Congratulations! You’ve Had a Book. A Satirical Take on Literary Parenthood

Congratulations! You’ve Had a Book…

Until now, I was always on the giving side—offering congratulations whenever an author “had” a book. And yes, it is a big deal. After all, an author’s conception happens when thoughts consummate with ink. The creation then grows like a fetus—there are bouts of nausea (the author’s dissatisfaction), mood swings (endless revisions), and occasional nutritional supplements (inspiration).

The editor plays the gynecologist, examining every detail. The publisher performs the ultrasound—“Is the book healthy, or will it need a surgical C-section of edits?” On publication day, the labor pain peaks, and the book is finally born on paper. At the critics’ baby shower, it receives both blessings and jabs—praise and criticism in equal doses. And then it enters the world of readers—some raise it lovingly, while others abandon it in literary orphanages.

But now, dear friends, I too qualify for congratulations… yes, I’ve had a book! And the wishes are pouring in. As they say, what you send out into the world comes back like a boomerang. I’ve spent years congratulating others—day and night, morning and evening—so naturally, their blessings have now borne fruit. My literary lap, too, has turned green.

Of course, the “baby” has just arrived, but I’ve already started entertaining illusions—“You can tell a promising child by its feet in the cradle!” Oh, this one looks like quite the earning son! Well-wishers are generous with dreams—“It’ll win a few awards… get into academic syllabi… scholars will research it… royalties will flow…” And somewhere in the background, a song plays—
“My darling child will make my name shine across the world…”

Now really, what’s wrong with giving congratulations? It costs nothing—no dent in the wallet—so I’ve always given them wholeheartedly. The moment I hear someone has “had” a book, I pounce with congratulations.

In fact, my fingers have become so conditioned that once, on hearing about the demise of a senior writer, I almost typed “Congratulations!” Thankfully, I caught myself in time and replaced it with an appropriate “RIP.”

Ah, expectations… I too had built castles in the air. I thought the moment my book got published, the publisher would carry me on their shoulders, royalties would rain in, the book would become a bestseller, and I’d turn into an overnight superstar. But for now, all I’m receiving is—congratulations.

I even timidly asked the publisher, “So… what do I get?”
He replied, “Congratulations!”
Well, at least he didn’t say something more… spiritual.

Now that the book has come out of the delivery room and been brought home, I’ve even set up a cradle for it. Rocking it gently, I wonder—why not invite the neighbors and relatives to celebrate? Distribute sweets, maybe sixteen bataashas each! My only fear is that if the local hijra association hears about it, they might show up at the door demanding their ceremonial “blessings”!

“My street is decked up in festive colors…”

On social media, congratulations are easy—just a like, a comment, a polite “thank you.” No one loses anything, no one gains anything. But when people start showing up at your house to congratulate you, things get… complicated.

Neighbor Sharma ji appeared at the door—
“Ah, Garg sahab! Congratulations on your book!”
I immediately extended my hand—fully prepared to receive the honor.

But along with his handshake came a complaint—
“You didn’t invite me to the launch!”
Before I could respond, he continued, “Anyway, I’m a great lover of literature—been fond of poetry since childhood, always topped debates…”

I clarified, “Actually, it all happened in a rush… like an unplanned baby!”
Pointing toward the cradle, I said, “At least come see the face…”
But his interest lay less in the book and more in the sweets.
“No worries, send me the link—I’ll buy the book… By the way, these gulab jamuns are excellent! Bhabhi ji made them, right?”

And now this is the situation—people come, offer congratulations, and we keep restocking sweets. At the center of it all, the book lies on the table, gently rocking in its cradle—waiting, hoping… that someone will come, take a proper look, maybe give it a little push, perhaps even pick it up and say, “Let me take this home.”

Surely someone will… someone who will cradle it in their arms and at least leave behind a symbolic hundred-rupee blessing!

With a heartfelt “May you flourish and multiply!”

Anyway, the congratulations keep coming… and well, at least my lap, too, has turned green. 😌