Their readers, like the autorickshaw driver Chandra Prakash who buys second-hand Pathak or Sharma, are not quite interested in neologisms or phraseology. Theirs is the concern — and the rush — of Everyreader. “I can identify with every character in their novels ... sab apney dost-yaar lagte hain,” says Prakash. Sharma readily agrees: “Our stories are understood by the lowest denominator,” says Sharma. “If a Nobel Prize-winning author writes on poverty or labour rights, will the abject poor or the working class read it?”

Despite the braggadocio, not everybody — least of all the writers and publishers — is convinced that the Hindi potboilers are heading for a manohar ending. When contacted, Delhi-based Manoj Publications said declining sales had forced them to downsize operations. Pathak says, “Our product has a diminishing value. We had wonderful writers like Ved Prakash Kamboj. Now we need young writers and new ideas.”

Such a new, popular writer is Keshav Pandit whose books are published by Sharma’s Tulsi Paper Books. Sharma reveals the mystery: Keshav Pandit — which makes you conjure up the image of an erudite, middle-aged, Hindu author — doesn’t exist. It is the collective nom de plume of many ghost writers of Tulsi Paper Books — an old trick in pulp fiction. “We have many ghost writers, most of them go by ridiculous names like Darling or Mister,” guffaws Pathak. But the money the ghosts bring in is real.

The profits gleam in the form of a Hyundai Accent and a Santro in Sharma’s driveway, but he is on to his next novel. As sunshine streams in through the rosewood windows, he sits upright on his gilt-edged bed, with an H-P laptop switched on.
Another manohar kahani is on its way. Imagine.