Kaleidoscope

KALEIDOSCOPE
(a fiction short story)
by
VIKRAM KARVE


It’s a lazy Sunday morning and I sit languidly in my balcony reminiscing the good old days of my wonderful past, melancholically mourning the gloomy and depressing present, and speculating with foreboding about what the ominous future may hold in store for me.

The doorbell rings. Cursing at being disturbed from my reverie, and wondering who it is on a Sunday morning, I open the door. It’s Monica, my wife Anjali’s friend and colleague, who lives across the street.

“Anjali is not at home,” I say.

“I know,” she says, “I’ve come to see you.”

“Me?” I stare at her baffled.

“Yes. You. I’ve come to see you. I want to talk to you alone.”

“Alone?” I am curious. We’ve never been alone before.

“Yes. Alone. Won’t you ask me to come in?”

“Of course. Please come in. Shall we sit in the balcony?”

“No. We’ll sit here, so no one will see us and we can talk in private.”

Monica looks chic and ravishing, in tight jeans and a close fitting pink T-shirt. I try not to stare at her.

The moment we sit down on the living room sofa, she says, “Suppose you found out that your wife was being unfaithful. Tell me, Ajay, what would you do?”

Taken aback, I say, “What?”

“Suppose you caught her having an affair.”

“What nonsense!” I say angrily, but inside me there germinates a small seed of doubt. Does Monica know something? Why is she saying all this? Trying to hide my fears, I put up a solid face and say, “Come on Mrs. Kumar. You know Anjali. How much she loves me.”

“Hey, stop calling me Mrs. Kumar. I’ve told you before, haven’t I?” Monica says, looks provocatively into my eyes, and asks, “Suppose, just suppose, you caught your wife having an affair, cheating on you, betraying your trust with infidelity…”

“I’ll kill her,” I say instinctively.

“How?”

“How? What do you mean ‘How’?”

“I mean ‘How’. How will you kill your wife?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I say getting up from the sofa, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Let’s hypothesize. Would you shoot her? Strangle her? Stab her to death? Suffocate her with a pillow? Push her over the balcony or shove her off a cliff? Electrocute her? Drown her? Douse her with kerosene and set her on fire? An ‘accidental’ gas cylinder explosion?”

“What do you want from me? Why are you harassing me? Please go. Anjali will be here any moment,” I beseech her.

“No, she won’t. I know she’s gone to the health club and parlour. She’ll be back after twelve. We have enough time together, haven’t we?” Monica says mischievously and adds, “Okay, you tell me how you would kill you wife if you caught her having an affair and I’ll go away!”

“I’d probably use poison,” I say and start walking towards the entrance door.

Monica remains seated in silence for some time, and then she looks at me intently and says, her words clear and deliberate, “Poison! The way you finished Nisha, your first wife?”

I stop dead in my tracks. Pole-axed, I can sense a sharp, cold fear drilling into my vitals. I look at Monica, into her shining eyes. She knows! And she wants me to know, that she knows! And now I know that I have no choice. I walk back to my sofa, sit down and say to her, “So you want to kill your husband. Just because you think he is having an affair.”

“You killed Nisha, didn’t you?” she asks, looking directly into my eyes.

I feel very frightened, scared. How much does Monica know? Or is she just speculating, guessing? A shot in the dark. But seeing the venom in her eyes, I realize that I dare not take any chances, so I smile and say, “Well, Monica, you have got your manacles on me, haven’t you?”

“Listen, Ajay,” Monica says, her voice soft, as she speaks in measured tones, “I don’t want a scandal, that’s why I haven’t given him even the slightest hint that I suspect. But I can’t live a lie any longer pretending I am happy. The flimsy façade of our successful marriage, the veneer of pretence – it’s all going to blow-up sooner or later as he is becoming more and more indiscreet and careless.” She pauses for a moment and says, “He’s got to go. Quickly. Quietly. As ‘normal’ a death as you can arrange.”


“Why don’t you leave him? Ask him for a divorce.”

“It’s much better to be a widow than a divorcee, isn’t it?”

I think about what she says. She’s right. It is much better to have all the sympathy of a widow than the stigma of being a divorcee; inherit all her husband’s riches, money, property rather than the paltry alimony. Her husband is rich and successful, and her marriage a social triumph.


“Tell me, who is he having an affair with?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.

“It’s none of your business,” she says angrily. “Just do what I tell you and don’t delve too deeply.”

“I thought maybe…”

“What’s the use? He’ll get another one – bloody philanderer,” Monica says with contempt. “It’s he who has betrayed me and I want to get rid of him fast. You do this for me, Ajay, and my lips remain sealed about Nisha forever. I promise!”

“That’s all?”

“I’ll clear all your gambling debts, your loans, the mortgages – with the bookies, financers…”

Inside I tremble with indescribable terror; outside I try to be calm and say, “You know all about me, don’t you?”

“I’ve done my homework. Now you execute a foolproof plan. And after it’s all over there’ll be plenty more to come for you. So much money, you can’t even imagine!”

“Okay, let’s brainstorm. You tell me everything about your husband. All details. His food habits. His routine. His programme for the next few days. About both of you. Absolutely everything.”

“I’m thirsty,” Monica announces.

“Fresh Lime?”

“How about a beer?”

I get two cans of chilled beer from the fridge.

“Hey,” Monica exclaims holding up a beer can, “you know what? Kumar drinks the same brand of beer as you do! It’s his favorite beer.”

“That’s a good start,” I say and clink my beer can with hers, “Cheers! To our success! Now tell me everything.”

She tells me everything. I listen carefully and make notes. And by the time she finishes, in my mind’s eye I am already evaluating the pros and cons of various options how Kumar is going to die.

“How do you want him to die? Instantaneous, or prolonged illness?” I ask Monica.

“I want to finish it off as quickly as possible. Painless. Fast. When he is far away from here. Like maybe during his trekking trip to Mussoorie next week,” she pauses for a moment and says, “but make sure it’s a perfect foolproof job – not even an iota of doubt or needle of suspicion.”

My mind races, exploring and weighing all the options. An Exotoxin which leaves no trace, excretes itself from the organism within a few hours? I keep on thinking, my brain cells working at lightning speed, and all of a sudden I know what I’m going to do!

“We’ll give him something in his favorite beer,” I say.

“What? Tell me, please!” Monica says excitedly.

“Now you don’t delve too much!” I say haughtily. “Just do what I say. Lips sealed. No questions!”

“Okay.”

I look at the notes I had made when she was telling me about her husband and ask, “His weight is only 70?”

“That’s right. Seventy kilograms. Five feet ten. Thirty Eight years of age. Ideal, isn’t it? He’s a fitness freak.”

“And he leaves for Mussoorie on Thursday?”

“Yes. Early in the morning.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll have the beer can ready by Wednesday evening. Make sure you collect it by six before Anjali comes back from office and see that he drinks it…”

“No. No. You serve it to him. Let him have it here. In front of you. Right here.”

“He’s never come here to our place before!”

“He will. If you invite him.”

“Fine. I’ll tell Anjali to invite you all for dinner on Wednesday evening. She’s been wanting to call you over for a long time.”

“And?”

“I’ll make sure your Kumar drinks the special beer. He’ll be off to Mussoorie on Thursday, and you should have the ‘good news’ by Sunday morning.”

“He shouldn’t pop off here.”

“He won’t. I’ll calculate everything precisely – make sure there’s at least a 36 hour incubation and proliferation period.”

After Monica leaves, I realize three things. Firstly, murder is a rather lucrative business. Secondly, from an amateur, I am going to become a professional. And thirdly, infidelity is not only reason why Monica wants to get rid of her husband.

Everything works as per my plan. I meticulously keep the vacuum microencapsulated ‘special’ can of beer firmly in its designated place in the fridge on Wednesday morning the moment Anjali leaves for work and before I do.

When I open the fridge the moment I return from work on Wednesday evening I notice that the particular beer-can is missing. My heart skips a beat, I feel a tremor of trepidation and soon I’m in a state of total panic. After a frantic search I find the empty beer can in the kitchen dustbin.

I pick up the can and check. Oh yes, no doubt about it – it is the same beer-can; and it is empty! I try to think, steady my confused mind. Who can it be?

Everything becomes clear all of a sudden and I find myself shaking in sheer terror. I rush to the bedroom, run around the house like a crazy animal. Anjali is not at home. I dial her mobile. An excruciating wait. She answers.

“Anjali? Where are you?”

“In the mall. Picking up some stuff for the evening.”

“So early?”

“I took half a day off. Came home for lunch, got things tidied up and ready for the evening and am just getting a few things from the market. I’ll be back soon.”

“Anjali. The beer! The beer!” I stutter.

“You want me to get more beer? I thought we had enough.”

“No. No. There is a beer-can missing in the fridge. I found it in the dustbin.”

“Oh, that. I drank it in the afternoon,” Anjali says.

“What? You drank that beer?” I shout.

“Yes. I drank it. I came home in the afternoon. It was hot. I felt thirsty. So I opened the fridge, picked up a can of beer and I drank it. It’s that simple.”

“You stupid fool! Why did you drink that can?” I scream into the phone.

“Stupid fool? How dare you? Ajay, have you lost your mind? I just can’t understand your behavior now-a-days!” Anjali says and disconnects.

It was extraordinary, how my mind became clear all of a sudden. There was no known antidote to the stuff I had synthesized. Clinically, there was nothing I could do. Logically, there was no point in doing something stupid in desperation. It was a question of my own survival. Having sunk to the depths of depravity, all I could do was helplessly wait and watch Anjali die. She was less than sixty kilos, much lighter than Kumar. By Saturday evening it would all be over!

The evening passes in a haze. My heart sinks as I watch Kumar enjoy beer after beer, but what’s the use – that beer-can, the one I specially prepared for him, is lying empty in the dustbin. There is a gleam in Monica’s eye. What excuse am I going to give her? She does not know what’s happened and I shudder to think what she may do when she realizes. At best she may forget everything; but knowing her vindictive streak, anything is possible! Inside I tremble with fear in unimaginable agony; outside I try to present a happy and cheerful façade and make pretence of enjoying the dinner.

Time crawls. I feel wretched and suffer in painful silence the longest and most agonizing hours of my life. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Nothing happens. Anjali seems normal, in fact, quite hale and hearty.

Sunday. Anjali is still going strong! She sits across the dining table devouring her favorite idli-chutney-sambar Sunday breakfast. Maybe her constitution, her liver, is super-strong; or maybe I’ve goofed up!

My cell-phone rings. It’s Monica. My heart skips a beat.

“Hello,” I say with trepidation.

“You’ve done it! Kumar is dead. I just got a call from Mussoorie,” Monica says excitedly.

“How?” I mumble perplexed in consternation.

“Exactly like you said. In the early hours of Sunday morning. He died in his sleep. They say maybe it was heart failure. Painless, instantaneous death.”

“I’ll come now?” I ask.

“No! No! Not now. We can’t take chances. I’m rushing to Mussoorie now. I’ll finish off everything; make sure the paperwork is done okay. And when I return, you can come and offer your condolences…” I hear Monica’s voice trail away.

I disconnect, put my mobile phone in my pocket, and look at Anjali.

“Who was it?” she asks.

“Someone from the office,” I lie.

“Anything important?”

“No. A man died. That’s all,” I say nonchalantly.

“A man died? That’s all?” Anjali looks at me in bemused bewilderment.

And as I focus my eyes on her, my mind races, twisting and turning like a kaleidoscope, my brain-cells work at lightning speed, and all of a sudden I know what I’m going to do!



VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright 2006 by Vikram Karve


vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Good Food in Pune

AUTHENTIC MAHARASHTRIAN FOOD AT SHREYAS IN PUNE
by
VIKRAM KARVE



If you are a true-blue Punekar, don’t read this, for I am sure you would have experienced what I am about to describe. If you are not one, do enjoy this gastronomic experience, first in your mind’s eye, and then on your next visit to Pune.

The moment you enter Shreyas on Apte Road near Deccan Gymkhana (they’ve opened a branch on Satara Road, near Swar Gate too), you are greeted by the glorious spectacle of devoted foodies enjoying their food with rapt attention. You sit down; there is already a taat with vatis in front of you. There is no menu card and no need to order. The waiters will immediately start serving and filling up your plate. You go to Shreyas to eat their thali; and if you so desire, you can have a sweet dish like Gulab Jam, Modak, Fruit Salad, or Amrakhand to accompany.

The fare varies, and on my recent visit for lunch yesterday, there was excellent Aloo Chi Bhaji, Matar Usal, Tomato Rassa, Umti, Batata Bhaji, Batata Wada, Dhokla, Chappaties, Puris, Rice with Waran and a liberal topping of pure ghee, and the usual Koshimbir, Chutney, Papad, with cool refreshing taak (buttermilk) to wash down the meal. And the end, they serve a Vida (paan) to enhance the intoxicating sensation you will feel after relishing this magnificent meal. Did I say “intoxication”? Yes. Not the alcoholic kind, but non-alcoholic intoxication at its best. If you truly want to savor this delicious pure vegetarian cuisine, don’t make the mistake of ruining your experience by having a drink. I think that’s true for all gourmet food.

I will not try and describe the delicious dishes. I cannot. Words fail me to recreate the pristine impeccable flavors, aromas, textures and tastes. It’s unmatched delectable top-quality Maharashtrian cuisine at its best. It’s a sumptuous “unlimited” meal and you can feast and satiate yourself to your heart’s content.

The next time you visit Pune, have a meal at Shreyas. It’s value for money authentic cuisine, and you will carry with you mouthwatering memories of the delightful feast for a long long time.


VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com
vikramkarve@hotmail.com


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Flash Fiction

FLASH FICTION
By
VIKRAM KARVE



She was tired, sleepy, and wanted him to stop, but he continued going on and on. He too was worn-out, nearly on the verge of losing it, but he was making excruciating effort to keep going on, as vigorously as possible, desperately waiting for her to climax.

The emotionless mechanical charade went on and on, till suddenly she could not bear it any longer. She knew there was only one way to end this tedious agony. Fake it!

She put her arms around him, gripping him tightly, burying her face into him, thrashing her body around him furiously, biting, moaning, panting, screaming, simulating, as if she were in the throes of passion, till he went limp, rolled over and collapsed, lifeless, unspent, next to her.

“You came?” she asked, unquenched, but relieved that it was all over.

“Yes,” he lied, unspent, but exultant that he had been able to “prove” his forte to her once again.

Reassured, they put their arms around each other, and, together, they plummeted into the dark abyss of dreamless sleep.


VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright 2007 Vikram Karve

vikramkarve@sify.com
vikramkarve@hotmail.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Good Food in Mumbai

AUTHENTIC MAHARASHTRIAN CUISINE IN MUMBAI
By
VIKRAM KARVE


Mumbai is in Maharashtra. You will get all genres and varieties of cuisine in Mumbai, but tell me, where would you go for authentic Maharashtrian Cuisine? My favorite place is Vinay near Thakurdwar in Girgaum.

When I used to stay at Churchgate, I used to walk down Marine Drive towards Chowpatty, cross the road near Taraporewala Aquarium, take the lane between Kaivalyadhama Yoga Centre and Savitribai Phule Ladies Hostel, (the lane is called Income Tax Lane), cross the railway overbridge at the southern end of Charni Road Station on the Western Railway, walk straight on Thakurdwar Road, cross Girgaum (JSS) Road, and continue walking till I reached Vinay on my right.

Have you ever tasted a dish called Misal? If you want to know what an authentic Misal tastes like, try the Misal at Vinay’s. It’s the signature dish of the place and I don’t think anyone else serves a better Misal than Vinay of Girgaum.

The place is always crowded and you may have to wait for a seat, but the sight of foodies voraciously eating and the gastronomic ambiance will help build up your appetite. The moment you sit down in the shiny bright eatery, with mirrors all around, order a Misal. Don’t delve too much on the contents, or the ingredients, which basically comprise an Usal, rassa (the spicy curry) and the garnish of sev, chiwda, farsan, onions, fresh corriander and green chillies, arranged in three tiers and served with a wedge of lemon. There are two bowls and spoons. Using both spoons, mix the contents thoroughly, squeeze the lemon, and eat. It’s hot, delicious; your tongue is on fire, my nose and eyes water – the true test of a genuine missal. Bash on regardless. (Never try to douse the appetizing zesty fire in your insides by sipping water or ruin the gastronomic experience by succumbing to a bite of pav or bread they may have the temerity to place alongside).

Pav with Bhaji or Vada may be fine, but if you want to savor the genuine taste of misal, and experience the ‘proof’ of the real stuff, it would be tantamount to sacrilege to have pav with misal. If you like things less spicy try Dahi Misal. The sweet cool curds (dahi), fiery chillis, zesty onions and spicy crisp chiwda-shev provide an excellent contrasting symbiosis of tastes and flavors..

If you do want to have something with pav, try the Patal Bhaji or Usal. Fresh soft bread drenched in the delicious gravies – it’s heavenly. You’ll find all the Maharashtrian specialties on the menu, including the Upas (Fast) food like sabudanyachi khichadi and wade, but you must go there and discover for yourself. There are quite a few exquisite preparations of pohe too. But remember to end with chilled piyush or mango lassi to savor a sweet end to a delightful repast.

If you are looking for Authentic Value For Money pure Vegetarian Maharashtrian Cuisine in Mumbai, head for Vinay – and you will carry mouthwatering memories of the place forever. And if you know of a place that serves a better Misal, please be so good as to inform me.


VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com
vikramkarve@hotmail.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com