Khaleel Datay's Blog - Posts Tagged "books"
Why do you read
I grew up in a household where I was the middle child. number 4 out of 6. Mom was always too busy with the latest in the brood or going with father to support him in running his business. He was in the shop seven days a week, which meant we never went anywhere most of the time. Family time on a picnic was a rarity. All my school holidays were normally taken up by helping out in the shop. So what's a youngster supposed to do? I found my escape to a world of adventure and exotic places through reading. Comic books,cereal boxes and cartoons in the paper, I read anything and everything. Every morning the news agency delivered bundles of Cape Times and Die Burger to our door for resale that day. So I read the paper every day, both English and Afrikaans ones. We grew up speaking Afrikaans at home but I was enrolled in an English-medium school. Naturally, I didn't do too well in English at primary school. When my friend and neighbour(Wayne Naidoo)started sharing his Hardy Boys and Louis L'Amour books, things changed quickly. Wayne's aunt worked at the Athlone Library which ensured us a steady supply of old books that I consumed at a rate of four or five per week. At high school I picked up a love for Shakespeare's works and poetry, and started excelling in English. Later I studied accounting at university but still spent many hours in the English section of the library reading plays. Many of them originally written in Italian and French. I started reading Robert Ludlum in the 80's and have since read every single book he wrote, even keeping up with the franchise when Eric van Lustbader took over after Ludlum's death. I'm an ardent fan of the spy thriller and have been reading guys like Deighton, McCarry, Forsythe,DeMille etc for the last 30 plus years. I've also become a great fan of Barry Eisler, Lee Child, Daniel Silva and Alex Berenson. Why do you read?
Writing again
Khaleel DatayThe last few months I worked on the publication of my second book. A stressful time of editing, rewrites and chasing deadlines, but now that its done and dusted I can breathe again. In between I've been painting landscapes and much like writing it never seems to quite end. A rewarding pastime nevetheless. For a while now I've been thinking of writing a book based on a personal experience a few years ago. A departure from the espionage/thriller genre, but something that had a quite profound effect on my life. Wanted to write this one before the second novel, but needed to resolve the first book's issues in the sequel. Guess my left brain took over. I've started penning some thoughts and already its been interesting to learn how small things that have happened can have such a big effect on your life. Apologies,I have to stay cryptic at this stage. Will share the journey as we go along
Extract from: TO KILL A SPY
To Kill A Spy
CHAPTER 1
Mumbai, India
Jasminder Singh was by all accounts a battered woman.
Looking at her though, one could hardly tell. Tall, sun-bronzed, with a sensuous body perfected by professional tennis, she appeared the epitome of health. Her eyes were what gave her away. Always the eyes. Normally bright and shining with intelligence, they were dull and almost devoid of life.
Nick Winter admired her in the afternoon sun on Juhu Beach. He heard she’d started playing again, leaning on the physicality of the game as a therapeutic crutch. Despite everything she’d endured, she was still a beauty to look at.
In town for a few days at Pune University, he’d called to see how she was doing. The picnic at the beach was her idea. His old friend, Ray Desai, had kept an eye on her these last few months. Since the trauma of her capture at the hands of Chandrasekhar’s thugs she’d stayed with Ray’s sister. The reports were encouraging. She’d been seeing a counsellor to work through the hell they put her through. The fact that she started training again spoke volumes of her mental strength.
Her chestnut brown hair glowed red in the sun where they sat on the sand, the sea gently lapping at their feet. Children frolicked in the water, watched by anxious parents. Jazz picked out a mango from the basket and offered it to Winter.
“Thanks, you don’t get these in London. Mmm…” he said and started peeling it.
They sat on either side of the basket. The distance between them felt like a mile away. He cut the mango into portions and offered her some. He watched the tremble in her hand as she picked up a wedge of the sweet fruit.
“I heard you were back in practice,” he said, facing the sea.
“Yes I have. Why don’t you tell me about London?”
Her terse answer spoke volumes of her emotional state.
“Oh, you know London never changes. Always busy, always dark and rainy. Sometimes seems like it sucks the life out of you. Our obsession with the weather still endures, but then again, a lack of sunshine would drive most people insane.”
She ate quietly, enjoying the sweet mango. He reached into the basket for a bottle of water. She reached for a serviette. Their hands brushed. She drew hers away quickly, wincing at his touch. He so badly wanted to take her face in his hands, to kiss her, to reassure her she’d be fine. To tell her that he loves her…considering what happened to her, he dared not.
Not yet.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.
“It’s getting on alright. A bit of pain in the cold back in the UK, but over here its feeling much better thanks.”
“I never had a chance to thank you for what you did. All of you. Ray, Rasheed, and his mother, you’ve all been wonderful. You saved my life Nick, thank you. Not bad for a university professor.”
They both laughed. Hers was strained, though.
“Chandrasekhar’s still out there Jazz. This is not over. I promise you I will get him, and make him pay for what he did.”
Her hands flew to her face, contorted with pain, and filled with anxiety.
“No...no…Nick, please. They will kill you. Please, listen to me. Let it go. Please, I can’t lose you too.”
Nick Winter was in no mood for backing down.
“Not if I kill him first.”
CHAPTER 1
Mumbai, India
Jasminder Singh was by all accounts a battered woman.
Looking at her though, one could hardly tell. Tall, sun-bronzed, with a sensuous body perfected by professional tennis, she appeared the epitome of health. Her eyes were what gave her away. Always the eyes. Normally bright and shining with intelligence, they were dull and almost devoid of life.
Nick Winter admired her in the afternoon sun on Juhu Beach. He heard she’d started playing again, leaning on the physicality of the game as a therapeutic crutch. Despite everything she’d endured, she was still a beauty to look at.
In town for a few days at Pune University, he’d called to see how she was doing. The picnic at the beach was her idea. His old friend, Ray Desai, had kept an eye on her these last few months. Since the trauma of her capture at the hands of Chandrasekhar’s thugs she’d stayed with Ray’s sister. The reports were encouraging. She’d been seeing a counsellor to work through the hell they put her through. The fact that she started training again spoke volumes of her mental strength.
Her chestnut brown hair glowed red in the sun where they sat on the sand, the sea gently lapping at their feet. Children frolicked in the water, watched by anxious parents. Jazz picked out a mango from the basket and offered it to Winter.
“Thanks, you don’t get these in London. Mmm…” he said and started peeling it.
They sat on either side of the basket. The distance between them felt like a mile away. He cut the mango into portions and offered her some. He watched the tremble in her hand as she picked up a wedge of the sweet fruit.
“I heard you were back in practice,” he said, facing the sea.
“Yes I have. Why don’t you tell me about London?”
Her terse answer spoke volumes of her emotional state.
“Oh, you know London never changes. Always busy, always dark and rainy. Sometimes seems like it sucks the life out of you. Our obsession with the weather still endures, but then again, a lack of sunshine would drive most people insane.”
She ate quietly, enjoying the sweet mango. He reached into the basket for a bottle of water. She reached for a serviette. Their hands brushed. She drew hers away quickly, wincing at his touch. He so badly wanted to take her face in his hands, to kiss her, to reassure her she’d be fine. To tell her that he loves her…considering what happened to her, he dared not.
Not yet.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.
“It’s getting on alright. A bit of pain in the cold back in the UK, but over here its feeling much better thanks.”
“I never had a chance to thank you for what you did. All of you. Ray, Rasheed, and his mother, you’ve all been wonderful. You saved my life Nick, thank you. Not bad for a university professor.”
They both laughed. Hers was strained, though.
“Chandrasekhar’s still out there Jazz. This is not over. I promise you I will get him, and make him pay for what he did.”
Her hands flew to her face, contorted with pain, and filled with anxiety.
“No...no…Nick, please. They will kill you. Please, listen to me. Let it go. Please, I can’t lose you too.”
Nick Winter was in no mood for backing down.
“Not if I kill him first.”
