Preface
Finally, I have decided to write. Not that it is important, may be it is sort of therapy like musterbation. Before I write the main part, I reckon it important to write some general guidelines about how to read the main body of the text.
First, about the narrator. I hereby declare that his mental health condition is neither sound, nor perfect; therefore, the entire text is anything but true. Truth is not his concern here, cure is. No person mentioned here is real, no remark has its validity beyond the text. In short, he means nothing.
In fact, I have assembled the character of the narrator from a lot of maniacs, both fictional and real; a collage of sorts and absolutely irresponsible. There is no pattern in his charater that can be interpreted in anywhat logical sense.
My initial purpose was to create a character who had been trapped in an imaginary world which he considered to be the real one, a sort of present-day Don Quixote grossly fed on a lot of dystopian literature.
Chapter 1
During our school life we had a knack of quoting filmy dialogues. One such quote said, if nothing (no success) happened in life, I’d become a writer.
Well, nothing happened in my life – a complete failure, I mean, I failed to make even an attempt. Therefore, I have become a writer.
After becoming a writer, I face the next challenge. What is the purpose of my writing? What is my mission? Entertainment? Entertainment could be one purpose of writing, even the only one; but not for me. I am rather a serious kind of person. A serious person is someone who approaches life, work, or situations with thoughtfulness, focus, and sincerity rather than levity or silliness.
Well, for me, it all started with a sense of uneasiness; a feeling that something was wrong, although I did not know exactly what it was. And I was not happy with that. I had to know what exactly the problem was, if I ever had to overcome it. Surely. I had my regular day-to-day issues – earning, family, health, security, housing, friends, society, elections, neighbours and what not. More often than not, these and such other things kept me occupied all my waking hours. Days passed by, months and years. Then finally when I got some breather, back it came that old sense of uneasiness, I was again out of tune.
