee was a 60+ gentleman who can put most young dancers to shame. 
Post-midnight, the dancers started dispersing. People who were in the official hotel were chauffeured back, but those who stayed away had to find their own way- B.L. Lee was one among them. New to Chennai, and staying in a obscure Inn isn't the right combination. Eighteen hours after B. Lee hired a taxi, I was listening to the familiar story of a foreign tourist being taken for a ride. I felt sorry for him, and apologised.
A few months later, I met him again at Kuala Lumpur for the Afro-Lation Fest Asia- 2017. I was just recovering from a bad experience at the local mall where I fell prey to a shopkeeper who sold me a tie at 200% its original cost. I was in  a hurry for the party that I noticed the original price stuck to the box only after reaching my room. In a dance floor where women desperately queued behind western men for a dance, we found a lot of time to talk. B. Lee apologised to me for what I had experienced. 
Eighteen hours later, he handed me a beautiful paper bag full of sparingly used expensive ties. He insisted I accept them despite me telling him that I am not a fan of wearing ties and suits in tropical climate. Suits are meant for temperate conditions and I am yet to understand why Asians who live close to equator are so particular about wearing them. His Master's Legacy!
I never wore any of them, but take them out of the box often to have a look- they seem to have one hundred stories to say!