Mayur Deshpande is a multifaceted writer, IT engineer, and analyst based in Pune, India. Born in the Vidarbha region, he discovered his passion for storytelling through articles on business analytics, eventually evolving into writing novels that explore human emotions and relationships. His debut self-help book, Mirrors of Self-Manifestation, received wide acclaim, He has received writes Kohinoor award for oen of his novel “Mallie” . but his latest work, पुरातत्त्वज्ञ : मातीतील हृदयाचा शोध (Archaeology: A Search for the Heart Beneath the Soil), delves into the subtle intersections of history, silence, and the human heart.
The Literature Times: What inspired you to center your story around an archaeological artifact, specifically the figurine Maria?
Mayur Deshpande: One day, I brought home an artefact—just a simple piece to decorate my house. But with time, I realised it was not merely a decorative object; it carried a purpose, a history, a quiet intention behind its creation. That thought stayed with me. It made me wonder: perhaps every artefact in this world is crafted for a reason. Nothing is truly meaningless.
Slowly, this idea expanded in my mind. I began to see how every gift we give or receive also carries its own story independent of its price or size. A gift becomes precious not because it is expensive, but because of the emotion, memory, and purpose stitched into it. We often remember who gave it, why they gave it, and what moment it tried to honour. That is how objects become symbols… and symbols become stories.
I always wanted to write a love story something tender, emotional, and timeless. And that is when the idea struck me: What if a single artefact, given as a gift, becomes the centre of a love story?
What if its purpose isn’t just artistic or historic, but emotional tied to the hearts of the people who exchange it?
With that thought, I began shaping this narrative. A story where an artefact is not merely an object, but a keeper of memories… a witness to love… a silent narrator.
The Literature Times: The novel explores silence as a central theme. How did you approach conveying deep emotion without dialogue?
Mayur Deshpande: A plot can carry the weight of feeling on its own. When the situation is crafted with depth and honesty, the reader learns to sense the unspoken through a gesture, a pause, a memory, or even the stillness inside a paragraph. Emotions don’t always need to be said; they can be felt through the atmosphere, through the rhythm of the writing, through the quiet layers of the narrative.
The Literature Times: Was there a personal experience or memory that influenced the relationship between Pruthwij and Alice?
Mayur Deshpande: It’s all imagination. I do have a few small stories of exchanging gifts simple moments from college days with my wife, things we still cherish even today. But nothing dramatic or deeply symbolic like what I write for characters such as Pruthwij and Alice. Their world, their emotions, and their artefacts belong to fiction.
My own life hasn’t influenced this story in any direct way. It’s not a reflection of my personal experiences, but rather an idea that fascinated me the thought that every gift holds a meaning, every object can carry a silent purpose. That concept stayed with me and grew into a narrative far bigger than anything I’ve lived through.
The Literature Times: How did you balance the historical and archaeological elements with the emotional and human narrative?
Mayur Deshpande: Archaeological elements and history are not just remnants of the past—they are part of the larger human narrative. Every object, every ruin, every artefact carries a story, and within every story lies yet another narrative waiting to be discovered.
I wanted to explore what emotions, memories, or truths might be hidden beneath the soil of time. Not as a historian, but as a storyteller. Not as someone searching for facts, but as someone trying to feel what an inanimate object might have felt if it could feel at all.
In that sense, Maria isn’t just a figurine; she is a window into another narrative, a quiet presence that allows us to imagine what lies beyond the surface of history.
The Literature Times: As a professional with a career in IT and analytics, how do you find time and mental space for creative writing?
Mayur Deshpande: Writing is my hobby, and a true hobby never gets disturbed by noise.
Whenever I find time, I write. I don’t wait for the world to fall silent or for the perfect atmosphere to appear. I don’t need a quiet room, a special desk, or long uninterrupted hours to focus.
I can write anywhere, anytime.
Ideas come to me in the middle of conversations, during travel, at work, or even in the busiest surroundings. Writing, for me, isn’t about isolation—it’s about connection. It’s about capturing a thought the moment it appears, about shaping imagination even while life keeps moving around me.
Noise does not distract me.
If anything, it reminds me that stories exist everywhere—within chaos, within silence, and within every unexpected moment.
The Literature Times: Your writing blends sensitivity with narrative structure. How do you develop such a reflective and immersive style?
Mayur Deshpande: Thank you for the appreciation.
I feel this clarity has come from my writing style itself. I always begin by deciding what the narration should convey—what core thought or emotion I want the reader to take away. Once that foundation is clear, I start plotting the story around it.
When you know what you want to say, finding the most effective way to express it becomes easier. Over time, that method turns into your personal style.
For me, the process is simple:
Thought → Narration → Plot → Story
This flow helps me stay consistent, focused, and emotionally connected with the reader. And perhaps that is why my stories feel natural to write—they grow from a clear intention.
The Literature Times: Do you write with a clear ending in mind, or do your stories evolve organically as you write?
Mayur Deshpande: I keep it very clear where I want to take a story and what its core objective is. Once I understand the destination, I plot everything accordingly. For me, clarity at the beginning shapes the entire narrative. Fiction doesn’t mean writing without direction.
Even in imagination, you must know where you are taking your readers—what journey you want them to experience, what emotions you want them to feel, and what message should stay with them after the last page.
When the purpose is clear, the story becomes stronger. And when the path is defined, the imagination flows freely within it.
The Literature Times: What message or feeling do you hope readers take away from Maria’s story?
Mayur Deshpande: Love doesn’t fade with time; it aligns with time.
Some feelings are not meant to disappear they simply wait for the right moment to reveal their truth. Love matures quietly, becoming deeper, calmer, and wiser with every passing year. It does not rush, it does not demand; it transforms into a silent force that grows with us.
And when the moment is right, the universe helps you find the one you lost.
Paths you never expected begin to cross, coincidences turn into signs, and life gently nudges you toward what was always meant for you. Sometimes it happens after months, sometimes after decades — but when two hearts are destined to meet again, the universe rearranges itself to make it possible.
Because true love is not bound by time.
It simply waits for time to catch up.
The Literature Times: Can you share any upcoming projects or themes you are excited to explore in your future work?
Mayur Deshpande: In India, long before flour mills existed, households relied on the stone mortar and pestle the traditional जाते or जातेवर चक्की to grind grains into flour. And while the rhythmic sound of grinding filled the courtyard, the real music came from the women who worked there.
Grannies and mothers sang Ovi simple, lyrical shloks born from everyday life. These were not written anywhere. They were lived, felt, and passed on.
Every Ovi carried its own philosophy.
Some spoke of love, some of hardship, some of devotion, and many of the wisdom gathered from generations of women who learned life through experience rather than books. These sacred verses were never formally recorded; they travelled through memory, from one generation to the next, like emotional heirlooms.
Today, many of these voices have faded. The culture of oral storytelling of passing philosophy through household songs is disappearing quietly.
I want to bring that back. I want to resurface those forgotten Ovi, not just as songs, but as windows into a time when life’s deepest lessons were woven into daily work. A time when wisdom was sung, not written.
“Ovi – song of life” is the upcoming Project
