“I Love You”, said the author to his first Book

Posted by Soumik Chakraborty
November 19, 2017

NOTE: This post has been self-published by the author. Anyone can write on Youth Ki Awaaz.

It’s pretty amazing how a first-time author gets connected to his foremost published book. Once it hits the top charts and becomes one of the best-selling books, the author’s joy knows no bounds. His efforts bear fruits. A few years(or, months) back, he must have been so obsessed with it, that he had perhaps stopped taking his meals on time, forgotten to greet people, “Good morning”, but the only thing he is used to remembering and musing all day long is how to connect his words with the readers. “I have to finish my homework” is so not the first thing that jerks him off from his sleep when the sun flaunts its presence, at the window sill, welcoming the sunny resplendent morning along with the sweet chirping of the birds, but one and only, the topic he has chosen for, has been writing on, and hoping to sell up to the rank of “best-sellers”. He has decided the actual topic and is firmly holding onto it. Wearing a partially-veiled excitement that could clearly be seen in those twinkling eyes, he has his first cup of morning tea, while his mother rings her all-time favourite cliche behind his ears, “Ja giye porte bos!”(Go and study). She already knows that her 16-year old son does not belong to the obedient, listen-to-your-mom category. Yet, ma will be ma and he just loves the way she is.”Eisob kore pet chalate parbina”(You cannot earn your food by doing this), a bold voice speaks up behind a newspaper; that figure having his tea at intervals, eyes deeper into the “Nation” section, sometimes sipping from the cup and sometimes murmuring about the tragic incidents that are slowly devouring the world. So, as a son of these two role models in his life, and of course, his creators, he just loves the way his day starts!

Previously, he had dealt himself with many topics; he had thought about publishing them, but one way or the other, a hitch always came crawling by and ultimately, barred his expectations midway. What not? Love stories, adventures and all sorts of stuff authors generally write about. Alas! His studies stoop him down and beckon to him, even though he has no inclination to it, as such. The mean-minded society that believes “studies” to be the only thing a student should care about, was about to grasp him soon, but soon, he was jolted back, thinking that he might shut the faces of this society when he turns out to be successful in the propaganda he has devoted his life to-“writing”. But, he’s already on the verge of thinking himself to be an author because the way his ex has hurt him and the amazing way his girlfriend makes him feel and her support are some of the sole factors that he’s taking up this step.

For somebody like him, one derives happiness and satisfaction from every step of the life-stream. Every time, he is reminded of his first true love in his days of class eight, tears well up in his eyelids and just before they loose their hold and slides down his oily cheeks, he wipes them off and then smiles a bit, musing, “Wish she’s happy and stays so forever”.

He doesn’t get irritated or drives down into frustration when he realizes that the cricket match needs to be abandoned due to the severe rain that had washed off the soil off the grained-ground, soon after hitting it, but, he feels satisfied about the fact that the farmers in some part of the country will be blessed with more crop productions the following month. He smiles thinking about them dancing in the rain, greeting the harbingers of the monsoon season.

He feels bad when he sees a puppy abandoned on the streets fighting its own way through the traffic, giving up a sweet baby-cry, yet in a confused despair. Seeing the plight of the little creature, he jerks off from his cycle and stepping down, seeks to save the troubled baby. He tries to help, but a moment soon prevails which robs him of the frustration in his face and soon enough, he breaks down into a wide grin when he spots the mother coming out of another way, to escort her kid, barking along. He thinks that his jerk was not worth it, but the sight of the cute pair, coming out of that traffic, on one corner of the road, feeding her baby, his smile broadens and now, he has a good reason to cherish the night for and going off to bed, wishing everyone a good night, in spite of the poor marks he got in his class tests.

He is aware of the fact that contents are not easily made up. One needs time, patience and eagerness to be among the list of the so-called “qualified authors”. Foremost, his main concern was to be earn fame, avenge himself on the wrongs done and said to him, prove himself as one of the those people in whose dictionary, “giving up” is a two-word myth that had gone bankrupt long back. The entire time, he has been devoting to his writing, has changed him so dearly. Now, it’s no more of a feeding-the-purpose game, but he writes out of joy and the ecstatic pleasure he derives from it. He couldn’t trace how well karma played a role in his life. This “reading and writing” propaganda has not only become a part of his life, but, his very life! No wonder, “Quiet people have the loudest minds”, as said by Stephen Hawking, one of the best authors of the times.

For a young writer like him, his eyes are his camera and that little brain he has, is where his drives are kept, and you know what his heart does? From a monochrome sight that is, a single capture of any mere or big thing, it bursts up into a wide spectrum of vibrant poly chrome metaphors and meanings.

When his girlfriend holds his hands and says, “I’m damn sure you’re gonna become a great author, someday”, he, in a yet another twinkle in those eyes, adds up, “Really? You think I can?”. Without wasting a moment, she reassures him, “Yeah, am pretty sure”. These little sentences would matter so much in his life, someday. The little sentences, the little moments, the mere sights and simple words can make such a difference in his life.

So, when he gets his first book published and when it hits the top chart, things would surely undergo a supreme change. His parents would be so proud of him and everyday the face behind the newspaper will bring up a greeting smile above his cup of tea and say, “Don’t you have to go for the book launch today?” and his mother would come out from the kitchen with a heavy meal of bread, eggs, butter and a glass of milk and would say, “Pet vore kheye ja nahle khide peye jabe”. (Have plenty of food before going, or you will feel hungry). <chuckles> The usual trend of Indian mothers. His friends would no more ask him to treat them occasionally, but almost on a weekly basis, but he would feel blessed and happy to do so. After a day’s tiresome walk-through, he would come home, have dinner with his parents. Touching their feet and looking up, he will see his creators-God and Goddess, both blessing him. Hugging them, “Good Night” he would again be seen sitting on his computer, working on his second book. After spending three hours, cuddling and making love to his words and phrases in his new book, when it is already 2 O’ clock at midnight, he would hear a voice over the phone, “Babe, I’m so proud of you…” He would blush and this encouraging-session would continue for an hour. It would be exactly 3 O’ clock, when he would be going off to his sleep, dreaming but not before he would go up to the balcony, kneel down , fold his hands and looking at the twinkling stars on the sky, close his eyes and say, “Thank you”.


He knows that those days are not very far. They are going to prevail soon enough. After his little sleep, precisely, a nap, he would be back on his feet, loaded- The same sun showing off its presence on the window sill and the sweet chirping of the birds welcoming his next new day, and again, in those eyes, a twinkling determined stare would be seen, ready for more jazz. “The day just started, mate!”, his conscience would speak up.

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