For Mum and Dad

I write because of Aesop's fables and Panchantra and Ladybird books. Because of nursery rhymes and bed-time stories. Because of Chicken Little and Thomas the Tank Engine and Postman Pat (and his black-and-white-cat). Because of the subscriptions you took out to Tinkle and Champak and the small lending library down the hill -from where I got copies of the Hardy Boys Case Files with laminated covers which I took with me wherever I went, just to impress my friends. Because of all the Tintin and Asterix books that you bought me at exhorbitant prices. Because of Jemima Puddle-Duck and The Wind in the Willows and even the Archie comics that I would pester you for at all the railway stations when we travelled for the summer. Because of all the quiz books and yearbooks and rotating cardboard cut-outs that you brought back from different places, most of which lay in my room gathering dust. All this is why I write.

Every story is merely a re-collection, a re-telling, a re-creation. But in the end, it will always be just a long-winded substitute for two small words- Thank You.