THANK GOD I DIDN’T GET THE NOBEL.

I had two firm convictions that I am the rightful claimant for the Nobel in Literature and the Nobel committee had been consistently denying me my due. My good friends who gather almost everyday for B/L sessions support   both the views without any reservations. Their support increases and they become more vociferous about these two points as the level in the bottle goes down.

Yesterday I changed my attitude and thanked God (which I do not do too often) for not giving me the prize much to the surprise of my friends. They found themselves at a loss for words wondering whether to continue their old refrain or change the tune in synch with my new viewpoint.

To solve the mystery behind my changed attitude I explained to them that the British Novelist Doris Lessing, 88 winner of the Nobel for 2007 had been complaining in several interviews that ever since she got the prize she had to go through several press briefings, photo op sessions and interviews that affected her writing badly. Putting it in a nutshell she said that winning the award has been a “bloody disaster”.

Doris despite being 88 has plenty of energy and bounce that belies her age and wants to write more books now laments that “she would probably be giving up writing novels altogether.”

It seems the Prize has definitely affected her writing output. In fact “it has stopped” (in her own words).

Now she is going round telling all the younger aspirants that “don’t imagine that you will have it (writing) forever. Use it while you have got it, because it will go. It is sliding away, like water down a plughole.”

She must have been badly cut up by winning the award as she didn’t attend the prize ceremony stating reasons of ill health. The committee presented her the award at Brittan. It is not unlikely that she didn’t tell the prize committee the real reason for not attending the function at Stockholm.

I would rather keep slogging at the keyboard till I drop dead than accepting the Nobel.

My friends took a swig nodding their heads in agreement and looked at the news item I was reading out.

“But you have no alternative except to get the prize as you have many things common with her. She is not even a graduate and like you she also finished her formal schooling at 14. Moreover she never won any award before the Nobel.” The first friend said.

“But you didn’t work as a nanny, telephonist, office worker, stenographer, and journalist before becoming a full time writer. You are lucky as you didn’t do these jobs you may not stand the same chance as her for winning the prize.” The second said.

I snatched the paper back from them and read that one of her books which probably won the medal for her was “Memoirs of a survivor” and her latest book “Alfred and Emily” is a partly fictional memoir.

“I have no intention of writing my memoirs and ruffling the feathers of many especially of the fairer sex and that saves me from getting the prize.” I declared in a dramatic fashion and felt relieved.

By then the dregs of the bottle had been gulped down and my friends lost their will to fight for my cause. They didn’t know which way to turn their heads.