An embodiment of a foggy life-purpose, he started writing as the only thing he thought he could do with any level of satisfaction, and, of course, to hold on to his sanity which was rapidly slipping away after a slew of failures and disappointments on the personal front, the kind that made him question the very reason for living. It's wonderful how apparently-minuscule things can acquire such gravity in your life once you extricate yourself from the rat-race and search for happiness within.He found him self in my love for novels, a hobby that had been scoffed at by elders all his life but had always helped him escape to a world where he was never judged, never asked to fit into the societal model of a normal kid; just entertained. Books by RAJEEV SINGH THE EROTIC MUSE Dead Women Tell Tales Blood Rain