When I opened my eyes, it seems Like it Happened Yesterday! Like it was yesterday that I broke my first tooth and fell in love for the first time. Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Kindle Store · Kindle eBooks · Politics & Social Sciences. Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story, Can Love Happen Twice?, Like It Happened Yesterday and Your Dreams Are Mine Now.
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Read "Like It Happened Yesterday" by Ravinder Singh available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get RS. off your first download. Has anyone ever. Ravinder Singh is the bestselling author of I Too Had a Love Story and Can Love Happen Twice?. Like It Happened Yesterday is his third book. After having. This novel LIKE IT HAPPENED YESTERDAY reminds me a lot of things about my childhood and while reading this novel I actually thought that some of the.
As discussed in this PCWorld investigative feature from last May, e-book publishers deeply resented large retailers like site selling their e-books at deeply discounted rates under a "wholesale model. The Justice Department believes that Apple and the publishers may have colluded to keep the prices of all e-books high, which, if true, would be a violation of anti-trust laws. The publishers have denied the allegations of collusion, and believe that the switch to the agency model has enhanced competition by allowing more e-book publishers to survive. No trees died to make it. No heavy machinery ran to print it.
Once the novel is finished, it is often taken off the website before it gets published as a complete ebook and print book.
Publishing episodes as separate novels in ebook format eg.
Bitesize fiction — popular apps and platforms Although bite size fiction will unlikely to go to the length or shortness of Asian cell phone novels , Europe and the United States also had the need for a genre that is suitable for reading on the subway or while standing in the line.
This type of fiction is popularized by apps like Radish charging readers micro-payments or Wattpad. You can find a great selection of apps and serialized fiction books on the Den of Geek website.
In , following the success of the TV show Lost, he started publishing a book serial in which the episodes made the reader longing for the next book. He offered the first episode the pilot for free to hook people in, then offered the rest of the season at low prices as ebooks.
You can listen to and read an interview with him on The Creative Penn. He started the series in with a short story published on KDP, which was then followed by four sequel novellas and published as a novel upon completion. The complete series is made of three novels, all first published in a serialized form. Omnibus editions also available. You can read more about Wool on Wired. Popular authors include A. Wise of the Deadlocked series , and our guest author, Gabriel Wolf.
Serialized fiction in this form is most popular in English speaking countries, but is gaining traction all over Europe. Advantages First of all, he thinks that publishing shorter stories has the advantage of reaching more price conscious readers. The third big advantage is the variety of covers. While you could always create an illustrated book, most adult fiction writers limit illustrations to the cover. If you have more books, you can create more and more covers: showcase all of your characters, if you wish.
Writing serials Although serials are often published as a complete novel at the end, as an author you have to be aware of the different reading style due to periodical publication. As a few months can pass between two episodes, you have to make sure that your readers can easily pick up the story where they left off without rereading your book. You can also add a few pages to explain what happened previously and help orient the reader.
These pages can later be removed. You can only do this, if you already have your main story arch main events, and most likely the ending planned before starting your novel. It is okay to change some things as you go, but you have to make sure that you are going somewhere. Entering serial metadata When entering metadata when uploading your book to a store or to PublishDrive , you have to make sure that possible readers know that your books are part of a serial and cannot be read as a standalone novel.
You also have to show the reading order of your books in an appropriate and obvious manner. Title, subtitle, and series fields Ebook stores are well prepared for series. The following fields are present at any book upload surface: Title, Subtitle, Series Name, Volume numeric.
To learn how correctly entered metadata looks in major stores, check this article. The appropriate usage of series and volume field does not only help readers identify the books, but most stores also group books together based on series name, and automatically offer the next episode to the reader. Forget binge watching: binge reading is here, and the only thing you need to do is enter your metadata properly.
Veeru arrives on his horse and calls out Jais name. My heart sinks to see Jai lying like that in Veerus lap. He says that he wont be able to tell their stories to Veerus children.
That confirms he is not going to survive. I am about to break down. I still pray to God that my fear should not come true. Jai continues to mutter Veerus name before he finally takes his last breath. He dies. My hero dies. My Jai dies. The sad tune of the harmonica that Jai used to play follows his death. And I start crying. Tears roll down my eyes. I grieve for the loss of Jai.
I finish watching the rest of the movie in a state of deep agony. If the Thakur wouldnt have finished Gabbar off, I had pledged to find that beast and avenge Jais death by killing him myself. I spend a sad day thinking about Jai. Occasionally, I cry. Later in the evening, when my father is watching the news in the prime-time bulletin, I spot Jai in one of the news items.
I cant believe my eyes. I shout, Jai is alive? Dad looks at me and asks, Why? What happened to him? And his name is Amitabh Bachchan! No, he is Jai! He died this afternoon, I say, my eyes still focused on the man on the screen. There are a lot of people around him. He is signing something for them and smiling. He watched Sholay today and the characters death in the movie has made him sad, Mom updates Dad. He bursts into laughter. Dad then explains to me that movies and serials are just fiction.
News is for real. I listen to him very carefully. Just before going to bed, I go to Dad. He is in his bed and fast asleep.
But this cant wait. I wake him up from his sleep and ask, Daddy, youre sure Jai is alive, na? Fear of the Needle If there was anything that I was afraid of as a child, it was the hospital in our town.
The hospital building was the biggest structure of brick and concrete in Burlaa light pink colour, and surrounded by tall green deodars and gulmohar trees, with seasonal orange flowers in them. A never-ending row of bicycles and motorcycles would make a serpentine line in the shade of the trees. Every time I crossed that building, I used to feel a chill run down my spine. From the outside, everything was just so quiet and normal. But only the people who would have walked into it would know about what happened inside.
I had walked into it a couple of times. I was made to do so, against my will, by my father. So I knew what went on inside. My brother and I had not been given our inoculations at birth or in the few months afterwards, as was the usual practice. Our tragedy was that by the time our parents realized the importance of those injections, we were old enough to understand that injections hurt.
Therefore, we used to run away from them. But they were necessary. So Dad, very cunningly, never told us when he was taking us to the hospital. He would make the two of us sit on his bicycle and tell us that we were going out for a nice ride.
Tinku, as usual, would occupy the front bar while I would sit on the carrier, holding on to the front seat, on which Dad would be sitting. Only when he would miss the right turn towards the Pakka Market and continue to go straight, where the road led to nothing but the hospital, we would be clear of his ill intentions. And then suddenly my brother and I would start squirming on our seats, knowing what was coming our way.
Daddy, assi kitthey jaa rahe hain? It was quite common for our father to not provide an answer to that one. So I would tell my brother, Tinku, Daddy saanu injection lagvaan lae ke jaa rahe hai. So I would tell him, Daddy ne jhutt boleya si. The bicycle would keep moving. The two of us would keep talking. I always wanted to hold my brothers hand then. He too would want to see me. But the two of us used to be separated by our father.
Right at the registration counter, our fear would take a mammoth shape. The clerk at the registration desk knew our father very well. He would smile and fill in half the details on his own. Our father would take two slips, one for each of us, and we would walk with him, holding his hands on either sidethe two of us in our half-pants and T-shirts, ready to be poked! As we walked up the staircase, I would realize how close we were to the terrible process.
The peculiar smell of disinfectant would fill my nostrils and virtually choke me. The dark galleries of the hospitals outdoor wards would terrorize me. The sight of the green curtains, the nurses in white and the number of sick people around would make me also feel sick.
The whole atmosphere in that government hospital was that of a horror story. That horror multiplied by several times the moment we would reach our ward.
As usual, there would be a vampire-like nurse whose business it was to draw blood from peoples fingers or arms, besides injecting poor little kids like us. We knew her well. She was acquainted with us too. We were a challenge for her. Many times, we had created a scene in front of her and the rest of the hospital, crying, screaming and running out without our pants! Knowing our desperation to escape, Dad never forgot to lure us with items of our interest.
Most of the times, he would tempt us by saying that he was going to treat us to Frootia popular mango drink if only we agreed to take the shots. We were madly in love with that three-rupee drink, which came packaged in a square green Tetra Pak. The front of the packet had an image of two ripe, yellow mangoes, with droplets of chilled water sliding down them. Dad knew very well how much we loved this particular drink. Insane as it might sound, our deep love for Frooti overcame our fear of the injections, and our father knew how to use that.
We would willingly lie down on our stomachs on the medical bed, baring our bottoms for the injections. In our minds, we would see the shopkeeper taking the chilled packets of Frooti out of his freezer, just for us.
In the meantime, the nurse would take out the needle from the boiling water over the electric heater. Our dreams would progress, and we would now be holding our coveted drink in our hands. The nurse was constantly in the process of preparing the injection, pushing in the nozzle to flush the air out of the syringe.
And, as we imagined piercing the tiny round foil at the upper corner of the Tetra Pak with our pointed straws, the nurse would pierce our behinds with that injection. The reality of that moment, for the next few seconds, would break our reverie and leave us in great pain. But, we knew, the key for us was to keep holding on to our thoughts, to relish them enough to be able to overlook reality.
Soon it would all be over, yet we continued to lie there, exactly in the same posture, happily imagining sipping our Frootis, smiling! Two brothers, lying half-naked on their stomach, with their eyes glued to a daydream and smiles pasted on their faces! And thats when the nurse would shout, Utth jaao.
Ho gaya! Its done! Our experience of drinking Frooti would not just end there at the shop. It was a ritual for us to bring that empty Tetra Pak back home with us.
We would blow as much air as possible into it with the straw, place the inflated packet on the ground and ask everyone around us to watch as we jumped over our packets. It would burst like a cracker.
That would mark the completion of our Frooti adventure! If, by any chance, the packet didnt burst at the first go, we would not shy away from picking it up and going on and on, until it finally gave way. All for a Toothy Grin!
One day, Dad took me for a visit to the hospital again. He told me that my injection course had been completed, and so I could relax. But how could I relaxwhen I was being taken into that same building? I was only convinced when he took a different staircase this time, leading to a different wing. I had never been to this part of the hospital earlier. Yet, I was sceptical. After all, injections werent the only thing I hated, it was the entire hospital.
Dad took me straight to the dental outdoor ward. There was already a long queue there. Dad handed over the ticket to the compounder, who placed it underneath the stack of tickets on the doctors table. He then placed a paperweight over the pile, and went back to relax on the stool by the door.
I wondered why we were there. I looked at the people around me. They all had their mouths closed, so I could not get to know what sort of dental problems they had. Which made me wonderWhat sort of a problem did I have? Everything was fine with me. I had neither complained of any toothache, nor did I have foul breath. So I asked my father, Daddy, you have a problem with your teeth?
Tuhadde dand kharaab hain? He laughed and shook his head, Nahi, nahi! Taa fer assi aithe kyun aaye, haan? I asked, wondering why we were there, in that case. My father sat me down and told me the reason why we were in the dental ward.
My front two milk teeth had fallen a few months back. The gap should ideally have been filled up by a pair of brand new, permanent teeth. My family kept expecting this act of nature to happen by itself. But nature had been probably too busy with other things, and forgotten me. So we needed a doctor, who could become natures proxy for me. About half an hour later the doctor called my name: Ravinder Singh! My father flung into action.
He asked me to quickly put back on the rubber slippers that had fallen off my hanging feet. Together, we rushed inside the room. The room was bright with sunrays, which flooded into it from a spacious window behind the dentist. There was a person sitting next to the dentist, with a black bag on his lap. Once in a while, he pulled out a medicine from it and kept talking about it to the dentist.
Dad told me that this man was a medical representative. I dont know what exactly he wanted, but the dentist did not seem even a bit interested in his talk. The only time the dentist looked at him was when he placed a nice-looking pen set, a diary and a calendar on his table. Looking at them, the dentist asked, The same things again?
The medical representative slipped his hand inside his bag again and brought out a plastic torch, which he placed on the table with a huge smile. Soon after this, he left. I wondered why hed spent so much time explaining about the medicines when the real thing the dentist was interested in was that torch!
I looked around. The walls around me had neatly labelled diagrams of jaws and teeth. The words incisor, canine, molar and pre-molar in one of the pictures appeared familiar to me.
I had read about them in my science class. I wanted to show my father my brilliance. So I tugged at his hand, wanting to tell him that we should tell the dentist that my incisors had failed to develop. But he ignored me and continued to explain the problem himself. I continued to look at the decorated walls. There was a poster of a beautiful lady with glittering white teeth.
She had a tube of white-and-red striped toothpaste in her hand. She had a beautiful smile. Now, finally, the dentist looked at me, and asked me to open my mouth.
I smiled, imitating the smile of the lady in the poster. The dentist, unimpressed, asked me to look towards him and not towards the poster.
Dont smile, Ravinder, open your mouth. Like thisaaaaaaaa! He looked funny. Id guessed the smile was a nice way to reveal my teeth, including the absent ones. However, this time I opened my mouth as wide as possible and sang, Aaaaaaaaa! I made my tongue dance to the sound. As I held my mouth wide open for the longest time, my eyes seemed to shrink and my cheeks were stretched.
I had invested a lot of energy in sustaining that show. Everyone around me was looking at me. Okay, okay, this is enough, the dentist finally said.
I closed my mouth and turned my attention back to the smiling lady with the toothpaste. The dentist explained a few things to my father, which I completely ignored. He prescribed some medicine for me and asked us to visit him again after two days. The last thing I heard him saying was that the procedure would take an hour when we visited next, so I would have to miss a period or two at school.
I checked with Dad if he was going to do anything to me, and whether it was going to be painful. Dad shook his headall I had to do was to take the medicines and come and show the doctor my teeth, the way Id done today. I realized that after two days I could legitimately bunk school! For the next two days, each meal I ate was followed by a medicine.
On Day Three, I looked at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth to see if, by any chance, the medicines had worked and I had new teeth. The inside of my mouth appeared, more or less, just as it had two days back. Paagal dentist, I told myself in the mirror. At school, I proudly told all my friends that I would be there for only half the day.
I was going to bunk the second half! Dad was there right on time to pick me up, and, as my classmates watched with envy, I quickly put my schoolbag on my shoulders and ran to Dad. It all started exactly the way it had started the other day. We first got a slip made, took the other staircase and walked through the other wing and arrived at the outdoor dental ward, where a lot of people were waiting in the queue.
I peeped inside the dentists room to see if the lady with that glittering smile was still there on the wall. Yep, she was right there! Shall we start, then? Dad nodded, without looking at me. The dentist called for a nurse and asked me to follow her. I looked at Dads face. His silence rang a warning bell in my head.
Though I followed the nurse, there were a lot of thoughts in my mind. She led me to a vacant cabin on the extreme right of the dental ward. In no time, I found myself sitting on a long reclining chair. The nurse referred to it as the dentists chair, and adjusted it for me. She pulled a lever, it leant back. She pulled another one, and I was above the ground. I asked her what was on her mind.
She didnt say a single extra word. Meanwhile, the dentist appeared. As he came closer to me, I watched him slip his hands into a pair of gloves. He then strapped on a mask. Watching that made me sure that something terrible was in store for me. I was trapped in that elevated reclining chair. I asked the dentist what was going to happen. We are going to bring your teeth out of your gums, he replied. I asked. And, when no one answered, I asked again, How?
We will have to make a small cut in your gums. And he dropped a bomb into my open mouth. You are going to cut my gums? Its going to hurt! I yelled. The dentist and the nurse ignored me. I asked them to call my father.
They still ignored me. The dentist and the nurse were now almost ready to dissect my tiny, pink gums.
The nurse adjusted the overhead light so that it fell right on my face. It blurred my vision for a second. The dentist picked up his tools and asked me to open my mouth. I was petrified.
No, no! I kept repeating. My legs trembled. I wanted to get off that reclining chair and escape, but it was impossible to get off.
The dentist said it wouldnt hurt, because he was going to give me anaesthesia. As he mentioned that, he picked up a large injection. It had a long needle that would have been around four inches, if not five. He brandished that horrible thing right in front of my scared eyes.
I froze. I couldnt utter a single thing. I was staring at the injection. I cried out. No, I screamed! It was probably the loudest and the longest scream of my entire life. Im quite sure it could be heard much beyond that small cabin, the dental ward, travelling down the staircase right into the parking lot. In its long journey, my scream must have announced my panic to almost everyone present in that hospital, including my father. In no time, Dad came running into the cabin.
He looked at the dentist and the nurse. They had left whatever they had been holding so far. Their hands were on their ears. It was all only too clear. The dentist looked at my father and didnt feel the need to say anything. My father apologized on my behalf. I looked at my father and begged him to take me away. He patted my back and told me that it was important that I allow the dentist to operate on my mouth.
He explained that if this was not done, I would be left toothless for the rest of my life. I am fine with that! I dont want this! Please, Daddy! I had begun to cry. You wont even get to know. It wont hurt at all after you take this anaesthesia, the dentist pitched in.
It took me a minute to frame my answer. How dumb! This anaesthesia injection itself is going to hurt, na! The nurse smiled. The dentist looked angrily at her. The dentist turned to Dad and announced, If you cant convince him now, you will have to bring him next week, as I have other cases to look after.
I thought of telling him to postpone it. But, right then, Dad recalled that next week he would be out of station. So the operation had to be done that day itself. Half an hour later, with me on that dentists chair, our negotiations and peace talks had failed. The outcome of this failure was simple. We were at war! United, they stood. Alone, I sat. Dad asked the dentist to proceed with my operation. The dentist again picked up his syringe and filled it. I took up my attacking position.
The moment the dentist came close to me, I punched into the air between us, narrowly missing the injection. Dad shouted at me and asked the nurse to pin down one of my arms. He then grabbed my other arm. The goddamn chair didnt even allow me to jump off! I wildly paddled my legs in the air.
A few cotton balls, along with a few dental instruments, fell over the big arm of the chair. And I screamed my lungs out. It was not only difficult, but almost impossible, for the dentist to inject me. He kept shouting that if I didnt stop, my struggling might end up in the needle breaking and getting stuck somewhere inside my gum. But that didnt bother me. I screamed out louder in response. We were caught in a tussle. It was three versus onethe little me, to be precise.
The three of them were shouting too, telling each other what to do. Dad then asked the nurse to pin down both my hands. He twisted my arms and brought my hands together, behind the back of the chair, and asked the nurse to hold them down in that position.
He then went to the other side of the reclining chair, to hold down my legs. He sat on my knees and weighed down my thighs. My legs were now in his full control. I gathered up all my energy and continued to protest. The tight grip of the nurse had almost stopped the blood circulation in my wrists. I was now sweating. I felt suffocatedbut I didnt give up. My eyes had grown big and red. But my idea was not to settle down, and keep continuing my fight.
But in no time, I was exhausted. I was breathing heavily. The three of them knew this. They could see that, every moment, I was getting a little more tired. When my revolt was reduced to intermittent screams, the dentist came closer to me. My father and the nurse continued to hold me tight. The dentist told them that he was finally going to inject me.
I collected all my leftover energy and, now, instead of moving my body, I started shaking my head left and right. The dentist was now extremely irritated. So was my father. The nurse kept shouting, just out of my line of sight, Kya kar rahe ho, beta! Aise mat karo. Dont act like this. Mercilessly, he commanded the compounder to hold my head and restrain any sort of movement.
He also instructed him to hold my face in such a way that my jaws would remain wide apart. So this was now four versus one. The compounder attempted to do what he was told. But the moment his hands crawled on to my jaw, I bit him hard. His hands tasted of Dettol, the disinfectant. I immediately spat out, and the spit landed on the dentists apron. The compounder yelled in pain. The dentist shrieked out of frustration. Dad continued to shout at me. The nurse kept saying, Beta, beta After a half-an-hour-long battle, my body gave up.
I wanted air to breathe, a lot of it. I had fought like a braveheart. But I was now exhausted and had resigned myself to fate. I closed my eyes when I saw the syringe inches away from me.
I felt the tears from my eyes and the sweat on my face mingling together. The next thing I felt was an intense pain that surged up from my gums to somewhere behind my nose. I could feel the dentist emptying his syringe somewhere inside the tissues and nerves behind my nostrils.
There was pin-drop silence in the cabin. After taking the injection out of my mouth, the doctor wrapped a plastic body cover around me. I remained calm. Two streams of tears rolled down my cheeks. The anaesthesia was quick in its work. I could soon feel a heaviness in my gums. I opened my eyes and looked at Dad. He told me it was all fine. I looked at his hands.
They were still pinning down my thighs. I looked back into his eyes. I didnt say anything. I didnt want to say anything. I closed my wet eyes and remained calm for the rest of the procedure. After about twenty minutes, the dentist tapped my shoulder and told me, Its all over.
You can get up. I opened my eyes, but, this time, I didnt make any eye contact with him. I had heard what he had said, yet I didnt move. I ignored it and him. The nurse let go of my hands. My father got up and came closer to me. He assured me that the operation was over. He patted my shoulder, in an attempt to comfort me. I didnt make any eye contact with him either.
Nor did I speak. When he asked me to get up, I didnt move. When he left me alone and went away to consult the dentist about what I should eat and what I shouldnt, I got up unnoticed and walked out of the room.
While walking out of the cabin, I came across a washbasin with a mirror installed on the wall above it. I looked at myself. My nose and lips were still inflated. There were a few bloodstains on my shirt and around my lips.
I tried to open my mouth. I wasnt able to feel anything. The effect of the anaesthesia was still there. I was merely able to pull down my lower lip.
I saw cotton stuffed in my mouth, surrounding my front upper gums. The dentist shouted from behind me: No! Dont take the cotton out!
I tucked my T-shirt into my shorts and walked out of the room alone. In the meantime, Dad had finished his conversation with the dentist and followed me out. Chalo, ghar chalein, [Lets go home] he said, and took my hand. I didnt say anything but followed him but not before slipping my fingers out of his hands. The Question of Birth It was late in the night on my seventh birthday when the most intriguing thought of my life crossed my mind. Mom had switched off the lights long back and I was in my bed.
Day-long celebrations of my birthday and the euphoria of it all had left me quite tired by the end of the day. Yet, I was awake.