The Number One Fan

‘My name is Annie Wilkes. And I am ………’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘You are my number-one fan.’ ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘That’s just what I am.’ Stephen King (Misery)
When I first started reading, I would secretly believe that I, in some untold manner, had become the most loyal fan of the author. I always thought that I could remember a book and its characters like one can remember the basic plot of a movie. I used to feel that the sense of association built between the author’s work and myself was unique and may not be apparent to others reading the same work. I am not sure about the commonality of this phenomenon, or if it has a name but what I do know now is that when a person writes a book she may never think of these so called ‘number one fans’. People write for themselves and maybe for people they love. They write for people whom they’d love even if these people never read their books.

The Bottom Line

We can fuss about the mismanaged relief and rescue operation. We can criticize the army and the government for failing to act sooner and for not having a crises management plan in place. But do we for once ask ourselves, what have we done for the relief of the quake-affected people. Is giving away one day’s salary enough? Is sending away a truckload to the disaster-hit area all that we can do? Was the initial 2-week ‘jazba’ [fervor] all that we had?
The bottom line is that people are suffering; they are suffering on a daily basis. Will our criticizing the army help the cause in any way? I have been to the forward bases myself. The forward bases that have been setup by the army. I have met several volunteers like me, people who left their houses so that they could make a difference, so that they could help the one’s in need. In contrast to the so-called men of opinion, we [the volunteers] have no complaints against the saviors of Kashmir and Garri Habibullah. What we need are more doctors, paramedics, interpreters, teachers, trekkers, and volunteers to help the relief activity. Trust me, we can play the blame game later.

What Makes Me Go On

Ask me not what makes me go on
To the rocky ridges and valleys beyond

For the sake of the sweet smell of pine
I trek along the mountain’s spine

From the mountain’s top to the meadow’s lake
For flowers wild my fingers ache

My life as if hung on a line
Drunk I am with streams alpine

I know not if I am in pain
With open arms I embrace the rain

I’ve slept under the stars and trees
In the moonlit sky bent on my knees

For what? I do not know I pray
Tearful yet my eyes betray

To loose the feel and sense of time
To be a mere walking shrine

To blend along the colorless wind
Ah! No I don’t belong to Sindh

So ask me not what makes me go on
A broken heart or feelings torn