The front office opulence floored me so much so that I didn’t realize I was glaring at the receptionist who had apparently asked my name for the third time. ‘Err, I am Ranga,’ I stammered, trying to hide my south indian accent in front of the suave north indian receptionist.
Looking at the office and the lady, I was determined to clinch the publishing deal. I didn’t dare to speak to her for fear of appearing coquettish. She ushered me to a lounge looking waiting room where I was given a cup of tea. Why did the tea taste so out of the world?
‘Finally I have made it,’ I said to myself not knowing that the lady had overheard what I had said. I had toiled for this day all through my life. How many rejections? I wondered what the publishing houses would do with rejected manuscripts. Would they bin them? I checked myself so that the inauspicious thoughts don’t creep in.
The meeting with the editor lasted 2 hours and ended in an envelope that contained a $100 cheque as an advance payment – whatever that meant. I was moved and realized that I was moved when things started to look blurred.
I spent the next two weeks in informing Facebook friends on the impending launch of my book under the famed ‘Anshul Publishing House’ tag. My chest swelled to 56’ (Modi forgive me).
His Excellency the Governor is launching the book tomorrow at 4 PM in ‘The Ritz’ hotel. Please do come over. The book is titled ‘The Madrasi’. Author: Anshul Sharma. Publishers : Anshul Publishing House.
No, I won’t be in the function. Why? Didn’t you see yesterday’s obituary page?