Many people who have read Parvateesam’s book often ask me, “Who is this fellow, anyway?” or, “On whom did you base this character?” or, “How did you ever come up with the idea to write like this?” I am constantly bombarded with such questions. Not only that, but recently the radio folks too said, “Please tell us a few words about this man—Parvateesam—his origins and background.” The answers I gave them, and the gist of what I usually tell all those who question me in this manner, are as follows.

Our people say that everything is born with a destiny, or that a face is written by fate. Sometimes, just by looking at a face, you feel like planting a kiss on it. Of course, not everyone gets to do that, but at least you feel like seeing that face, or getting acquainted with the person who owns it. Some faces, on the other hand, make you want to shout; you wish you could go through your entire life without ever seeing them. In the same way, the moment you hear certain names, you are seized by an urge to know all about that person’s background and ancestry. Such a fortunate soul is our Parvateesam. His lotus-like face, its radiance, his birth star and fate—all these are his own. Otherwise, why would so many people know his name? And why would no one know mine? Everyone is eager to get to know him, to learn about his story; not just eager, but positively burning with curiosity.

Why, you ask? Among all those who know my son, is there even one in a hundred who doesn’t know my name? Yet, among those who know me, not a single person has ever asked, “What about you, sir? What are your antecedents, your origins?” I must admit, this bothers me a little. Occasionally—especially when my friends introduce me to their friends, or at some gathering—when they say, “This is Mr. Narasimha Shastri,” I see questioning faces, as if to say, “So what?” But the moment someone says, “He is the creator of Parvateesam,” I see a look of satisfaction dawn upon them, as if to say, “Oh, now you should have said so! In that case, we can tolerate him to some extent.” I can’t deny that such moments sting a little! They say, “He who desires a son will be defeated,” but who knows? I’d say, to accept such defeat—even at the hands of one’s own son—is a great thing. Not that I consider myself a great man, but I made peace with the idea long ago that it’s fine if nobody knows my name. I have bid farewell to my ego. I have counted myself among those who never make it to the majority. After all, all the elders call me “Subbarayudu’s younger brother.” Elsewhere, I’m known as “Shivashankar Shastri’s son-in-law,” or “Teerthulu’s father-in-law.” I’ve grown quite accustomed to being identified by my relations to others. So, whenever someone says, “He