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Some critics - it might be all critics for you - say that I am a poor writer lacking any theme or any specific idea to convey. What can we do about such a lot? What do they know about this poor writer’s idea of handling such a huge bank balance? I love MY READERS. Yet I don’t care about them much. It is a secret between you and me. Let it stay between us. But it is quite thrilling to hear these critics say that they are totally moved my style. They say that I am unique, ‘unique’ like a ‘unicorn’ that failed to exist in this world. I have not yet visited the other world hunting them and so no proof of their existence there either. I am so happy that at least these critics traced them on the white sheets of my book and did my nomenclature in their way.

But, do you know one thing? I admire the critics more than my readers. In some way, they are also my readers… in fact they are the only true readers….no…no…I would rather refer to them as my well wishers. They are more intense in improving me in all aspects. They are a bit tense about my intentions. Hence they often do discover that I am a writer with no bonds to the sense or the tense. The lady who loves you the most alone criticizes you in all ways. All the other ‘your kind of ladies’ might listen to you, may smile at you, may act as if they are so thrilled at you. That is the gentle reason why I like my critics a million times more than my readers.

Now I am thinking of the unicorn…the creature that is as unique as me. The creature that man discovered as the God almighty forgot to do so. Oh! What a mistake? Now the world is not as beautiful as it would have been with unicorns scattered throughout the globe. Their horns would have been costlier than elephant tusks and their skin might have used to create the most comfortable shoes. The skull would have decorated this writing table. It is evident that God is not bad at doing mistakes. The worst mistake he had done so far is that he created men, even worst me - the writer intelligent enough to interrogate him on his mistakes. We are glad to be your children so keen in this task, my Lord. Am I saying the right or wrong?

What are these rights and wrongs? I am still confused about all that is termed as ‘the rights’ and ‘the wrongs’. My right was always been her wrong. That is the key reason for which I love her. Moreover my wrongs were always acceptable as rights for my friends and parents. I am sure that you are also thinking whether I am right or wrong. My eyes saw wrongs, whereas my heart told me that they are rights. Hence I am not at all guilty for anything. On the contrary I feel it my right to talk about the concept of right. I think every wrong action can be treated as the need of time, hence an ideal shade for the history. Today’s right tomorrow’s wrong, my right her wrong, devil’s right God’s wrong. No need to worry lass. Yet, is it right to think about the rights? Is my kind of ‘rights’ are hurting my readers? Anyway I can’t help it. Ok, if that is right, then what is left? Only right is left. Confused! Turn left and/or right. You are right, you ended up right. Am I right? Can I continue to write? All right, let me get in to more complexity!

I meant your life. What can be more complex in your life than ‘your life’? Many thinkers already wasted their life on lives. My mastermind is also looking for the same fate, how ever fatal it is. Recently my diary started whispering to me in a placid mood. She says that I write even before I think and compel her carry all that can be graded as simple stupidity. She tried her level best with the help of her new boy friend, the crazy wind, to fly the papers off. Yet those papers seem a bit kind hearted. They always try to console my soul. They are white neat peace minded. As my dark ink starts flowing on their skin, playing with the letters, putting them in various homes called words, they too get corrupted. Corrupted with ideas, ambitions, dreams, hopes... It is the platform where meanings search the meanings. Life is neither a misery nor a mystery. It is the meaning of my might…your might. It is nothing but the feel of your existence. The time you lose this conscious you are dead, hopelessly dead. So don’t ever give a chance to forget it. Well, if you really want to go for an experiment, do it. But please do share that experience with this poor writer so that I can give it the most sensational touch for my readers. Successfully unsuccessful, that is what I am. The only person who can line a new path is you. Only you can do that magic. Lets make the legendary stupidity.