SHORT FICTION by VIKRAM KARVE - A LOVE STORY

Please click the link below and read the love story on my creative writing blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2009/01/how-i-discovered-love.htm

Regards
Vikram Karve

FOOD BOOK - ART OF EATING

APPETITE FOR A STROLL

[Foodie Adventures, Simple Recipes, Musings on The Art of Eating and Vikram Karve’s Authentic Guide to Value For Money Food in Mumbai and Pune]

By

VIKRAM KARVE

I have recently written a Foodie Adventures Book – Appetite for a Stroll.Please click the link and read the review of Appetite for a Stroll titled Food for Soul in the Indian Express [Pune] Sunday 7th September 2008

http://www.indianexpress.com/story/358363.html

expressonline book review

http://www.expressindia.com/latest-news/Food-for-soul/358363/

If you want to get a copy of the book just click the links below:

http://www.indiaplaza.in/finalpage.aspx?storename=books&sku=9788190690096&ct=2

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm


I am sure you will enjoy reading the book, the delicious food at all the value for money eateries and cooking the recipes.

Happy Reading and Happy Eating

VIKRAM KARVE

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

IF YOU CANNOT DO IT OUTSOURCE IT

A spoof on outsourcing - just click the link below and read on my fiction blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2009/01/outsourcing.htm

Vikram Karve

INVISIBLE GATES OF PUNE

THE INVISIBLE GATES OF PUNE

By

VIKRAM KARVE


Every city has its “Gates” – especially historical cities with Forts and Heritage structures. While some actual physical gates are visible, a few are not. Here are a few “Gates” of Pune that are not visible and exist in parlance only. If you find the actual physical “Gate” do let us know.

Peru Gate [maybe derives its name from the guava orchards that may have existed in the vicinity or is it a corrupted Indianized pronunciation of the name Perron, a British Officer after whom the gate was named as I read somewhere?]. Located in the heart of the city surrounded by the best authentic food joints and near Bharat Natya Mandir and Tilak Smarak Mandir.

Pool Gate or Pul Gate [Is there a Bridge or Pool nearby?]. In Pune camp.

Swar Gate [is it named after swari - where one begins one’s travel?]. At the junction of Satara Road and Solapur Road, housing the main State Transport and PMT Bus Terminus.

Quarter Gate [Was the Quarter Guard of a military unit housed here? I will not even risk mentioning the other more popular meaning of the word “quarter” in local lingo!]

Mhasoba Gate [Named after a temple of the same name in the vicinity].

Mariaaee Gate [Is it the Marathi version of Mother Mary (aaee – mother, Maria – Mary) and named after the church nearby?]

Ramoshi Gate. I’m totally clueless and I just can’t figure out!

Body Gate – This one is near Aundh, on the way to Mumbai past Bremen Chowk, and has cute heritage buildings which house police offices. Probably Body Gate housed a body of cavalry outside the Aundh Military Camp across the Mula river.

Dear Reader: Do you know of any more such invisible “Gates” in Pune?

And if you have more information on the gates mentioned above, do comment and let us know.


VIKRAM KARVE

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

vikramkarve@hotmail.com

FLASH FICTION - LOVE AND ENVY

Please click on the url link below and read my story on my creative writing blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2009/01/one-girl-two-rivals.htm

Regards
Vikram Karve

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Deccan Queen Romance

SHORT FICTION - A ROMANCE

ROMANTIC JOURNEY ON THE DECCAN QUEEN

[A Love Story]

By

VIKRAM KARVE




Have you ever seen a handsome strapping young man reading a Mills & Boon Romance? And that too so blatantly in front of so many people in the Deccan Queen!

I did. On the Deccan Queen. Yes, on the Deccan Queen – my favourite train that takes you from Mumbai to Pune every evening. Let me tell you about it.

But first I’ll tell you about myself. My name is Pooja. I am twelve years old and I’m a pretty girl. I love train journeys and I have traveled a lot, especially on the Mumbai – Pune route. But this was the first time I was traveling alone. So my loving father, who doted on me since I was the only thing he had in this world, was very very anxious and worried.

My father had come to see me off at Mumbai’s magnificent CST Railway Terminus. He seemed uneasy and kept on saying the same things again and again, “Pooja, take care. Don’t get down at any station. It’s only a three-hour journey. She’ll come to pick you up at Pune. I’ve told her your coach and seat number. And I’ve told uncle to look after you.”

‘Uncle’ was a young man of about twenty-five on the seat next to mine. He was very handsome, well-groomed, smartly dressed in a light blue T-shirt and trendy Jeans. 25? Maybe slightly older – but certainly not 30! He had a smart elegant beard. A proper well-kept full-grown beard, not the repulsive dirty-looking horrible two-day designer stubble young men sport nowadays. They think the filthy hideous stubble on their face looks fashionable, but let me tell you it looks sick and makes me feel like puking. But this guy had a gorgeous beard – it suited his face perfectly and made him look very handsome and manly.

“Don’t you worry, sir,” he said to my father, “she’ll be delivered safe and sound.” He gave me a friendly smile. I liked him and felt happy to have him as a companion. And of course, I had the window seat in case he turned out to be a bore.

Now my father was talking to the train-conductor, probably telling him the same things. I felt embarrassed but I didn’t say anything. For I knew my father loved me very much and genuinely cared for me. After all, he had no one else in this world except me.

I felt worried about him too. That’s why when he kissed me on the cheek just before the train started, I whispered in his ear, “Papa, don’t drink too much.” I knew how much he hated to be lonely, and now I wouldn’t be there to look after him, to take care of him, to mother him!

The train moved. I looked at my watch. Ten minutes past five. Right on the dot. Soon the mighty Deccan Queen was speeding towards Pune. We would be there by dinner-time.

I looked at ‘uncle’ – just a sideways glance. But he did not notice me as he had already buried himself in the pages of the Mumbai Mid-Day newspaper. I took out my Walkman from my bag, kept in on my knee, adjusted the earphones in my ears and looked at him again. He was still buried in his newspaper, totally oblivious of the world around him.

I pressed my earphones tighter and tried to hear the music from my Walkman, pretended to ignore him, made pretence of trying to look out of the tinted-glass window of the air-conditioned chair car. But my eyes kept wandering, trying to steal a glance at him when I thought he wouldn’t notice. Hoping he would notice me and say something; talk to me. But he remained glued to his newspaper as if I just did not exist! How mean and snobbish? It seemed he had no manners! I hated him and decided to ignore him.

After some time the young man next to me folded his newspaper and kept it in the rack in front of him. Then he pulled out his bag from below his seat, opened the zip, took out a book from his bag and kept it on his knees in front of him. It was a ‘Mills & Boon’ romance! I smiled to myself. He seemed to be an interesting character. Young men in their twenties don’t read Mills & Boon. Or do they? You tell me.

He opened the Mills & Boon and started reading intently. I know it is bad manners to disturb someone who is reading, but I was so curious to know more about him that I just could not resist. I shut the Walkman, pulled earphones out of my ears, and said, “Hello, uncle. I’m Pooja.”

“Oh yes! I know. Pooja. Age 12.”

“How…?” I asked surprised.

“I read the reservation chart,” he said.

“No. No. Papa must have told you my name,” I said.

“But he didn’t tell me your age, young lady,” he smiled mischievously and said, “Whenever I begin a train journey I always find out who my fellow-passengers are.”

“You a detective or something?”

“No, No!” he said smiling. “I’m a Shippie. A Chief Officer in the Merchant Navy.” He held out his hand, "Girish Pradhan. And don’t call me uncle. Call me Girish – just Girish.”

We shook hands. His grip was firm and strong. Robust. Reassuring. Redoubtable. Just like he looked.

The Mills & Boon paperback fell off. He picked it up and put it back on his knees. It really seemed funny – a solid macho man like him reading Mills & Boon.

He spoke, “Been to Pune before?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “We lived in Pune before we came to Mumbai.”

“Then you can help me out,” he said. “You know where’s a restaurant called Vaishali?”

“You don’t know Vaishali?” I asked surprised.

“No,” he said. “It’s the first time I’m going to Pune. But she told me it was a famous place. I’d find it easily. That’s what she told me!”

“She?”

“The person I have an appointment with. 10 o’clock tomorrow morning. She promised she would be there.”

“At Vaishali?”

“Yes,” he said. “She told me that the Dosa at Vaishali is even better than the one at Shompen.”

“Shompen?”

“It’s the best restaurant in Port Blair. That’s where we met for the first time.”

“Port Blair! That’s where you met her, is it?” I asked. This was getting very interesting.

“Yes. Last Year. We were sailing from Singapore to Mumbai and docked en-route at Port Blair for some emergency repairs. It was just a short stay of four days.”

I love to talk to someone who loves to talk. And this was like a fairy tale. It was getting exciting and I wanted to ask him so many things. Who was she? Her name? Was it love at first sight? What happened? About the Mills & Boon on his lap?

But before I could speak, he suddenly said,” Hey! Why am I telling you all this? It’s supposed to be secret.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Now you tell me about yourself, Pooja. Why are you going to Pune?” he asked.

“To see my new mother,” I blurted out without thinking. And then like a stupid fool I told him everything. I knew I was making a mistake but he was so easy to talk to that my words just came tumbling out. My mother’s sudden death. My father sinking into depression. His drinking problem. Everyone advising him to remarry. His refusal. Just for my sake. And this proposal. My father insisting that I see her first and we like each other. Everything – I told him everything; and it made me feel good!

“You mean your father hasn’t even met her?” Girish asked.

“No. We haven't. Papa has only spoken to her on the phone. Some relatives and friends of Papa are arranging the whole thing,” I said. “Papa’s worried. He loves me so much. He wants me to like her first.” I couldn’t speak any longer. Tears had welled up in my eyes.

For some time there was silence. I felt very embarrassed at having told everything to a complete stranger. But strangely after telling him everything I felt good too.

I wiped my tears and nose with my handkerchief and said, “I am sorry, uncle.”

“Uncle? Hey come on. I’m not that old. Call me Girish. I told you, didn’t I? And don’t worry. Everything will work out.”

“For you too!” I said.

“I hope so,” he said. I’m making it to this appointment with great difficulty – I made it almost by a hair’s breadth. I signed off my ship in Perth yesterday evening and managed to reach Mumbai just a few hours ago. And here I am on this train to Pune. She told me if I didn’t keep my appointment with her tomorrow, she’d go ahead and marry someone else.”

“So romantic!” I said. “Just like in the movie …”

“An Affair to Remember?”

“No. Some Hindi Movie… I don’t remember the name,” I said, “You must be dying to meet her, isn’t it?”

“Of course I’m dying to meet her,” he said. “It’s more than one year since we said goodbye to each other at Port Blair. The tenth of November last year we promised each other we would meet tomorrow – the 4th of January this year at 10 a.m. at Vaishali restaurant in Pune.”

“Why 4th of January?”

“We met for the first time on the 4th of January last year. And yes, it’s her birthday!”

“But you must have kept in touch – e-mailed – surely spoken on the phone.”

“No. She didn’t give me her address. She was in Port Blair on a holiday. And me? Well I’ve been sailing since. She said if I really loved her I would come.” He paused, picked up the Mills & Boon romance book from his lap and said,” The only thing she gave me was this.”

“Can I see it?”

“No. You are too small for Mills & Boon.” He kept the book in the plastic book-rack in front of his seat, turned to me and said, “Hey, Pooja. Why don’t you come to Vaishali tomorrow at ten? We’ll celebrate her birthday together.”

“But you haven’t even told me her name.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said. “And suppose she doesn’t come, I’ll be heartbroken. Then you can console me. But I’m sure she will be there at Vaishali waiting for me. She promised. Whatever her decision, she said she won’t ditch me. She’ll definitely be there for our rendezvous.”

I looked out of the tinted-glass window. The sun was about to set. Outside it was getting dark. Inside it was cold. The Deccan Queen slowed down. It was Karjat, the station in the foothills just before the mighty Sahaydri Mountains .

I turned to Girish and said, “Let’s get down. You get yummy batata-vadas here.”

“Your father...”

“Please?”

“Okay.”

We strolled on the platform eating the delicious batata-vadas with the lip-smacking chutney, and suddenly Girish said, “I’m nervous. I hope everything works out well.”

“Me too,” I said. “Papa needs someone. But he’s so worried for me. Whether I’ll like her or not. And she too?”

“Of course, she will like you. You will like each other. I’m sure things will be fine. For you, and also for me. Why don’t you bring her also to Vaishali tomorrow morning along with you? And we will all celebrate!” he said.

“I’ll try.”

“You must.”

“Okay. If I like her.”

“But you must come.”

“I will,” I said. “Like a kabab-me-haddi.”

We laughed and got inside the train. Pushed by the banker engines the Deccan Queen began its climb up the steep Western Ghats .

“Hi, Girish!” an excited voice spoke from above.

I looked up. Another young bearded man. But this was a boisterous type.

“Oh, Hi Sanjiv. What are you doing here?” Girish said getting up form his seat.

“Going to Lonavala,” the man named Sanjiv answered.

“Lonavala?”

“I’ve bought a cottage in Lonavala. A sort of farmhouse. Why don’t you come and see it?”

“No, No,” Girish said, “I’ve got an important appointment in Pune.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning. At ten.”

“And where are you going to spend night?”

“I don’t know. Some hotel or someplace.”

“Why don’t you spend the night with me? I’ve got a bottle of Scotch and we’ve got so much to talk. I’ll drop you first thing in the morning in time for your appointment. It’s only an hour’s drive to Pune. I’ll get my car serviced too.”

I could sense that Girish wanted to go, so I said, “It’s okay. I’ll manage. She’s definitely coming to pick me up.”

Sanjiv looked at me in a curious manner, so Girish said, “This is Pooja. My co-passenger. I promised her father I’d deliver her safely to Pune.”

“Hi, young lady,” Sanjiv said. “Girish and I are batch mates and shipmates. We’re meeting after a long time.”

I knew that both of them were dying to talk to each other, have a good time, so I said to Girish, “You get down at Lonavala. I promise I’ll look after myself. I’ve got my mobile with me and I’ve got her number also. I’ll ring up my Papa the moment I reach Pune.”

I insisted, and egged on by Sanjiv, a hesitant Girish got down at Lonavala, but not before we exchanged each other’s cell numbers and he requested the lady across the aisle to look after me.

It was only after the train left Lonavala on its final leg to Pune did I notice that Girish had forgotten his ‘Mills & Boon’ romance paperback. I took out the book from the rack and opened it. On the first page was written in beautiful cursive handwriting:



To My Dear Girish,

In remembrance of the lovely time we had together in Port Blair.

Snehal

PS – Remember, there is a thin line between pity and love.



As I looked at the message something started happening within me. Snehal? Same Shenal? It couldn’t be? Or could it? Snehal! A loving person. That’s what the name means. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Is Snehal a common name? Maybe. It's possible. Maybe there are many Snehals in Pune.

The Deccan Queen is rushing towards Pune. There will be a Snehal waiting for me at Pune Railway Station. A Snehal I am going to meet for the fisrt time. A Snehal my father wants to be my new mother.And do you know, what is the first thing I am going to ask her?

I am going to ask her which is the best restaurant in Port Blair.

And whatever her answer, I am going to take her to Vaishali restaurant on Fergusson College Road at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. And I'm dying to see the expression on her face, and Girish's too, when they see each other at the rendezvous.

I will not return the Mills & Boon romance book to Girish. I’ll keep it for myself. I want to read it on my journey back to Mumbai by the Deccan Queen.

And then I'll tell my Papa all about the lovey-dovey rendezvous in Vaishali.



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.


vikramkarve@sify.com


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com



http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2009/01/romantic-journey-on-the-deccan-queen.htm

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

Happy New Year - A Fiction Short Story

Click the url link below and read the fiction short story on my creative writing blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/12/cute-girl-mofussil-girl-happy-new-year.htm

Happy New Year 2009.
Vikram Karve

Blue Nile

BLUE NILE

[Foodie Memories]

By

VIKRAM KARVE




My darling “foodie” sister suddenly lands up in the evening from Mumbai and commands, “Let’s go to Blue Nile!”

“You sure?” I ask, a bit incredulous.

“Yes,” she says peremptorily, “I’m in a mood for a nostalgic Biryani!”

And soon we are sitting in Blue Nile – a quaint, old-world, down-to-earth, high turnover, no-frills, old-world "heritage" eatery of Pune located near the GPO opposite the Nucleus Mall. This is no fancy restaurant for stylish gourmet dining in air-conditioned comfort, soothing tranquility and refined classy ambiance. Blue Nile is certainly not the ideal place for a discreet tête-à-tête meal or a romantic candle-light dinner. The moment you enter your nostrils may experience wafts of “aromatic pleasures” of the overpowering “mughlai fragrance” emanating from the open kitchen in front of you – so be prepared for a quick, hot, sweaty, hustle and bustle meal amidst din and hullabaloo.

There is no bar – that’s good – for they focus on the food, and the tipsy types come in only late at night. And you’ll always find an assorted crowd, students, office-goers, travelers, a sprinkling of families, foodies, young and old – and you will notice almost all of them gorging into a plate of Blue Nile Biryani. There are two halls and they have put the molded chairs and tables in the corridor too, maybe for the late night crowd, where we found onions being peeled. It’s quite a large place with a canteen-like atmosphere – a place for quick businesslike eating – not a place to hang out.

We order – a Mutton Biryani for me and, surprisingly, my sister orders a Chicken Biryani. I look at her in disbelief – “I’m off red meat,” she says.

Sad. Real sad! A pity. Chicken is ubiquitously boring – it’s put on the menu for those masquerading as non-vegetarians and those who don’t know what to eat.

And tell me, Dear Reader, tell me, doesn’t the word “Biryani” imply Goat Mutton? Can there be such a thing as Chicken Biryani, Fish Biryani or, just imagine, Veg Biryani?

Think about it. Just think about it. And while you think I’ll eat!

The food arrives in a jiffy – dumped matter-of-factly on the table with a few onion rings.

I feast my eyes hungrily at the tempting dish of Mutton Biryani in front of me, my mouth waters, I dig in, pick out a piece of mutton, pop it on my tongue, close my mouth and my eyes, focus my senses inwards, press the soft, tender, succulent well-cooked meat between my tongue and palate, gently roll it all over, imbibing the heavenly flavours as the mutton releases its delicious juices, then a delicate squeeze, a gentle bite, allowing the scrumptious meat to dissolve, savour the delicious taste and appetizing aroma, as the medley of flavours permeate deep within me.

On first impressions, how do you judge a Biryani? There are four tests.

First I try the “spread test”. I pick a little Biryani in my fingers and sprinkle it on the side dish. The grains of rice must not stick together but remain separate. The pieces of meat too must be succulent, clear and dry, not greasy.

The Blue Nile Biryani passes the “spread test” – not ten out of ten, maybe eight out of ten.

Then I lift the plate and smell the pieces of meat. The Biryani must be pleasantly aromatic [the sweetish fragrance and appetizing aroma of marinated spices] – not sharp or piquant. Again, it’s eight on ten. The Biryani has passed the “aroma test” with flying colours!

I taste the mutton – it’s excellent, succulent, superb – a perfect ten on ten! I roll some rice on my tongue – a wee bit too spicy, the slight hint of greasy aftertaste – maybe eight on ten. Overall nine on ten in the “taste test”!

A Perfect Biryani? Let me see! The fourth and final test! The “Potato Test”.

I search for the potato. The potatoes must taste as well as the meat – that is a hallmark of a good Biryani. I search for the potato. The potatoes must taste as well as the meat – that is a hallmark of a good Biryani. I dig deep, search – there is no potato. Just imagine – a Biryani without a potato! Can there be a perfect Biryani without a potato which tastes as delicious as the mutton?

My sister forces me to taste the Chicken Biryani. I wish I hadn’t – the chicken is quite tasteless with a sour tinge; certainly not well marinated, maybe they use a common stock of pre-boiled chicken for all the dishes.

Dear fellow Foodie – that’s my assessment of the famous Blue Nile Biryani – a fine deliciously tasty wholesome Mutton Biryani, maybe not “perfect” connoisseur cuisine, but certainly a trencherman’s delight.

And the Chicken “Biryani”? Well it’s quite run-of-the-mill. Nothing special at all.

You will find all the usual fare to fill up the menu card at Blue Nile. Like every restaurant Blue Nile has its own version of the ubiquitous “Chinese” Chopsueys and Hakka Noodles and a few “Standard” vegetarian dishes, besides tea, soft drinks, jelly, caramel custard, shakes and ice cream.

Dear Reader, please don’t experiment. Remember the “signature dish” of Blue Nile is Biryani, so when you go to Blue Nile make sure your relish their inimitable Mutton Biryani. At a hundred and twenty bucks, it’s reasonably priced, certainly value for money.

Blue Nile is simple, no nonsense, unpretentious, high turnover eatery focusing on food with a down-to-earth, commonplace, earthy atmosphere – a place for the gluttonous trencherman, certainly not for the refined epicure. If you are one of those high-falutin, snooty gourmets finicky about suave ambiance, classy dining, elegant décor et al, try the Blue Nile Take Away – their “parcel” service is so fast that you’ll have your food parcel in your hand almost the moment you place your order.

Dear Punekars – can someone please tell me where I can relish a “perfect biryani” in Pune.

By the way, can someone please tell me the difference between a Biryani and a Pulao?

Of course, I know the answer – just trying to cross-check!

Happy Eating!


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.

A Broken Engagement

A Broken Engagement

[Short Fiction – A Love Story]

By

VIKRAM KARVE



The moment I saw the email 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.

“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 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 – abandon 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 Anil, my ex fiancé .

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.

In silence. A grotesque silence. A deafening silence. An illuminating silence. An enlightening silence.



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.


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LAMINGTON IN PUNE - Foodie Memories

PUNE NOSTALGIC FOODIE MEMORIES

LAMINGTON

By

VIKRAM KARVE


When I lived near Aundh, in the evenings I often used go for a walk on Aundh Road from Bremen Chowk towards the railway line at Khadki. It is one of the best places to walk in Pune, wide roads with plenty of greenery and foliage on both sides.

Of course, Girinagar, where I live now, is a fantastic pristine verdant walkers' paradise, where you can rinse and invigorate your lungs with pure cool refreshing unpolluted air; but then it's far far away from the chaotic polluted noisy concrete jungle of Pune!

But one thing is for sure. While you can rinse your olfactory senses to your heart’s content with the wonderful pure air, you can’t relish a delicious Lamington and indulge your epicurean gourmand desires on your evening walks out here.

back then, in my memorable days in Aundh, on my way back to my erstwhile home near the banks of the Mula River, I would treat myself with a Lamington at the Spicer College Bakery Shop.

Let me close my eyes, transport myself to the glorious past, stop at Spicer College Bakery on my evening walk, buy a lamington and delicately place the soft delicacy between my lips, press and squeeze a piece of the wonderful stuff on my tongue, focus inwards, enhance the sensitivity of my gustatory senses in order to amplify the experience of supreme bliss as the Lamington melts in my mouth and the chocolatty-coconutty luscious syrupy sweetness permeates into me.

A Lamington is a delicious cube of sponge cake, dipped in melted chocolate and sugar and coated in desiccated coconut.

They originated in Australia around 1898 in what later became the state of Queensland. Whilst the origin of the name for the Lamington cannot be accurately established, there are several theories.

Lamingtons are most likely named after Charles Baillie, 2nd Baron Lamington, who served as Governor of Queensland from 1896 to 1901. However, the precise reasoning behind this is not known, and stories vary.

According to one account, the dessert resembled the homburg hats favoured by Lord Lamington.

Another apocryphal tale tells of a banquet in Cloncurry during which the governor accidentally dropped a block of sponge cake into a dish of gravy, and then threw it over his shoulder, causing it to land in a bowl of desiccated coconut or peanut butter. A diner thought of replacing the gravy with chocolate and thus created the lamington as we know it today.

Ironically, Lord Lamington was known to have hated the dessert that had been named in his honour, once referring to them as "those bloody poofy woolly biscuits".

Another theory is that they were named after Lady Lamington, the wife of the Governor.The Spicer College Bakery Lamington is my favourite – and can you imagine it costs just Eight Rupees [that’s five Lamingtons for a Dollar, for those who think in Dollars!].

The chocolate icing keeps the cake moist. The desiccated coconut protects it from drying out in the hot climate. And it’s quite a juicy generous lip-smacking treat!

The Spicer College Bakery in Pune serves a variety of healthy goodies like carrot cake, nut cake, doughnuts, samosas, soy patties, soya milk; but, for me, it’s always my all time favourite, the inimitable yummy succulent Lamington!

Tell me, Dear Fellow Foodies, have you tasted a Lamington, in Pune or elsewhere?

If so, do tell us all about it.

If not, enjoy one the next time you are in Pune and give me your feedback.



VIKRAM KARVE


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A Pune Fiction Short Story by Vikram Karve

Click and read on my creative writing blog

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/12/spdp-at-vaishali.htm

Vikram Karve

Your Smile, Your Laugh and You

SMILE AND LAUGH

By

VIKRAM KARVE



While I was clearing up some old papers in my bookcase, I came across some jottings in an old diary I had made more than thirty years ago probably while sitting in my university library.

I had scribbled something about types of smiles and laughter.

Your smile (and your laugh) is like your signature – your very own personal imprint, password or signal.

Now I want you to keep a mirror in front of you and practice each of the types of smiles described below, and have a laugh.

Don’t you want to know which type of smile and laugh suits you best?

Come on, get ready, and check it out, and tell us which type of “smiler” and “laugher” you are.

SMILES

Lip smilers – Smile only with their lips.

Cheesy smilers – Smile with their teeth

Twinkle smilers – Smile and Laugh with their dancing eyes

Sweet smilers – Exercise their chubby cheeks

Wry smilers – Know something you don’t

Tee-Hee smilers – Smile with their necks

Body smilers – Smile wholeheartedly with their whole body

And of course you’ve seen the fake, contrived smiles of forced geniality.


LAUGHTER

Hearty Laughter – All heart

Belly Laughter – Body, belly and heart

Seal Laughter – Barking, high pitch, like a seal

Guffaw – Clearing one’s lungs and windpipe

Giggle – silly, embarrassed laugh

Titter, Snigger, Snicker – mocking laughter

Chuckle – A quiet laugh to yourself

Chortle – Gurgling laughter

We also have a burst of laughter, rolling with laughter, horse laugh, laughing up one’s sleeve (a secret somewhere), and laughing one’s head off.

I am sure there are many more types of smiles and laughter, so Dear Smilers and Laughers, do tell us all you have observed.

I wonder if one’s personality and character is related to the way a person smiles or laughs?

And would someone please tell me what is: “to smile like a Cheshire Cat” for I have never seen a cat smile [Dogs do smile though!]


VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/

Managerial Ethics - Food for Thought

MORAL DEVELOPMENT AND ETHICAL FITNESS

By

VIKRAM KARVE



[An article on Managerial Ethics based on an insightful model to look at various stages of moral development, ethical fitness for job roles and ethical issues faced in work situations]


When recruiting new people, or promoting/appointing persons to senior / sensitive positions, a number of attributes ( Hard Skills and Soft Skills) like Professional Competence, Managerial Proficiency, Domain-specific or Technical skills, and pertinent soft skills comprising leadership, communication, behavioural and emotional aspects, and even physical and medical fitness are assessed, evaluated and given due consideration.

But does anyone evaluate a candidate’s Ethical Fitness before recruitment or appointment?

No, I am not talking about the routine verification of antecedents or background integrity checks. I am talking of assessing Ethical Fitness.

Ethical fitness refers to ensuring that people are in proper moral shape to recognize and address ethical dilemmas. Ensuring Ethical fitness in a proactive manner will result in preventive, rather than corrective, Ethical Management.

Before launching any inquiry pertaining to the concept of Ethical Fitness, it is necessary to explore the moral dimension. Moral development is a prerequisite to ethical behaviour; in fact, a sine qua non for ethical fitness. Kohlberg offers a handy framework for delineating the stage each of us has reached with respect to personal moral development.

Stage 1. Physical consequences determine moral behaviour.

At this stage of personal moral development, the individual’s ethical behaviour is driven by the decision to avoid punishment or by deference to power. Punishment is an automatic response of physical retaliation. The immediate physical consequences of an action determine its goodness or badness. Such moral behaviour is seen in boarding schools, military training academies etc. where physical punishment techniques are prevalent with a view to inculcate the attributes of obedience and deference to power. The individual behaves in a manner akin to the Pavlovian dog.

Stage 2. Individual needs dictate moral behaviour.

At this stage, a person’s needs are the person’s primary ethical concern. The right action consists of what instrumentally satisfies your own needs. People are valued in terms of their utility. Example: “I will help him because he may help me in return – you scratch my back, I will scratch yours.”

Stage 3. Approval of others determines moral behaviour.

This stage is characterized by decision where the approval of others determines the person’s behaviour. Good behaviour is that which pleases or helps others within the group. The good person satisfies family, friends and associates. “Everybody is doing it, so it must be okay.” One earns approval by being conventionally “respectable” and “nice.” Sin is a breach of the expectations of the social order – “log kya kahenge?” is the leitmotif, and conformance with prevailing ‘stereotypes’ the order of the day.

Stage 4. Compliance with authority and upholding social order are a person’s primary ethical concerns.

“Doing one’s duty” is the primary ethical concern. Consistency and precedence must be maintained. Example: “I comply with my superior’s instructions because it is wrong to disobey my senior”. Authority is seldom questioned. “Even if I feel that something may be unethical, I will unquestioningly obey all orders and comply with everything my boss says because I believe that the boss is always right.”

Stage 5. Tolerance for rational dissent and acceptance of rule by the majority becomes the primary ethical concern.

Example: “ Although I disagree with her views. I will uphold her right to have them.” The right action tends to be defined in terms of general individual rights, and in terms of standards that have been critically examined and agreed upon by the whole society. (eg) The Constitution. The freedom of the individual should be limited by society only when it infringes upon someone else’s freedom.

Stage 6. What is right is viewed as a matter of individual conscience, free choice and personal responsibility for the consequences.

Example: “There is no external threat that can force me to make a decision that I consider morally wrong.” An individual who reaches this stage acts out of universal ethical principles.

Moral development is in no way correlated with intellectual development or your position in the hierarchy or factors like rank, seniority, status, success or earnings, salary, material wealth. In the words of Alexander Orlov, an ex-KGB Chief, “Honesty and Loyalty may be often more deeply ingrained in the make-up of simple and humble people than in men of high position. A man who was taking bribes when he was a constable does not turn honest when he becomes the Chief of Police. The only thing that changes in the size of the bribe. Weakness of character and inability to withstand temptation remains with the man no matter how high he climbs.” Ethical traits accompany a man to the highest rungs of his career.

In a nutshell the governing factors pertaining to six stages of Moral Development which determine Ethical fitness may be summarized as:

FEAR – Stage 1
NEEDS – Stage 2
CONFORMANCE – Stage 3
COMPLIANCE – Stage 4
CONSENSUS – Stage 5
CONSCIENCE & FREE WILL – Stage 6

Before we try to delve into exploring how to evaluate Ethical Fitness, let us briefly ponder on the concepts of Ethical Susceptibility and Ethical Vulnerability.

Ethical Susceptibility is your inability to avoid ethical dilemmas. Ethical Susceptibility is environment dependent (on external factors) like, for example, your job, your boss, colleagues and subordinates, or the persons around you, or even the ‘prevalent organizational culture’.

Ethical Vulnerability is your inability to withstand succumbing in the given ethical dilemmas /situations. It is dependent on your internal stage of moral development in the given ethical situation.

Whereas being in an ethical dilemma is not in your control, to act in an ethical manner in the prevailing situation is certainly in your control.

Ethical vulnerability is a measure of the ease with which a man be ethically compromised, especially in an ethically poor climate. In situations where the ethical susceptibility is high, morally strong people (ethically non-vulnerable) should be appointed and conversely, only in jobs/situations where ethical susceptibility is low should ethically vulnerable persons be permitted.

If the environment is not conducive, a person can intellectually reach stage 6 but deliberately remain morally at stage 4 as he may find that he has to sacrifice too much to reach stage 6. This can be particularly seen in most hierarchical organizations where most smart employees make an outward preference of being at stage 3 or 4 (Conformance and Compliance) in order to avoid jeopardizing their careers, even if internally they have achieved higher ethical states. This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde schizophrenic moral approach is at the heart of many ethical dilemmas people encounter in their professional lives and may result in internal stress due to ethical confusion.

Whenever two individuals at different stages of moral development interact with each other, both of them try to force or manoeuvre the other into their own appreciation of the ethical situation, thus leading to conflict. In a formal hierarchical setup, the players in the chain may not be at similar stages of moral development thereby leading to dissonance in the system. Where the ethical susceptibility is high, morally strong people (less vulnerable) should be appointed and conversely, in only such jobs where ethical susceptibility is low should ethically weak persons be permitted.

What is your stage of personal moral development? Be honest with yourself and recall the decisions you made in recent ethical situations. The six stages are valuable landmarks as they tell you approximately where you are and what changes you will have to make in yourself to move to a higher level of moral development. The ultimate goal is to engage in ethical decision making at stage 6. However, the level that you do reach will depend on your ethical commitment, your ethical consciousness and your ethical competence.

Food for Thought

What do you do if your boss is at a lower stage of moral development than you? Do you masquerade and make pretence of being at the “appropriate” stage of what moral development and practice situational ethics to reap maximum benefits.

This Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde schizophrenic ‘situational ethics’ approach may cause your outer masquerade to turn into inner reality. Do you want that to happen? Think about it!

Is there such a thing as Ethical Fitness?

Or is "Ethical Fitness" an oxymoron, not relevant in today's work environment?

Dear Reader, what do you think? Please do let us know your comments.


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

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CANINE PSYCHOLOGY

Canine Psychology

by

Vikram Karve


My pet Doberman girl Sherry gives me a grand rousing welcome every time I return home. She waits for me at the compound gate, and the moment she sees me, Sherry goes berserk with sheer excitement, wagging her tail vigorously round and round, jumping up at me enthusiastically, making unique welcome yelps, nudging me with her mouth and nose, and when I, overcome by a flood of love, have caressed, patted and cuddled her, she runs round and round the compound in happy joyful exhilaration and ecstatic glee.

And then as I proceed towards the house, Sherry does something unique which I have never seen any other pet dog do – she brings me a “gift”.

Yes, she comes to me carrying in her mouth a welcome gift, and drops the gift at my feet.

And do you know what this welcome gift is?

Well, sometimes it is an old bone she digs out, or maybe an old soiled rag cloth or the pair of socks she had stealthily pinched from the drying stand and hidden, buried deep in the lawn, or one of her toy “babies”, or an old shoe, or maybe just some piece of muck she has dug up, or a twig, anything – but Sherry always welcomes me home with a gift.

She does this to my wife, kids, mother, friends, maid and others she knows well and though her welcome may not be as vigorously enthusiastic as she does for me, Sherry always brings them a “gift”. [For unwanted strangers Sherry has a ferocious, rather ominous bark, and, if unheeded, and they dare to enter our compound, maybe a vicious assault followed by a memorable bite – she is a superb guard dog].

Sherry’s “gifting nature” has me perplexed. As I said I have never seen any other pet dog bringing welcome gifts.

Sherry’s fantastic welcome overwhelms me with a delightful emotion of happiness, gratitude and love that I cannot describe in words, and I always look forward to returning home to Sherry [My wife and kids do sometimes welcome me home too, but certainly not as enthusiastically, and there is never the “welcome gift” at my daily homecoming after work].

Dear Reader, have you ever seen any dogs demonstrate their happiness and affection in this way?

Please can some dog lover or canine psychologist throw some light on this “gifting behaviour” – why does my darling pet Doberman girl Sherry express her love in such an inimitably endearing manner?

VIKRAM KARVE

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A Delightful Book for Dog Lovers

Canine Love Story

MARLEY & ME
Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog

By

John Grogan

[Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2006]
ISBN 0 340 92209 5


[Reviewed by VIKRAM KARVE]


The essence of this book is encapsulated in the ruminations of the author after he buried his beloved dog Marley: “Was it possible for a dog – any dog, but especially a nutty, wildly uncontrollable one like ours – to point humans to the things that really mattered in life? I believed it was. Loyalty. Courage. Devotion. Simplicity. Joy. And the things that did not matter, too. A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbols mean nothing to him…A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not.”

We have a dog – a Doberman called Sherry. We have given her our hearts and she has given us her unconditional loyalty, devotion and love. She never demands much. A walk in the morning, a walk in the evening, a bit of playing, a meal, a bit of baby talk and cuddly love, and she fills our moments with her natural spontaneous exuberant devotion, warm affection, zeal and joy. It’s true – in order to understand the art of living completely one must keep a dog at least once in one’s lifetime.

In this wonderful book the author describes his thirteen-year “love affair” with his Labrador retriever Marley, who enlivened the life of a young married couple, shared their moments of happiness and grief, and ensured there was never a dull moment in their family life.

Marley certainly wasn’t the “perfect adorable model dog” – in fact, the author calls Marley the “world’s worst dog” who won their hearts with his faithful devotion and wholehearted love.

The first person narrative lends an air of authenticity and intimacy to the story. The friendly, simple writing style makes this book an easy read foe all ages. In the preface, he describes his delightful childhood days with his dog Shaun who was his faithful companion from when the author was ten years old for fourteen years till the author completed his college education and moved on to work.

Shaun was a perfect dog who set the standard by which the author would judge all other dogs to come.

Having set such a high benchmark, it’s no wonder the author calls Marley the “world’s worst dog”!

I will not delve too much on Marley’s story and deprive you of the pleasure of discovering it yourself.

If you are a dog lover and have been a dog owner you will chuckle in your mind’s eye as you read about the naughty antics of Marley and recall similar frolics by your very own dog. If you have never kept a dog and are thinking of doing so then you’ll get an idea of what to expect! Marley’s life story makes one thing evident – once a dog comes into your home, he will soon win the hearts of your entire family and friends and change the way you look at life forever.

Narrating the trials and tribulations owing to Marley’s sometimes exasperating behaviour, interspersed with the story of his own family life including the spats with his wife due to Marley, the moments of happiness and pain the shared with Marley, and the hilarious episodes like the one when Marley was kicked out of the dog-training obedience classes, John Morgan writes in racy style which will keep you engrossed – once you start reading you will laugh, you will cry, at times a flood of emotion will engulf you; but you will remain captivated – the book is so delightfully written that once you start reading you will enjoy it so much that you will experience that the book is virtually “unputdownable”

I loved reading “Marley and Me” and commend this superb book. If you are a dog lover you will enjoy every moment of this enthralling tale. Even if you are not a dog lover you will love this mirthful, moving story of Marley and his family. At times, tears may well up in your eyes. This delightful memoir reminds us that like Marley, we must all live our life to its fullest and, most importantly, we must learn to love people unconditionally, like dogs do. Read this heart-warming book, give it to your children and you’ll be surprised how much a dog can change your life for the better and how much we humans can learn from dogs.


VIKRAM KARVE

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vikramkarve@sify.com

The Seed of Honesty

Click the link and read the story on my creative writing blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/11/the-seed.htm

Vikram Karve

Mumbai Art Deco Heritage Building Empress Court

Click and read

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/11/nostalgic-mumbai-memories.htm

Vikram

Book Review - The Importance of Living

BOOK REVIEW by Vikram Karve

[A book that enriched my life and taught me the art of living]


Title: THE IMPORTANCE OF LIVING
Author: LIN YUTANG
Published: 1937 ( New York , USA ), Indian Edition: 1960 JAICO Mumbai
ISBN: 81-7224-829




There is one book you will never find in my bookcase – you will always find it by my bedside near my pillow. At night, just before I go to sleep, I open this book to any random page, and read on till I drift off to blissful idyllic sleep.

The name of this book, which has had a profound defining effect on me, maybe even subconsciously shaped my philosophy of life, is called: The Importance of Living written in 1937 by the Chinese philosopher Lin Yutang.

But first, let me tell you a story, maybe apocryphal, about a scholar who had thoroughly studied the Bhagavad Gita for many years, considered himself an expert, traveled far and wide delivering discourses on the teachings of the Gita and was widely acknowledged as an authority on the subject. The scholar's ultimate desire was to deliver a discourse on the Bhagavad Gita at Benares , which was the sanctum sanctorum of learning.

So he went to Benares , and impressed by the scholar’s erudition and fame, the King of Benares invited the scholar to deliver a discourse on the Bhagavad Gita in his court. All the wise men of Benares assembled to hear the Scholar, but just as he began to speak the King interrupted him and told him to read the Bhagavad Gita one more time in the evening and deliver his discourse the next day. The Scholar was furious but he had no choice but to comply with the king’s wishes.

As he read the Bhagavad Gita with full concentration in the evening, he realized some new meanings and updated his speech accordingly. Next day the same thing happened – the moment the scholar began to speak the King interrupted him and told him to read the Gita once more and then come the next day to give his lecture. And again as the Scholar read the Gita he comprehended some new wisdom – something he hadn’t perceived before. So he incorporated his new findings and proceeded to deliver his talk.

Once again the same thing happened – the king interrupted him and told him to read the Gita once more before he gave his discourse. And again the scholar discovered some new wisdom in the Gita. This cycle went on for days and days till the scholar realized how ignorant he was and how much more there was to learn from the Bhagavad Gita that he gave up the idea of delivering the discourse and decided to totally devote his entire efforts to the study of the Bhagavad Gita.

Days passed, and suddenly one morning, when the scholar was deeply immersed in his study, the King went to the scholar’s house, sat before him with folded hands and requested the scholar to enlighten him about the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita.

It’s the same with any great book. Every time you read it, something new emerges, and you realize you have so much more to learn from it. I have read The Importance of Living innumerable times, again and again, with renewed pleasure, and every time I read it I imbibe a special different philosophical flavor, and grasp new wisdom, which delves on all aspects of the art of living, and I have realized that there is more significance and value in Lin Yutang’s magnum opus than I am capable of appreciating. So let me not be as presumptuous as to attempt to evaluate this classic treatise – I’ll just try to gently pilot you along in random vignettes to give you a flavor of this delightful philosophical gem.

Let’s open this delightful book to a few random pages, read some lines to give you glimpse into the wisdom on the art of living contained in this masterpiece. In the section on Leisure and Friendship are these words: “Only those who take leisurely what the people of the world are busy about can be busy about what the people of the world take leisurely”. Reflect on this, let these words perambulate in your mind for some time. There is nothing that man enjoys more than leisure. The highest value of time is when you are doing what you love and want to do. During leisure you are free to choose what you want to do and enjoy doing. Leisure enables you to realize the highest value of your time!
Tell me, why do you work?Is it for job satisfaction, "on the job"? Or is it to earn money "on the job" so that you can enjoy satisfaction "off the job", to enhance the quality of your free time? In fact, most of us work for our leisure, because there is nothing we enjoy more than leisure. Elaborating on a theory of leisure the book says: “Time is useful because it is not being used. Leisure is like unoccupied floor space in a room…it is that unoccupied space which makes a room habitable, as it is our leisure hours which make our life endurable”.
Those who are wise won’t be busy, and those who are too busy can’t be wise.

Enunciating the distinction between Buddhism and Taoism: “The goal of the Buddhist is that he shall not want anything, while the goal of the Taoist is that he shall not be wanted at all”, the author describes the tremendous advantages of obscurity, and deduces that only he who is not wanted by the public can be a carefree individual. It is true isn’t it – only he who is a carefree individual can be a happy human being? Lin Yutang deliberates delightfully on his philosophical view: “Nothing matters to a man who says nothing matters”.
“How are we to live? How shall we enjoy life, and who can best enjoy life?” The feast of life is before us; the only question is what appetite we have for it.
The appetite is vital, not the feast. This delightful treatise gives us insights on how to develop, enhance and refine our appetites in order to enjoy various facets of living. The capacity for true enjoyment comes from an inner richness in a man who loves the simple ways of life. There is always plenty of life to enjoy for a man who is determined to enjoy it.
You may find some of the author’s views a bit passé – “mere relationship between man and woman is not sufficient; the relationship must result in babies, or it is incomplete” or “woman reaches her noblest status only as a mother, and that wife who by choice refuses to become a mother… loses a great part of her dignity…and stands in danger of becoming a plaything” or “a natural man loves his children, but a cultured man loves his parents” or “The art of attaining happiness consists in keeping your pleasures mild” or “It is against the will of God to eat delicate food hastily, to pass gorgeous views hurriedly, to express deep sentiments superficially, to pass a beautiful day steeped in food and drink, and to enjoy your wealth steeped in luxuries” – think about it, reflect a bit, and you may detect a iota of authenticity in these nuggets.

The book has fourteen chapters, embellished with epigrams, teaching stories, ancient wisdom and wit, on various aspects of the importance and enjoyment of living and once you start reading it this book is indeed so engrossing that it is truly unputdownable. The Importance of Loafing, The Enjoyment of the Home, Nature, Travel, Culture, The Arts of Thinking, Eating, Reading , Writing, Loving, Happiness – the range and variety of topics covered indeed make fascinating reading.

Reading is the greatest of all joys. Extolling the virtues and charm of reading, Lin Yutang says: “The man who has not the habit of reading is imprisoned in his immediate world…the reader is always carried away into a world of thought and reflection”, and on writing: “a writing is always better when it is one’s own, and a woman is always lovelier when she is somebody else’s wife”. “He who is afraid to use an ‘I’ in his writing will never make a good writer” and “anyone who reads a book with a sense of obligation does not understand the art of reading… to be thoroughly enjoyed, reading must be entirely spontaneous…you can leave the books that you don’t like alone, and let other people read them!”

The best way to read The Importance of Living is to open any page and browse whatever appeals to you, randomly, in an unstructured and haphazard manner. Think of yourself as a traveler in the philosophical or spiritual domain. The essence of travel is to have no destination. A good traveler is one who does not know where he is going to; a perfect traveler does not know where he came from! A true traveler is always a vagabond – he travels to see nothing, to see nobody, with plenty of time and leisure, with the true motive to become lost and unknown.

Are you the ambitious competitive go-getter obsessed with an overpowering desire for achieving quick success – craving for power, wealth, fame, and the status and money-oriented aspects of life?Do you value material possessions more than peace of mind? Is external achievement more important than inner tranquility?

If your answer to any of the questions is “Yes”, then please don’t bother to read this book now, as you may be too “busy” in your own competitive rat race of your own making and probably you don’t have any time to “waste” on anything that doesn’t give you something tangible in return – a solid material ROI (Return on Investment) for investing your valuable time and effort reading this book. But please don’t forget to read The Importance of Living after you’ve burned out, had a heart attack or suffered a nervous breakdown – when you’ll have plenty of time and, perhaps, the inclination, to reflect, contemplate, and delve more deeply upon the more intangible philosophical aspects of life – and ruminate on how you could have obviated that stressful burn-out, agonizing heart attack or traumatic nervous breakdown. Here’s Lin Yutang’s take: “Those who are wise won’t be busy, and those who are too busy can’t be wise.”

If you are happy here and now, wherever you are, in whatever state you are, and you are truly content with what you have, you place living above thinking, and are interested in savoring the feast of life and its joys, then this witty philosophical treatise on the art of living in its entirety is the book for you.

The Importance of Living presents an uncomplicated approach to living life to its fullest in today's rapidly changing, fast paced, competitive, ambition dominated, money and status oriented, commercialized world, enabling each one of us to enjoy inner peace and happiness.

Sometimes, it is a great pity to read a good book too early in life.
The first impression is the one that counts. Young people should be careful in their reading, as old people in eating their food. They should not eat too much. They should chew it well. Like you should eat gourmet food only when you are ready for it, you should read a good book only when you are ready for it. Mature wisdom cannot be appreciated until one becomes mature.

But The Importance of Living is a book for all ages. Of 1937 vintage, an ancestor and precursor of modern "self-help" books, it is a delightful philosophical treatise, which advocates a humorous and vagabond attitude towards life and deals with a variety of topics encompassing the art of living. Is such a happy and carefree philosophy of life relevant today?

Why don’t you give it a try and see for yourself.Slowly, unhurriedly, relaxingly, thoroughly, do peruse this classic masterpiece, absorb the witty wisdom, reflect, try out, practice and incorporate whatever appeals to you in your daily life, ruminate, experiment, enjoy yourself, have a laugh, change your lifestyle, enhance your quality of life, elevate your plane of living, and maybe your entire way of life may change forever.

Dear Reader, I commend this delightfully illuminating book. Though enunciated with a touch of humor, the thoughts are profound. Do get a copy of The Importance of Living and read it leisurely. I’m sure you will find a copy at your nearest bookstore or in your library. And don’t forget to tell us how you liked it, and whether it changed your way of life for the better.




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.


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Book Review of THE IMPORTANCE OF LIVING by LIN YUTANG
[A book that enriched my life and taught me the art of living]
Reviewed by VIKRAM KARVE

Short Fiction

Click the link and read my story Marriage on the Rocks on my creative writing blog:

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/10/marriage-on-the-rocks.htm

regards
Vikram