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When the axe falls, seldom do the unprepared know how to embrace unwelcome changes and react on a roller-coaster of fury and forlornness. Finding themselves on the threshold of impoverishment with limited options to explore, and a victim of villainous schemes, they find survival an impossibility. Familial responsibilities become burdensome, with no one to approach for abet and nowhere to go to escape the blow. Stuck in a rut, finding the new stressors enhancing their existential concerns, they re-live their nightmares and question their choices, decisions, values, and sense of self, hoping to come to terms with their actualities.  

‘A Recusant’s Incarnation: A memoir’ is a factual account of how Dr. Neetha Joseph bit on the bullet to endure a crisis synonymous with the unsuspecting sufferers. What solutions will the author gamble on to emerge scatheless in such unprecedented situations? Will she triumph in liberating herself from the clutches of conformists? Will she use her experiences and reflections to haul herself out of the deep chasm of humiliation caused by organizations adopting mafia-like strategies including its secondary stakeholders and into the vortex of enlightenment? Dr. Neetha Joseph has recorded her struggles with earnestness in her veracious, heart wrenching, compelling, and thought-provoking personal chronicle.



I stared at my computer screen in disbelief and horror. A pay scale of $403 every fortnight! Unreal! I felt constrictions in my throat. My heartbeat sped up; tears stung my eyes. Conspiratorial forces rocked my sane world; feeling powerless, I struggled to comprehend what could have caused such an unreasonable pay cut. A reduction in my wages alone could not have compensated for the country’s financial deficit caused by COVID.

‘Did I receive any warnings?’ I asked myself.

‘Or did I not sense the political act behind the maneuver?’

Indefinite torture, harassment, and intimidation, the grand design behind the scheme yet unknown. I had not expected such a juncture in my life. Humiliated, devalued, dethroned; words of negation afflicted me. Recent years’ occurrences hurled me into an abyss of despair. A victim of unlawful discrimination, I resented being placed on a twelve months’ period of reprimand. Refusing castigation in writing, I dared to contradict the concerned authorities. Brief accommodation at an education office, and three months later, at another educational institution with an appointment for alternative but higher duties, could not remove the stigma caused by scapegoaters. Life underwent dramatic changes when I crossed the threshold of the education industry and forced my entry into the world of authoring first and then publishing.

Naïve to misinterpret an act of manipulation as an accidental slip, I knocked at the door of salaries demanding and requesting at once my previous wages’ restoration; the only pay scale befitting an educator with fifteen years of experience with innumerable opportunities to climb the ladder. Short-lived jubilation at sighting the deducted salary the following week in my personal account of a reputed financial institution gave birth to false hope. Little did I realize that this deliberate act of deception would lead to a career trajectory. It led to the aspirations’ cessation in an unrewarding and prejudiced industry where curry munchers could coexist only if they maintained a low profile and did not dream big; and a fascination’s inception to embrace the GLAMR industry for a profession.

‘What was I thinking?’ Soaring to heights, being exclusive only to the rednecks and the influential, I ventured into a forbidden realm, keen toward off mediocrity. Multiculturalism, National Language Policy, and cultural inclusions sounded impressive on paper. Who shoulders the responsibility of implementing the existing policies to the spirit of the letter? Was it worth sacrificing my life at the altar of nepotism? Voices screaming at me betrayed a sense of urgency, reverberating the warning, ‘it is now or never.’ Patience, a virtue, became a thing of the past. Servitude to conformity appeared unattractive and objectionable. What option do I have other than to threaten with resignation to salvage my dignity?

Pushed from the pedestal of glory and outnumbered by power whores, I shied away from stooping to conquer. Swindled, slandered, and scandalized all my life, my capacities to tolerate injustice became questionable. My thoughts strayed; my vision registered on the NetBank page. $403 after the deductions. Endless fortnights of a role-less, description-less, and halved pay scale seemed uninviting and ominous. Reproved and demoted, resuming duty despite impermanency would be traumatic with jeers, insults, and contemptuous expressions flung at me with unfathomable deliberation. Misrepresentation of facts and constant sabotage nullified my achievements in the industry, confirming the absurdity of my existence. Being an advocate of informed decisions, immersing myself in quiet introspection, I weighed my options.

Having worked in the education industry for a considerable time in Sydney, I knew the reduced pay scale was nowhere near a beginning teacher’s salary. Piqued my curiosity, I made a few inferences about positions within that institution that attracted such low wages; a deed that reached a dead end. As a blogger, my extensive use of NSW legislation and other work-related sites had introduced me to Fair Work. Leafing through its webpages and factsheets made me well-informed. Questions plagued me. Did the employer alter my position to my detriment without my consensus? Should I have involved Fair Work Ombudsman in the general protections contravention’s investigation, and forced the employer to pay me $16,500 in penalty via the court? Where was the guarantee that my efforts would not backfire in my face? Wouldn’t employers do everything to save themselves from the consequences? Reinstatement in an institution that practiced unlawful discrimination was undesirable.

Indecisiveness gave way to resoluteness. Separation from the industry that encouraged inequity followed resignation. A life, tumultuous till then, came to a pause for a significant moment. A strange calm, despite the uncertainties, overwhelmed me. The moment lapsed, and I rose to steer my life in a new direction to explore alternative possibilities. Come what may!

No more coffee in the mug to dissuade me from self-examination. At forty-five, being a dark-haired, brown-skinned woman of medium height, and heavy build, I was a single parent, shouldering the responsibility of providing for a teenage male and surviving on my only earnings from a teaching profession. Despite my circumstances, each time I questioned myself in all seriousness about my decision to retire early, the response I received was not only affirmative, but unyielding. Adept at staging walkouts from unproductive conversations or censuring meetings, a certain suicidal kind of dauntlessness welled within me. On that fateful day, I forced Rota Fortunae to change the random course of the unwilling Fate and Destiny. I found myself thrown on the trajectory of windmills only to be blown away from the path of suffering. Closed-door meetings were not unfamiliar phenomena. However, my capacity to suffer in silence underwent a sea change when the unfairness and premeditated exploitation behind the unnecessary monitoring and chastisement became obvious. What were the conniving forces hoping to gain within a brief span? An unwelcome full-time recruit coerced into several conferences with no new agenda, and permissive one-sided conversations besides the demand for written explanations, calls for investigations.

Synonymous with a character from Shakespearean comic relief, feeling oafish, I remembered the pivotal meeting, when gibberish had assailed my ears. Responding to the email notification about a scheduled meeting, lugging my bags, I headed straight from the car park to the principal’s room. The Head Teacher, a slender Greek woman in her thirties, who beat me to the principal’s office, sat poised for a theatrical performance. Averting my gaze from the HT, the wretch, the cause of my misery, I braced myself for further accusations. Rebellion written on my mind, I analyzed the office to while away the waiting time, when my eyes halted at another table on which sat a file containing stacked documents. The last to join the meeting was the deputy principal, a tall, pale-skinned, white-blonde haired man in his forties with an athletic build.

The meeting began with the wretch, reiterating complaints discussed earlier using her voice modulations for effect. In stony silence, I sat through the denigration. When she finished, the principal picked up from where she left. Repetition bored me to death. I wanted to turn a deaf ear to the speaker however, I could not help defending myself. One thing was obvious; the trio was working very hard to corner me into an uncanny situation to press their real agenda on me. It wasn’t the fresh start I wanted in a new institution. I had given the executives a valid reason to not go ahead with the appointment, the unresolved accreditation issues. I remembered a few unnecessary phone calls I received even before my first sign-on at the institution. Manipulated letters, investigation findings, and God knows what else the previous institutions forwarded to the new one, breaching the ‘Private and confidential’ text typed on each communication. My antagonistic reaction forced the executives to postpone it to the first day of work. I regarded the appointment as an ill omen and I did not hesitate to share it with my son, JM. The first day did not differ from the current one. They had no answers when I questioned them about the undue importance they gave to a few old documents when I had finished the twelve months reprimand. The faculty’s favoritism became clear from the day I walked in. The staff focused more on celebrating another teacher’s permanency than welcoming the new one. It seemed the school awaited my arrival just to declare his substantivity. Conversations floated around me, and I returned to reality just in time to hear those directed at me.

‘You may not use the word EALD,’ said the principal.
‘What’s wrong if I used it? Isn’t it a Stage 6 HSC English course? Would it be a problem if I had asked the students if they were Advanced English students?’
‘Sh… sh… sh…,’ hissed the DP, hushing me into silence like a wayward child.
‘You said to your Head Teacher that if she wanted to see shouting, you could show her videos to make her understand the difference,’ insinuated the principal.
‘It sounds vague without the context. It is only natural to raise one’s voice when one is unheard. As she was an unwilling listener, I talked over her. I said that in my defense because she interpreted my efforts to be heard as shouting,’ I finished.
‘I don’t think you have resolved the issue,’ said the principal, looking at a printed piece of paper in his hands.
‘Hasn’t the meeting for this incident already taken place? Haven’t you received a written explanation for the same issues? I haven’t had another confrontation with the HT,’ I said, recollecting all the previous meetings.
‘Parents and students have made several complaints,’ said the principal, keen on piling accusations.
‘Aren’t we going in circles? I have given you a detailed written explanation addressing all the baseless accusations. Considering the emotional distance between adolescents and their parents, I find it hard to believe that the students discuss every lesson with their parents,’ I said with conviction.
‘You had gone on twelve days’ sick leave within one and a half months. Are you well?’ queried the DP.
‘I had the flu. I had been through Drive thru testing for Corona virus as the fever kept resurfacing. The government has advised us to stay at home if we have flu-like symptoms,’ I answered.
‘I think I need to place you on EAP. If you do not know what that is, the expansion is Employment Assistance Program. They designed it for general well-being,’ elaborated the DP.
‘I know how to take care of my health issues. I am going on stress leave till the end of the term,’ I declared, speculating about their ulterior motives.

Turning to the wretch, I reminded her about the altered assessment the preliminary students had to take that day while still retrieving the documents from a bag I carried for work. Handing the photocopies printed at Officeworks during my sick leave, I pointed out, ‘There wouldn’t be any need for an amended assessment if the students were not EALD, would there? Anyway, here
are the photocopies.’

Smug with satisfaction, I watched the wretch’s face as I picked up my bags and strode out of the principal’s office; out of the drama and many more dramas the office would have witnessed had I lingered but not before hearing the boss’s articulation of the word ‘deranged’. As I made my way to the building’s entrance, I sensed more students than usual in and around the building. I recognized a Year 9 student from the class allocated to me. I thought it odd that while grinning, she was conveying mixed messages. Was it triumph that I read on her face? Or was she studying my face for any signs of remorse or regret? I couldn’t care less. So, I even flashed a smile at her while walking past her. A heavy burden lifted off my chest as I distanced myself from the buildings. Feeling light and unwavering, I marched to my Hybrid. Buckling up the seat belt, I let out a cry of joy as in a Bollywood climax. I bolted out of the inferno; a phoenix.


London 1991. Hailing from a lineage of bold women whose esoteric lives entwined with political and social changes of their times in France, spanning from 1880, thirty-year-old multiracial Chloe Baudelaire has her share of secrets. Appointed as Chargée d’af·faires and entrusted with a near impossible feat of influencing the British government to part with French belongings, Chloe finds herself caught in a whirlwind of treacherous occurrences. Would Chloe’s convictions and strategic approach vanquish the manipulative tactics of the British?

‘The Esoteric Lives of Fleurs de Lys‘ is a compelling narrative of romance, mystery, and diplomacy.


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I started ‘A Writer’s Exposé’ to speak my unflinching mind. As political issues are not my cup of tea, I started to blog about various social issues that impacted on individuals from all walks of life. Unpredictable situations in life that contributed to my existential angst influenced me to ramble about my experiences on my blog site, which had a therapeutic effect on me. A few psychiatrists recommended to victims of trauma the exercise of penning down every detail of the traumatic event and the victims destroyed their suffering which fed on their identity. An unwilling participant in stressful events, I felt powerless to cope with life’s issues which haunted and overwhelmed me on emotional, physical and psychological levels. I did not feel as victimised as before and could function with a liberated mind and achieve happiness when I read and re-read my blogs though imperfect. Contrary to the widespread belief that human beings love to be miserable and suffer, I realised that there is a choice or a substitute for suffering. My choice is to write and blog. Welcome to my kingdom! I am the Queen of Audacity.


In a dystopian setting, murders are executed in the dead of the night and bodies emerge in mysterious circumstances. What began as an old-fashioned scam in a country with a long history of corruption exploded into a political controversy. When a mysterious document surfaced with few influential names, a political upheaval ensued. While the saga of mysterious deaths continued, and narcissistic authoritarians basked in the glory of their achievements, a breakthrough in the scientific and technological world precipitated a series of unresolved crimes that transformed the nation into a turbulent domain. Would the mysterious powerful personages responsible for these criminalities risk being exposed?


NO ONE KNOWS WHAT LIES IN STORE FOR THEM! The human experience of female migrants in Australia, the challenges and struggles they encounter before they taste success has been realistically portrayed through the character of Neha in ‘Pneuma’. Neha, who has carved a niche for herself in the field of education, has yet to confront the enigmatic aspects of her personal and professional life and find solutions by introspection and delving into the past. The varied experiences, events, incidents and relationships that have contributed towards her changing identities hurls her into existential angst. Her spiritual search while reliving her past and battling with the present leads her towards emancipation and sagacity which becomes instrumental in discovering her ‘self’ and moulding her future. What turn will Neha’s pursuance take?

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