Have finished writing Chronomantra but it will take while to appear in print because I have to work my way through proof reading, cover design and ISBN application.
Meanwhile, I have been playing with two large language models, namely NotebookLM from Google and Claude / Sonnet 3.5 from Anthropic, with some interesting results.
First I asked NotebookLM to read through the first draft of Chronomantra and give me a short description of the "Transformative Relationship between (the two principal characters) Kedar and Kajol."
This is what it generated
Kajol and Kedar: A Transformative Partnership
Kajol and Kedar's relationship is unconventional and deeply intertwined with their individual backgrounds and shared vision. Kedar, a man in his sixties, is leaving behind a successful yet unfulfilling life in Kolkata [1]. He embarks on a train journey, not seeking a specific destination, but a path that will lead him out of the darkness he perceives enveloping society and himself [2, 3]. He possesses a sharp intellect and an ability to anticipate technological trends [4, 5], but his cynicism and inertia have hindered his ability to act on his insights.
Kajol, on the other hand, is a woman of action, described as a "peddler of intimate pleasure" working in Kolkata's Park Street [6]. Despite her profession, she exhibits a strong, independent spirit, a sharp wit, and an intuitive connection to spiritual forces, suggesting a depth that belies her outward appearance [7]. Their initial encounter at Kajol’s place of work is transformative for Kedar [8]. Kajol becomes a catalyst, shaking him out of his complacency and revealing to him the "Ghost in the Machine" – a vision of a transcendent consciousness emerging from technology [9]. This encounter sets the stage for their future partnership, a union of Kedar's intellectual prowess and Kajol's intuitive energy.
Their relationship deepens as they navigate the chaos of a collapsing society, marked by social unrest and technological disruption [10, 11]. Kajol joins Kedar on his journey, abandoning her old life and embracing the uncertainty of the path ahead [12]. Their bond is multifaceted, extending beyond the romantic and physical to a shared intellectual pursuit [13]. Kajol, despite her lack of formal education, demonstrates a remarkable capacity for understanding complex concepts like AI and blockchain [14, 15]. She challenges Kedar's assumptions and pushes him to translate his ideas into action, becoming the Shakti to his Shiv - the dynamic energy that propels his vision forward [16].
The final situation in which they end is bittersweet. Together, with Kona and Kacper, they develop and deploy Pingalika, an advanced AI based on the Kalki protocol – a framework designed to guide humanity's technological evolution [17]. Their success, however, is overshadowed by Kedar's declining health. Despite his failing heart, he finds solace in the belief that he will be reborn as Kajol's child [18, 19].
Kedar's physical presence fades, but his legacy endures through his son, also named Kedar, and through the far-reaching impact of the Kalki protocol [20]. Kajol, now a mother, continues their work, carrying the torch of their shared vision. While the sources do not explicitly state their final fate, it is implied that Kajol, with Lika's assistance, guides young Kedar, preparing him for a future where he will inevitably intersect with his father's legacy. Their story ends not with a definitive conclusion, but with a sense of continuity, a passing of the torch to a new generation, ensuring that Kedar and Kajol's transformative partnership continues to shape the destiny of humanity.
Then I took this output from NotebookLM and fed it to Claude as an input asking it convert this into story in the style of Somerset Maugham and this is what Claude gave me
I met Kedar quite by accident at the Calcutta Club, where he sat nursing a whiskey and soda with the air of a man who had seen too much of life. He was in his sixties then, prosperous by all outward appearances, yet possessed of that peculiar restlessness that often afflicts men who have lived too long in their own heads.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," he told me without preamble. "Taking the train."
"Where to?" I asked.
He gave a short laugh. "Does it matter? Away from this darkness. That's all I know."
It was several months before I heard of him again, and the story that reached me was so extraordinary that I might not have believed it had I not witnessed its beginning that evening at the club. It concerned a woman named Kajol, who plied her trade in one of those establishments on Park Street that respectable people pretend not to know about.
She was not beautiful in any conventional sense, but there was something about her – a sharp wit coupled with an almost mystical intensity – that set her apart from others of her profession. When Kedar encountered her, something extraordinary happened. Those who saw them together spoke of how she seemed to awaken something in him, as though she had reached into the machinery of his soul and found the ghost that had been sleeping there.
"She sees things," Kedar told me when our paths crossed again. "Things about technology, about consciousness, about where we're heading. And she's never read a book about any of it."
They became inseparable, this unlikely pair – the aging technologist and the street-wise mystic. While society crumbled around them, they built something new. She called it Pingalika, after some obscure reference to Hindu mythology. He called it the future.
It was curious to observe how she transformed him. His ideas, which had previously existed only in the realm of theory, began to take concrete shape under her influence. She was, as he put it with uncharacteristic poetry, his Shakti – the force that gave form to his formless vision.
The end, when it came, had its own peculiar logic. His heart was failing, but he spoke of it with an almost cheerful fatalism. "I'll be back," he told her, with the certainty of a man stating a simple fact. "As your child."
I saw her once more, years later. She had a young boy with her, whom she had named Kedar. The child had his father's eyes and his mother's knowing smile. Whether you believe in such things or not hardly matters. In Calcutta, where the veil between worlds is thin, stranger things have happened.
She continues their work, they say, guiding humanity toward some destiny that only she fully comprehends. The boy grows, and those who know to look for such things say he bears more than just his father's name.
But that, perhaps, is a story for another time.
