Once upon a time, there was a book...

Once upon a time, there was a bookmarker - the protagonist of our story. Once upon a time, there was a bookworm, who enjoyed using bookmarkers in satisfying his insatiable hunger of reading. Once upon a time, there was a bookie, who with all his ill-gotten wealth wanted to satisfy his son's desire to read innumerable books. Once upon a time, there was a Booker prize winning book. A chronological juxtapose of the scenario suggests the bookie buying books for his bookworm son hellbent on using our heroic bookmarker, who in turn loved Booker prize winning books.

Our story begins with the bookmarker's first tryst with paper. Non-recycled ones, of course. The Master - referring to the bookworm in a puerile sense - was gifted Treasure Island by another bookie uncle. And there was immense glee on his generally vapid face in being able to use the lazy bookmarker finally. So started our hero's journey in exploring the antics of Jim Hawkins, Long John Silver, his parrot and his motley pirate crew. The Master forgot all about the Industrial Revolution because after this book, there was a new RDB type revolution brewing within him - the desire to devour as many books as possible. The bookmarker, though overloaded with work, could not ask for more. It was given an appraisal rating of 5 and it had to subserviently serve its Master obsequiously.

Soon came the Hardy Boys and the Nancy Drews. The adventure stories thrilled our bookmarker akin to an edge of the page excitement. And after the fights - sometimes catfights - came something our bookmarker learnt about...ummm...love actually. All of the sudden, the Master decided to explore a new genre. Science Fiction. Fantastic Voyage was stolen and our bookmarker was literally blown upside down during its traversal. Scientists turning miniature and exploring the human body inside out made our hero mull over the vicissitude of life; made it ponder whether it could ever become the Master himself and have a choice without an audience vote. The SF hangover never got over with the entire Asimov collection gulped and burped over 6 months. By now, our bookmarker had trespassed every archaic corner of the universe and every green-eyed alien seemed a neighbour. And all of a sudden, it happened one day...God had arrived.

Shakespeare had arrived. Ignoring his looks, the bookmarker placed a bet that he was the greatest Earth Idol ever. The audience vote did not disappoint him. The humble Bard flummoxed it with his honest yet complex weaving of Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and the accompaniments. A lot new human emotions made a favorable debut with the hero. And for the first time, with the emotion of love seeping right into its cranium, it asked the question "Do I love my Master?" And in a fleeting moment came the answer in the affirmative; the proof of it being a kiss pecked on it by the Master. And out of nowhere, it began humming romantic songs and was transported to the Swiss Alps - someday to be reproduced by Yashraj Films. Someday, the lovey-dovey stories had to end and the final gong rang in the form of political thrillers. A yet unexplored genre was brimming with the likes of the Archers, Forsyths, Ludlums, Grishams etc. The bookmarker was amazed at the speed with which some of these books were run over. Reason: the Master was in his engineering undergrad and other than the last few days before the exam, he hardly touched a book concerning his curriculum. The monotonous life ended years later and the bookmarker got its first opportunity in reading a Booker prize winning book. It got addicted and to this date, the love message sent at the application layer reaches only a Booker prize winning book. However, this should not be trivialised as a KANKy sort of infidelity with the Master.

The story has to end here abruptly because the bookmarker is still crazy about Bookers; because the bookie Papa still has lot of black wealth to support his son's Booker love and the tax authorities are blind; because the Master doesn't kiss the bookmarker anymore and needs to get a life; because I am woefully short of words.