Showing posts with label creative. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creative. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

A NAVAL YARN

PETER SCOT - ON THE HOUSE
A Naval Yarn
By
VIKRAM KARVE





The Navy was the best thing that happened to me. Way back, in the 1970s, when I joined the Navy, life was good. There was never a dull moment. Something was always happening, and I came across a variety of unique personalities – yes, exciting situations and inimitable characters.

Those were the best days of my life. Even now, whenever I reminisce about my “good old” Navy days and recall the unforgettable characters I met there and whenever I hark back to the hilarious incidents (in hindsight), those cherished memories always fill me with cheer, and sometimes bring a smile, maybe a laugh, to my lips. 

They say every Naval Officer has a book inside him (or her). I am writing mine. In fact, I have decided to write two books – a fiction novel based on my early life in the Navy way back in the 1970s and a “memoir” comprising non-chronological vignettes from my naval life.

I will tell you more about that later. Now, let me regale you with one such hilarious vignette featuring an unforgettable character. Let’s call him “F”. Why “F” – well, it will be quite evident as you read on.

There was a time when senior naval officers were large-hearted and magnanimous. The senior always stood a drink for the junior, and whenever we had a party in the wardroom (officers’ mess), the party share was on stripe basis. You counted the total number of stripes on the shoulders of officers present and simply divided the overall damages for food and drinks by the total number of stripes and calculated the stripe share. You paid depending on the stripes you wore on your sleeves or shoulder – a Commander (who wore three stripes on his shoulder paid three times the share of a Sub Lieutenant who wore a solitary stripe). In effect, the seniors subsidized the bill of the juniors.

As traditions and attitudes began to change, and officers started becoming money conscious, the stripe share concept gave way to the “on the house” concept in which the party share was distributed equally amongst all present and all members of the “house” paid the same amount irrespective of how much food and drink they consumed.

Of course, when things were “on the house”, those who drank and ate less subsidised those who topped-up to the hilt and gorged to their hearts’ content.

With the passage of time, as people became more and more money-orientated, and materialism became a way of life, officers started counting their drinks (and worse, they counted others’ drinks too…!!!). Now we had a “chit system” and the party share was based on the principle of soldier’s share, or Going Dutch, in which you signed chits and paid for whatever you consumed. In this “signing chits” scheme of things,  no one subsidized anybody, and it was each for his own, irrespective of rank and seniority. 

Soon, wardroom traditions were turned upside down, money-consciousness gave way to stinginess and sort of “feudal” culture owing to selective interpretation of the RHIP concept which resulted in the proliferation of freeloaders in the senior ranks and it was now the “magnanimous” juniors who were subsidizing their tight-fisted freeloading seniors. 

You know what RHIP stands for, isn’t it – Rank Has Its Privileges – and some thought it was their “privilege” to freeload and sponge on their juniors.

Things seem to have turned a full circle. 

Hey, I am digressing, let me get on with my story.

This story happened during the days of transition from the “on the house” to “soldier’s share” parties. There was some confusion – some parties were “on the house” and some parties were on the “chit system”. Now our protagonist “F” was a true maukatarian – and decided his “party strategy” accordingly. If it was a “chit system” party – he would survive on water, or hang around someone and try to sponge an drink off him, or try to pilfer one of those gratis “ladies” soft drinks when he thought no one was looking, or at the worst, if the party was too long and his freeloading tactics didn’t work, F would order a small peg of the cheapest rum and paani and hold it for the entire party. And if the party was “on the house” … well read on …

“F” arrived for a grand party one evening and asked me, “Is it chit-system?”

“No, Sir, on-the-house,” I told him, as planned, and winked at the barman. The PMC, who was nearby, gave me a knowing smile of approval.

“Which whisky have you got?” F asked the barman.

“Sir, we are serving Black Knight and Red Knight,” the barman answered. The party was ashore and we were serving IMFL (Indian Made Foreign Liquor).

BK and RK?” F turned his nose up in disgust, “Get me Peter Scot.”

The barman looked at me for a decision (Peter Scot was the most expensive IMFL whisky in the bar those days).

“Okay,” I said to the barman, Sahab ko Peter Scot pilao…”

Delighted that he was getting the most expensive Peter Scot whiskey on-the-house, F decided to make the most of it, and drank peg after peg, and at the end of the party, he had to be carried to his cabin in drunken stupor. F had grandly “enjoyed” the cocktail party.

A month later F entered my office furiously waving his wardroom mess bill in his hand and angrily demanding how he had been charged for 11 large pegs of Peter Scot.

I was waiting for him, and said, “Sir, let’s go to the PMC.”

“Any problem?” the PMC asked looking up from his desk, the moment we entered his cabin.

“Sir, I have been charged for 11 large pegs of Peter Scot for that cocktail party,” complained F.

“So?” the PMC said, “you drank 11 large pegs of Peter Scot, didn’t you?”

“Sir, I don’t remember.”

“But I do – you were in such glorious high spirits that you had to be carried away at the end of the party.”

“But Sir, the party was on-the-house.”

“Who told you?”

“The Mess Secretary,” F said, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“Well, the mess secretary is quite a clueless chap. All parties here are on the chit-system. You should have signed your chits before ordering your drinks and you should have checked the bar-book next morning if you had any doubts. No disputes now. That’s the Mess Rule,” the PMC pronounced, and dismissed F with a wave of his finger, and looked at me with a glint in his eyes.

That’s how we taught this maukatarian freeloader a lesson. Well, we taught him another lesson too – but that’s another story.

I enjoy writing and I have now started writing my two books. The first is autobiographical fiction, a novel with an engrossing story and characters you will love, and second, my “memoir”, a collection of vignettes from my life in the Navy, something like Tales of the South Pacific.  

I am putting my heart into writing these two books and in order to make them gripping and “unputdownable”. I am going to write leisurely, unhurriedly, savoring every moment and I am going to enjoy the writing process as I relive my navy days in my mind’s eye. But I’ll take a break from time to time, and, right here in my Creative Writing blog, I will regale you with some more of my naval yarns, like this one.

Cheers


VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2011
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Did you like this yarn?
COCKTAIL ebook
If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the links below:
AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6
SMASHWORDS
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

Foodie Book:  Appetite for a Stroll
If your are a Foodie you will like my book of Food Adventures APPETITE FOR A STROLL. Do order a copy from FLIPKART:
http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for almost 14 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Vikram Karve Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com      
vikramkarve@gmail.com


© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

COCKTAIL Short Stories about Relationships By VIKRAM KARVE - EBOOK


ebook - COCKTAIL Short Stories about Relationships By VIKRAM KARVE




I have written a book of short stories called COCKTAIL

The twenty-seven stories in this collection explore fascinating aspects of modern day relationships – love, romance, sex, betrayal, marriage, parenting and even pet parenting. Relationships are like cocktails, emotions shaken and stirred, and I assure you that you will enjoy reading these stories.

COCKTAIL is my first book of fiction. I want COCKTAIL to sell well as I feel that the success of this book will be an important morale booster and launch pad as I embark on my creative writing journey and help me successfully publish my novel, which I am currently writing.

I seek your blessings and good wishes and I am sure you will motivate me by buying a copy of my book COCKTAIL. 

Please click the links below to buy the book online:

http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme




If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book from smashwords by clicking the link below:


https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

I promise you that you will thoroughly enjoy this delicious COCKTAIL and you will be happy to have this book on your bookshelves. 


Book Details
Book: Cocktail: Short Stories About Relationships
Author: Vikram Karve
ISBN: 8191091844
ISBN-13: 9788191091847, 978-8191091847
Binding: Paperback
Publishing Date: 2011
Publisher: APK Publishers
Number of Pages: 192
Language: English

ABOUT COCKTAIL by VIKRAM KARVE
Relationships are like cocktails. Every relationship is a unique labyrinthine melange of emotions, shaken and stirred, and, like each cocktail, has a distinctive flavour and taste. The twenty-seven stories in this collection explore fascinating aspects of modern day relationships: love, romance, sex, betrayal, marriage, parenting and even pet parenting. You will relish reading these riveting cocktails of intermingling emotions narrated in a temptingly engaging style, and once you start reading you will find this delicious “cocktail” unputdownable till the very end.
Author Bio

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale, and Bishop’s School Pune, who was once a Naval Officer by profession, likes to describe himself as an Electronics and Communications Engineer by qualification, a Human Resource Leader and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination, and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging and published a foodie book “Appetite for a Stroll”. Vikram lives in Pune, India and welcomes your feedback by email at vikramkarve@sify.com

COCKTAIL EBOOK

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Saturday, July 31, 2010

Art of Debate

COGNITION

Battle of Wits
A Teaching Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

Some students asked me the meaning of the term COGNITION.

As I was in no mood to pontificate, I told them this story:

Once upon a time only two monks were permitted to stay in a Zen Temple

If any other wandering monk wanted to stay in the temple he had to engage in a battle of wits and defeat a resident monk in debate.

If the new monk won the argument he took the place of the defeated resident monk who then had to leave the temple and move on. 

If the resident monk won he continued to stay in the temple and the wandering monk had to go away.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together.

The elder monk was learned and wise, but the younger monk was stupid and had just one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about spirituality.

The wise elder monk was fatigued and tired that day from too much studying so he told the younger one-eyed stupid monk to take up the challenge.

“I am tired and want to sleep,” the elder learned monk told the stupid one-eyed younger monk, “I don't want to hear any noise so you go and request the dialogue in silence.” 

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down to debate in silence.

Shortly afterwards the traveller rose and went in to the elder monk, bowed his head in reverence, and said: “Your young companion is a brilliant scholar. He thoroughly defeated me.”

The wise elder monk was sure that the younger stupid one-eyed monk would be defeated in the battle of wits, so, on hearing that result was the opposite than he had expected, the astonished elder monk said to the visitor, “Please relate the silent dialogue to me.”

“Well,” explained the traveller, “first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. 

So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his Teaching. 

I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his Teaching, and his Followers, living the harmonious life. 

In reply he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. 

Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here.”

With this, the traveller bowed in reverence once again and left the Zen temple.

Suddenly the stupid one-eyed younger monk came storming into the room and asked the wise elder monk, “Where is that fellow...?”

“I understand you won the debate,” the older learned monk said.

“Debate...? What debate...? There was no debate and I won nothing. I am going to beat him up and thrash the hell out of him,” the young monk shouted in anger.

“Beat him up...? Trash him...?” the perplexed elder monk exclaimed, “tell me what happened...relate the silent dialogue to me...”

This is how the stupid one-eyed younger brother described his version of the silent debate:

“The minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. 

Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes.

Then the impolite scoundrel held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes.

So I got mad and started to punch him, but the coward ran out and that ended the debate...”


Dear Reader, I am sure you are now enlightened about the concept of cognition. 

Otherwise, I’ll have to tell you another story...!


VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com  
Academic Journal Vikram Karve – http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile of Vikram Karve - http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

Thursday, July 22, 2010

LOVE TORN APART - A Lovedale Story

LOVE TORN APART
Fiction Short Story 
By
 
VIKRAM KARVE


One of my earliest fiction short stories set on the beautiful Nilgiri Mountain Railway –  for old times’ sake...
   
 
Lovedale.

A quaint little station on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway that runs from Mettupalayam in the plains up the Blue Mountains on a breathtaking journey to beautiful Ooty, the Queen of Hill Stations.

On Lovedale railway station there is just one small platform – and on it, towards its southern end, there is a solitary bench.

If you sit on this bench you will see in front of you, beyond the railway track, an undulating valley, covered with eucalyptus trees, and in the distance the silhouette of a huge structure, which looks like a castle, with an impressive clock-tower.

In this mighty building is located a famous boarding school – one of the best schools in India. Many such ‘elite’ schools are known more for snob value than academic achievements, but this one is different – it is a prestigious public school famous for its rich heritage and tradition of excellence.  
 
Lovedale, in 1970.

That is all there is in Lovedale – this famous public school, a small tea-estate called Lovedale (from which this place got its name), a tiny post office and, of course, the lonely railway platform with its solitary bench.
 
It’s a cold damp depressing winter morning, and since the school is closed for winter, the platform is deserted except for two people – yes, just two persons – a woman and a small girl, shivering in the morning mist, sitting on the solitary bench.

It’s almost 9 o’clock – time for the morning “toy-train” from the plains carrying tourists via Coonoor to Ooty, the “Queen” of hill-stations, just three kilometres ahead - the end of the line. But this morning the train is late, probably because of the dense fog and the drizzle on the mountain-slopes, and it will be empty – for there are hardly any tourists in this cold and damp winter season.
  
“I’m dying to meet mummy. And this stupid train – it’s always late,” the girl says. She is dressed in school uniform – gray blazer, thick gray woollen skirt, navy-blue stockings, freshly polished black shoes, her hair tied smartly in two small plaits with black ribbons.
  
The woman, 55 – maybe 60, dressed in a white sari with a thick white shawl draped over her shoulder and a white scarf around her head covering her ears, looks lovingly at the girl, softly takes the girl’s hand in her own, and says, “It will come. Look at the weather. The driver can hardly see in this mist. And it must be raining down there in Ketti valley.”
  
“I hate this place. It’s so cold and lonely. Everyone has gone home for the winter holidays and we have nowhere to go. Why do we have to spend our holidays here every time?”
  
“You know we can’t stay with her in the hostel.”
  
“But her training is over now. And she’s become an executive – that’s what she wrote.”
   
“Yes. Yes. She is an executive now. After two years of tough training. Very creditable; after all that has happened,” the old woman says.
  
“She has to take us to Mumbai with her now. We can’t stay here any longer. No more excuses now.”
 
“Even I don’t want to stay here. It’s cold and I am old. Let your mummy come. This time we’ll tell her to take us all to Mumbai.”
 
“And we’ll all stay together – like we did before God took Daddy away.”
 
“Yes. Mummy will go to work. You will go to school. And I will look after the house and all of you. Just like before.”
 
“Only Daddy won’t be there. Why did God take Daddy away?” the girl says, tears welling up in her eyes.
 
“Don’t think those sad things. We cannot change what has happened. You must be brave – like your mummy,” says the old lady putting her hand softly around the girl.

The old lady closes her eyes in sadness. There is no greater pain than to remember happier times when in distress.
 
Meanwhile the toy-train is meandering its way laboriously round the steep u-curve, desperately pushed by a hissing steam engine, as it leaves Wellington station on its way to Ketti.

A man and a woman sit facing each other in the tiny first class compartment. 

There is no one else in the compartment.
 
“You must tell her today,” the man says.

“Yes,” the woman replies softly.
   
“You should have told her before.”
  
“Told her before...? How...? When...?”
 
“You could have written, called her up. I told you so many times.”
 
“How can I be so cruel...?”
 
“Cruel...? What’s so cruel about it...?”
   
“I don’t know how she will react. She loved her father very much.”
  
“Now she will have to love me. I am her new father now.”
  
“Yes, I know,” the woman says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know how to tell her; how she’ll take it. I think we should wait for some time. Baby is very sensitive.”
 
“Baby! Why do you still call her Baby...? She is a grown up girl now. You must call her by her real name. Damayanti – what a nice name – and you call her Baby...!”
 
“It’s her pet name. Deepak always liked to call her Baby.”
 
“Well I don’t like it...! It’s childish, ridiculous...!” the man says firmly, “Anyway, all that we can sort out later. But you tell her about us today. Tell both of them.”

“You want me to tell both of them right now...? My mother-in-law also...? What will she feel...? She will be shocked...!”
  
“She’ll understand.”
  
“Poor thing. She will be all alone.”
 
“Stop saying ‘poor thing... poor thing’. She’ll be okay. She’s got her work to keep her busy.”
 
“She’s old and weak. I don’t think she’ll be able to do that matron’s job much longer.”
 
“Let her work till she can. At least it will keep her occupied. Then we’ll see.”
   
“Can’t we take her with us...?”
   
“You know it’s not possible.”
   
“It’s so sad. She was so good to me. Where will she go...? We can’t abandon her just like that...!”
 
“Abandon...? Nobody is abandoning her. Don’t worry. If she doesn’t want to stay on here, I’ll arrange something – I know an excellent place near Lonavala. She will be very comfortable there – it’s an ideal place for senior citizens like her.”
 
“You want to me to put her in an Old-Age Home...?”
  
“Call it what you want but actually it’s quite a luxurious place. She’ll be happy there. I’ve already spoken to them. Let her continue here till she can. Then we’ll shift her there.”
  
“I can’t be that cruel and heartless to my mother-in-law. She was so loving and good to me, treated me like her own daughter, and looked after Baby, when we were devastated. And now we discard her when she needs us most,” the woman says, and starts sobbing.
  
“Come on Kavita. Don’t get sentimental,. You have to face the harsh reality. You know we can’t take your mother-in-law with us. And by the way, she is your ex-mother-in-law now."

"How can you say that...?"

"Come on, Kavita, don't get too sentimental...you must begin a new life now...there is no point carrying the baggage of your past...” the man realizes he has said something wrong and instantly apologizes, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
 
“You did mean it...! That’s why you said it...! I hate you, you are so cruel, mean and selfish,” the woman says, turns away from the man and looks out of the window.
 
They travel in silence, an uneasy disquieting silence.

Suddenly it is dark, as the train enters a tunnel, and as it emerges on the other side, the woman can see the vast lush green Ketti Valley with its undulating mountains in the distance.
  
“Listen Kavita, I think I’ll also get down with you at Lovedale. I’ll tell them. Explain everything. And get over with it once and for all,” the man says.
  
“No! No! I don’t even want them to see you. The sudden shock may upset them. I have to do this carefully. Please don’t get down at Lovedale. Go straight to Ooty. I’ll tell them everything and we’ll do as we decided.”
  
“I was only trying to help you, Kavita. Make things easier for everyone. I want to meet Damayanti. Tell her about us. I’m sure she’ll love me and understand everything.”
   
“No, please. Let me do this. I don’t want her to see you before I tell her. She’s a very sensitive girl. I don’t know how she’ll react. I’ll have to do it very gently.”
 
“Okay,” the man says. “Make sure you wind up everything at the school. We have to leave for Mumbai tomorrow. There is so much to be done. We’ve hardly got any time left.”
   
The steam engine pushing the train huffs and puffs up the slope round the bend under the bridge. “Lovedale station is coming,” the woman says. She gets up and takes out her bag from the shelf.
 
“Sure you don’t want me to come with you to the school...?” asks the man.
   
“No. Not now. You go ahead to Ooty. I’ll ring you up,” says the woman.
   
“Okay. But tell them everything. We can’t wait any longer.”
   
“Just leave everything to me. Don’t make it more difficult.”
 
 They sit in silence, looking out of different windows, waiting for Lovedale railway station to come.
 
On the solitary bench on the platform at Lovedale station the girl and her grandmother wait patiently for the train which will bring their deliverance.
  
“I hate it over here in boarding school. I hate the cold scary dormitories. At night I miss mummy tucking me in. And every night I count DLFMTC...”
 
“DLFMTC... ?”
   
“Days Left For Mummy To Come...! Others count DLTGH – Days Left To Go Home...”
 
“Next time you too …”

“No. No. I am not going to stay here in boarding school. I don’t know why we came here to this horrible place. I hate boarding school. I miss mummy so much. We could have stayed on in Mumbai with her.”
  
“Now we will be all staying in Mumbai. Your mummy’s training is over. She can hire a house now. Or get a loan. We will try to buy a good house. I’ve saved some money too.”
 
The lone station-master of the forlorn Lovedale Railway Station strikes the bell outside his office.

The occupants of the solitary bench look towards their left.

There is no one else on the platform.

And suddenly the train emerges from under the bridge – pushed by the hissing steam engine.
  
Only one person gets down from the train – a beautiful woman, around 30.

The girl runs into her arms.

The old woman walks towards her with a welcoming smile.

The man, sitting in the train, looks furtively, cautious not to be seen.

A whistle; and the train starts and moves out of Lovedale station towards Fern Hill tunnel on its way to Ooty – the end of the line.
   
That evening the small girl and her granny sit near the fireplace with the girl’s mother eating dinner and the woman tells them everything. 


At noon the next day, four people wait at Lovedale station for the train which comes from Ooty and goes down to the plains – the girl, her mother, her grandmother and the man.

The girl presses close to her grandmother and looks at her new ‘father’ with trepidation. He gives her a smile of forced geniality.

The old woman holds the girl tight to her body and looks at the man with distaste.

The young woman looks with awe, mixed with hope, at her new husband.

They all stand in silence. No one speaks. Time stands still. And suddenly the train enters.
 
“I don’t want to go,” the girl cries, clinging to her grandmother.

“Don’t you want to stay with your mummy...? You hate boarding school don’t you...? ” the man says extending his hand.

The girl recoils and says, “No. No. I like it here. I don’t want to come. I like boarding school. I want to stay here.”
 
“Come Baby, we have to go,” her mother says as tears well up in her eyes.
 
“What about granny...? How will she stay here all alone...? No mummy - you also stay here. We all will stay here. Let this man go to Mumbai,” the girl pleads.
 
“Damayant...i! I am your new father...!” the man says firmly to the girl.

And then the man turns to the young woman and he commands, “Kavita. Come. The train is going to leave.”
 
“Go Baby. Be a good girl. I will be okay,” says the old woman releasing the girl.
 
As her mother gently holds her arm and guides her towards the train, for the first time in her life the girl feels that her mother’s hand is like the clasp of an iron gate... like manacles.
   
“I will come and meet you in Mumbai. I promise...” the grandmother says fighting back her tears.

But the girl feels scared – something inside tells her she that may never see her grandmother again.
  
As the train heads towards the plains, the old woman begins to walk her longest mile – her loneliest mile – into emptiness, a void.
 
Poor old Lovedale Railway Station. 

It wants to cry. 

It tries to cry. 

But it cannot even a shed a tear. 

For it is not human. 

So it suffers its sorrow in inanimate helplessness, powerless, hapless, a silent spectator, and a mute witness. 

Yes, Lovedale helplessly watches love being torn apart.

"Love being torn apart at Lovedale" - a pity, isn't it...?

Yes, a pity...real pity...! 
 
 
LOVE TORN APART 
Fiction Short Story
By

VIKRAM KARVE
  
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts. 
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com  
Professional Profile of Vikram Karve - http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

Links to my creative writing blog and profile



 


vikramkarve@sify.com