I have been greedy. Generally I write for a lark. For the heck of it. And there is nothing else I would rather be doing. So I had a pretty blissful existence. Not a care in the world and not a rupee to my name.

Then one day, the auctions happened. Dang. And that changed my life. Ever since the day I saw those cricketers being bought and sold, desire gripped me.

I want to be sold.

Imagine standing out there on a stage under the halo of a bright blue spotlight while pretty actresses bid. Imagine Preity Zinta, Tabu and Aishwarya Rai bidding furiously.

No, they are too dignified to fight in public, but heck, you get the idea.

And on the other side, you have the King of good times, the Bad Shah of Bollywood and the all the Corporate Rajas. They don’t care much about poetry, but they know that this fellow can write some stuff about their wares. And poetic stuff is a hit with the masses. Life jingalala.

After those visions of success, I started walking about in a haze. Now what should I wear?

Personally I fancy a toga. Wonder if they wear anything beneath. Nope. Not a good idea. Considering the spotlights and cameras.

Might as well take suggestions from the womenfolk in Sulekha. Let them decide. If not a toga, maybe a Sherwani and a shawl. That’s what all hindi-filmi poets wear.

I’d better stop shaving from tomorrow onwards. Poets are expected to look like losers. The kind you expect to find singing “Aaaja Raajkumari”, teary red eyes, unshaven and generally sad, nope, pathetic looking creatures.

I have to cultivate a good image. The right look. The lady poets don’t have those problems. No need of growing a beard and tending to it every day. Sophisticated unruliness. Even for the hairstyle.

Even getting drunk will be a problem. You need just the right amount of alcohol in your blood. Somewhere between a slur in speech and buckling knee.

What say? Sulekhaites?

Why don’t we have an auction? Let’s call ‘em beauties and let them bid. May the best man or woman win.

I am game. I am up for Sale.

Dang. If cricketers can do it, why not Poets?

And writers? And researchers?

Let’s sell all we have.

Let’s sell ourselves!

(Oops, I forgot about the matrimonial market. We have been doing that anyway)