Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: amazon

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Saturday, September 28, 2013

REVOLUTION IN PUBLISHING – THE ASCENDANCY OF DIGITAL SPACE – MY TAKEAWAY FROM PUNE INTERNATIONAL LITERARY FESTIVAL (PILF)

REVOLUTION IN PUBLISHING – THE ASCENDANCY OF DIGITAL SPACE

MY TAKEAWAY FROM PUNE INTERNATIONAL LITERARY FESTIVAL (PILF)

VIKRAM KARVE

THE ASCENDANCY OF DIGITAL SPACE

Last week I had the good fortune to participate in a few interesting sessions of the Pune International Literary Festival (PILF) held at MIT Kothrud Pune from 20 to 22 September 2013.

For me, one important “takeaway” from PILF was that nowadays: “More people Read on Digital Screens than Paper”.

In the days to come, this trend will increase exponentially and we may soon reach a stage where the “Digital Space” overshadows the traditional print medium, as far as all forms of writing and reading is concerned, including creative writing and literary reading.

This predominance of the digital space is going to cause a total paradigm shift in the publishing industry.

At various sessions during the Pune International Literary Festival, most publishers and editors were talking about the decreasing financial viability of publishing on paper as compared to the electronic medium.

Many publishers were saying that the future of publishing creative writing, especially literary fiction, lies in the “Digital Space”.

Why is this happening?

The main reason is “Technology”.

Technology has provided the hardware gadgets and software applications to optimally exploit those gadgets.

But most importantly, technology has liberated writers from the clutches of editors and publishers.

CREATIVE WRITING – Why Does a Writer Write?

Why do you write?

If you are a writer, you will realize that writers write for two reasons:

1. Some write because they want to earn money (commercial writing)

2. Others get the urge to write because they want to say something (creative writing)

In your case, which is the primary reason why you write?

There was a time when writers could earn enough money to make a living.

That is why writers could afford the luxury of full-time writing (and not doing a job).

But was difficult to establish yourself as a “published author” since you were at the mercy of editors and publishers.

And only if you could establish yourself as a published author could you earn enough money from your writing to make it a full-time vocation.

It was a Catch-22 situation.

If an editor did not print your writing in a magazine or a publisher did not publish your book you were doomed to failure as a writer, as these were the only ways you could make your writing reach the reader.

Either you had to be a celebrity, or have the right “contacts” in the publishing industry, or get that “lucky break”, or keep peddling your writing doggedly despite getting rejection slip after rejection slip.

Publishers evaluated writing purely from the business point of view.

Your writing had to be “sellable”.

That is why “commercial fiction” is most sought after by editors and publishers.

The combination all these factors is the reason why many “wannabe” budding writers who tried their hand at writing, faced rejection, got frustrated, fell by the wayside, and since they could not financially sustain themselves, they had to take up other professions.

THE ADVENT OF BLOGGING

Everything changed with the advent of the internet, proliferation of information technology and innovations like blogging in the “digital space”.

Now, “publishing” is no longer the monopoly of a handful of publishers and the stranglehold of editors is over.

Anyone who wishes to write can instantly “publish” their writing on blogs and showcase their literary work to the world.

I feel that blogging is the biggest “blessing” for those who wish to write, especially creative writers.

Yes, apart from social media, blogging is the most significant innovation of information technology.

Now, with widespread proliferation of the internet, every person has the opportunity to write.

All you have to do is to set up your blog (which is simple and free of cost on a number of popular blogging platforms like blogger, wordpress, typepad etc).

Then, you upload and publish your writings on your blog.

And, instantly, your writing is available throughout the world for people to read.

You feel a sense of “instant gratification”.

And you experience a sense of creative freedom since you have full control on what you want to write on your blog (without any external “editorial intervention”).

By removing the opaque barrier of editor/publisher between the writer and reader, blogging has enabled the reader to connect directly with the writer and facilitated mutual interaction between the two.

Blogging has proved to be a big boon to writers (who write because they want to “say something”).

If you are a writer, blogging is the best medium to satisfy your creative urge and demonstrate your literary skills to the world

Blogging is also of great benefit to readers as it has made so much material available for them to read free of cost.

Apart from blogs, there are many websites which contain a deluge of reading material in the digital space.

Many people have stopped reading printed paper and do all their reading from screens.

Technology has also progressed fast by leaps and bounds.

First you had ebook readers, and then you read on screens of PCs, Laptops and Tablets.

Now you have Smartphones.

Nowadays, people spend more time reading books on Smartphones than they do on tablets, ebook readers, PCs and laptops.

New sophisticated “eReader” applications for reading books on electronic screens are being developed in a big way to offer a superior reading experience on handheld electronic devices, especially mobile smartphones and “phablets”.

Handheld digital screens are edging out paper books

With increasing trend of reading on handheld digital screens (especially smartphones), paper books are being edged out of the market.

The shutting down of many bookstores (including the iconic Manney’s in Pune) and downsizing of bookshop chains (which restrict their stock to recent commercial fiction) bears testimony to the increasing ascendancy of the digital space vis-à-vis the traditional print medium.

During a discussion at the PILF, someone said that even the popular “secondhand” bookstores were winding up as more and more literary works were digitized and were freely available online on the internet.

WAY AHEAD

What does this all mean for budding creative writers?

If you are a new writer then it is better to forget about “publishing” your writing in the print medium.

You will be better off if you start blogging your writing in the digital space.

At the recent Pune International Literary Festival (PILF) I met a columnist who used to write columns on topical issues for print newspapers.

He told me that owing to financial considerations, newspapers were becoming thinner, both smaller in size and with lesser number of pages.

Also more pages had to given to commercial features which financially sustain the newspaper like advertisements and sponsored features (“paid news”).

The result was that there was less space for content of columnists and writers.

So the columnist was repeatedly told to keep reducing the length of his article and make it shorter and shorter, till the word count became so less that it was not possible for him to properly express what he had to say.

Finally, things reached a stage where the e-version of the newspaper (in digital space) would carry his full article and the print version would be abridged to fit into the miniscule space available.

So now, the columnist has started blogging where he can write in an unrestricted and unrestrained manner.

Let me tell you about another friend who is a voracious reader.

He travels extensively all over the world as a part of his work and he spends a lot of his time waiting at airports, in hotels or in commuting to and fro to airports.

Earlier he used to carry a book to pass time during these long waits.

Now he carried his Smartphone – he can multitask, he can network, and also read a wide variety of things via the web since internet connectivity has become so easy and accessible.

He regularly reads my blog wherever he is in the world, and he can access literature and information from websites and also read a variety of blogs and writings of his interest.

WHY YOU MUST BLOG

Suppose you observe something which stirs emotion within you and you experience an urge to express your inner feelings and say something, tell others, so you write about it – say, a short story.

In the “good old” pre-internet days, you would send your piece of creative writing, your story, to a magazine for publication.

And then, the agonizing wait would begin.

Some decent editors would acknowledge your contribution, and then let you know of acceptance or otherwise.

Others would not even have the courtesy of acknowledging receipt of your story.

Sometimes, there would be so much delay by the time your story was published that you yourself would have lost interest or the story would have lost its topicality.

It was similar with a manuscript of your book, if you were a new budding author.

Everything depended on the whims and fancies of the all-powerful editors and publishers.

Most unsolicited manuscripts were consigned to the slush-pile and forgotten.

Hapless authors who wanted their writings to see the light of day had no choice but spend time and effort to make the rounds of editorial offices, swallow their self respect and be ready to be pushed around.

Not anymore.

The advent of blogging has changed everything.

Now, the moment you finish writing your story, you can upload it on your blog, and, hey presto, your story will ne instantaneously available worldwide for all to read.

Readers will connect with you, just like my friend can read my blog posts on his Smartphone, wherever he is in the world, the moment I post them on my blog.

It looks like: BLOGS ARE IN and BOOKS ARE OUT

Or to put it more aptly:

DIGITAL SCREENS ARE IN and PAPER BOOKS ARE OUT

Is the end of traditional publishing industry imminent?

Maybe not the “end” but the decline of print medium has certainly started as more and more people start reading on convenient handheld digital screens rather than lug around cumbersome paper books.

There is a revolution brewing in publishing.

The ascendancy of digital space is an undeniable reality.

VIKRAM KARVE

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this book review.

Disclaimer:

All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.

Did you like this blog post?

I am sure you will like the 27 short stories from my recently published anthology of Short Fiction COCKTAIL
To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:
http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme
http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm
http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html

COCKTAIL ebook

If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the links below:
AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6
SMASHWORDS
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

Foodie Book: Appetite for a Stroll
If your are a Foodie you will like my book of Food Adventures APPETITE FOR A STROLL. Do order a copy from FLIPKART:
http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer and blogger. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and an anthology of short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional and academic research papers in journals and edited in-house journals and magazines for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Vikram Karve Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm
Email: vikramkarve@hotmail.com

Twitter: @vikramkarve

Sunday, September 25, 2011

MY FAVOURITE SHORT STORIES Part 44 - ELECTROPHORESIS

MY FAVOURITE SHORT STORIES Part 44

ELECTROPHORESIS

VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

Sci Fi - an experimental fiction story. I wrote this story long ago - maybe more than 15 years ago. This story also features in my anthology COCKTAIL - Do let me know whether you liked the story.

Failures avoid school reunions. It is painful, and shameful, for a loser to be in midst of winners.

But this time I decided to go. Sucheta would be there. She had rung up from New York. And of course her husband Anand was also coming with her. Maybe that’s the real reason I wanted to go.

It was fifteen years since we passed out from school and the reunion was a grand affair in the best hotel at this picturesque ‘queen’ of hill stations on the slopes of the awesome mighty Himalayas where our school was located.

As I said the reunion was followed a lavish dinner and dance party for ours was an elite and famous boarding school, valued more for its snob appeal rather than for its academic excellence.

‘Bookworm’ was an exception. He had topped the board exams and had become a distinguished scientist, always inventing something mysterious and experimenting something esoteric.

“Hi, Bookworm,” I said. I was genuinely happy to see him.

“Moushumi,” he said angrily, “my name is not bookworm. My name is Doctor Kedarnath Joshi. So don't call me Bookworm. I don't like it. I am a full-fledged Professor.”

“Okay, I'll call you Professor Bookworm,” I teased him.

“That’s better,” he said, with smug look on his face.

“So, Professor, what are you inventing nowadays?” I asked.

“I’m researching in the frontiers of Psycho-cybernetics.”

“Pyscho-what…? Stop the mumbo jumbo, Bookworm. Tell me in simple language. Who are you and what do you do?”

“Okay. I am a neurologist. A psychiatrist. A psychologist. And I also hold a doctorate in Electrical Engineering. Currently I am researching in mind-transference,” Bookworm said proudly.

“Mind-transference…?” I asked confused.

“You have seen star-trek haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There they transfer persons in space. H G Wells’ time machine transferred entire persons in time,” he said.

“Time Machine…you’re making a time machine…?” I asked incredulously.

“No..No… I am working on something more complicated…Brain Transfer…I can put your mind into someone else’s body and vice-versa – that is, someone else’s brain into your body!”

“It sounds very spooky to me. Is it ESP…? Or some kind of occult stuff…?”

“Not at all,” Bookworm said, “Nothing supernatural, esoteric or mystical. It’s a purely scientific technique. I’ve developed a pilot system for trials. The machine is upstairs in my hotel room. Why don’t you give it a try?”

A strange curious wicked thought crossed my mind. I surveyed the expanse of the majestic ballroom with my eyes and soon my eyes found Anand. His dashing physique and his magnificent beard made him look prominent in the crowd. He looked a decisive, hot-blooded and dangerous man, but he also looked vulnerable.

He wore a lonely and rather perplexed expression, as though he were at the party but not enjoying it. And beside him stood his wife Sucheta radiating the natural pride of possession that any woman feels when she has the ownership and company of a man that other women desire.

I reminisced. There were four of us who grew up together. The same group of classmates and friends - in school and in college - Anand, Mohan, Sucheta and Moushumi (that’s me) – the famous four – inseparable friends. All of us loved each other.

I had the first choice since both Anand and Mohan were desperately in love with me and both had proposed to me.

I chose Mohan, leaving Anand for Sucheta.

And since that moment I kept tormenting myself wondering if I had made the wrong choice.

Physically I lived with Mohan but longed for Anand, repenting, and trying to imagine what my life would have been like if I had married Anand instead of Mohan.

I looked at Anand, and then at Bookworm.

Serendipity...! Yes. It was indeed Serendipity... pure luck...

I felt the adrenalin rush.

This was my golden chance to find out what life would have been like if I had married Anand... and I was going to seize the opportunity.

I waved out to Sucheta and five minutes later both of us were lying side by side on the double-bed in Bookworm’s hotel room.

There was a mesh of wires with electrode-transducers connected to our heads (like an EEG), a laptop-like special computer and a briefcase-size electronic device which Bookworm described as the ‘Electrophoresis Signal Processor’.

“Good,” Bookworm said, “both your brainwave frequencies are in ‘beta’ state around 15 hertz. I’ll give you both a high frequency burst to momentarily raise your brain-states to ‘K-Complex’ and instantaneously commence the electrophoresis.”

Looking at me, he said, “Moushumi, you will be Sucheta as far as the outside world is concerned. So when you wake up, go straight to Anand. Let’s see if he suspects.” And then to Sucheta he said, “Sucheta, you go straight to Mohan. He will think you are Moushumi.”

“It’s dangerous. I’m scared,” Sucheta said.

“Come on, Sucheta. Be a sport. It’s just for fun,” I said.

“It’s not fun. We’re doing this experiment to validate my research – in vivo– to see if the concept of mind-transference it works. Just for half-an-hour,” Bookworm said, “then both of you come back and I’ll reverse the process, everything will be the same as before, and you can leave as your own total selves – your same mind in your own same body.”

I closed my eyes in trepidation wondering whether I was doing the right thing. Suddenly I felt my brain go blank and then there were vivid flashes in a void.

Half an hour later, when I was in a state of ecstasy, in seventh heaven, gliding in Anand’s strong arms, enjoying the dance, in blissful trance.

Bookworm suddenly appeared by my side, started tugging my arm and telling me with urgency in his voice, “It’s time. Let’s go, Moushumi.”

“Moushumi…? Why are you calling her Moushumi…?” an incredulous Anand asked Bookworm.

“She is Moushumi,” Bookworm said pointing at me.

“Are you drunk or stoned or something…?” Anand snapped angrily. “Can’t you see she’s Sucheta, my wife...? Moushumi must be with her husband Mohan. I last saw them having a drink near the bar.”

Instinctively I turned and looked towards the bar. I could not spot Sucheta. Nor was Mohan there. I hurriedly scanned the room. There was no sign of them. They had disappeared.

Bookworm was in a state of panic and shouted incoherently: “Anand...Anand...Try to understand...Your wife Sucheta has gone away with Mohan. And this lady here in front of you is Moushumi – Mohan’s wife. This is only Sucheta’s body. Inside her is Moushumi’s brain. Moushumi’s mind is in Sucheta’s body. My in vivo experiment was successful – my psycho-cybernetics discovery is validated – the mind-transference has been achieved...!”

“Psychocybernetics…? Mind-transference…? Stop talking nonsense…!” Anand shouted angrily at Bookworm and taking my arm he said to me, “Come on Sucheta. Let’s go. Bookworm has gone crazy. And it’s getting late. We’ll drive straight down to Delhi. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow before we catch our flight back home to New York.”

As we walked through the parking lot towards the luxury limousine Anand had hired for his visit I noticed that ‘our’ car was missing. It was cold and I glanced at ‘our’ small cottage on the hill slope for the last time. ‘They’ were probably cuddling up in ‘our’ bedroom by now.

I thought I was smart, but it was Sucheta who played the double game.

For me it was only a half-hour experiment, but Sucheta had upped the ante and turned the tables on me.

Will Mohan ever find out? And what about Anand…will he continue to think I am his wife Sucheta? Will this psychocybernetic mind-transference last forever? Am I beyond the point of no return?

As I think of my future, I shiver with tremors of trepidation. From now on life is going to be a tightrope walk. Every moment I’ll have to be on my toes.

I’m excited…very excited…and a bit terrified and scared too. It’s going to be dangerous fun.

But one thing is sure.

Now I will really know what life would have been like if had I married Anand instead of Mohan ...

VIKRAM KARVE

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a story featured in my short stories book COCKTAIL.

Did you like this story?

I am sure you will like the stories in my recently published book COCKTAIL comprising twenty seven short stories about relationships. To order the book please click the links below:

http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme

http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm

http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html

COCKTAIL ebook

If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the link below:

AMAZON

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6

SMASHWORDS

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and he is currently working on his novel. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for almost 14 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com

Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Vikram Karve Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve

Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm

Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

MY FAVOURITE SHORT STORIES Part 42 - CHILLED BEER

CHILLED BEER

Short Fiction - A Murder Mystery

VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

Short Fiction - A Murder Mystery

I wrote this story long ago, for a competition, and it won the first prize. This story also features in my anthology COCKTAIL

Do let me know whether you liked the story.

It’s a lazy Sunday morning and I sit languidly in my balcony reminiscing the good old days of my wonderful past, melancholy mourning the gloomy and depressing present, and speculating with foreboding about what the ominous future may hold in store for me.

The doorbell rings.

I curse at being disturbed from my reverie, and wonder who’s come to meet me on a Sunday morning.

I open the door.

I am dumbstruck.

It is my wife Anjali's friend and colleague, that gorgeous snooty pompous beauty called Monica, who lives across the street.

“Anjali is not at home,” I say tersely.

“I know,” she says, “I’ve come to see you.”

“Me...?” I stare at her baffled, for till now the pretentious haughty Monica, who doesn’t care for losers, has always ignored me as if I did not exist.

“Yes, Ajay, I know Anjali is not at home. I’ve come to see you. I want to talk to you alone.”

“Alone...?” I am curious as I can feel a shiver of anticipation rising within me. We’ve never been alone before.

“Yes. Alone. Won’t you ask me to come in...?”

“Of course. Please come in. Shall we sit in the balcony...?”

“No. We’ll sit inside here, so no one will see us and we can talk in private.”

Monica looks chic and ravishing, in tight jeans and a close fitting pink T-shirt.

I try not to stare at her.

The moment we sit down on the living room sofa, she says, “Suppose you found out that your wife was being unfaithful. Tell me, Ajay, what would you do...?”

Taken aback by the bombshell, I say, “What...?”

“Suppose you caught her having an affair.”

“What nonsense...!” I say angrily, but inside me there germinates a small seed of doubt. Does Monica know something...? Why is she saying all this...? Trying to hide my fears, I put up a solid face and say, “Come on Mrs. Kumar. It’s impossible. You know Anjali for so many years and how much she loves me.”

“Hey, stop calling me Mrs. Kumar. I’ve told you before, haven’t I...? You just call me Monica...” Monica says, looks provocatively into my eyes, and asks, “Now think carefully...Suppose, just suppose, you caught your wife Anjali having an affair, cheating on you, betraying your trust with infidelity…”

“I’ll kill her,” I say instinctively.

“How...?”

“How...? What do you mean ‘How’...?”

“I mean ‘How’. How will you kill your wife...?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I say getting up from the sofa, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Let’s hypothesize. Will you shoot her...? Strangle her...? Stab her to death...? Suffocate her with a pillow...? Push her over the balcony or shove her off a cliff...? Electrocute her...? Drown her...? Douse her with kerosene and set her on fire...? An ‘accidental’ gas cylinder explosion...?”

“What do you want from me...? Why are you harassing me...? Please go away Mrs. Kumar. Anjali will be here any moment,” I beseech her.

“No, she won’t. I know she’s gone to the health club and parlour for her Sunday session. She’ll be back after twelve. We have enough time together, haven’t we...?” Monica says mischievously looking up at me and adds, “Okay, you just tell me how you would kill your wife if you caught her having an affair, and I promise I’ll go away...!”

“I’d probably use poison,” I say, and start walking towards the entrance door.

Monica remains seated in silence for some time, and then she looks at me intently and says, her words clear and deliberate, “Poison... The way you finished off Nisha, your first wife...?”

I stop dead in my tracks.

Stunned, pole-axed, I can sense a sharp, cold fear drilling into my vitals.

I look at Monica, into her shining eyes.

She knows...

And she wants me to know, that she knows...

And now I know that I have no choice.

I walk back to my sofa, sit down and say to her, “So you want to kill your husband. Just because you think he is having an affair.”

“You killed Nisha, didn’t you...?” she asks, looking directly into my eyes.

I feel very frightened, scared.

How much does Monica know...?

Or is she just speculating, guessing...?

Maybe she's just trying a shot in the dark...

But seeing the venom in her eyes, I realize that I dare not take any chances, so I smile and say, “Well, Monica, you have got your manacles on me, haven’t you...?”

“Listen, Ajay,” Monica says, her voice soft, as she speaks in measured tones, “I don’t want a scandal, that’s why I haven’t given him even the slightest hint that I suspect. But I can’t live a lie any longer pretending I am happy. The flimsy façade of our successful marriage, the veneer of pretence – it’s all going to blow-up sooner or later as he is becoming more and more indiscreet and careless.”

She pauses for a moment and says, “He’s got to go. Quickly. Quietly. As ‘normal’ a death as you can arrange.”

“Why don’t you leave him...? Ask him for a divorce.”

“It’s much better to be a widow than a divorcee, isn’t it...?”

I think about what she says.

Monica is right. It is much better to have all the sympathy of a widow than the stigma of being a divorcee; inherit all her husband’s riches, money, property rather than the paltry alimony.

Her husband is rich and successful, and her marriage a social triumph.

“Tell me, who is he having an affair with...?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.

“It’s none of your business,” she says angrily. “Just do what I tell you and don’t delve too deeply.”

“I thought maybe…”

“What’s the use...? He’ll get another one – bloody philanderer,” Monica says with contempt. “It’s he who has betrayed me and I want to get rid of him fast. You do this for me, Ajay, and my lips remain sealed about Nisha forever. I promise...”

“That’s all...?”

“I’ll clear all your gambling debts, your loans, the mortgages – with the bookies, financers…”

Inside I tremble with indescribable terror... outside I try to be calm and say, “You know all about me, don’t you...?”

“I’ve done my homework. Now you execute a foolproof plan. And after it’s all over there’ll be plenty more to come for you. I’ll give you so much money, you can’t even imagine...”

“Okay, let’s brainstorm. You tell me everything about your husband. Each and every detail, his food habits, his routine, his programme for the next few days, about both of you, everything. Absolutely everything.”

“I’m thirsty,” Monica announces.

“Fresh Lime...?”

“How about a chilled beer?”

I get two cans of chilled beer from the fridge.

“Hey,” Monica exclaims holding up a beer can, “you know what...? Kumar drinks the same brand of beer as you do...! It’s his favourite beer.”

“That’s a good start,” I say and clink my beer can with hers, “Cheers... To our success... Now tell me everything.”

Monica tells me everything about her husband Kumar.

I listen intently and carefully make notes.

By the time Monica finishes, in my mind’s eye I am already evaluating the pros and cons of various options of how Kumar is going to die.

“How do you want him to die...? Instantaneous death or prolonged illness...?” I ask Monica.

“I want to finish it off as quickly as possible. Painless. Fast. When he is far away from here. Like maybe during his trekking trip to Mussoorie next week,” she pauses for a moment and says, “but make sure it’s a perfect foolproof job – not even an iota of doubt or needle of suspicion.”

My mind races, exploring and weighing all the options, like maybe an exotoxin which leaves no trace, excretes itself from the organism within a few hours...?

I keep on thinking, my brain cells working at lightning speed, and all of a sudden I know what I’m going to do...

“We’ll give him something in his favourite beer,” I say.

“What...? Tell me, please...” Monica says excitedly.

“Now you don’t delve too much...” I say haughtily. “Just do what I say. Lips sealed. And ask no questions...”

“Okay.”

I look at the notes I have made when she was telling me about her husband and ask, “His weight is only 70...?”

“That’s right. Seventy kilograms. Five feet ten. Thirty Eight years of age. Ideal, isn’t it... He’s a fitness freak.”

“And he leaves for Mussoorie on Thursday...”

“Yes. Early in the morning.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll have the beer can ready by Wednesday evening. Make sure you collect it by six before Anjali comes back from office and see that he drinks it…”

“No. No. You serve it to him. Let him have it here. In front of you. Right here.”

“He’s never come here to our place before...”

“He will come here. If you invite him.”

“Fine. I’ll tell Anjali to invite both of you to dinner on Wednesday evening. She’s been wanting to call you over for a long time.”

“And...?”

“I’ll make sure your Kumar drinks the special beer. He’ll be off to Mussoorie on Thursday, and you should have the ‘good news’ by Sunday morning.”

“He shouldn’t pop off here...”

“He won’t. I’ll calculate everything precisely – you make sure there is at least a 36 hour incubation and proliferation period.”

After Monica leaves, I realize three things.

Firstly, murder is a rather lucrative business.

Secondly, from an amateur, I am going to become a professional.

And thirdly, infidelity is not only reason why Monica wants to get rid of her husband.

Everything works as per my plan.

I meticulously keep the vacuum microencapsulated ‘special’ can of beer firmly in its designated place in the fridge on Wednesday morning the moment Anjali leaves for work.

Then I leave for my office.

When I open the fridge the moment I return early from work on Wednesday evening I notice that the particular beer-can is missing.

My heart skips a beat, I feel a tremor of trepidation, search desperately in the fridge, don’t find the can, and soon I’m in a state of total panic.

After a frantic search I find the empty beer can in the kitchen dustbin.

I pick up the can and check.

Oh yes, no doubt about it – it is the same beer-can.

And the beer can is empty...

I try to think, steady my confused mind.

Who can it be...?

Everything becomes clear all of a sudden and I find myself shaking in sheer terror.

I rush to the bedroom, run around the house like a crazy animal.

Anjali is not at home.

I dial her mobile.

An excruciating wait as time stands still.

Anjali answers.

“Anjali...? Where are you...?”

“In the mall. Picking up some stuff for the evening.”

“So early...?”

“I took half a day off. Came home for lunch, got things tidied up and ready for the evening and am just getting a few things from the market. I’ll be back soon.”

“Anjali. The beer...! The beer...! ” I stutter anxiously.

“You want me to get more beer...? I thought we had enough.”

“No. No. There is a beer-can missing in the fridge. I found it in the dustbin.”

“Oh, that. I drank it in the afternoon,” Anjali says.

“What...? You drank that beer...?” I shout anxiously.

“Yes. I drank it. I came home in the afternoon. It was hot. I felt thirsty. So I opened the fridge, picked up a can of beer and I drank it. It’s that simple.”

“You stupid fool... Why did you drink that beer-can...?” I scream into the phone.

“Stupid fool...? How dare you...? Ajay, have you lost it...? I just can’t understand your behaviour now-a-days...” Anjali says and disconnects.

It was extraordinary, how my mind became clear all of a sudden.

There was no known antidote to the stuff I had synthesized.

Clinically, there was nothing I could do.

Logically, there was no point in doing something stupid in desperation.

It was a question of my own survival.

Having sunk to the depths of depravity, all I could do was helplessly wait and haplessly watch Anjali die.

She was less than sixty kilos, much lighter than Kumar.

By Saturday evening it would all be over...

The evening passes in a haze.

My heart sinks as I watch Kumar enjoy beer after beer, but what’s the use...? That beer-can, the one I had specially prepared for him, is lying empty in the dustbin.

There is a gleam in Monica’s eye.

What excuse am I going to give her...?

She does not know what’s happened and I shudder to think what she may do when she realizes.

At best she may forget everything; but knowing her vindictive streak, anything is possible...

Inside I tremble with fear in unimaginable agony... outside I try to present a happy and cheerful façade and make pretence of enjoying the dinner.

Time crawls.

I feel wretched and suffer in painful silence the longest and most agonizing hours of my life.

Thursday. Friday. Saturday.

I closely observe Anjali for symptoms, waiting for the worst.

Nothing happens.

Anjali seems normal, in fact, quite hale and hearty.

Sunday.

Anjali is still going strong...!

She sits across the dining table devouring her favorite idli-chutney-sambar Sunday breakfast.

I marvel at her constitution, her liver, it’s got to be super-strong; or maybe I’ve goofed up!

My cell-phone rings.

It’s Monica.

My heart skips a beat.

“Hello,” I say with trepidation.

“Ajay, congrats... You’ve done it... Kumar is dead. I just got a call from Mussoorie,” Monica says excitedly.

“How...?” I mumble incredulously, perplexed, baffled out of my wits in consternation.

“It happened exactly like you said. In the early hours of Sunday morning. He died in his sleep. They say maybe it was heart failure. Painless, instantaneous death.”

“I’ll come now...?” I ask Monica.

“No... No... Not now. We can’t take chances. I’m rushing to Mussoorie now. I’ll finish off everything; make sure the paperwork is done okay. And when I return, you can come and offer your condolences…” I hear Monica’s voice trail away.

I disconnect, put my mobile phone in my pocket, and look at Anjali.

“Who was it...?” she asks.

“Someone from the office,” I lie, trying to keep a straight face.

“Anything important...?”

“No. A man died. That’s all...” I say nonchalantly.

I look at Anjali, into her large brown liquid eyes, and comprehension dawns on me like a bolt of lightening.

What a cuckold she's made me, a real sucker.

My brain goes into a tizzy. I wonder what I should do to her. The possibilities are endless, aren't they...?

And while I contemplate on my plan of action...I think I'll have a chilled beer...

VIKRAM KARVE

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a story featured in my short stories book COCKTAIL.

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