A writer whose career is not going too well jumps off a skyscraper.
His phone rings mid-fall.
“Hello,” he says.
“Sir, we are calling on behalf of the first ever Rentachintala Literature Festival,” says the voice. “We would like you to participate. What sort of panel would you like to be on?”
The writer thinks.
“The one on ghostwriting?”
~~~
A writer whose career is not going too well decides to kill himself.
Standing on the parapet wall of a high-rise, he texts his editor.
It reads “Is there any point in going on like this. I’m killing myself.”
He takes a deep breath and jumps.
Halfway through his fall, his phone pips. It’s an sms alert from his editor.
It says “Insert ‘?’ after ‘this’”.
~~~
A writer and the marketing head of the publishing house are in conference.
They are trying to figure out a foolproof marketing strategy for his new novel. His last two books have failed miserably.
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” says the writer. “This is do-or-die for me.”
“That’s it,” says the marketing executive.
“What is?” says the writer.
“Die,” says the marketing executive. “That’s what you should do. Kill yourself before your book is out. Bestseller guaranteed.”
The writer does as he’s told.
No one buys his book.
A month later, as the marketing executive is fast asleep, the writer’s roaming spirit decides to pay her a visit.
“Well?” says the dead writer.
“Hey, what can I say?” says the marketing executive. “It’s been a bad year for fiction.”
~~~
One year later, the marketing head finds the writer’s roving spirit in an abandoned bookshop that is being converted into a massage parlour.
“Thank god I found you,” she says to the dead writer. “I have good news.”
“What?” says the writer. “Is my book finally a success?”
“Yes and no,” says the marketing head.
“What do you mean?” says the writer.
“Your book failed,” she replies, “but the book I wrote about you, the suicide and all, is a monster bestseller.”
~~~
A writer and an editor, both disillusioned by the ways of the literary world, decide to kill themselves together.
They get to the top of a skyscraper and have a couple of drinks. Then they hold hands and stand on the parapet. They both have tears running down their cheeks.
“So this is it?” says the writer.
“Yes, this is it,” says the editor. “See you in that big old bookshop in the sky.”
One, two, three. Jump!
As the writer drops, he realises he’s the only one freefalling through space.
He calls his editor. Her phone is busy.
His phone pips. It’s a text from her.
“At a meeting. Anything urgent?”
~~~
A depressed writer, saddened by the callous ways of the publishing world, decides to kill himself.
He has a couple of drinks and jumps off the tallest building in his city.
Mid-drop, his phone rings. It’s his acquaintance, a veteran writer.
“Hey,” he says, “I’m having a book launch tomorrow in your city. You know the guy I was supposed to be in conversation with, yeah, he’s dropped out last minute, the son@##b%^&. I want you to fill in. Can you?”
“You know,” says the writer whooshing through space towards certain death. “I would... except that I’ve jumped off a very tall building and...”
“Perfect,” says the veteran writer. “I’ll be doing most of the talking anyway. So pick you up at seven at the morgue?”
~~~
A frustrated writer, sick of not being invited to India’s biggest literary festival, decides he’s going in a blaze of glory.
His plan: to jump off the top storey of the hotel where the festival takes place as their most sought-after session is underway, crash right into the middle of it, and guarantee himself a place in history.
As he goes up to the top floor of the hotel, he is surprised to see a queue. It is a bunch of writerly men in Nehru vests, and women in ethnic apparel.
“Here,” says the man in charge, handing him a token and a tariff card, “2022 is open. Better hurry. There is an opening in the Salman Rushdie session.”
~~~
A writer who specialises in epic retellings decides that he’d had enough.
He finds the tallest building in his city and makes his way to its top.
He is surprised to find an award-winning writer of literary fiction on the ledge contemplating the same thing.
“You too,” says the epic reteller.
The award-winning writer smiles wryly and nods.
The compatriots hold hands and jump as one.
To their surprise, defying the laws of physics, the writer of literary fiction falls through space much slower than the epic reteller, who literally reaches the ground like he’s been shot out of a cannon.
Obviously, the epic reteller reaches heaven first.
“Can you tell me why I died first even though I jumped at the same time as my friend, the award-winner?” he asks the gatekeeper.
“Oh, that’s easy,’ says the guard. ‘You, the gods want here as fast as possible to right all the abominations you’ve perpetrated on them. Your friend, on the other hand, they want to delay his inevitable readings as much as they can.”
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is the author of How To Be A Literary Sensation: A Quick Guide to Exploiting Friends, Family & Facebook for Financial Gain. He has just moved to a neighbourhood that has no high-rises.
