Talk about ghost writers, and many people will scratch their heads in wonderment. Eh, who or what’s that? Are they the ones who come up with stories about desolate cottages from which emerge banshee wails, demonic chuckles and the occasional satiated belch? Or, perhaps, they are souls of writers who had perished in their attempt to write the next great novel and return periodically, if posthumously, to continue the good work. All this uncertainty is taking its toll on a noble profession. If a poll were conducted today among young job seekers, ghost writing will not even make it past the qualifying rounds.
Now, as an old hand who has ghost-written enough to populate a cemetery, I think it’s time we told apprentice ghosts what exactly the future holds. You might as well know upfront that you are not going to make a name for yourself doing this. In fact, the opposite will happen. Your name will be erased and a political leader, film star, cricketer or corporate honcho will appear in its place. That’s how the cookie crumbles. After all, ghost writing is impersonation — legally certified and socially sanctified. So what is in it for you? You get the opportunity of doing wonders for your soul.
Ghost writing turns you into a better human being because it makes you embrace anonymity, and that is half the battle won. Listen to religious leaders and they will all urge you to send your ego to the cleaners. For most people, that is a tough ask, but for ghost writers, it’s second nature. You don’t have a name; ergo, you can’t have an ego. Next, it inculcates in you a sense of detachment — exactly what our religious tracts recommend. You have, let us say, written a brilliant book on how to attain peace of mind. It is persuasively phrased and it contains pearls of wisdom drawn from your personal treasure trove. But readers are not going to think about you at all — the only name they are going to read, and the only face they will see is the well-known happiness guru’s. But you are unaffected because you are practising detachment.
