A well-known gentleman of our locality asked me what I am doing. I replied to him: ‘I am a writer’. When I said that he burst out laughing. A friend of mine asked me the same question: and I replied that I am writing. He burst out: ‘don’t you have anything else better to do’? My wife keeps replying to me that what I write is ‘trash’. But what is the in-thing in heart that prompts me to be a writer…character, I lack it completely…values…I am a Philistine hedonist with strange erotic fantasies that I want to fulfill…I write decolonized English, subaltern in expression and passionate and creative in vitality. Sometimes, I feel like breaking into sobs thinking that I am writing. No, no, no, I am stubborn and persistent in my will to be a writer.