We have an incurable penchant for freebies. We heartily welcome anything that comes free of cost with child-like-glee and sometimes, even gloat over our unique ability to wangle out a thing or two from a tightfisted shopkeeper, friend or even a relative. It doesn’t matter if it is a mere diary or a calendar from someone trying hard to liquidate his collection dumped on him by his eager-to-please acquaintances, or if it is some food stuff nearing its sell-by date hurriedly shrink wrapped by the seller to heave it out of his system or if it is a hand out that will do no good to you, your home, or your life except create a clutter in the cupboard; if it is free, then we shall have it. For use or disuse, for keeps or for stash away.
Let’s admit it, it is not an issue of affordability; it is just the habit of asking for or taking gratis that we simply cannot imagine growing out of. It is as though things that don’t need to be paid for have an unmatched value, so much that we hoard unnecessary gifts and complimentary things that we may not even consider taking out and dusting, forget using, every once in a while. Or is it just the juvenile pleasure of having conned the man who must have so arduously put in his effor t and money to churn out things that he thought were priceless, but turned out to be duds in the end? Or are we seriously pleased that we saved some money that would have otherwise been “squandered” on those “unwanted” things?
I am perplexed by this queer behaviour that makes us put our hand out, wear a comical grin that is tantamount to asking for that ‘little extra” or “something free”, wink at our partner in nasty pride when we indeed succeed in landing something, expect a friend slogging away at a chocolate/juice/biscuit/cosmetic/or even inner wear company (trust me, people don’t mind taking them free even if meant a little loss of grace) to bring us a complimentary packet every time they visit us.
While I have acknowledged this nearly incorrigible manner in almost every human being that I have known, barring a few exceptions, I have never been so tickled by the tendency of my acquaintances who have unabashedly asked for their free copy of my recently published, first novel. While the reaction to the news about my maiden literary endeavour among my contacts has varied from grim nods, gleeful appreciation and grave quizzing to gross disregard and gawky silence, one question that has stood above all responses is, “Where is our signed complimentary copy?”
To all those who presume that having a book published is only a step short of being a best seller and that it would soon help me laugh all the way to the bank, and to those who even believe that I already have a big signing amount in my kitty, here is an earth-shattering truth. I make any money only if you want me to. Only if you pay for those 450 pages that I have painstakingly penned in (all right, punched in on my pc). Only if you earnestly stand behind me and cheer me on.
Only if you consider buying it as an act done for a worthy cause – helping a friend find her feet in a crowded, competitive literary world – can I gain even a grain out of it.
And to those few who cheekily quipped that they were die hard fans of pirated copies, and hence would buy my book at the traffic signal, here is a disclosure: only best sellers ever make it to the traffic signals. Thanks for wishing me a place there.
I shall wait for the day when my book touches such levels of popularity. If and when it does, I shall take a bow with a chest stuffed with gratitude towards all those who did not ask (even jokingly) for a complimentary copy or wait for the book to hit the signals, but went out and got it for money. If ever I make it there, it will be because of you.
Let’s admit it, it is not an issue of affordability; it is just the habit of asking for or taking gratis that we simply cannot imagine growing out of. It is as though things that don’t need to be paid for have an unmatched value, so much that we hoard unnecessary gifts and complimentary things that we may not even consider taking out and dusting, forget using, every once in a while. Or is it just the juvenile pleasure of having conned the man who must have so arduously put in his effor t and money to churn out things that he thought were priceless, but turned out to be duds in the end? Or are we seriously pleased that we saved some money that would have otherwise been “squandered” on those “unwanted” things?
I am perplexed by this queer behaviour that makes us put our hand out, wear a comical grin that is tantamount to asking for that ‘little extra” or “something free”, wink at our partner in nasty pride when we indeed succeed in landing something, expect a friend slogging away at a chocolate/juice/biscuit/cosmetic/or even inner wear company (trust me, people don’t mind taking them free even if meant a little loss of grace) to bring us a complimentary packet every time they visit us.
While I have acknowledged this nearly incorrigible manner in almost every human being that I have known, barring a few exceptions, I have never been so tickled by the tendency of my acquaintances who have unabashedly asked for their free copy of my recently published, first novel. While the reaction to the news about my maiden literary endeavour among my contacts has varied from grim nods, gleeful appreciation and grave quizzing to gross disregard and gawky silence, one question that has stood above all responses is, “Where is our signed complimentary copy?”
To all those who presume that having a book published is only a step short of being a best seller and that it would soon help me laugh all the way to the bank, and to those who even believe that I already have a big signing amount in my kitty, here is an earth-shattering truth. I make any money only if you want me to. Only if you pay for those 450 pages that I have painstakingly penned in (all right, punched in on my pc). Only if you earnestly stand behind me and cheer me on.
Only if you consider buying it as an act done for a worthy cause – helping a friend find her feet in a crowded, competitive literary world – can I gain even a grain out of it.
And to those few who cheekily quipped that they were die hard fans of pirated copies, and hence would buy my book at the traffic signal, here is a disclosure: only best sellers ever make it to the traffic signals. Thanks for wishing me a place there.
I shall wait for the day when my book touches such levels of popularity. If and when it does, I shall take a bow with a chest stuffed with gratitude towards all those who did not ask (even jokingly) for a complimentary copy or wait for the book to hit the signals, but went out and got it for money. If ever I make it there, it will be because of you.
4 comments:
Well, "anything" I say may mean "nothing" to you. But I promise not to ask you for a complimentary copy of this book. I have always believed that the best things in life come free. So I'd wait to see if this the best or the best is still to come.
The Atlas merely shrugged and asked..who is John Galt????
hi ash,
i am too proud of u.some knows to express their feelings like u,some will b searching for words like me,in simple words i just dont even know what to comment,u make me think do i hv right to comment U R SIMPLY GREAT
hi ash,
i am too proud of u.some knows to express their feelings like u,some will b searching for words like me,in simple words i just dont even know what to comment,u make me think do i hv right to comment U R SIMPLY GREAT
Post a Comment