Unravelling the Conspiracy behind highbrow Literary Festivals.
A literary festival is not a communal celebration of the arts. At the end, it is fundamentally a commercial enterprise with no formal rules, but merely the pecuniary desires of the organizers, publishers, and various other businesses. But you and I, the humble citizens of the country, never see this. We believe what we are shown and we are happy that culture is being celebrated with such zest and earnestness.
In a previous chapter, I touched tangentially (because I was afraid then, and I probably still should be, but somehow, at this time, I am behaving rather recklessly) upon the nexus between extremely diverse interests in creating a business model based on an unending stream of literary festivals. People are gullible. They can be cheated very easily and, in fact, wish to hand over their money to any business remotely related to the world of literature. I do not expect you to believe me. That is fine. I must record this so that future generations will know.
We had a high-brow cocktail party one evening where publishers, authors and organizers were to get together and mingle. It is known that the publisher and editors community celebrate with alcohol through the day – beer and whiskey is free at the workplace, under the claim that they work under stressful conditions and therefore need constant relief. Tavleen was completely drunk when she spoke to me.
‘How did the literary festival come about, Tavleen?’ I asked Tavleen, who was spread out on a sofa, guzzling liquor gently.
‘You know what, Murthy? I kind of like you. You are so amazingly useless and you don’t know it and you want to get published. It pleases me, somehow, this innocent bull-headedness. So tell you what, while I can’t marry you, I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
Then she told me about the business meeting where it was decided to hold the festival in Ramgarh. The next step was to go into details and ensure that the event was an unqualified commercial success.
‘So Murthy, I got my guy Wadhwa to implement my order. That chap will go far, mark my words. He only cares for money, like a good Panjabi.
‘So Wadhwa arranged for a meeting at the Oberoi. I reached first, because I needed to ensure everything was in place. We couldn’t afford to have the media know. And certainly not the police.’
‘Wow, amazing stuff, Tavleen!’
‘Yes, isn’t it? Well, by 6.30 p.m. on the appointed day, I had already entered the secret restaurant. From behind a secret screen, I watched the cartel members enter the restaurant one by one.’
She added, ‘Gupta of Gupta’s Samosas was the first to come. An eager beaver latching onto this one big opportunity he was being given. He was fat and florid and was never without a samosa or two in his pocket, to hand over as complimentary gifts to business associates. One could never say when it might be necessary to give away complimentary gifts. He was shrewd. I like that in a man.
‘The next to come in was Mohanty of HiKwality Paper Recycling Industries. He would be a direct beneficiary of more books. I’ll tell you why soon.
‘Fernandes of Happy Homes in Goa was next. He offered “retreats” to spineless writers who wanted to write and write and write in a paroxysm of creativity. He had a bottle of feni in his pocket that he indulged in fairly often. The more who thought they were distinguished writers, the more distinguished his wealth became. He is a cunning gentleman. I always visit him when I go to Goa.
‘Madhavan of Madurai Nuts and Bolts was next. Then came Deka from Jorhat Infrastructure. After which we had Parikh from Surat Fertilizers. There was also a corrupt income tax officer named Sharma whose advice was needed from time to time. Nicholson from London Undergarments had also flown in just that morning; he looked out of sorts because of the jet lag. It was an odd mix of people bound by a criminal enterprise called a literary festival. You wouldn’t think they would be relevant to a literary festival, would you now, Murthy?’ said Tavleen, pouring out another scotch on the rocks.
‘No, Tavleen. This is fascinating!’ I said, leaning forward, my heart at a standstill, unable to bear the tension.
‘I let Wadhwa start.’
‘Thank you for coming in,’ said Wadhwa, without ceremony. ‘We have a new member. A replacement. Swaminathan is out and Gupta is in. Please welcome him.’
There were nods. Just brief nods. Business is business and time is money.
‘We shall be having a literary festival in Ramgarh, somewhere in the interiors of India, in about a year. We need to prepare. There is a lot of money to be made. But as we know, preparation makes all the difference.’
Everyone nodded.
‘We have the template all ready, so we just need to make sure we are all in sync.’
‘P___ has a master database of pathetic writers. There is no hope for them, so they will come free. We save transport costs. We shall ask them to bring their miserable manuscripts with them. We shall arm-twist them to sign contracts. I visited Ramgarh and have worked out a deal with the principal of the college there. The village is centered on a college. Nothing else happens. Arrangements will be made at an old refurbished prison about two hours away to accommodate these lost souls.’
‘Gupta’s Samosas is responsible for food. Surat Fertilizers handles logistics at the four Halls, A, B, C and D. And legal will handle the contracts. Madurai Nuts and Bolts takes care of audio and video and ensures it’s always a disaster. Mohanty handles the festival bookstore and the pharmacy. Deka handles security, poet management, and media.
‘Nicholson handles bulk orders for phosphorescent underwear and finds us some non-Indians to make this international; anyone hanging about in the town square of a small town in Poland or Togo should do; we’ll call them celebrated international writers and give them some free underwear if they whine. Fernandes of Happy Homes handles fake smiles and general hospitality. Also, while marketing the event, we have to be careful that we don’t get Google to pick it up. So no website or social media page. He also handles bringing in other publishers – Hot Air Publishers and Pupa have already agreed. That woman Amita of MillingBoons India seems interested in joining the cartel. Work out an introductory deal; we don’t want her to get too greedy too soon. You know how these publishers are.’
‘Let’s go over the excel sheet, you clowns,’ I snapped.
‘I called everyone clowns so no one really minded. In any case, if there was money to be made there was no point being sensitive. Getting the idea, Murthy?’
‘Yes! Astonishing!’
‘I know. I’m a genius,’ said Tavleen, guzzling another peg.
I said, ‘We expect 2187 writers and poets to show up. All are B and C grade as far as we are concerned. I can call Sheelaaa Dey to inaugurate. She is a full-time inaugurator now. Everyone loves her sleeveless blouses, off-white dresses, and the same speech she gives everywhere. She is sponsored by the Dentists Association of India, another cartel of crooks just like us. We’ll say she’s a famous writer. People will believe us.’
‘Anyway, let’s carry on. We expect anywhere between eight and 256,763 attendees. A wide range, but we need to show flexibility.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Deka, patting his paunch. ‘I can handle it.’ He had vast experience in security management, he was an infrastructure magnate and a mediocre poet.
‘Mr Gupta, if you fail to sell six million samosas at the festival, we shall not be able to make profits. You will not get another chance,’ I said.
‘Madam, as long as no other food is allowed to enter the festival lawns for four days, we shall be fine. I am counting on Mr Deka to keep away food vendors and prevent attendees from leaving the festival premises.’
‘Done,’ said Deka, licking his lips. He was a foodie. ‘Let us remember that if security is weak, my infrastructure projects elsewhere will suffer. The better the security we provide at literary festivals, the better the chances of getting lucrative road-building contacts in Nagaland and Bolivia.’
‘Obviously,’ I snarled. ‘Do you take us for fools?’
‘No, just stating the obvious. Mr Gupta is new here.’
‘Sharma, what about the tax implications of free samosas?’ inquired Wadhwa.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll merge a few PAN numbers and we can underreport sales. I pocket 20 per cent of the amount saved in taxes, as already agreed.’ Sharma was corrupt.
‘Fernandes, we need you to get thousands of volunteers. Walkie-talkies, T-shirts. Smiles. Earnest attitude.’
‘Certainly. This time, though, I don’t think the walkie-talkies need batteries. Waste of money. We’ll train the volunteers to pretend to talk into non-working walkie-talkies.’
‘I envy you,’ said Deka. ‘All those writers will head straight to Happy Homes in Goa right after the Festival, convinced they are fabulous writers. How much will you be charging them?’
‘None of your business really, Deka. But I can tell you that we’ll arrange for Bank Loans to these guys. I’m looking at $1000 a day per poet or writer to hang out in my minimalist beachside resort. They will stay for three months. 187 writers and poets. Do the maths.’ Fernandes looked smug. ‘Enslaved for life.’
‘Very good,’ nodded Mohanty. ‘Guys, my job will require your support. I need to pack my bookstore with the nonsense of these guys and make people buy things they will never read. I agree that the profits are in the samosas, but we need to sell books to give the appearance that this is an emotional event to support creativity or some nonsense.’
‘Parikh, please go over your role,’ I commanded.
‘Mandatory bullock cart rides for all between the Halls, which I understand are very far from each other, will help. I’ll ensure that that the planning of the schedule is really awful and keeps changing constantly. By doing so, people will rush back and forth between venues without a clue. The bulls will keep producing natural fertilizers. I collect the fertilizer and package it as organic stuff. Gullible farmers buy at high prices. They pass on high prices to end consumers, who are really happy to pay a lot of money. My calculations show that each trip will cost an attendee 500 rupees. Multiply by the number of fruitless trips and the thousands of attendees and we’re talking big money.’
‘We know that already! Do you take us for fools, Parikh!’ I snarled. ‘And you, Madhavan, please stop munching on your idlis. You’ve been doing that nonstop. Stop!’
‘Madam, I am committed to this festival. Whenever we have literary festivals, sales of nuts go up very much, madam. Don’t worry about audio and video, madam. I will ensure they work only ten per cent of the times. We know that when audio does not work, sales of nuts go up, madam.’
‘Do you take us for fools, Madhavan?’ I snarled. Madhavan chomped on an idli, in defiance. Tamilians are a proud people.
‘You’ve done your homework, Tavleen,’ said Nicholson admiringly. ‘A single literary festival can create such a huge economic hurricane! Impressive!’
‘I blushed. Women like flattery. And I really loved Nic, you know, Murthy.’
She guzzled another peg.
‘As for me, I do understand that we shall be emphasizing how the creative process is triggered and sustained by the use of phosphorescent underwear. Most of the third-rate writers who are coming wear my products anyway. If 200,000 people visit and we can convince half of them to buy a set of London brand phosphorescent underwear at Rs 15,000 per set, we’re set,’ He said.
‘Priced a bit high, Nicholson?’ I simpered lovingly.
‘What price can you put on creativity?’ proclaimed Nicholson dramatically. ‘Isn’t that what Shakespeare said in Hamlet?’
‘I think he did. How smart you are Nicholson! People will buy!’
Gupta, who had a Masters in English Literature from Delhi University, looked puzzled. ‘Did Shakespeare really say that?’ he asked.
‘That. And many more things,’ I snapped. ‘Start cooking, Gupta, you only have eight months to finish making your samosas.’
‘Yes, madam,’ said Gupta.
‘I’ll send out a consolidated file in a couple of days. I’m glad we’re in sync. I’m trying to get tax breaks for the festival via Sharma. That will make us even richer.’
‘What if someone finds out this is a racket, madam?’ asked Madhavan.
‘Everyone frowned. None appreciated this lack of confidence. I certainly did not. It was quite the wrong thing to say, don’t you agree, Murthy?’
‘Yes, Tavleen, how right you are!’
‘So I responded very coldly. “Well, we’ll just kill them, of course. Won’t we, Nic?’”
‘Yes, they must die,’ said Nicholson coldly.
(Today, Madurai Nuts and Bolts is no longer in business, due to the unexpected death of Madhavan who was found wearing a yellow shirt and red turban, clutching a poetry book.)
‘Let’s celebrate!’ said Wadhwa in a business-like way, and broke into a corporate bhangra dance. The others joined him briefly. Nicholson handed over a pair of undergarments to everyone. Gupta threw samosas to all, thanking them for including him in the cartel.
The Ramgarh Literary Festival’s birth was now guaranteed.
Tavleen put her glass down. There was silence as she looked into the distance. I watched quietly, patting her hand.