SHENANIGANS - Short Fiction - A New Age Love Story

Shenanigans 

Short Fiction – A Love Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

“I want to marry your husband.”

“What? Are you mad or something?”

“No. I am not mad. Can’t you see? I am perfectly okay. I want to marry your husband. So I have come to ask you to please let him free…”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Please leave my office.”

“Come on Anu…”

“Anu? Listen Madam, my name is…”

“Anamika – Mrs. Anamika Prem Kumar, Senior Project Manager, IT whiz kid, ambitious, ruthless, careerist… I know everything about you…and don’t ‘madam’ me…call me Priti…that’s my name...Prem must have told you about me.”

“Priti?...never heard of you…I don’t know who you are…Prem’s told me nothing about you…he’s never even mentioned your name.”

“Funny, isn’t it? Think about it. I know everything about you but you know nothing about me. You see, your husband Prem tells me everything about you – each and every detail, he even shares your intimate secrets, but he doesn’t tell you about me – your darling husband hides his relationship with me from you!”

“Relationship? Intimate secrets? What nonsense…”

“Shall I tell you about your honeymoon…Things only you and Prem should know?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Barging into my office unannounced…”

“Hey, I didn’t barge in. I sent you my visiting card, and you called me in, isn’t it? It’s all there on my card, my name, designation, the company I work for…Let’s say I am your husband’s colleague, his work-mate, his teammate, we almost share the same desk...”

Anamika looks at the card, picks up her cell-phone, but before she can dial Priti interrupts her, “You’re calling Prem? Don’t disturb him, Anu. Prem must be sleeping.”

“Sleeping? At eleven in the morning? He should be in office…”

“See, you don’t even know…”

“What?”

“Prem had his wisdom tooth extracted last evening…it was very very painful…Poor Prem…He was in such excruciating agony that I had to sit at his bedside the whole night…First thing in the morning I gave him a sedative and drove straight down to Pune to meet you.”

“You were with him the whole night?”

“No. No. It’s not what you think. We’re not having a physical affair – it’s purely platonic – maybe you can call it an emotional affair – at least till now – but it’s still a love affair, isn’t it?”

“Love? How can he love you? I am his wife!”

“Wife? Oh yes, you’re his legally wedded wife! But tell me Anu, where are you when he needs you..?”

“Needs me…?”

“See, you’re so busy out here in Pune chasing your career dreams that you don’t even know what he’s going through staying alone in Mumbai.”

“Of course I know. I speak to him on the mobile every day…”

“I know. Prem tells me all about it…and he also tells me how you bore him sick during your weekend rendezvous with your nauseating mask of fake love, he is fed up of your sugary sweet talk, your pretence, your ‘caring and sharing’ act...”

“That’s not true…we spend ‘Quality Time’ together…”

“Ha, Ha... ‘Quality Time’ indeed…once a week…it’s once a month now isn’t it…since you have started working on weekends to meet your deadlines…and long gaps when you go globetrotting on your projects…well you may be having your rare moments of ‘Quality Time’ with Prem, but me and Prem are spending plenty of ‘Quantity Time’ together…and that’s what really matters…”

“Listen Miss Priti…I’ve tolerated you long enough…I think it’s time you go now…I’ve work to do…And I am warning you…don’t try to steal my husband from me…”

“Steal your husband? There is no need for me to steal your husband…he is already mine…it is you who have thrown Prem into my arms then I am quite willing to have him be there…and hold onto him tight...”

The woman called Anu gets up and says, “I think it is time for you to go now.”

“I’ll tell Prem to get the papers ready. I think it’s best to get this over with as fast as possible.”

“Papers? What papers? I am not going to sign any papers. And I am warning you Miss…you just stay away from my husband…Good Bye!”

“Be reasonable, Anu…we are three persons in this marriage. That’s not good. There should be only two persons in a marriage, not a threesome. You are his paper wife, I am his office wife. Between the two of us I think I am more in tune with him, so I think it is you who will have to leave the threesome…Think about it…take your time…I am sure you will understand…” Priti says and leaves Anu’s office.

She doesn’t take the lift, but deliberately walks down the staircase, reflecting on her tête-à-tête with Anu, congratulating herself on a job well done.

She returns her visitor’s pass at the reception, walks past the foyer, crosses the road and reaches her car.

The moment Priti sits in her car she calls up her “office husband” Prem from her mobile.

“I spoke to her,” Priti says to Prem, the moment comes on line.

“I know. Anu rang up just now,” Prem says.

“So fast?”

“You really seem to have really rattled her. Anu’s coming down to Mumbai this evening after work. She’s taken a week’s leave. She wants to stay with me in Mumbai, talk things over. She was even asking about my wisdom tooth…she said she wanted to look after me!”

“Really?”

“Thanks, Priti. I think you’ve saved my marriage.”

“Come on Prem…there’s no ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ between friends.”

“Yes, Priti, you’re really my true friend, my best friend in the world!”

“Hey, don’t get senti…and by the way…if she doesn’t turn up…gives you a ditch…remember I’m always there for you…but I’m sure she’ll come and everything will work out for you two.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure of it…and now I am going to make myself scarce for a few days…spend some time with my sister in Pune…then we’ll meet at the office and talk…bye.”

“Bye,” Prem says and he feels a flood of love, a unique affection, a sort of warm gratitude for Priti.

Meanwhile, Anu aka Mrs. Anamika Prem Kumar leaves her office and walks across to the cabin of her “office husband”. She enters and closes the door.

“You won’t believe it,” she laughs, “dodo is having an affair!”

“Your husband is having an affair? I cannot believe it!” the man says incredulous.

“The female was here. Her name is Priti...works in Prem's office...she came here all the way from Mumbai,” Anu says, and then Anu tells her companion all about it.

“Just imagine, Anu! You were almost going to tell him about us...and you were feeling so guilty...now what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Mumbai to meet him. I’ll throw a real tantrum…I will create a ruckus, tell him he is a cheat...I will accuse him of infidelity, of being disloyal, of betraying me...I will tell him I want out...I think it is better that he has the guilt conscience, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the man says, “it is much better that he has the guilty conscience.”

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.  


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

A DETECTIVE STORY

THE MARRIED WOMAN AND THE YOUNG DETECTIVE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

A detective always remembers his first case. Let me tell you about mine.

This happened long back – more than thirty years ago – in the 1970s – when Pune was a salubrious pensioners’ paradise – a cosy laid back friendly town where everyone knew everyone.

And let me tell you – at the time of this story – I was not even a full fledged detective – but I was just a rookie part-time amateur self-styled sleuth – studying in college – skylarking in my spare time as a private detective – masquerading as a Private Investigator for my uncle who ran a private detective agency.

Dear Reader, please remember that way back then, in good old days of the 1970s, there were no cell-phones, no PCs, no mobile cameras, handy cams or digital cameras, no modern technology gadgets, not even things like email and the internet that you take for granted today and the only method of investigation was the tried and tested good old physical surveillance where one spent hours and hours patiently shadowing and tailing your target.

“A woman wants her husband watched,” my uncle said giving me a slip of paper with a name and the room number of a well-known hotel in Pune.

“That’s all?” I asked.

“He is a businessman from Mumbai…drives down to Pune very often…at least once a week…sometimes twice…ostensibly in connection with business…but she suspects there is some hanky-panky going on…”

One week later, waiting for the client to arrive at our planned rendezvous, I sat on the balcony of Café Naaz atop Malabar Hill sipping a cup of delicious Chai and enjoying the breathtaking sunset as the Arabian Sea devoured the orange sun followed by spectacular view of the Queen’s Necklace as the lights lit up Marine Drive.

She arrived on the dot at seven and sat opposite me.

I looked at my client. She was a Beauty, a real beauty, 35…maybe 40… must have been a stunner in her college days…I tried not to stare at her.

“Okay…Tell me,” she said, getting to the point straightaway.

I started reading from my pocket-book, “Thursday morning at ten fifteen he left his hotel room…deposited key at reception telling them that he was going for work would return in the evening…started to drive down in his car towards Deccan…picked up a female who seemed to be waiting for him…she sat next to him…and as they drove off away from the city into the countryside they seemed to be getting amorous…lovey-dovey, you know, a bit of kissing, cuddling…”

“No…No…skip the details…just tell me…is he or isn’t he…?” she interrupted me.

She seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe she was not comfortable being seen sitting with me over here and wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

“I think he is having an affair,” I said.

“You think…?”

“Yes…I am pretty sure…”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well we look for three things – the three key ingredients which are required to have an affair – TIME, INCLINATION and OPPORTUNITY…”

“Time…Inclination…Opportunity…” she repeated looking quite perplexed.

“Well they certainly had the Time…they spent the whole day together in seclusion…and they certainly had the Opportunity…behind the privacy of closed doors in that lonely discreet motel hidden in the back of beyond…and as far as the Inclination part is concerned…well, the way they were behaving…I have no doubt about it….”

A smile broke out on her face.

I was flabbergasted – now tell me dear reader – what would be your reaction if you came to know that your spouse was having an affair – would you just smile…

Suddenly I remembered what my uncle had told me, so I asked the woman, “Do you wish to increase coverage?”

“Coverage…?”

“Photographs...receipts…documentary evidence…round the clock surveillance…full details….” I elaborated.

Of course all this would be handled in a professional manner by my experienced uncle and his agency…maybe he’d take me along as a learning experience.

“I don’t think so…” the woman said.

“No?” I said perplexed, “but you will require all this as evidence to establish that your husband is committing adultery…”

“Husband...? Who said he is my husband…?” she said grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“You said so…to the head of the detective agency…”

“No, I didn’t….I just told him that I wanted a man followed…”

“But we assumed…”

“A good detective shouldn’t assume things, isn’t it…?

“But then why did you want that man followed…?” I asked curious.

“Well that’s my private matter,” she said, “but since I like you, I’ll tell you…It is like this… One day, fifteen years ago, the day I completed my graduation, my parents showed me two photographs…the first photo was of the man you were following…the second photo was of the man who is now my husband.”

The woman paused for a moment, had a sip of water, and continued, “My parents told me to choose one…and I made my choice…but since then…during all these years of my married life… I was always tormented by the thought that I had made the wrong choice….now…thanks to you… I know I made the right choice!”

She took out an envelope from her purse and gave it to me. “Your fee…and there is a bonus for you too for doing such a good job…” she said and then she got up and walked away into the enveloping darkness.

Later when I opened the envelope and saw that the “bonus” was more than the fee, I wondered whether she had two envelopes in her purse, one for each eventuality.

I never forgot the cardinal lesson I learnt from this case – I never assume anything…and now…before I start a new investigation…the first thing I do is to carry out a background check of the client.

THE MARRIED WOMAN AND THE YOUNG DETECTIVE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

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

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

A Divorce Story

MAN WOMAN and CHILD

[Fiction Short Story]

by

VIKRAM KARVE


“She can take the flat, but I want custody of my son,” the man says emphatically to the marriage counselor in the family court.

“No way,” shouts the woman, “he can keep his flat, his money, everything. I don’t want anything from him. I just want my son.”

The marriage counselor looks at the eight-year-old boy and asks him lovingly, “Dear boy, tell me, what do you want?”

“I want both of them,” the boy says.

“Both of them?” the counselor asks looking a bit puzzled.

“Yes,” the boy says emphatically, “I want both my mummy and my daddy.”

“I think you both should give it a last try, at least for your child’s sake,” the counselor says to the man and the woman.

“No. I’ve had enough. It’s over. We can’t stay with this man!” the woman says.

“We?” the man asks incredulously, “What do you mean ‘we’…Well you are most welcome to go wherever you want, but my son is staying with me. I am his father!”

“And I am his mother!” the woman pleads anxiously to the man, “Listen, I don’t want anything from you – maintenance, alimony, nothing! Just give me my son. I can’t live without him!”

“He’s my son too. I love him and I can’t live without him too!” the man says.

“See,” the counselor appeals to the man and the woman, “You both love your son so much. I still think you should try to reconcile.”

“No. I want out,” the woman says.

“Me too!” the man says.

“Okay, let’s go in,” the counselor says, shrugging her shoulders, “Since you two have agreed on everything else, the judge will probably ask you the same things I asked you, he will talk to the child, and then, considering the child’s age, let him stay with his mother and grant the father visiting rights.”

“This whole system is biased in favor of women! I can look after my son much better than her,” the man says angrily.

“My foot!” the woman says, “You’ll ruin his life. It is better he remains away from your influence!”

“Please don’t fight inside,” the counselor advises, “You want an amicable mutual consent separation, isn’t it?”

And so, the man and the woman separate, a step towards the death of their relationship.

Since their son is a small boy he goes with his mother.

After the six month long separation period is over, the man and woman assemble in the family court for their divorce.

“I want to tell you something,” the woman says to the man.

“What?” the man asks.

“Well I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’ve been seeing someone.”

“And you want to get married to him?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great. Go ahead. Good Luck to you!” the man says, “and who is the lucky guy?”

“Oh yes, he is indeed a lucky guy – He’s a childhood friend. Now he lives in the States and is here on a vacation.”

“So you’re off to the States?”

“Yes. Once all this divorce business is through.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s about our son…” the woman says awkwardly.

“What?” the man asks suspiciously.

“I want to leave him with you. As a gesture of goodwill, let’s say as a parting gift.”

“Goodwill? Parting Gift?” the man asks dumbfounded.

“We thought we should begin life afresh, without the baggage of the past.”

“You call our son the baggage of the past? How dare you? He is your son!” the man says angrily.

“And he is your son too!” the woman says, “He needs a father, especially now.”

“You’ve told the boy?”

“No,” the woman answers.

The man says nothing.

There is silence. And then the man hesitantly says to the woman, “A friend of mine has just moved in with me. Actually she’s more than a friend. She’s going to live in with me for some time, to get to know each other better, and then we’ll decide. I don’t think it’s the right time for the boy to stay with me. I think you better keep our son with you - as goodwill, a parting gift, from me!”

Strange are the ways of life.

First the parents fought bitterly for his custody and now no one, not his mother nor his father, wants to keep him any longer.

And so the man and the woman each find their new life-partners and live "happily ever after" and their darling son is packed off to boarding school.

Sad, isn’t it, when children become hapless innocent victims of broken marriages.


MAN WOMAN and CHILD
[Fiction Short Story]
By
VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

STRESS MANAGEMENT

HOW TO CONQUER STRESS

by

VIKRAM KARVE




In my opinion the term “Stress Management” is an oxymoron.

First you create stress within yourself, and then try to “manage” it.

Funny, isn’t it?

Why not prevent stress in the first place?

Focus on “stress prevention” rather than “stress management”.

Let’s try one way how to do this.

Long back, sometime in the 1960’s, when I was a small boy, my father took me to visit Belur Math, and there I acquired a tiny pocket book called “Thus Spake Vivekananda”.

Whenever the chips were down, or I felt dejected, I referred to the inspiring gems of wisdom, distilled from the complete works of Swami Vivekanada, for instant motivation and strength.

Here’s one of those gems of wisdom, a phrase from the sayings of Swami Vivekananda:

Anything that makes you weak physically, intellectually, and spiritually, reject as poison.

I feel that the word “weak” is all encompassing and embraces anything that creates in you a stressful situation like all negative emotions and feelings including anger, irritation, infuriation, frustration, despondency, depression, demoralization, unhappiness – anything that disturbs your inner tranquility and equanimity, drains you emotionally and intellectually, besides literal physical weakness.

Oh yes, Stress is weakness, Stress is Poison!

Now sit down in a quiet tranquil place, close your eyes, introspect, and try to think of all the things that make you feel negative – all your stress-creators and stressful situations.

These can be anything – toxic or incompatible persons, who irritate, annoy and hassle you, allergic or irritating foods and beverages (especially alcoholic drinks) which don’t suit you and are physically detrimental to your health, certain activities and events, which may appear pleasurable at the first instance, but actually drain you out and make you feel fatigued, depleted and depressed, modern technology and gadgets, like your cell-phone, which disturb your peace of mind, and strained relationships, which are a source of stress.

Make an exhaustive list of all the things, activities and entities, that make you “weak” and try to reject them as “poison”.

At first you may be a bit skeptical about this approach, but when you start implementing, you’ll be surprised how much it is in your own control to prevent stress.

While you reject the things that make you weak, you must also reinforce the things that make you feel "strong" and positive.

So simultaneously, reflect and contemplate, and make a list of things which give you strength and joy, make you happy and productive – all the things and people that create positive feelings in you – and try to devote as much time and energy to these positive things that give you strength and make you feel good.

This technique of stress prevention works for me, and I’m sure it’ll work for you too.

You will realise that this way of conquering stress and banishing it from your life is so effective probably because it is so breathtaking in its simplicity.

And once stress disappears from your life, you will feel good -- you can take my word for it.


VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

STRESS MANAGEMENT

HOW TO CONQUER STRESS

by

VIKRAM KARVE




In my opinion the term “Stress Management” is an oxymoron.

First you create stress within yourself, and then try to “manage” it.

Funny, isn’t it?

Why not prevent stress in the first place?

Focus on “stress prevention” rather than “stress management”.

Let’s try one way how to do this.

Long back, sometime in the 1960’s, when I was a small boy, my father took me to visit Belur Math, and there I acquired a tiny pocket book called “Thus Spake Vivekananda”.

Whenever the chips were down, or I felt dejected, I referred to the inspiring gems of wisdom, distilled from the complete works of Swami Vivekanada, for instant motivation and strength.

Here’s one of those gems of wisdom, a phrase from the sayings of Swami Vivekananda:

Anything that makes you weak physically, intellectually, and spiritually, reject as poison.

I feel that the word “weak” is all encompassing and embraces anything that creates in you a stressful situation like all negative emotions and feelings including anger, irritation, infuriation, frustration, despondency, depression, demoralization, unhappiness – anything that disturbs your inner tranquility and equanimity, drains you emotionally and intellectually, besides literal physical weakness.

Oh yes, Stress is weakness, Stress is Poison!

Now sit down in a quiet tranquil place, close your eyes, introspect, and try to think of all the things that make you feel negative – all your stress-creators and stressful situations.

These can be anything – toxic or incompatible persons, who irritate, annoy and hassle you, allergic or irritating foods and beverages (especially alcoholic drinks) which don’t suit you and are physically detrimental to your health, certain activities and events, which may appear pleasurable at the first instance, but actually drain you out and make you feel fatigued, depleted and depressed, modern technology and gadgets, like your cell-phone, which disturb your peace of mind, and strained relationships, which are a source of stress.

Make an exhaustive list of all the things, activities and entities, that make you “weak” and try to reject them as “poison”.

At first you may be a bit skeptical about this approach, but when you start implementing, you’ll be surprised how much it is in your own control to prevent stress.

While you reject the things that make you weak, you must also reinforce the things that make you feel "strong" and positive.

So simultaneously, reflect and contemplate, and make a list of things which give you strength and joy, make you happy and productive – all the things and people that create positive feelings in you – and try to devote as much time and energy to these positive things that give you strength and make you feel good.

This technique of stress prevention works for me, and I’m sure it’ll work for you too.

You will realise that this way of conquering stress and banishing it from your life is so effective probably because it is so breathtaking in its simplicity.

And once stress disappears from your life, you will feel good -- you can take my word for it.


VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Time to Move On in Life

TIME TO MOVE ON

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Here is an apocryphal funny teaching story I heard somewhere.

Dear Reader, please read it slowly, then have a good laugh, carry the story with you and let it perambulate in your mind, and suddenly you will understand its true meaning and feel enlightened.

A distinguished man bought a lovely bungalow at a scenic place in a nearby hill-station.

From time to time he would take a break from his work and escape from the hectic life of the city and go to his bungalow in the hills to enjoy relaxed solitude.

He would always tell everyone that he was going away for a month but invariably he used to always return much earlier - sometimes within ten days and sometimes even earlier - within a week itself.

When asked the reason for his erratic behaviour, the distinguished man explained:

"I have kept a caretaker woman there to look after my house in the hills. She is very ugly, probably the ugliest and most repugnant woman in the world – she looks absolutely hideous and is so terribly revolting that just one look at her and you will feel like vomiting.

Whenever I go to live there, at first the ugly woman looks terribly repulsive and dreadfully ghastly.

But slowly, after three, four days, she doesn’t seem so horrible.

Then, as time passes, maybe after six, seven days, I start seeing some beauty in her.

The day I start seeing beauty in her is the day I flee from the hill-station and come back to the city – because that means enough is enough – I have lived away from the world too long - now even this utterly ugly and horrible woman has started looking beautiful – I may even fall in love with this horrendous woman – that is dangerous warning signal and I know that it is time to move on. So I pack up my bags and rush back to the city."

Please tell me, Dear Reader, what is the moral of this story?

VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Independence

INDEPENDENCE

[Short Fiction - An Inspirational Story]

By

VIKRAM KARVE



“How was your day?” she asks.

“Terrible,” he says.

“Terrible?”

“Everything is rotten out here! This country is going to the dogs because of this bloody corruption! They must do something about it.”

“They? What they? Who is this ‘they’?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care, because I am getting out of here once and for all.”

“Sanjiv, come on, how can you be so sure things are better out there? At least here, in our country, we are treated properly.”

“Treated properly? My foot! Only the corrupt and powerful, the rich and wealthy, are having a ball. If you’re honest, life is hell. They treat you like dirt. But one thing is sure. Once I’m an NRI, I’ll be treated better. Look at way they pamper these NRI chaps – the top jobs, the dough, the recognition, the honors – it’s pathetic, the way we put them on a pedestal - they enjoy best of both worlds and we even bestow them with all sorts of accolades and awards!”

“What rubbish! They must have done something for the country.”

“Oh, yeah! Sure. But which country? All they’ve done is make money for the company they work for over there, earned glory for themselves. But what have they done for India ?”

“Come on, don’t be so bitter. Just forget all this Sanjiv and think positively; you’ve got a chance to stay here and do something, haven’t you? Sanjiv. Don’t go. Please!”

“Don’t go? Please? Come on, Nalini. What’s wrong with you? Why the hell should I stay here?”

“The IAS is the best thing in the world.”

“Oh yeah! Tell me. What’s so great about rotting away in some back of the beyond town like Jhumri Talaiya, or Beed, or Marwar Mundwa, which you only hear about on Vividh Bharati?”

“Come off it, it’s not all that bad.”

“And the bloody groveling and kowtowing the powers that be all your life?”

“The pay, the perks…”

“Pay, Perks? What are you talking about? I’ve told you about the mind-boggling amount I’m going to get out there, haven’t I?

“So it’s Seattle, not Mussoorie?”

“Yes. It’s final. I’ve nothing left here now.”

“Nothing?” tears start to well up in her eyes.

He puts his arms around her and says, “Please Nalini… don’t make it difficult for me.”

“I’m thirsty. Come, let’s have some chilled milk.”

Hand in hand, the man and the woman cross Marine Drive , and amble to the Jai Jawan stall, and order some chilled milk.

Suddenly a cop arrives, bangs his lathi on the counter and shouts rudely at the old man inside the stall, “Abe Saale, Hafta kyon nahi deta?”

“I am a war veteran disabled soldier,” the jawan says proudly stamping his crutch on the ground in anger.

“So what? Just pay up, you one-legged cripple, or I’ll shove that crutch up your…”

Something suddenly snaps inside Sanjiv and he is filled with rage. He suddenly turns, catches the cop’s collar, shoves him roughly, and shouts, “Just get out…”

The stunned cop slowly recovers, talks on his cell phone, and within seconds a police jeep appears and they are all whisked away to the police station.

“Saale,” the inspector says menacingly, “assaulting a policeman on duty…”

“Sir,” a constable interrupts, “this was in his pocket.” He hands a paper to the inspector.

The inspector reads it, looks at Sanjiv, and goes inside to his superior’s office. They discuss and reach a conclusion: No point taking punga with IAS types – even if he is just going to be a probationer.

“You are going to be IAS. You shouldn’t do these things,” the inspector says politely to Sanjiv, undergoing a total metamorphosis in his demeanor and sends his jeep to drop them back at the Jai Jawan Stall on Marine Drive .

“Thank you, saab. We need young people like you to sort things out,” the soldier at the Jai Jawan says gratefully, as they sip the deliciously soothing chilled milk.

“Hey, let’s watch sunset,” Nalini says.

They cross Marine Drive , run to the parapet and watch the breathtakingly beautiful spectacle as the tranquil blue sea begins to swallow the orange ball and the crimson rays dancing in the sky slowly dissolve into twilight.

“Your last sunset in India, isn’t it?” she says, tears in her eyes.

He takes her in his arms, and they kiss, slow and prolonged, as if it were there first and last kiss.

And when it is finally over, he looks into her eyes and says, “Nalini, I’m not going. I’ve decided to stay. Join the IAS.”

“Really? Why? What happened…?” Nalini exults in incredulous delight.

Sanjiv does not answer. He looks into Nalini’s eyes, then he tenderly puts his arm around her and together they watch the awesome metamorphosis at sunset.


VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/


mailto:vikramkarve@sify.com

WHY DID YOU DUMP ME

WHY DID YOU DUMP ME ?

[Flash Fiction – A Short Story]

By

VIKRAM KARVE



The moment I saw the e-mail I did two things.

First I took a print-out of the mail, kept it in my purse and deleted the mail from my mailbox.

Then I called the airlines and booked my ticket on the next flight to India.

The e-mail contained a name and an address. That’s all – just a name and an address.

I cannot begin to describe the emotion I felt as I looked at the name.

I had so many questions to ask him – Unanswered questions that were haunting me for so many years.

It all began when my fiancé Anil suddenly broke off our engagement without any explanation.

“Why?” I asked him totally shocked.

“I can’t tell you,” he said.

“You can’t dump me just like this. I’ve done nothing wrong,” I pleaded heartbroken.

“I’m sorry, Rita. I can’t marry you,” he said trying to look away from my eyes.

“What do you mean you can’t marry me?” I shouted shaking him.

He didn’t say anything, just remained silent, averting his eyes.

“Is it someone else? What do you mean you can’t marry me? Actually you don’t want to marry me, isn’t it?”

“Okay, you can think what you like. I don’t want to marry you.”

“You have to give me an explanation. I am not going to accept being jilted like this.”

“You have to accept it. Don’t delve too much.”

“How dare you say ‘don’t delve too much’, you unscrupulous cheat?” I screamed in anger, taking hold of his collar.

“Cool down,” he said pushing me away. “It’s you who tried to cheat me.”

“I? Cheated you?” I said dumbfounded and furious.

“You shouldn’t have tried to hide things from me,” he accused.

“Hide what?” I asked, getting livid.

“You never told me that you are an adopted child,” he said.

“What nonsense! Don’t talk rubbish. I’m not adopted!” I shouted in anger.

“You are.”

“Who told you?”

“We got some pre-matrimonial enquiries done.”

“Matrimonial Enquiry? You spied on me,” I accused him, “to blackmail me, to humiliate me? With all these lies!”

“Don’t worry. No one else knows. It’s a reliable and discreet investigation agency.”

“It’s not true. I’m not adopted,” I said feeling shattered numb, as if I had been pole-axed.

“Why don’t you ask your parents?” Anil said as he walked away from my life, leaving me heartbroken, desolate and shattered.

I never asked my parents, the only parents I knew. They were the one’s who loved me, gave me everything. I could not ask them; hurt them. I did not have the heart to.

They did not say anything to me but I could see the sadness and a sense of guilt in their eyes, as they withered away having lost the will to live. I felt deeply anguished and helpless.

My parents loved me, meant everything to me, and we carried on our lives as if nothing had happened, and I lovingly cared and looked after them till their very end; but deep down I felt terribly betrayed.

Years passed. I relocated abroad past and immersed myself in my work. I tried to forget but I could never forget.

One day I could bear it no longer.

I decided to find out.

And now I had found out.

The investigation agency had done a good job. Confidential and discreet.

For the first time I knew the name of my actual father – my real father, my biological natural father.

And now I had to meet this man and ask him why he did it, commit that cruel unforgivable act of abandoning me to the world.

I landed at Delhi airport in the very early hours of the morning.

It was cold, the morning chill at once refreshing and invigorating, the driver drove fast and it took me six hours by taxi to reach the magnificent bungalow near Landour in Mussoorie.

I checked the nameplate and briskly walked inside, eager to see my real father for the first time.

There was a small crowd gathered in the porch.

“What’s happening?” I asked a man in the crowd.

“Bada Sahab is no more. He passed away this morning. He was so good to us,” he said with tears in his eyes.

I pushed my way through the crowd.

My father’s lifeless body was lying on a white sheet bedecked with flowers, ready for the last rites.

As I looked at his serene face, tears welled up in my eyes.

Suddenly I lost control of myself and cried inconsolably, “I have become an orphan. An orphan!”

“Me too!” a familiar voice said softly behind me.

I turned around and stared at my ex fiancé Anil.

Anil looked into my eyes in awe.

Slowly comprehension began to dawn on us, Anil and me, and we kept looking into each other’s eyes.

Frozen, we looked at each other in silence; grotesque silence; deafening silence; illuminating silence – an enlightening silence.


VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://www.ryze.com/go/karve

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

A ROMANCE STORY - HAPPY NEW YEAR

HAPPY NEW YEAR – A ROMANCE STORY

[Short Fiction]

By

VIKRAM KARVE



As he wished her a Happy New Year for the last time, and said good bye, Arun Rao was already regretting that he had put the matter so lightly.

He was forty-three, on the threshold of middle age, and terribly weary of his lingering bachelorhood. Sadhana could be his last chance.

As the boat pulled ashore, Sadhana looked at the imposing figure of Arun Rao standing on the deck of the huge ship recede into the darkness.

She waved a good-bye, feeling in her heart the very same sentiment, the same churning of emotions, which Arun was experiencing at that very moment.

For Sadhana, it had been a long time since she had been attracted towards a man. And she had sensed tender warmth in Arun’s behaviour towards her.

She had been very curious to see his ship – a massive oil tanker – and how he lived. Arun had even taken her to his cabin – a privileged excursion into an exclusively masculine word. It was impressive. Nothing can be as neatly arranged as a sailor’s cabin.

But Sadhana was depressed by its neatness and organization. This was the home of a self-sufficient man. He hardly needed a wife.

Her son, Sunil, was talking animatedly to a sailor who was pointing out the various lights on the ships at anchorage. Sunil had been full of excitement and had thoroughly enjoyed the visit to Arun’s ship. He was ten years old and needed a father figure – a real man. He seemed to have liked Arun and they had got along well, with Arun patiently answering Sunil’s numerous questions.

She wondered why Arun had treated them so lavishly and given them such expensive presents; especially that marvelous exclusive perfume he had insisted she try on there and then.

Sadhana was sure Arun had fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her.

But why had he hesitated? Was it because of her son, Sunil?

Captain Arun Rao lay down on his bunk and closed his eyes in self-commiseration. It was only too easy to remain a bachelor in the Merchant Navy and, after the early susceptible years, it became easier still. The insularity of ship-borne life suited a bachelor. But now, after meeting Sadhana and Sunil, Arun did feel keenly the lack of a family.

He knew he should have asked her, but he had remained tongue-tied – afraid of rejection – waiting for Sadhana to make the first move. But how could she? After all she was a woman. And there was Sunil, her son. Would he accept him as a father?

Arun wished he had asked Sadhana directly and frankly. It was the fear of rebuff, and maybe his ego, that had come in the way. He had to move fast. Act now, before it was too late.

Tomorrow was his last day in harbour. And then he would sail away, far away from Sadhana’s life, for a long time, maybe forever. He took out his cell-phone and dialed his sister’s number.

It was in his sister’s house that he had met Sadhana for the first time. Just two days ago.

As the boat approached the wharf, Sadhana turned around and looked at ship’s lights dotting the sea, trying to locate and discern Arun’s ship. In the enveloping darkness it was impossible.

She felt the same sensation one feels at the end of a happy dream when one is jolted to reality. It was over.

Tomorrow Arun would sail away from her life, forever. And she would be back in her routine as a teacher and single mother.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that it was only when she felt Sunil tugging at her hand that she noticed that the ferry boat was already berthed alongside, and they disembarked on the jetty.

“I wish we could sail with Uncle Arun,” Sunil said. “He is so nice.”
“We can’t,” Sadhana said. “It’s not allowed. And what about your school? Merchant Navy ships sail for days together, across the seas, round the world.”

“We can go during the summer holidays,” Sunil interjected. “Uncle said that families are allowed on board for short periods.”

“But we are not his family,” Sadhana said.

“Then why don’t you marry him?”

The directness of her son’s question rendered Sadhana dumbstruck. She looked at her son incredulously. Even he had understood, and accepted.

Now, she would have to act fast; for her sake, for her son’s sake.

She had to talk to Arun quickly. Time was running out. She was tempted to ring him up there and then on his mobile, but restrained herself – this had to be done delicately.

Sadhana hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take her to the house of Priti, Arun’s sister, where Sadhana had first met Arun. At Priti’s son’s birthday party. Sadhana generally never attended any parties now-a-days. But Priti’s son was a classmate of Sunil’s. And her ex-pupil too. And Priti’s husband Praveen had been a colleague of her late husband. They had insisted. And she just couldn’t refuse.

It was during the party, as Sadhana drifted towards the balcony for some fresh air, that had noticed Arun, standing in the balcony, all alone by himself, lost in his thoughts, in a corner. He wore a lonely and rather perplexed expression, as though he were at the party but not a member of it. His height and his beard, which was almost entirely gray, made him prominent. He looked a decisive, hot-tempered and dangerous man, with his broad square face, heavy-lidded eyes, and majestic beard. But he also looked vulnerable.

“That’s my elder brother,” Priti said following Sadhana’s gaze. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

They were introduced. Probably Priti had told Arun about Sadhana for he didn’t ask the inevitable questions about her late husband. Nor did he express the superficial pity and lip sympathy, platitudes she had become so used to.

Arun simply said, “At least you’ve got your son to keep you company. But I am all alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadhana said.” I didn’t know you were also…”

“No, no.” interrupted Arun. “I am just a bachelor. One of those who looks before he leaps – and never leaps.” He smiled. “And now it’s too late. Looks like I’ll be a confirmed lifelong bachelor. I have learnt to live with myself and live a life without a wife.”

They talked.

Sadhana found that Arun was easy to talk to and soon she began experiencing a sense of release and a rare feeling of elation.

In these moods there was so such to say and the words simply came tumbling out.

She told him everything. About her husband, his sudden unexpected death, about Sunil, her son, and how she was struggling along the lonely road of life.

She noticed that Arun didn’t express the usual response of pity, sympathy, or patronizing attitude. He listened with his disarming smile, and from time to time egged her on. She unburdened herself. Arun also felt good. He realized that it was comforting to converse with someone who needed comforting.

They would have gone on and on but Sunil interrupted them. “Mummy, aren’t you going to eat something?”

Young Sunil was fascinated when he knew that Arun was a Merchant Navy Captain – The Master of a ship. Arun had invited them on board to see the ship the next day – New Year’s Day.

Though, at first, Sadhana was reluctant, she could not refuse, seeing Sunil’s enthusism. She accepted Arun’s invitation. For her son’s sake. Maybe hers?

“We’d love to come,” Sadhana said. “It’s nice to do something different on a New Year’s Day for a change.”

She flattered Arun by looking steadily at him without letting her eyes stray. Sadhana wore a simple off-white sari with a brooch pinned on her right shoulder. Her forehead was too broad, her nose too long, for her to be called a beauty, but looking at her Arun Rao experienced that delightful giddy feeling of achievement, that same lift of the spirit, as one feels when one conquers a high mountain peak and first sees the breathtaking view of the expanse below him.

As the taxi reached Priti’s house, Sadhana began having second thoughts.

There is a time to make thing happen, and there is a time to let things happen.

Sadhana decided to let things happen, take their natural course, relying on her instinct.

Priti gave Sadhana a canny look when she opened the door. “Come in,” she said, “I am so happy for both of you.”

“What…?” Sadhana said confused.

“Arun just called …” Priti said teasingly.

Sadhana blushed. “Priti, I want to meet him before he sails off. I don’t want to lose him.”

Don’t get impatient,” Priti said putting her arm around Sadhana affectionately. “Arun’s ship is sailing tomorrow evening. But he is on his way right now in the ship’s boat. He felt too shy to speak to you so he is getting a letter for me to deliver personally to you.”

“Letter? He’s proposing through a letter? What an old fashioned chap?” Praveen, Priti’s husband, exclaimed, appearing as if from nowhere. “This old fogey Arun needs some shock treatment. Hurry up. Let’s surprise him at the jetty. I’ll take out the car.”

As Arun got off the boat and walked up the steps of the jetty, he unexpectedly saw Sadhana, and his heart thumped giddily with the glee of a man who anxiously yearns for his beloved and suddenly finds her a thousand times more beautiful then he imagined.

He could not control the rising force of the latent bottled up love within; neither could she. Oblivious of the surroundings, they ran towards each other and embraced tightly.

Warm and secure in his arms, Sadhana, once again, felt tender, cherished and loved. After an age when her heart had been frozen, she was going to begin her life anew.

Shadows lengthen, it starts getting dark, Sadhana and Arun look at the horizon and watch the glorious spectacle of sunset on the first evening of the New Year. They watch the fantastic metamorphosis at sunset, the orange sun being gobbled up the calm blue sea, crimson petals dancing in the sky, twilight enveloping, romance is in the air, as they hold each other tightly and say to each other, “Happy New Year.”



VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2008
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

vikramkarve@sify.com