Don't Call Me a Plagiarist

Let me make one thing clear: I am not a plagiarist. I have never plagiarized anything, though I’m willing to admit that the title of my new book “How Gopal Mehta Got Dissed, Got Riled, and Got a Knife” is somewhat similar to the title of another young-adult novel that was recently withdrawn from bookstores. I’m also willing to admit that certain passages in my book are somewhat similar to the passages in 13 other books, seven magazine pieces, and four John Kerry speeches.

But let me reiterate: I am not a plagiarist. I am quite capable of originality. In fact, as various media outlets have reported, the dedication to my book is completely original. I wrote it myself, with a little input from Amalgam Entertainment. The input was so minimal, I applied for and was granted full copyright of the dedication page.

It should also be noted that at least 11 percent, perhaps as much as 12 percent, of my novel is fully original. I can say this with almost 60% certainty. This portion has never been printed before and has never appeared anywhere else, aside from the obscure website where I found it.

While the various other parts of my novel are not original, it’s clear to my supporters, as stated in various blogs, that the combination or “amalgam” is. No one else has ever published a novel with passages copied from the same books, magazines and speeches, arranged brilliantly to create first-rate young-adult literature.

Though I take some pride in this originality, I must admit that it was wholly unintentional. I did not set out to borrow from anyone else’s work. It happened quite accidentally, as the following examples will show.

Chapter 1: Several paragraphs in the opening chapter are similar to paragraphs in Salman Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Children.” It has been almost 20 years since I read Rushdie’s novel, but I’ve been cursed with a photographic memory. These paragraphs had been stored somewhere in my head and, when they came out, I thought they were my own. I felt inspired and thrilled, believing I was a brilliant writer who would win a Booker Prize and whose fourth wife would be a gorgeous model.

Chapter 2: This chapter consists mainly of a short story called “Nobody’s Business.” I thought it would be perfectly acceptable to put it in my book, since one of my friends had emailed it to me. His subject line – “Here’s a good story for you” – led me to believe that he was passing all rights to me. I have since learned that the story was written by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Jhumpa Lahiri. In future editions of my book, I will acknowledge her contribution. I am also prepared to share royalties with her, as long as she agrees to accompany me on a promotional tour for our book. (Sharing a hotel room is optional.)

Chapter 3: This chapter consists of passages from Arundhati Roy’s “The God of Small Things” and Suketu Mehta’s “Maximum City.” During the research for my novel, I had taken lengthy notes from these books. When writing my novel, I consulted the notes and thought they were my own words. They sounded like something I would have written. Indeed, I did write them, but not as the original writer. To acknowledge their contributions, I have sent the authors autographed copies of my (and Jhumpa’s) book. I will also name my next child “Suketu.”

Chapter 4: This chapter borrows heavily from Ernest Hemingway and Flannery O’Connor stories. Since they had both passed away in the last century, it was my honest belief that their work had become public domain. I had always wanted to write like them and felt grateful that I was finally able to do so.

Chapter 5: This chapter contains entire pages from Kaavya Viswanathan’s young-adult novel that was recently withdrawn from bookstores. I blame this on my research assistant, who provided me with “research material” from a number of novels. In copying from Viswanathan’s novel, my assistant had inadvertently copied from several novels that Viswanathan had inadvertently copied from. Neither of us is a plagiarist, not me especially.

Chapter 6: This chapter was rewritten by someone at my book packaging company, Amalgam Entertainment, a man who apparently used to write speeches for John Kerry. I did not realize this until my friends complimented me on my character’s declaration when he joins an Indian gang in New York City: “I’m Gopal Mehta, and I’m reporting for duty.”

'A' is for 'Arrest,' 'B' is for 'Bail'

The bookstore has dozens of books that teach children the alphabet. Some do it through popular characters such as Big Bird and Elmo, others by showing everyday life: ‘F’ is always for ‘Firefighter,’ ‘K’ is for ‘Kite,’ and ‘O’ is for ‘Outsourcing.’ Then there’s one that’s rather popular in the big city, written by a mother to help her children understand their father’s drug and alcohol problems:

A is for ‘Arrest.’ It’s what the police do when they take Daddy away; he gets to ride in a cool car and doesn’t have to pay.

B is for ‘Bail.’ It’s the money we pay to get Daddy out of jail; it’s the reason the pawn shop has Mommy’s ring for sale.

C is for ‘Crime.’ It’s what Daddy does to pay for food, toilet paper and soap; he’d get a regular job if he wasn’t such a dope.

D is for ‘Drugs.’ Daddy isn’t a pharmacist, but he’s sold many drugs; he isn’t a model, but he’s posed for many mugs.

E is for ‘Escape.’ That’s what Daddy’s always trying to do; breaking out of prison or smoking a joint or two.

F is for ‘Fool.’ Applying for work, Daddy listed his previous job as ‘felon’; those drugs have turned his brain into a watermelon.

G is for ‘Government.” Daddy blames them for all his woes, not all that stuff he puts up his nose.

H is for ‘Hunk.’ When Mommy married Daddy, he was such a hunk; then he took drugs and everything shrunk.

I is for 'Inadequate.' It’s what Daddy feels when they lock him up; his cellmate expects him to wear a D-cup.

J is for ‘Judgment.’ It’s how Daddy’s time in prison is often spent, trying to figure out what the judge meant.

K is for ‘Kilogram.’ That’s how much cocaine Daddy hid in his pants; he looked like a stud, but only at first glance.

L is for ‘Love.’ It’s the reason Mommy stays with Daddy through thick and thin; the reason Daddy’s always kissing his bottle of gin.

M is for ‘Marriage.’ It’s a word Daddy sometimes mixes up with ‘Marijuana’; he tried to buy it on our honeymoon in Tijuana.

N is for ‘Nearsighted.’ Daddy’s always nearsighted, seeking short-term gain; if he thought about our future, he’d short-circuit his brain.

O is for ‘Orange.’ It’s what Daddy wears when he’s on the prison crew, the only time in life he’s brighter than you.

P is for ‘Probation.’ It’s what Daddy got when he committed his first crime, a good opportunity to do it another time.

Q is for ‘Quarter.’ Daddy tried to sell some crack to a Fed; that’s because he used only a quarter of his head.

R is for ‘Remorse.’ It’s what Daddy’s expected to show during his trial; when the charges are listed, Mommy wishes he wouldn’t smile.

S is for ‘Swearing.’ It’s those four-letter words Daddy likes to use, especially on those nights when he runs out of booze.

T is for ‘Testimony.’ It’s what those people say about Daddy in court; it’s like getting an ‘F’ on a school report.

U is for ‘Underachiever.’ Daddy hasn’t achieved much in his life so far, unless you count those drinking contests at the bar.

V is for ‘Visitation.’ It’s the quality time you spend with Daddy in jail, when he tells you his dinner tastes like uncooked snail.

W is for ‘Withdrawal.' It’s what Daddy goes through when he hasn’t had drugs in a day; he withdraws to the shed and tries to smoke some hay.

X is for ‘X-ray.' Once, at the airport, they put Daddy through the x-ray; you’d be amazed what they found under his toupee.

Y is for ‘Year.' Daddy had a job for a year in the slammer; he made license plates for the state of Alabama.

Z is for ‘Zero.’ That’s the amount of joy Daddy’s drugs have brought; if he were a trash man, we’d be smiling a lot.