Jana Gana Mana

Like a lot of other odd things about Mumbai (or may be Maharashtra), if you go to a movie hall to see a movie, they play our National Anthem before a movie. Nothing wrong with it per se. Just that I don't appreciate when someone forces things on us. After all we are a free country. Wait... are we? Debate for a different time, different day I guess. 

Anyhow, so last night, I went to see a movie (don't ask me who I went with or what movie was it). When the national anthem played, I realized that in last few months, I have stopped bothering about my motherland, thanks to our great democracy, greater politicians, foolish citizens, opportunistic media and foolhardy myself.

But the song, the national anthem, the music brought back a few memories. It moved me. Moved me so much that I had goosebumps. After all, India, my country, my nation, was my first love and since I heard the anthem play after so so long, all the memories that I had of being a passionate and fanatic Indian came rushing back. I remembered that there were times when I picked fights with random strangers if they even flinched while the natinoal anthem was playing. And yesterday, this dude walked up the entire aisle of the hall while the national anthem played on. And I was ok with it.

To be honest, I don't know what has changed. And I don't know how it has changed.

And yesterday when I noticed the change, I just dint like it. I dint appreciate it. I guess it's like aging. You cant tell a moment from another and yet you are moving in some direction. Towards something. Undesirable mostly. Everything remains the same while you are breathing towards your eminent death. You are aging every second and yet you don't notice it. It's so slow, so gradual that you cant notice even if you want to. Some say that our body is made up of 100 trillion cells and in one year 95% of those cells are recycled. But when you see your photographs every year, you are are older, balder, bent and frail. And you know the worse part? You can't do shit about it!

In fact, as I write this, I can actually spot a general pattern. It's not about just India and the pride of being an Indian. Things that mattered when I was younger have ceased to matter now. I can think of a million examples. Things like money, fame, friends, dreams, aspirations, thoughts, opinions, wants et al. I dont want any of those. I dont chase any of those. I am fine if I die tomorrow and I dont have em.

I guess I have achieved whatever I could have. 32 years is a long enough time to do something worthwhile. If you havent done it in 32, what are the odds you would do them in the next 8. A huamn life is afteall good till you're 40. After that, well...

And the ones I am indifferent about, guess I cant achieve em. I have actually made peace with the fact that I can never have those things. I'd regret that I couldnt buy a car.

It's like, I have come to a point where everything is ok. I am merely drifting through life. They call it being a vegetable. I am being a fucking vegetable. I like it or not but that's how it is. A vegetative state.

I guess the only person to blame is me.

I for some reason don't have any more emotions (except for #sgMS), any more attachments (except my family) or any more affiliations (except may be MDI). India does not even feature anywhere in the entire thing. In fact if you know me IRL, you will know that I have been trying to move out of India for some time now. However things aren't working out. Some day they will. Inshallah.

It's like someone has drained all josh, all junoon from my freaking blood. It just doesn't come to a boiling point anymore. Bismil, in his wonderful Sarfaroshi Ki Tammanna once said,

जिस्म भी क्या जिस्म है जिसमें न हो ख़ून-ए-जुनून
क्या लढ़े तूफ़ान से जो कश्ती-ए-साहिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है

I lack that junoon. I need to fucking go hang my balls. Go to Himalayas to retire. Or may be take Jal Samadhi.

P.S.: I dont know if I am seeing patterns where none exist, but today in 1931, three of the most valiant sons of the soil were killed by the British.

The impending visit to a hospital

If you've been following my twitter stream, you would know that I have this boil on my foot that has grown to a size of tennis ball. And as a result, my leg is swollen to a size that can put an Elephant to shame. I have tried all home-grown remedies on the boil but nothing seems to be working. I will have to goto an hospital to get it incision-ed. And I am shitting bricks.

Because I hate hospitals. And second I dont like others to see my tears. After all men my age dont cry when a sharp thing pricks the tender skin. Wish they could spray some local Anasthesia on it before they cut it. 

Anyhow, what needs to be done has to be done. Just that I dont have sgMS around when this has happened. If she were around, the boil would've been operated, cured when it was just a boil. And even if it were to grow this big, I would have had her hand to hold on to.

Damn!

World 1, SG 0!

8 on 10

Met VK today yesterday. She did not have a lot of time but whatever little we had, it was enough. After all no trip to Delhi is complete without meeting her. Plus, she is probably the only person who I can meet all the time and not get bored of. AND I don't get depressed or sad or anxious when she has to leave.

To be honest, yesterday, I was more than happy to see her go because she forced me to eat a Subway. Yuk! Let me put this on record. For the last time. I do NOT like Subway. I don't hate it per se. But I just don't like it. Hope you get the difference. Especially VG. Reading this? Thing is, its just too messy to eat and its exorbitantly expensive and it doesn't taste all that good either.

Anyhow, coming back. So we had very little time and after we were done with gossip, we came back to issues with her life. And issues with my life. Of course all those things are off the record. For the record however is her opinion on the colorful (or colorless, depending on how you look at it) life of sgMS and me.

So, she said something funny. She said that if there are 10 steps required to "get over it," I am on the 8th.

Even though I take her word more seriously than I take even my mom's, I don't agree to this one. How could I be on the 8th step? When sgMS is my life? Am I just 2 steps away from dying? Of course not. I have at least 49 more books to publish, a WSOP bracelet to win, 180+ countries left to travel to (nah, no space or planets or stars for me) and… and… get married and settled down with… you know who. I just cant die.

But then, VK cant be wrong. She normally isn't. And she knows the context. She knows the characters. In fact VK has actually been the only anchor, the only support throughout the relationship adventurous ride. She is probably the only person who knows it all about sgMS. I mean Neo also doesn't know as much about sgMS. VK also said something on the lines that is she's known about me and her for years now and this is the closet I am to letting her go.

So I don't know where I stand. But I do know that if she's correct and I am wrong and I am indeed on the 8th step, it would suck. Suck like crazy. So crazy that I'd rather stay stuck at step 8 if I cant retrace it to step 0. After all, she is sgMS. sg + MS. The two have to be together. They just don't sound right away from each other.

They don't. They can't.

Untitled. Mar 10.

Today, is Mar 10. It's 1:29 AM. Although the last blog post happened just over a week ago, it feels like forever. I just had to post something. Even if it was an inane post that had three lines and three tags. OCD. They say. No?

Now it's Mar 10. 1:41 AM. Took me 12 minutes to come up with this 12-word post. Writer's block?

Notes from Home Run

Its a lazy tuesday and since I finished my meetings early, I am home, watching a random movie - Home Run. And while watching, I realized a few things as I saw a "former" sports star struggle with his alcohol addiction.

Here is a list...

A. 
I love sports. Though I would love to complete professionally, age is not on my side. May be pool. Or poker. I know, I know, they are not really sports. But I don't have an option.

May be I could become a coach, a manager, an agent or something. I would love to be someone like Jerry McGuire​ some day. Or Mark Mascarenhas (if you guys don't remember him, here's a primer). I just need to figure out how to.

Side note, I would love to have someone at Hello. #sgMS had me at Hello. It was not hello but it was close.

B. 
I have a severe addiction problem. Of multiple things.

I am addicted to Diet Coke. Though I haven't had it since Dec now, I still carve for it. Every time I see it, I want it. And with each passing day, it's getting harder to control.

Apart from that I am addicted to food. Yes. Food. I just want to eat. And eat. And eat. And I know that food addiction means more than just perpetual hunger is more to do with psychology (the part time shrink in my tells me that I am scared about some sort of impending famine. Need to see a shrink about it. Any recommendations?

Then there is this terrible addiction to daydreaming. Nothing wrong with it I guess. But I'd rather get things done!

Thankfully, I don't have issues with alcohol or cigarettes. So that helps.

C. 
With every passing day, I am getting sure that I want to move out of India. From a die-hard Indian fanatic to someone who wants to move on to other places, the damn change I think has finally happened.

Even though I am all for development and intelligent living, I so love small towns and community. I love to know everyone around me and yet I want to travel. And I want to be left alone when I want to. I want a simple life and a flamboyant lifestyle. What the fuck am I talking about? Damn it.

D.
I want to make movies. The damn medium is so effective that you just can't forget a well made movie. Although writing gives me supreme happiness. I believe that the visual medium has to be the most effective means of communication ever. I need to somehow make the transition from writing to visual. Again, age is probably not on my side. But what great thing has happened without trying?


E. 
There is no E. Just 4 things.

P.S.: It's a very ok movie btw. You don't have to see it. See Whiplash instead. But it did make me realize so many things. Now to write a better version of that film ;P

Rich SG. Poor SG.

I am rich. At least in my mind.

And in my mind, like all rich people, I love to travel. I love to take afternoon naps. I like spending time in luxury. I don't have to go to an office. I can spend my time in chasing "higher" pursuits. Such as art, craft, thinking and creating new knowledge.

In real life however, I am merely rich in the way I consume technology. In terms of things I know. In terms of my dreams. I am also rich when it comes to the kind of conversations that I can hold (but do they feed you? No?). But I am rich. Filthy rich.

I am rich when it comes to visualizing. Isn't that what texts like Secret, NLP, Rich Dad, Poor Dad etc. say?

Yet..

I am poor. In real life.

I don't know where would the next meal come from. Ok that was exaggeration. You may scratch that please. But I am poor in the sense that I don't have a car, I don't have a house, I don't have fancy clothes, I don't have power, I don't have respect. All those things that Kwan consists of, I don't have any of that. Kwan btw is Love, Respect, Community and Dollars.

I am so poor that I don't know where to go and work out of. Ever since I thought I could work for myself, I have been on the lookout for that perfect place that I could sit out and work out from. Despite my desperate attempts I haven't been able to find something.

Damn this life of poverty and limited means. Damn the world that made the concept of money and damn me that I am unable to do something about my situation.

P.S.: For the context, this rant came out of a combination of a lot of things that have been gnawing over my comfort for last few weeks. These are...

• My decision to not work full time for someone else.
• In the long run, an attempt to create something gives me location and financial independence. This means I can choose what I work on, when I work and how much I am paid for it. It's not easy, as I am discovering now. 
• In the medium run, try and get paid enough to pay the bills for my family and me.
• In the short term, my inability to find a cheap solution to my hunt for a place where I could sit and write / work. I am rich enough to have the quirks of not having a home office. And poor that I can't afford Starbucks and other such places.

I am unwell. And I hate it.

I am unwell. And I hate it.

I goto extreme lengths to ensure that I am not unwell. Because when I am unwell, I hate it. And I refuse to take medication. So it takes forever to heal get back to normal. Well, the only medication I trust is a can of Red Bull. Which in cases like headache is of no use to be honest. Last time I took a proper medication was in Jan of this year when blood started to trickle down my nose for no reason. The doctor prescribed a seven day course followed by a CT scan. I took meds for exactly two days and CT scan, well lol! Of course I take medication for my Lichen Planus. But that's homeopathy and it is yet to establish itself as science and medication.

Coming back, I am unwell and I hate it. I think I am saying this for the third time. Why would I risk repeating same thing over and over and over again? In a matter of 50 words? Because I mean it.

Lately, I've been falling sick with an alarming frequency. I don't know what to blame it on. Few things that could be wrong are…

1. My old age (32 and past my half-life and prime)
2. My mortal fear of old age
3. The unnaturally big beer belly (despite the fact that I don't like beer. Or any other form of alcohol)
4. My borderline, suspect case of diabetes (I am always thirty, I pee a lot and I am always drowsy)
5. The lame attempts at polyphasic sleep (which in my opinion you just can't try if you live in India - there are far too many distractions and door bells to allow you to do that)
6. The mandatory bouts of depression that every writer is supposed to suffer from (did you buy the book yet?)
7. The anxiety about my unknown, uncertain future (in terms of personal, financial, writing etc)
8. My craving for sgMS (I have spoken about this more than required) 
9. My loneliness (it's prime-time on Valentine's day and all I am stuck indoors, flipping channels on TV)
10. My general inability to focus on anything for more than 3 nanoseconds (ADD or ADHD - whatever sounds more exotic to you)
11. My perpetual hunger even though I have eaten a few minutes back (yoga shastra says eating disorders have deeper connections - you eat a lot when you are insecure about something. The body wants to horde food, expecting a calamity in the near future. After all we are probably the best survival machines ever made. It's fascinating. Do read about evolution if you can)
12. And I don't know what else

Whatever it is, it is not nice. And I don't know how to fix it. Where are those free hugs guys? 

Source: Unknown. 

A lesson in fashion and dressing up!

If you've seen me, you know that my fashion sense sucks. So much that you may not even want to let me stand next to you.

Repeated, desperate attempts by #sgMS, family, friends and others have gone in vain as I refuse to wear anything that is not comfortable. As a result, I am often the worst dressed in the room. I have this special superpower. I can walk into any store and pick the worst thing that they've ever sold. No wonder my wardrobe looks like a dump yard that has been neglected by the city and the people alike.

Plus I can't think if I am wearing shoes. Serious. It seems as if someone has put a claw on my thinking. May be my brain is in my toes? Quite likely, going by the way things are going for me professionally and personally.

So, there are times when in a gathering of 1000 people, all dressed in their wedding suits and sunday bests, I am the lone nut who's dressed in shorts, chappals (aka flip flops) and a loose comfortable teeshirt. Of course I stand out like a cockroach on a wedding cake (as Bukowski would say). As a result, I am singled out and I often get into trouble. So much so that I have stopped going to public gatherings. And, no, unlike what I've been blamed of, I don't crave for attention. I just need to be comfortable.

India is such a hot and humid place. Why would I want to cover my entire body with thick layers of cloth and sweat and make everyone uncomfortable around me? I'd rather air the body parts and keep it open. After all, my work must speak louder than how I dress. No?

Turns out, I was wrong. I am wrong. Whatever is the right usage of grammar.

How I dress is more important than how I work. I realized this yesterday when I had a meeting where I was pitching my services. My services. MY. SERVICES. As Saurabh Garg. For the first time in a long long time. As myself. Not as an employee of some other company. Nor as a representative of someone else.

Side note: All meetings prior to this, I have been part of a large contingent, headed by one of my bosses and more often than not we had worked with the client earlier. The clients thus knew of my capability the capability of the team that I represented. Life was easy and I could do what I wanted to.

Plus most of my work has been in advertising, events and travel. These businesses are considered "creative" and it is assumed that the practitioners of these disciplines don't dress up well. I mean think of all the advertising kinds that you know of. What do they dress up in? What do they wear? How often do you think they conform to what the world dresses up like? 

Plus what I do is nothing special or different. It's very similar to what a million others do. I am no one special. I thus must not expect any special privileges. Of course if I were an artist, I could have decided on what to wear and who to meet and all that. 

Plus other times when I have applied for a job, they have been in related industries and similar profiles. Plus they were looking at my experience and my CV. Here, the CV was me. Walking and talking. Live.  

Coming back. This was THE first time where I was unproven and the guy on the other side did not know of my reputation, the work I had done and so on and so forth. I thought I was going to get judged on the basis of what I present and how I present. I thought I had great ideas that were workable, cost effective and pretty cool. I mean if someone pitched those ideas to me, I would've been happy.

But, but, what I did not know is that how I looked like and what I looked like also mattered.

So even before the meeting started, the person who got me that meeting told me that I looked like shit and he would cancel the meeting if he could, because I look like shit. Set the tone for the meeting. All the pep-talk that I had given myself, all the self-talk that I subjected myself to, all the motivation, all the confidence I had, it just went down the drain. I could literally see it flowing it over my baggy jeans, leather "formal" chappals, unkept feet, to the drain.

Can't blame him. By introducing me, he was putting his reputation on the stake and the way I was dressed did not do justice to his introduction. The "client" was supposed to trust me with business and the way I looked apparently spoke about the trust.

I felt sorry for him. To have stuck his foot out and introduce me.
And for myself. To have broken his faith in sticking his foot out for me.

Learnt a lesson. Felt stupid about being so stubborn all my life. I thought I have identified a way of life that works for me and the world at large could either live with it. Or take a hike. The world just asked me to take a hike!

As I write. think about the incident, about 12 hours later, I feel defiant. How can I change who I am, just to earn a few rupees? I have enough and more in the bank. I define enough as enough to pay the bills for 18 months.

Wait. No! I don't have that kind of cash. I just have enough to last me till end of THIS month. Damn it! I AM poor and I need every penny that I can get. From anyone and for anything. And I am willing to sell my soul for it. A friend told me yesterday, there's nothing called selling half a soul. So there are no half measures. Either I sell out. Or I don't. I need to decide and choose.

The decision was pretty easy. At least it looked easy yesterday. Today, I am not so sure.

But, here is the change I am willing to make. An experiment that I am willing to do.

For when I have to meet people for work, I will dress up in something that is acceptable to the world and to me. I thought hard about it. The bare minimum the world expects is a clean pair of denims, a full-sleeves shirt (that I would roll up) and a pair of shoes. Since I am lazy and I don't understand fashion, I will dress up in predictable black shirts. Along with denims and loafers (the closet thing that can be called a shoe and yet offer the freedom to my feet).

Every time I have a meeting, I will wear those. I have to make a living and if it requires me to mould the way I am, I will. If the world can't accept black shirts and denims as formals, too bad. I will go back to a safe haven of a job and try and create something that makes people come to (rather than the other way around).

And when people come to me, I don't think it matters what I wear and how I wear. Does it? Ask Steve!

Oh, here's a caveat.

I'd do this for a few meetings. If they work out fine, I would better my wardrobe. But if those meetings don't convert into business, I will revet to my old style. Of course the meetings could go good or bad depending on multiple factors but I will assume that they went bad because I was uncomfortable (because I was dressed up and was wearing shoes).

Let's see how things go. Bring it on world!

P.S.: Want to know how meeting went? Ask me nicely and I may tell you.

I am in love!

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls and children of all ages, here is a grand announcement.

I am in love! I. AM. IN. LOVE!

With Frances. Of the Frances Ha fame. I will get to her in a minute. In the meanwhile, let me get a couple of disclosures out of the way.

a. I am FINALLY over sgMS. Long story. For a different day. But, I am back to being on the lookout for that perfect love. If there is something like that. The romantic is me (who has this never-ending zest for life) would want to believe that there is. The pragmatic in me (who stares at a balding old man in the mirror, growing older by the day, every morning while cleaning my teeth) says it's a myth. I'd let time decide. 

b. I don't watch movies unless something is really really recommended or I get amazing company. So when Prateek recommended Frances Ha, I was slightly skeptic. But Prateek is a master at people watching and he knows how to read people bette than anyone else I know. If he recommends something, I take it very seriously. So I had to watch it. 

Coming back to Frances.

I am in love! I am saying this for I don't know, a hundredth time. And I can say it a 100 more times if I have to. Because I am. I could not imagine that someone like Frances could actually exist. Even if she is a figment of imagination of a film maker.

She is everything that I ever want to be. She is a little mad, a little quirky, a little creative, a little jealous of her best friend, a little lost, a little human, a little cool, a little interesting, a little mysterious, a little impulsive, a little wanderlust, a little this and a little that. But, but, she is super super adorable. The kind I could live my life with. The kind that would make life worth living. The kind that would make me want to plan for elaborate surprises.

To be honest, to stumble on someone as great is no mean feat. Especially when it's coming on the back of an on-off relationship with probably the best thing (apologies to the feminists for objectifying her) God ever made, #sgMS.

So in the movie, Frances is this not so young woman who is on a perpetual look out for the love of her life, little sunshine, some money to be able to have a place of her own and her identity. The hunt takes her to interesting places, throws her in interesting parties, makes her bump into interesting people and takes her to oddball jobs. The movie follows her adventure as she finds her way through life. Through tribulations, sorrows, drunken night outs and awkward dates.

She says, "I like things that look like mistakes." And a man around her says that she's "undatable." Would you not fall for a woman like that? You know that feeling? When you meet someone and you know that she is PERFECT for you!

Let me change tracks and talk about myself here for a second now. I have no shame or guilt in admitting that I am undatable as well. And I am lost. And I want a place of my own and I want my own identity. And I want money. Lots of it. Having made a list of all these things I want, I still don't know what I really want. I refuse to stick to one job yet I believe that I am great at whatever task I take up.

Do you see where I am going with this? Don't you think I ought to get a Frances in my life to share my highs and lows with? So, here is the million dollar question. Would you want to be my Frances? You want to make a mistake? And do you like things that look like mistakes? I promise I would stick around. I tend to. Find me on FB, Twitter and other places. Give me a sign. If there's one thing I have done right, it is that I have made myself very easy to find - on the web. The code word when you do it is, like Frances would mockingly say, "Ahoy Sexy!"

P.S.: Thanks Prateek for recommending the movie. You very well knew that I don't watch movies but I did see this one and did I love it? Hell yeah!

P.P.S.: The love thing with Frances? It was not that love-in-first-sight kind of love. I am too old for that. She grew on me. I was confused in the beginning about my feelings for her but when she finally reached Paris in the movie and had that conversation with her friend, I had my aha moment. You have to watch the movie.

10 things I learned after #tnks happened

Buy my book here! 

If you live under a stone, you would have missed the big thing I did last year - publish a book! More about it is at www.tnks.in. Do check it out.

So its been two months since the book came out and here is a list of 10 things that I learnt. The hard way.

1. Unlike what you want to believe, the world does not stop going around because you've written a book. There are far too many authors and farer tooer manyer books in the world. And no, no one wants to know when your next book is going to come out. Even if you've booked a domain name for it a year in advance. 
2. People don't mob you asking for your autograph. In fact they don't even know you. When you tell them that you're a published author, they go "uh huh… so?" and you don't have an answer. 
3. When people actually do stop to talk to you about books, more often than not they are not they are not curious about yours. Or you. They want to know if you've had any tryst with Chetans or Amishs of the world. 
4. If the book does not sell, the only person to blame is you. No one else. Your book is your priority. No one else's. Not even if they are your publisher, your editor, your mother, your friend, your agent. You and you alone are responsible. Even if you get a tiny percentage as royalty. No wonder they say that writing is the loneliest profession in the world. 
5. You know what is lonelier than writing a book? Marketing it. Marketing your book is like pimping yourself. It's like selling your soul. It is very similar to job hunting. Or trying to find someone to date. For each of these, you are supposed to sell yourself. You are supposed to extol the virtues (that may or may not be your strong suit). And you are supposed to hide your vices. You do it once, it's awkward. You do it twice, it's soul-stirring. You do it more than that, you start considering yourself as the greatest loser (well, sorest loser) to have walked on Mother Earth. Ever. Funny that all first-time writers (well, most) do this and seem totally ok with it. I, on the other hand am not. Why? Any shrinks reading this? 
6. If you somehow get over the innate shyness to make enough noise about your book in this world full of clutter, do not expect it to catapult you to fame and success and money and interviews and matrimonial proposals and movie offers and other such things. It takes forever to gain traction with your book. Historians estimate that Birbal could cook his khichidi faster. 
7. The book is not a way to live a life free from a job. Most authors have to maintain a full-time job. Why do people even want to write books when they know that it hardly pays (baring a few great ones like Chetan and Amish). So, the dreams you had of quitting your job after you wrote your book? Let em be in that fuzzy dreamy state for a few more years. May be few decades. Or, may be marry a woman who takes up the challenge to earn bread for family and allows you to be a stay-at-home writer. It would be so cool actually! If you know of any single, career-oriented women looking to settle down with a happy-go-lucky guy, please point them to me. Apart from being bald, overweight and slightly on the older side, I am perfect! References available. On request. 
8. Oh, there are side effects of being a writer. You think so much that you lose hair (ok, I made that up to cover for my bald head). But you do put on weight because all you do the entire day, is write. You type, type, recover crashed hard disk, write some more and then hope like hell that some publisher likes it. So you put on weight. And you become boring because you don't have time to step out and enjoy parties and all that. People around you start dismissing you as a boring recluse that is lost in his stories all the time. Well, people are often right. Case in point? Your's truly. Wait a minute. What does "your's truly" even mean? Who invented it? Is it one of those Indian-English inventions? Must be. Moving on...
9. You inadvertently become a grammar nazi. Even though you are an Indian and your introduction sounds like "myself Sunder Srivastava," and your grammar skills are sketchy at best, you tend to think of yourself as custodian of lingua britannica. And every time you see or hear or come across someone who makes a typo or a mistake (was vs were, you're vs your, its vs it's, ok vs okay, et al) you take it as personal offense. You want to castrate that person, you want to pack that person off to Bangladesh or any other fourth-world country. Of course your first book has so many typos and grammatical errors that you could be banned from using English language for the rest of your seven lives. Classic case in point of mediocre yet arrogant attitude, hypocrisy and delhiwallah-showoff attitude. 
10. You get a lesson in humility. To be honest, you don't really want it. It just happens. You actually want to become that arrogant prick that gives hard time to everyone around him all the time. But you realize you can't. Because to be arrogant, you need to have some substance that the world would tolerate your shenanigans for. The book you thought that was your gift to the mankind, the best thing to have happened since the advent of the printing press, a knight in the shining armor for that generation that is bored of those predictable stories, gets lukewarm response. And you automatically become humble. So humble that you are often found knocking at unknown doors, hoping to slip in a word about your book at those places. Oh, do you know of some places where I can talk about my book? 

Thats 10 things. Of course I learnt way more than 10 things. These ten were the most nagging of em all. Someday, time permitting, I plan to write an entire book about the process of writing a book so that you may go write your book! Yeah, a book about how to write a book. Like a recursive function. Like a feedback loop. Like a robot that can reproduce. I am not kidding.

Lemme know if you would want to read it. I will make it available for free if there are enough requests. Until then, please buy my book!

P.S.: If you find any typos in this, any grammar mistakes in this, please do let me know. Will you?