It’s a strange feeling, this thing called goodbye.
Not the kind you say at airports—those are often filled with soggy handkerchiefs and promises to stay in touch, which evaporate faster than a politician’s promises after elections. No, I’m talking about the kind of goodbye that sneaks up on you while you sit with your laptop balanced on your lap, blinking at the last line of a manuscript that’s taken you months—maybe even years—to complete.
As I put the finishing touches to Hi Society, my latest book, I feel an odd lump in my throat. And no, it isn’t a biscuit that’s got stuck. It’s something softer, sadder. The kind of ache that comes when you realise you’ve lived with people—imaginary though they may be—who’ve grown on you like a colony of stubborn moss. Tovi, with her grit and grimace. Bob Chandran, with sarcasm sharp enough to cut glass. Miss Adams, Pandey, DeMello, Rev Nathan, even Kamalamma. My goodness, they’ve lived in my mind, camped in my study, walked with me into my garden, and sometimes, I suspect, even stolen hours from my sleep!
Finishing a book is like vacating a house you’ve lived in forever. You walk through each chapter like an empty room, touching the memories, the arguments, the laughter, the heartbreaks—wondering if the next occupant will see what you saw, feel what you felt.
And then comes a lovely, comforting thought—that though I am bidding goodbye, you, dear reader, are just waking up to say good morning! While I slowly walk away from these characters, you are stepping into their lives, inviting them into your living rooms, and perhaps into your hearts.
Isn’t that how life works too?
When we say goodbye to someone moving to another city, do we pause to realise that someone else is about to say hello? A child leaves home, and while the parents sigh at their empty nest, a college dorm somewhere erupts in cheers. Even death, yes even that dreaded visitor, isn’t just about loss. While we weep at the exit gate, heaven throws a welcome party at the entrance.
So maybe goodbyes are not as final as we think.
Maybe they are just the night before someone else’s dawn.
And as I close this chapter—not just of my book, but of my journey with these beloved characters—now, I do so with a smile. Because I know they are yours. You’ll meet them, argue with them, laugh with them, perhaps roll your eyes at them. But most importantly, you’ll keep them alive.
So, here’s to not saying goodbye.
Here’s to saying good morning—to new beginnings, fresh readers, and the timeless magic of stories that never really end… just begin again in someone else’s heart.
And somewhere, I think Tovi and oh yes, Tsippy, from another book that’s just left me, smile together.
Goodbye Bob! Good morning world…!