My Nobel intentions
The Prize selection committee meeting was in full swing. The hot topic of discussion was the selection of the writer of the year. Yours truly was being discussed as a potential candidate. The debate was on between the youngest member (The Kid) of the jury, who at an innocent age of 65 was the proponent of this blog’s name, and the oldest member, a ripe 90, who viewed his younger colleague as a revolutionary. They always wondered why they were called the Old Boy’s club by the less reverent ones.
‘But who is Namya? I have never heard of him.’ The Oldest Member(OM) growled.
‘Nor have I but he comes highly recommended. Just the other day I was searching on Google and I saw his writings on the 7th page.’ the Kid replied.
‘What were you searching for?’ a respected member, who always tried to contribute as soon as he woke up from his slumber queried.
‘Well just this and that.’ The Kid wasn’t very forthcoming. He actually seemed extremely flustered about it. The Slumberer went back to his slumber on this satisfactory response.
‘Yes my boy, but there are thousands of writers who appear in a Google search on Page 1, so why this Name ya?’
‘It’s Namya by the way. He writes on the game of Cricket, which it seems, is going to be just next to Football in fan following in the coming few decades. But he also writes about other sport. Now we haven’t ever awarded a sportswriter ever. So we can shed our dour image and go for youth’, the Kid pleaded.
Rolling his eyes in frustration and wringing his hands in despair the OM tried to reason with the exuberance of youth, ‘Look, there have been so many sportswriters over the last few decades who we didn’t even consider. That Cardus fellow was mentioned once, along with that whathisname. Ah yes, Ghandhi. I was told that both were disdainfully ignored. That Ghandhi chap was persistent. He just wouldn’t give up. It seems he had tried a similar stunt with the Brits and succeeded in having his way. He tried to sneak up on us two more occasions. But we proved too smart for him in the end’.
The Kid was a persistent fellow too. ‘When I contacted Namya, which I did after facing considerable difficulty (Point to be noted Venu), he let in slip inadvertently that he had contributed to the Obama speech scripting team as well (Well I had mentioned that I was a member of O ba ma self brigade, so no false claims there).’
‘I have had a look at the site and found the content too corny, without any substance and with no literary value what so ever. To top that he just started writing his blog some 18 months back’, the OM was getting personal now.
‘That may be the case Sir, but look at the positive side. He is improving all the time. Just in one of the latest articles, I actually chuckled once. His spelling seems to have improved too. Why should it be always about what a person has achieved? If we give him the prize, we can spur him on to achieve greater heights. I have the citation all ready to justify his selection’. The Kid was proud of that citation he had penned. ‘He is an Indian to top it. We have a huge untapped potential there. Just imagine all those cups and T shirts with our emblem. Also Namya seems like a nice bloke, at least not like that smug Salman (Rushdie).’
‘But we have never recognised blogging as real literature. It’s meant for those who are not entertained by the publishing media. So let’s not rush into things. We have already given one prize to an Indian.’ The OM was almost pleading now.
‘Which Indian did we give a prize?’ the Kid was surprised.
‘Don’t you remember that US chemical scientist? The Indians will be happy with that. They even consider Bobby Jindal to be an Indian.’ One of the members of the Jury who wanted to get on with it, informed the Kid.
‘Ok. In that case, who should get the prize?’ the Kid had obviously given up.
‘Herta Mueller. She is a German.’ The OM had the answer ready. ‘She is another European. I am not saying that we have anything against non-Europeans. We gave a prize to a non-European some 7 years back. So no one can accuse us of being partisan’, with a hint of apology, the OM clarified.
‘But who is Herta Mueller?’ asked the incredulous Kid. ‘I have never heard of her. We might as well have gone with Namya’. This was a last ditch attempt which was bound to result in failure.
The committee hastily passed Herta’s name with a unanimous vote. The Kid was crestfallen. His citation would not see the light of the day.
‘So what’s next on the Agenda?’ the Slumberer just woken out of his slumber asked.
‘The Peace Prize’ informed the OM.
The rest is history.
