BOOK RELEASE

Warmth of his request did work; I decided to attend the function. The venue was not far from home. I reached well in time. Invitees took their time to come. I suffered, yet again for punctuality and  cursed myself. I never learnt. This is the land where the stove is perennially on slow flame. Everything takes time; and yet no one takes it amiss. Finally I noticed some activity. Bouquets appeared; the podium had now water bottles; the white towels on the back of each chair on the podium got a mild dusting; a strong deodorant spray, too close to me, made me uncomfortable. Mike was tested for full ten minutes. The guests arrived.

My friend's eyes met mine; he smiled liberally from the podium. His Book, a compilation of short stories, was to be released. This Book, I learnt, was his twentieth.He was indeed a compulsive writer. The Book was released by yet another good friend. He had a measured, I am afraid, a bit of an enigmatic, smile when he displayed a copy of the new Book and the cameras clicked.

The author friend spoke about his passion for writing. He talked about the sensitivity of a writer; how his tours within the country and frequent visits abroad had provided myriad of topics to write about; how he is well on his way to achieve his goal of writing hundred books-- all in English. I and others clapped .

It was now the turn of the other friend to speak. It was venom-spewing. He decimated my author friend's writing ability. The critic in him made him that evening look like a man possessed. His palms trembled while he opened page after page and pointed his sarcasm at the poor quality of his writings in each printed line. "This is no Book in English"; his heavy voice thundered; "this is an example of butchering a great language", he said. While his lips trembled in rage and consternation, my author friend was giggling as if someone was tickling him. The compulsive critic finally thought he had had enough. He had his seat and gulped a glass of water to cool down.

Thanks giving thereafter was a tame and brief affair. I was in a state of great discomfort and skipped the high tea. Walking back home, I wondered why I attended the function. My wife was equally distressed after I told her about what had transpired. After a couple of hours I called my author friend and requested him to forget the unpleasant words of the critic friend. I also said that the critic should not have been so acrimonious and arrogant. My author friend then told me something about the critic friend in confidence which I would not like to write about. Then he broke into a loud laugh. "Don't worry Sir," he said, "I just finished writing a story based on today's incident". 

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January 5, 2015