When I was through my last round of my evening elixir and clearing up things I heard the doorbell chime. I was more than annoyed at the caller disturbing me at that time. “Who in heavens had decided to call on me at this unearthly hour?” I said loudly. I was annoyed at my heavenly visitors who seemed to have made it a habit of calling on me always at odd times. Reluctantly dragging my feet I went to the open the door hell bent on giving a piece of my mind to the visitor from one of the heavens.

 I found instead a well dressed Caucasian sporting a big smile which disarmed me immediately and drained out all my anger. I switched on my genial persona and welcomed him as I had never seen any of our Gods in a three piece suit from Seville Row. “First let me apologise for disturbing you at this time of the night.” He said walking into my living room in sure and confident strides.” “I see you are having single malt which I love.” He said and helped himself to four fingers and had a quick gulp.
 Thanks to my earlier intake my computer operated rather slowly and took some minutes to place my visitor.” “I see you are straining your brain to place me. Let me put you at ease. I’m Jeffrey Archer.” He said extending his hand. I clasped it with all the energy left after a hard day’s work and a good session of single malt scotch. “I hope I am not disturbing you but I seem to have caught you in a congenial ambience and buoyant spirits. I see your good lady seems to have retired already. That provides us a good opportunity to discuss my proposal and to enjoy the single malt. Incidentally how did you know that I was coming and that I like single malt?” Well, some things are better left unsaid.
 
“Cheers and cheer up. How many of your countrymen would get a chance to have a drink that too a single malt with Jeffrey Archer?”
 Now my computer logged on and at that late night it dawned on me that my visitor was none other than my role model and favourite author. My computer prompted me to display charm and a pleasant and affable persona of me. I immediately morphed from an uncouth irritating man to a pleasant fellow with all good manners and charisma that would have floored even charming ladies.
 
“I want to take you on board my new novel. Right now it has already been through the 7th draft and soon will hit the market.”
 “Why did you select me when there are many celebrated authors and writers in our country?”
 “I find you an interesting person, multidimensional and capable of thinking out of the box. I read your books, short stories and blogs and decided that you fit my story to a T.”
 
“There are established writers and star bloggers who got into bogprint and anthologies. I am just a no body. I can give you the IDs of many star bloggers and put you in touch with Subbu who can provide all the connectivity.” 

“Don’t underestimate and deprecate yourself. You have a funny bone which many do not.”
 “I understand that you are a ladies man. Why don’t I give you the IDs of all the smart lady bloggers?”
 “They all write with a purpose to win laurels and if possible money, whereas you and I write for the sheer joy or fun. That separates us from the rest.”
 
“I thought you write for millions.”
“True but I also keep paying damages for some cause or other.”
“Your troubles are your own making.” “Now let us get down to the brass tacks. Do you want to be a character of my new novel IN PATH OF GLORY? I need your concurrence to avoid any suit for damages later.” 

“What sort of character do you propose to give? Not one of your cell or jail mates I suppose?”
 “I am still thinking and will introduce you in the eighth draft.”
 “I hope you do not cut me off by the time of the 17th draft.”
 “I give my solemn promise on that. Further you will be portrayed as a saintly spiritual being living in Himalayas imparting wisdom to all and sundry including me.” 

“I can hardly fit such a role as I love all this stuff that you see here and when I was young and the flesh was strong I sowed wild oats all over the world.”
“All saints have a bad past.”
“But I do not want to be a saint. I sometimes tell even the Gods to leave me alone or go fly a kite.”
 
“Remember there are millions in your country ready to give a leg or limb just to get into the pages of my book.”
“So be it. But then I will have to prepare display cabinets for all the laurels that follow. I’m broke and not even getting a second helping of a pickle. My evening sessions are reduced to one a month. With prices shooting through the roof we are going through hard times. Leave me alone and select a rich bloke for your book.”
 
“You don’t know what you are missing.” He said and left giving me enough time to put a “DO NOT DISTURB” board outside.
As I was about to hit the sack I heard the door bell again. When I looked through the peeping eye I found some God in all his regalia frowning.
 
“Couldn’t you read the board sir?” I cried in anguish.
 “We Gods only know Sanskrit and not English.”
 I stood transfixed not knowing whether to open the door or not. Close