Never get on to What's App. Never. Even if I ever have to write content for What's App, I'll never get on to it.
Have a difficult conversation - with client, parent, rickshaw fellow, canteen guy, colleague, lover - and not worry about whether I came off seeming really shrill and horrible.
To write. Just write. Take as much time as it takes to write something. Not talk, not work for a living, not discuss, not explain, not hang out, not travel, not worry, not hurry - just write.
Work only with people who have read Salman Rushdie. Especially 'Ground beneath her feet' and 'Shame'.
Work with/ for Salman Rushdie.
Write my novel, a collection of short stories, a play.
Live free. Of fear, of doubt, and of my own blooming prejudices (which stem from fear and doubt).
Have a new set of friends every 6 months. Have a new identity every 6 months. Leave the home, leave the familiar, leave friends, and leave work contacts. 6 months later, will get out of bed, draw the curtains, and look at a very different city. The mobile phone has no numbers stored. I could have any name and any background. I have different favorites - different songs, different skills, different goals. (I am only in touch with family and we write letters.) Every six months, everything changes. Every six months, I get a different sort of transfusion.
Control my temper and be kind.
Create something every single day.
Invest in the making of an instructional designer.
Work for a couple of years with start-ups only. Exclusively.
Make lots of money - so much that I can be a hermit whenever I want, for however long I want.
Have lots of post-cards of the sun, the rain, and my favorite cities.
Be able to paint sound.
Forgive into the wind.
Take care of a baby girl.
Write for videos. Make videos.
Retain the capacity to be happy for someone, irrespective of whatever is going on in my own life.
Keep that quality of being a sucker for art. To look at every opportunity to suspend disbelief and willingly get tender - at the first blush of music or when the lines of a poem stick or a story leaves me sad.
When I die, should be able to look back and say, "Oh! That's what it was all about!" and quickly scribble something before I pass on.
Hopefully, the scribbled piece of paper finds itself in the hands of a traveler who comes into my room for his or her six month break.