Me: Aurangabad Railway Station was crowded more so than usual that particular day, I noticed. There seemed to be a Government Exam in Igatpuri, hence the crowd. Wherever I looked, I saw new faces everywhere; on platforms, in waiting rooms and below display boards. "May I have your attention please? Train number 12072 Janshatabdi Express is waiting on Platform Number 3. People are requested to not get down and cross the railway tracks, use the overhead walkway instead. Thank You." The announcement ended, and even so people got down on the track and started climbing the Janshatabdi Express, which waited on Platform Number 3. This train, which ran between Aurangabad and Mumbai till this moment had people who had reserved their tickets, but since it also stopped at Igatpuri, people who hadn't reserved their seats also climbed on board. The horde of people were also blocking other passengers who indeed had purchased a ticket and reserved their place on the train. The situation was different for the passengers in A/C compartment however, as they sat in their luxurious seats, waiting for the train to depart. In one such luxurious seats, sat Sharmila Inamdar. Forty to Fifty years of age, she had a recognizable mark on her wrist. Draped in a tradition Salwar-Kamiz, this woman was a Criminal Psychologist and Professor. She was also a writer. She was glancing at the chaos which was happening outside her window, occasionally sneaking glances at the newspaper which she was reading. Their luxury compartment had space to occupy four passengers, four including her, whilst the other three still hadn’t shown up. A few moments later, the train moved and the voices on the platform faded. As soon as they left the station, she was greeted with the usual sights; worn down railway coaches, old and rusty railway engines and more. In that moment, I entered the compartment, stowing the trolley and handbag away, I came and sat on the seat opposite her. I went ahead and rummaged a pen and a notebook from my handbag, and started scribbling away. The pen however, wasn’t working properly. I was attempting to fix it when Sharmila Ma’am said;-

Sharmila: Slides the newspaper toward me. Try writing on this.

Me: Smiling. Still trying to make my pen work. Thank You.

Sharmila: Look here, let me give it a try.

Me: I slide my pen and newspaper toward her. Yes sure.

Sharmila: Taking the apparatus from me, she gives the Pen a violent jerk and the ink flows on the newspaper. There, it’s working now. Experience, i tell you, always helps. So when did you come back from Pune? She asked in a serious tone.

Me: Confused. You recognized me? How did you know?

Sharmila: The airport travel tag on your hand bag told me so.

Me: Oh I see... You are smart Sharmila madam.

Sharmila: A little taken aback. How did you know? In all honesty I have seen you somewhere.

Me: Laughing, I pointed at the newspaper and what she had scribbled. 99% people write their own name while scribbling.

Sharmila: Okay... You are a smart one as well.

Me: I extended my hand for a handshake. Sagar Sarpodar. I own a business in Pune, was on an official trip in Aurangabad. Now I have a flight to Delhi departing from Mumbai.

Sharmila: Shaking my hand. Okay... Sharmila Inamdar, as you seem to know... Criminal psychologist and professor at Chennai College. I have a train from Mumbai to Chennai.

Me: Sharmila Inamdar? Are you the criminal psychologist who wrote the Perfect Revenge? Is that you?

Sharmila: Nodding. Yes that’s me. Have you read it?

Me: No I haven’t; but I have heard a lot about it. A woman, whose sister had an affair with another man, goes on a murderous rampage to avenge his death. That’s the plot right?

Sharmila: Leans back in her seat. Yes.

Me: Ohh... Great to meet you... actually, I am a huge appreciator of Thriller novels. Infact, I am planning on writing one myself. All the same, he suggested me that book of yours; but i never got the chance to read it. By the way, some people say that-

Sharmila: Sharmila finished his sentence. That the tale is based on my real life experience. Yes, I am aware. I murdered my Sister's lover with such perfection, that no one was able to solve that case. That’s what they say right?

Me: Yes, and what do you think of these rumors?

Sharmila: I don’t have anything to say. I stay mute. I don’t comment. I have an opinion Sagar; Corruption and Murder, if a person indulging in either of these is managing them with perfection without getting caught, then I consider them to be talented. Police Departments, Investigative Agencies, Detective Committee, if none of these could solve the case, then I would call it an art, and isn’t that brimming with talent?

Me: Are you implying this tale is based on real events?

Sharmila: Rummages in her bag and hands a book to Sagar. Truth or Lies, it’s a matter of perception; and I leave that judgment to you. Read it and tell me, if it’s a perfect murder or not.

Me: I am sure the book is going to be amazing; but as a reader of the thriller genre, i know one thing; No murder is perfect.

Sharmila: No. The technique in this book to execute the murder is perfect. There seems to be no other technique which is better than this.

Me: I don’t believe you.

At that very moment, the TT enters the compartment.

TT: Turns toward Sharmila. Sharmila Inamdar?

Sharmila: Yes, that’s me.

TT: Looks at Sagar. And you must be Saga Sarpodar... Do you have an ID?

Me: I proceed to fish out the ID when TT says. It’s not needed... Thank you sir...

Me: I look at Sharmila. What happened?

Sharmila: Sagar, let’s play a game; interested?

Me: Laughing. Game? What Game?

Sharmila: You believe No murder is perfect... I challenge you. I'll give you a brief summary of this story, after that, you can tell me if the murder was perfect or not, if it wasn't; then you have to tell me how you would've executed the murder in this same exact story scenario.

Me: Laughing. If you really want me to be a critic, I don’t mind. Fine, I am interested.

Sharmila: Okay then... Shall we begin?

Me: Definitely.

Sharmila: Since this story is written in first person perspective, the writer of this story is the main character. So I will assume her character and read from her perspective.

Me: Nodding. Okay.

Sharmila: Starts reading the book. 7.5 Billion People inhabit this world and yet there is only one truth that prevails; that nothing is free. Every bite you eat, every peaceful sleep, anything and everything, needs to be earned. And even so, there are times when we humans are faced with choices and situations where we have to rely on cheating, lying and dishonesty to get by; but I wasn’t born here to be a part of these people. That’s why I always relied on my head and my thoughts. This is one of the reasons I was counted as one of the most important people in the city. I had established many a business. I had everything. Respect, Money, Success and a younger sister; her name was Shamali, Shamali Inamdar. As I said; I always relied on my brains; and hence I didn’t get married. Once you tie yourself in the shackles of marriage, I realized, you can kiss all your dreams and aspirations goodbye. Hence, I didn’t want my sister to succumb to those shackles as well. I fulfilled all of Shamali's wishes, always showering her with four times as many wishes she desired; vehicles, houses, servants, whatever she desired, I provided. But maybe this was my lapse of judgment; as what she wanted from the bottom of her heart, I wasn’t able to provide. I had ventured into a new business and hence I used to stay in my office for long periods of time, and at our house too, i was always busy with the same work. One night, I was returning late, and I spied Shamali sitting in front of her mirror, sad and crestfallen.

Scenario 1:

Sharmila- Not sleepy?

Shamali: I don’t wish to; it means i will be obligated to wake up tomorrow, and spend another slow, long day.

Sharmila: Irritated. I am not in a mood to have another argument Shamali. You will divert the topic again, and we will reach the same conclusion; which is, I don’t want you to get a job. Infact, why would you ever want one? What are you lacking?

Shamali: Turns around, her face streaming with tears. I don’t have anything else to do, other than stay in this bungalow!

Sharmila: I don’t want you to work and go through the same things I go through every day! I put my hand on her shoulder. You think about this a lot, resulting in these negative thoughts. You can spend your time outside with that friend of yours, what’s her name; Sharvari. She's relocated here in this city, go and hang out at her place. Go to markets and malls. Didn’t you tell me she’s learning guitar? You should do that too, there’s a lot of things which you can do, all you got to do is give it a try! I will ask around for a music teacher tomorrow.

Sharmila: the very next day, I asked my manager to book an appointment with a music teacher. He dropped by after a couple of days, which was when I came to know; that shamali had already called a music teacher by her own. Then one evening, she introduced him to me-

Scenario 2:

Shamali: Tai, meet Vikrant. He was a junior to me and Sharvari in our college. He also teaches Sharvari.

Sharmila: Okay… Hello Vikrant, how are you?

Vikrant: I am fine ma’am.

Sharmila: So how long have you been playing the guitar?

Vikrant: It’s been close to four years ma’am, I am also a part time DJ.

Sharmila: Okay... Good.

Sharmila: Vikrant was younger to Shamali. Slim, with curly hair, almost nonexistent facial hair, and a beautiful smile.

Me: I call the Chaiwala. Sharmila madam, you want some tea?

Sharmila: No thanks.

Me: I buy myself a cup of tea. Okay, so how did Vikrant’s arrival change things?

Sharmila: A lot of things changed. Shamali’s behavior changed after she met Vikrant. Earlier I used to be greeted with Shamali and her sad face when I came home, now I used to see her beaming with happiness. One evening, I came home and I heard Vikrant’s voice. When I reached the guest room, I spied shamali and Vikrant, sitting with their guitars. Both of them were different than their usual selves. The way they laughed; I figured their conversations weren’t restricted to just guitars. They fell silent as soon as they saw me. I gave them a look and walked away. After that incident, I started keeping a close watch on my little sister. I started keeping tabs on her; asked her driver about her daily activities. What does she do? Whom does she meet? How does she spend her time? One day, i just asked Shamali a question, out of sheer curiosity;

Scenario 3

Sharmila: So how are your Guitar sessions going?

Shamali: Stammered. They're going ok. Why do you ask?

Sharmila: You don’t have any problem with Vikrant right?

Shamali: No... Why would you think so? We're working on it step by step... Let’s drop this. I am hungry... can we have dinner?

Sharmila: Whenever i tried to inquire about Vikrant, she dodged the questions. Time passed, and i invested myself in my office work even more. But I still managed to keep myself updated concerning shamali. Then One day, shamali asked me-

Scenario 4

Shamali: Hey uh... Sharvari has arranged a small program at her place day after tomorrow; she wants to go and shop for a few things before that and invited me to go with her. So can I?

Sharmila: Yeah sure... Go ahead... Even I have a holiday on that day, so how about i accompany you as well?

Shamali: Stammering. Yeah sure why not. Sharvari’s brother wanted to meet you anyways, he had some office related work he wanted to inquire about.

Sharmila: It’s decided then, let’s go. Don’t forget to notify them both that we are going together...

Shamali: Yes i will. I am going there right now anyways. Ok then I will be back soon, bye...

Sharmila: Okay bye...

Sharmila: I had played my cards right. I had convinced my sister to let me accompany her under the pretext of shopping yes, but what she didn’t know, was that her sister wasn’t an innocent and ordinary person, and what i had doubted actually came to fruition on that faithful day. Shamali’s driver notified me that Vikrant too had accompanied my sister and Sharvari to the mall.

Me: Which means your protagonist's doubts were validated?

Sharmila: Indeed. Hundred percent. She reads on. One day prior to Diwali, I was in my room, documenting some office work, when one of my servants knocked on my door, came inside and told me that there was a boy who claimed that Shamali had forgotten her phone at his place. And indeed, the phone was hers. I checked the phone after he went away and noticed that there were 28 missed calls. Shamali deliberately hadn’t saved this number. When I called that number, I realized that it belongs to Vikrant. I was pissed. I called a few of my associates and inquired about Vikrant, gathering all the information I could and I realized that he had done something similar in the past; make girls fall in love with him, use them to fulfill his ulterior motives and then leave them.

Me: Okay so at this point of the story our protagonist kills Vikrant right?

Sharmila: Shakes her head. No. Not yet. There are still things left to uncover, things which you can’t foretell. But he's going to get murdered, that’s certain.

Me: To the audience. There was a railway announcement at Igatpuri station, the train was departing. I had slipped away to the washroom.

I ask while wiping my hands on a handkerchief. Sorry... So what happened next? Did Shamali’s sister accompany her to the program?

Sharmila: Of course! She wouldn’t miss it. She reads on. We reached the venue. There were a lot of guests present at the party, but Sharvari’s brother was nowhere to be seen as he was attending a meeting elsewhere. In all honesty, I had no intention of meeting him. That was just a lie I had told Shamali. This party, I noticed also had a DJ. I found myself a table and started scanning for the person who I had no doubt was present at the party, and my doubts were validated. I saw shamali on the DJ platform; smiling and laughing, and next to her, the DJ was being controlled by Vikrant himself.

Me: Staring at Sharmila. Did the protagonist find any other clues that would verify her suspicions?

Sharmila: Yes, a major clue which rendered every scope of negotiation and second thoughts useless. She reads on. It was the night of 22nd December. Everyone was busy preparing for New Year’s party. Shamali, for one week had travelled to Kolhapur to visit one of her friends. She had returned not two days ago. The next morning, someone rang the landline. It was from some hotel in Lonavala, "Madam, I'm calling from Hotel Green room. You and your husband recently stayed in our hotel, so just wanted to ask if you had any feedback." That was the final nail in the coffin, this man had crossed the line and hence didn't deserve to live. I decided to visit Lonavala myself to check this place out. I noticed there were two names under room 301 in Hotel Green roof; Shamali and Vikrant. This was it. I had decided, that Vikrant would die such a horrible death, that no man would ever think about doing something similar to what he did. I wanted to avenge all the women Vikrant had cheated on. Revenge indeed is the best intoxicant. There was a different high in seeing your enemies die in front of your eyes, and for Vikrant, it would be during the New Year’s party which i had arranged. A party I had arranged with the sole purpose of sanctioning his death warrant. The venue was a cruise boat, arranged in association with my Business partner; and we also hired Vikrant as a DJ on contractual basis. On 31st December, when everyone was blind drunk, I called Vikrant in a secluded and dark corner of the boat-

Scenario 5

Sharmila: Happy new year Vikrant.

Vikrant: Drunk. Same to you ma’am. Happy New Year. He looks around. But why did you call me here?

Sharmila: You are an amazing artist.

Vikrant: Drunkenly. Yes you're right ma’am. DJ'ing is an art, however...

Sharmila: Interrupts before he could finish his sentence. You misunderstand me... I wasn’t implying that.

Vikrant: Drunkenly. Then what is it ma’am?

Sharmila: Conning so many young women under the pretext of love and then betraying them so effortlessly is also a work of art, isn’t it?

Vikrant: Wipes the sweat off of his brow. What? What do you mean?

Sharmila: Shouts and slaps his across the face. Shut up!

Vikrant: Ma'am I... I am sorry ma'am. I am telling the truth, I wasn’t the one who started it. I didn’t have anything in my mind. Please ma’am, let me go... I am begging you.

Sharmila: In that fleeting moment, while he was begging me, I actually considered his apology, but then he started running. I picked up the steel rod which I had stowed away in the dark, and slammed it in his head. He was bleeding profusely as he stumbled; but he was still breathing. I went after his neck, strangling him. He was struggling to escape. He managed to scratch my arm with those nails of his, but I didn’t loosen my grip. After a minute and a half, his breathing ceased. He was dead. In the dark, I carried his lifeless body near the boats railing. If I disposed of him like this, I knew, the body would resurface soon enough; so I laid his body in a net, attached two stones to it and flung him over. That was it...

Me: That’s amazing. The weight of the stones would stop the decomposing body from resurfacing and the net will the allow sea life and fishes to feast on his corpse. Sharmila stares at the scars on her arm.

Sharmila: Shakes her head with pride. And hence the protagonist in my story saves her sister and also manages to avenge all the women he had wronged. And that too in a spectacular fashion, wherein the police could never find the body and the case could never be solved. Hence, no signs of punishment. So isn’t this the perfect murder? So tell me Mister Thriller expert, would you change something in this story, or would you agree that this indeed is, a perfect murder?

Me: The story is an instant classic I'd say. I don’t know whether it’s authentic or false, but the storyline is fantastic. But...

Sharmila: Interrupts before he could finish his sentence. But? But what? Tell me...

Me: But I wouldn’t call this a perfect murder. The perfect murder is the one where you kill your enemy and yet your hands aren’t stained by their blood.

Sharmila: Stammers and hides the scars on her hand. Then tell me; how would the protagonist orchestrate a perfect murder in your tale? I want to hear this.

Me: Okay; but I won’t get into the details, I will give merely a short account. Would that suffice?

Sharmila: Sure, but at least begin your story...

Me: Well the beginning of the story remains the same. One day i found out that my younger sister is having an affair with one of her college juniors. The boy, Vikrant, teaches my sister and her friend how to play the guitar. Unknown to either of them, I was keeping a close eye on my sister and Vikrant, snooping in to spy on their conversations. My sister’s friend has an older sister whose name is; let’s assume for example, Sharmila Inamdar.

Sharmila: Confused. Excuse me?

Me: Try not to get confused between the protagonists. Let me quote myself again; my sister is having an affair with Vikrant. And my sister’s friend has an older sibling named Sharmila Inamdar.

Sharmila: Ok go on...

Me: Sure... So I was planning on killing Vikrant myself. I was just waiting for an opportunity to present itself. One night, i got back from the office and spied in on the conversation between my sister and Vikrant.

Scenario 6

Vikrant: Your friend’s older sister Sharmila is a weird one. She doubts me for no reason at all. She thinks me and shamali are having an affair; but the truth is we are merry because we are chatting about you.

My sister: Holds his hand. She’s a criminal psychologist; doubting everyone is a part of her profession.

Vikrant: I know she listens to our conversations from behind the door...

My sister: Don’t worry about it. I will talk to Shamali about this... Dada will be home soon, lets slip out through the back door.

Me: That day I came to know that even though Vikrant has an affair with my sister, her friends sister; Sharmila, suspects Vikrant of having an affair with her sister Shamali. I dug some information through my sources and found out that even though Sharmila is smart and intelligent, she’s not as smart as she presents herself to be, and that’s when I decided that I wouldn’t kill Vikrant myself, but rather I'd get this job done by using Sharmila as a pawn; I would end this game in one fell stroke and my hands wouldn't be stained by someone else's blood.

Sharmila: Shocked, she looks on. What next?

Me: What happened Sharmila madam? Why do you seem so shocked? This was supposed to be my story and the last I checked, I could twist it however I wanted... Isn’t that so?

Sharmila: Stammered. Yes... Yes... You're right. Please, carry on.

Me: Right... Everything was planned, and now I was waiting for a perfect opportunity, which in turn presented itself when my sister went shopping for the event she had arranged. I knew for certain that Vikrant would be there, accompanying her, and I was also aware of the fact that Sharmila would be keeping a close eye on her sister. I lied to her about our car being broken down, and in turn asked her to drive there with her friend. And yes, I stood corrected; as soon as they reached the mall, Sharmila’s driver spotted Vikrant, and relayed this information back to Sharmila. This was enough to validate the doubts which ran rampant in the mind of this criminal psychologist. Now was the time for the next step. When Shamali came to visit my sister, i unbeknownst to her, stole her phone and called her 28 times from my number. I then asked the servant to deliver the phone back to Inamdar, as I knew once he heard that name, he wouldn't hand it to anyone other than the older sibling. And soon enough, Sharmila called my number and I answered, pretending to be Vikrant.

Sharmila: What the f***!

Me: Don’t worry ma'am, it’s just a story...

Sharmila: Yes... Please continue.

Me: The night of the party. My sister wasn’t idiot enough to invite Vikrant to the party herself; as she knew doing this would open the room for doubts; and hence she didn’t add his name to the guest list. However, when I saw that she had added the name of her friend, as well as that of her sister, Vikrant being present there became imperative. And hence, I was the one who suggested contacting Vikrant and gave him a contract for being the DJ for the night. She was happy about it no doubt; and again, what I was aiming for, happened. Sharmila saw her sister hanging around with Vikrant, and now her doubts turned into concrete confirmation. Would you care for some tea?

Sharmila: No... Please continue with the story.

Me: Okay... I had just confirmed all her doubts and assumptions, but they weren’t enough to kill Vikrant. For him to die, I wanted her confirmations to turn into unbridled hatred and fury. And then, I played my last move. I and my fiancée decided to travel to Lonavala. We stayed at one of my friend's hotels; Hotel Green roof and booked a room using Shamali's name. A few days later, someone called Sharmila's landline from a public phone booth under the guise of asking for Hotel feedback; and when Sharmila herself decided to visit this said establishment, she noticed in the Entry Register that there was indeed a room booked under her sister and Vikrant’s name. Now it was Sharmila's move, as I had exhausted all of mine.

Sharmila: Care for some tea?

Me: Sure.

Sharmila: Stares at me. And then?

Me: Laughing. Sharmila Ma'am, drink your tea. This is merely a tale... nothing more. I waited patiently; for Sharmila to make her move. Then in the month of January, I got the news that Vikrant had just... disappeared. The police searched for him, but it was to no avail; they couldn’t find anything. In my mind, I thanked Sharmila. My enemy was dead, and not a drop of blood was spilled on my hands... and this is what I called The Perfect Murder and Revenge...

Me: To the audience. Sharmila Ma'am held the cup in her hand, she hadn't moved a muscle in the last half an hour. I looked outside and realized we had stopped at Kalyan Railway Station. Announcements rang everywhere, and I said to Sharmila Madam-

Well Sharmila Madam, I am afraid this is my stop. Give it a thought and decide whose murder was perfect. After all, it’s just a story.

Sharmila: Stammering. Yes... Yes... Why not? Well it was nice meeting you Sagar.

Me: Same here ma'am. Now I have a flight to catch. The world is a small place Sharmila Ma'am, if the fate wills it, maybe our paths will cross again in the future. Good bye.

Sharmila herself got out at Mumbai Station and boarded the train to Chennai, and sat in the same compartment, on the same seat number.

Sharmila: Thank god it was just a story...

At that moment, someone opened the compartment door and came in.

The person: Looks at Sharmila. Hello.

Sharmila: Hello.

The person: Points at the book. The perfect revenge? Who's the author?

Sharmila: Stores the book away in her bag. It’s not that great. Its average.

The person: There's a lot of crowd today. I had a reservation from Aurangabad actually, but there was some government exam over at Igatpuri.

Sharmila: Nods, not looking at him. Yes. Yes.

The person: I had a reservation in the Janshatabdi Express on the same seat, but I missed the train due to the crowds. I had to travel by road. If I hadn’t gotten here in time, would've missed this train as well.

Sharmila: Looks at him in shock. What? You had the same seat number in Janshatabdi as well?

The person: Yes. That’s why I said I am glad I reached here in time, otherwise going to Chennai would've been a hassle.

Sharmila: What’s your kind name sir?

The person: Sagar... Sagar Sarpodar...

Sharmila: What??

The person: Starts reading the newspaper. You sure you're ok ma'am? Is something wrong?

Sharmila: No... I am fine... Thanks...

The person: Starts reading the newspaper. Mention not...

Suddenly she remembered that the person she had met had tried to make his pen work and had scribbled something on the newspaper, and said that 99% people write their own name whilst scribbling.

Sharmila: Grabs the newspaper away from the real Sagar. Can I borrow this for a moment?

Sagar: Surprised. What happened ma'am?

Sharmila: Opens the front page of the newspaper and scans the words written on it with great precision.

SHAUNAK... (Sharvari’s Brother.)

—Shivam Milind Patil.