Passage inspired by Chetan Bhagat

She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf. ..

Passage by Rajesh Sheth

The two tailed mermaid Siren must be jealous of her. Luring and attractive blond babe, Kat had been waiting at the farthest bentwood table near the half open broken window keeping her snooping eyes stared constantly for last 90 minutes. Coffee was streaming under the foamy ocean at the brink of the China cup, Kat was devouring. The Siren was the metaphor for Starbucks and Kat was for Siren, the luring singer with a repetitive voice enough baiting for the CEO of Monty Sys, a Publishing House in Brazil.

The blood stained silk was recently pocketed from the most popular Sunday bazaar, at Istanbul. The war between two writers had been bloody. The Palace located at the royal banks of historical waters of Marmara witnessed the intimate moments shared between the Sultan and Kat. Sultan was a staunch reader of novels. Monty Sheth was among all the invitees cherishing the moments of togetherness with Kat. Born nature of Kat, to draw the male with luring words, had become the habit as passionate as the taste of Starbuck Coffee. The ghost writers are expert in luring.

One week back, Monty Sheth had already booked the deluxe suit at the 52^nd floor of the five star hotel of Istanbul before he left from Brazil, the land of Amazon. The wilderness was still in the heart of Monty which was going to be the spread sheet for Kat at the meeting. The 52^nd floor is under lock today. The Police are in search of the occupants.

“The welcomed delegates are requested to occupy the chairs.” announced the Manager. The Oval conference table had been well adorned as far as possible to meet the demands of the World Publishers Committee.

The lighted lamps inside the crystal chandlers found a few bright humanities who accompanied the beauties of the East. Kat was one of them. Dressed in the scarlet long gown, studded with the gold trinket at the beautiful bosom, Kat looked splendid. The praying eyes couldn’t stop piercing through the cruel beauty for a long time; the Teak wood door opened, showing Sultan in the door way, stopped them. Kat couldn’t resist her inquisitive eyes staring handsome young Sultan. The hands were shaken and the hearts were throbbed. The throbbing heart of Sultan made the way easy for Kat to enter the Palace the very same night. Monty Sheth was the man of experience. He had been publishing novels written by renowned writers.

Being the son of a retired Army officer, Monty Sheth made himself known about the body language of Kat and Sultan. The deal was going to be sure. He sipped a sip from the crystal glass filled with red grape juice.  Consuming alcohol was much far away for Monty as far as Kat sitting at the opposite end of the oval conference Table. The underneath legs of the table saw a barrel of a small Colt pistol pointed at Monty. Monty had many friendly enemies. Kat was burning inside as soon as she saw Monty Sheth in front of him.   

Kat had started her career as a writer. She had been hired by a local news paper to fill the gaps of weekly issue with a short story of 500 words before she reached Mumbai to take part in writing completion. However, she was disqualified for reaching late by one hour only. The national English daily had arranged the competition. The luring prize was not less than Rupees One lack. This amount was much life making amount for her. Then organizers had scrutinized minimum 1000 entries before preparing the final list. Then ten finalists were invited in person to narrate their stories at Bhaidas on that Sunday when Kat’s father had suffered severe heart attack. The cheeks were still wet with tears when she received the call from Mumbai. Her heart and soul both had been converted to stone. The life with success and fame were waiting for her at Bhaidas. She reached late. The judge was Monty Sheth. The feeling or revenge was born in the corner of the heart of Kat.

A call from Monty Sheth made her more thoughtful to continue writing but as a ghost writer. The person gets reward but not the name. Monty was himself writing his third novel. He had grabbed a lot of name and fame in only three short years. The luck was much charming for his second book, The Seven Seasons, had become the best seller in 16 countries including Brazil. Kat wrote day and night and burnt her midnight oil to write five thousand words daily to meet the target. The fourth book of Monty Sheth was the hit again. ‘The Midnight Oil’ was the name on the jacket with the writer’s name, Monty Sheth. She had received the said amount but not a written consent about the same so that she can prove herself as a writer.

Meeting between Monty Sheth and Kat had been expected volatile for there had been a feeling of pulling the dragon apart from that there wasn’t any concrete motive to meet. Monty Sheth had promised to justify Kat’s name as a creative writer at the conference. The corporate brunch did not make the situation better. Moreover, the boiling attitude of both spoiled the evening high tea too. Italian Roast Coffee was not to be served. The Coffee mugs were hard to be found in Istanbul on that day of the meeting.  Kat did not forget the habit of Starbucks’ Fair Trade Italian roast. There wasn’t much difference between Kat and this brand. Both were sturdy and sweet blend, potent and intense.

The burning issue of accepting the ghost writers as the real writers was the main agenda. Brazil was trying to find the crevices among the talks. India had been much ahead in finding the top place at the Summit meeting. Turkey was just watching the mundane game plan without brains. A feeling of bogus anger and enraged attitude made Sultan believe that Brazil and India can never be together. Kat was not given the name as promised. Having sensed the failure, Prince Sultan invited Kat and Monty to his Royal palace, at the banks of Marmara trough. He wished to show his royalty to the guests. 

The chilled night passed shiver through the spine when the mercury stood at 4^o c. Kat wasn’t aware about the gust of cold wind that pierced through the wide French windows of the top guest room of the Palace. She was busy in the fresh room preparing the last crusade. Reaching the safes at the basement to retrieve Indian Historical books was the only motive. The hall of guest room was under surveillance but not the fresh room. The pink garters grabbed the Kanpuri Knife tight under her knee high transparent skin tight stockings. Red scarlet long gown had been replaced with turquoise blue velvet skirt. The dark brown lip liners embedded the cruel smile on the lucky lips. High stiletto raised the height of Kat to 6`3``. With head high, Kat measured the lobby with keen eyes. Monty Sheth was at the basement museum to have a look at the original manuscript of WW2 history. He had a vicious plan to steal that precious book away. There wasn’t any elevator reaching the basement. The only way to reach the place of target was through the staircase. The staircase, well guarded was out of reach for Kat. It was the day of money transfer. The Royal banks were ordered to deposit the Gold reserve in the safe of the Palace. The safes were the most prioritized objects for Kat so the dinner was given up for lost. She descended from the emergency back stairs to avoid the guests in the lifts.

The Guest hall of the Palace was highly illuminated to welcome the guests from all over the world. Dinner was arranged in the Royal garden at the back of the Palace looking at the dark waters of Marmara. The guests including Monty Sheth were exchanging the words of wisdom and vanity, but, Kat was not to be found. It’s well-known fact that the city, Istanbul is the location that makes two cultures of the West and The East meet. The high minarets were flared with the fire colored flags to outshine the world. The imperial gate reminded the stupendous powered reign of the Ottoman. Kat wasn’t much interested in all this pompous show. She found herself in the back yard of the Palace from where the large ventilators allowed the fresh air to enter the basement. A slight movement was observed near the security wall so Kat concealed herself under a dark wild bush.

What’s the difference if she was under a wild bush? It wasn’t a new experience for Kat. A few minutes later the vents were half open and had allowed a lady from India to intrude the most secured basements of the Palace. The motion detectors and surveillance cams were already mute half an hour ago. Miss Kat Khorana from Jullundur was to be pride for all the Indians soon.        

The clock tower of the Palace said 12 midnight. The royal dinner along with the guest was at the climax disposition. Somewhere about 500 meters away , Kat was excited too to open the vault where she could trace out the Indian documents and bagged them before she was out again in the glittering garden with all the guests. A broad smile with sweet voice made the guest convinced that an Indian mermaid was present in the Royal party.

It was a wonder why nobody could see Kat accomplishing the lethal and impossible task. Though she was aware about the motion sensors and the camera surveillance, she had continued her passionate task, she was assigned. She would have been hanged to death for this act if the power was on in the basement. Monty was the reason. He had muted all the sensors to help himself but he never knew that he had helped an Indian mermaid, Kat.

The morning sun declared the victory of Kat to the Indian Embassy. And the same morning sun had also complained about the open ventilator window to the chief security officer of the Palace Museum. A search for unknown intruder was on but the identity was blank as all the surveillance cams of the palace had become blind 12 hours back.

The night stay at the palace was deliberate to be truthful to Sultan. Having had a nice breakfast with Sultan, Kat left in search of her favorite coffee joint, Starbucks. She had found one with much toil and trouble at Abide-i Hürriyet Cd. The roasted Italian was ordered. Kat had worn her favorite blue overall dress with same colored silk scarf over the head hiding her beautiful blond hair. She had decided to visit the famous Blue Mosque before leaving for India. The full robe was the sign of respect and serenity for the respect of the divine shrine. The knife, her true friend was still stuck in her stockings with the help of garters under the blue overall.

A man of 50’s approached Kat asking her identity. Kat was trifle suspicious about the behavior of the man with large walrus moustache hiding the identity and the squinted eyes hidden under large pointed cap. Was he known to her or was it a nightmare? She had already handed over the documents to the bearer form the Indian embassy. The bearer was a realistic true friend of her since childhood. The mysterious man at Starbucks had been sitting with a newspaper in his hand for the last thirty minutes but the page was neither shuffled nor changed. The place was not much crowded as it was the morning time and Friday. The man stood from his seat and approached nearer to Kat to get her real identity. Kat was a little taken aback as she had not expected that situation. Everything was smoothly running. She feared the catastrophe so ignored the unknown and re ordered the counter man to divert the attention of the man. The luring voice of Kat made the man hypnotized and forgot why he was there. Kat offered him a seat to accompany her. The Siren tone could not stop the man sitting in front of her. The Starbucks coffee mug was on the table. The picture of Siren on the coffee mug was not much away from resembling with Kat. Her luring attractive voice made the companion forget that he himself was a silent killer The vicinity at the restaurant was life less. People were busy for the Morning Prayer. Counter sales person had just left the counter for a while as a Black Mercedes Benz had collided with an old woman crossing the road. Considering the situation vital, Kat signaled the companion to follow her to the rest room. Hypnotized sailor with the motive of murder was under the spell of this Indian mermaid. Siren, the twin tailed mermaid was watching with jealousy from the coffee mug from on the table. 

After a few minutes, Kat was at her table drinking her favorite Starbucks roasted Italian coffee sip by sip. The blood stained knife was in her handbag. The sharp pointed knife had lifted the cap of the man reviling his identity, Monty Sheth. Her head was bare. The blue silk scarf had found a new place in the handbag. The road had become busier than before. An ambulance had arrived and already taken the old lady to morgue. The city morgue might need more space for a dead writer. Kat Khorana left the place for airport and decided to visit the Blue Mosque another time. The cold morning had a touch of heat. The lesson was learnt. Never be a ghost writer. And, never underestimate ghost writer. However, Monty was still in the hotel waiting for the news from Tony about the killing of hired dummy who had acted as Monty in front of Kat.