Monday, July 12, 2010

DELICIOUS LOVE SWEET REVENGE

ROMANCING MY EX
Fiction Short Story - a romance
By  
VIKRAM KARVE
 

From my archives - One of my earliest fiction short stories written almost 20 years ago way back in the early 1990s when everyone loved travelling by train ...
Do tell me if you liked the story ...
 
 
I stood on the platform of Hyderabad Railway Station with placid indifference.


It was dark, and the incessant rain made the atmosphere quite depressing.



But I was in a state of elation... the long arduous business tour of the South had been successful and I was keen on getting back home to my family in Pune after a month’s absence.



The couple of beers and delicious Biryani Dinner had further enhanced my joyful mood.



The beer had been properly chilled and the meat deliciously succulent. I felt on top of the world.

 
The train entered the platform.


I entered the air-conditioned sleeper coach and found my berth.



There were four berths in the small enclosure.



I wondered who my companions would be.



I was a typical middle aged man with a roving eye and a faithful wife.



I was hoping for the best; a bit of flirtation didn’t hurt anyone.



An old lady entered and sat beside me... a disappointing start...!

 
Suddenly, Rajashree entered the compartment.


I am still not sure as to who was more surprised, Rajashree or me... ?



I certainly hadn’t bargained for this.



We, Rajashree and me, stared at each other incredulously.



I was at my wits’ end when Vijay came in.



The coincidence was unbelievable.

 
“What a pleasant surprise, old boy...!” Vijay exclaimed, shaking my hand, “Long time, no see!”
 
“Glad to see you, too,” I stammered, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll go out and have some fresh air.”
 
I looked at Rajashree.


She pointedly avoided my glance and tried to look busy organizing the luggage. No hint of recognition, as if I were a total stranger...!

 
I made a quick exit to the platform and looked at the clock. There were still ten minutes for the train to start.


As I ambled on the platform, I wondered about the situation.



What were Vijay and Rajashree doing together in the same place?



Were they together, or was it a mere coincidence...?



Maybe they were just two co-travellers, total strangers, like the old woman and I.



If they were together Vijay would have certainly introduced Rajashree to me.



Probably he was too busy with the luggage and the porter.



There was plenty of time to get to the bottom of this mystery; it was a long overnight journey to Pune.

 
Vijay had been a crony of mine, till a few years ago.


We had studied together and later worked in the same firm till he had migrated to the USA in search of better prospects.



He was an unpretentious, soft-voiced man without temper, drama, or visible emotion. He was a fine gentleman and I was proud to claim his as a friend.

 
“Meet Rajashree, a friend and associate of mine”, he said as I entered the compartment.


I looked into her eyes and extended my hand.



She looked ravishing.



Around her slender neck she was wearing an exquisite diamond pendant which enhanced her alluring charm.



Her low-cut blouse, which accentuated the curves of her shapely breasts, made her look temptingly desirable.



She greeted me with a formal namaste, tinged with a chill reserve. There was not a trace of recognition in her eyes. I kept staring at her. The silence was grotesque.

 
Vijay had introduced Rajashree as a ‘friend’ and ‘associate’ – a rather nebulous description of their relationship.


Was Vijay playing games with me...?



Why was Rajashree behaving in this strange manner, refusing to recognize me?



Well, if they wanted to play a double game, I’d be too happy to oblige.

 
A man’s first love fills an enduring place in his heart.


Rajashree had been my protégée. Six years my junior, she was a management trainee when I first met her.



Her vigour was infectious, her wit barbed and she was at once stimulating and overbearing. Spirited and talkative, she always wanted to dominate. She was ambitious and her commitment to her career was complete.



I was her senior manger... it was the fourth job of my career and undoubtedly the best job I had ever held.



Rajashree was extremely competent and I mentored her, helped propel her career... and she made full use of my patronage.



She thirsted for quick success and her ambition took charge of her.



Her faults entirely arose from her overwhelming ambition and self-centeredness. She was impervious to absolutes and could measure her own success only in relation to others.



Despite her frailties and faults, Rajashree was an extremely desirable woman. I was attracted towards her and she responded with passion.



With the clarity of hindsight, I can now say that she led me up the garden path.

 
I can clearly remember the day I had gifted her that lovely diamond pendant which now adorned her slender neck. It was Rajashree's twenty-fifth birthday, and after office we were strolling down Opera House intending to have a bowl of zesty Green Chilli Ice Cream at Bachellor’s Fruit Juice Stall opposite Chowpatty, and then spend the evening romancing the sunset on Marine Drive followed by dinner at her favourite restaurant in Churchgate.
 
I don’t know what made me do it, but suddenly, on the spur of the moment, I took her hand and led her into a posh jewellery shop and grandly asked her to choose her birthday present.


She promptly obliged by selecting a chic, exclusive, gorgeous and most expensive diamond pendant.



My credit cards and cheque book saved the day, but the impulsive birthday gift, which cost me a fortune, almost made me bankrupt.



But then, to me, it did not matter.



That night, for the first time, she made love to me.



Then we became lovers, I was madly in love with her, even proposed to her, she accepted, soon we got engaged and Rajashree became my fiancée.

 
Meanwhile, right from the beginning of our relationship, the office grapevine was working overtime. The love affair destabilized working relationships in my department.


Suddenly, everything started to go wrong for me at work. My career took a down-swing and I was passed over for promotion.

 
Rajashree dropped me like a hot potato.


She didn’t want to be identified with a symbol of failure... she didn’t care for losers.



Now that I was of no use to her in furthering her ambitions, she abandoned me and ingratiated herself with a new powerful patron.



Her rise was rapid. Within days she became my peer, and soon Rajashree broke the glass ceiling and became my boss.



Just imagine my plight and shame – my ex-protégée had now become my boss.

 
I accepted our reversal in roles with grace and tried to maintain a cordial working relationship, but Rajashree was ruthless.


It was the most humiliating time of my life and I still smart from the pain of those memories.



Soon the relationship between us had become so demoralized by hate and distrust that it was better severed than patched up.



I quit my job and moved to a new place.



I shed my pique and rancour and rebounded back fresh with zest.



I did well in my new job, got married to a nice back-home-type girl and settled down, and soon was living the life of a happy and contented family man.

       
The ticket-collector interrupted my chain of thoughts.  


I noticed that Rajashree and Vijay were travelling together on a common ticket – so that was it – “Friends”, “Associates”, “Companions” – many nuances are possible in the relationship between a man and a woman.

 
 I decided to go in for the kill.
 
“That’s a lovely pendant,” I said boldly to Rajashree, “it must have cost you a fortune.”
       
Rajashree ignored me.


Vijay gave her a canny look.
 

“You shouldn’t wear such expensive jewellery while travelling,” I added. “It is very dangerous, especially in trains.”
 
“He is right. You must be careful,” Vijay said to Rajashree.


Vijay was now looking curiously at the pendant, “Rajashree, it is really a very elegant and beautiful pendant. Fantastic diamond – must be very expensive. How much did it cost...?”

 
“No, No – it’s just costume jewellery, imitation stuff,” Rajashree said, “I picked it up in the lanes near Charminar, yesterday, for a couple of rupees.”
 
“What nonsense,” the old lady co-passenger sitting opposite Rajashree suddenly interjected out of the blue. “That is a superb diamond. And it is certainly not costume jewellery. It’s a beautifully crafted premium necklace.”
 
“No, No – it’s imitation …I know …I bought it…” Rajashree stammered nervously, trying to cover the necklace with the palu of her sari.
 
“Imitation diamond – what nonsense – that’s a genuine top-grade ornament...!” the lady said vehemently, “I should know. I’m a trained gemmologist and jewellery designer. Come on, young girl, show me the diamond, the pendant, and I will tell you its true price.”
 
Rajashree looked nervous. She put her hands over her neck.
 
“Let the lady have a look the necklace,” I spoke looking directly into Rajashree’s eyes. “I had once bought a diamond pendant exactly like the one you are wearing for my fiancée. I want to know whether I got my money’s worth.”
 
Rajashree looked dumbstruck, sat still, frozen, not knowing what to do.
 
Taking advantage, I moved fast, unfastened the clasp, removed the ornament from Rajashree’s neck and gave the necklace to the old lady.


My unexpected action hadn’t given Rajashree any time to react and she looked stunned.



I looked roguishly at Rajashree.



She was staring at me totally bewildered with wide and terrified eyes. Her eyes held a desperate appeal. She had suddenly become small, weak and vulnerable.



I saw tears of shame start in her eyes and her face became so ashen that she looked as thought she were about to faint. I did not rebuke her for her mendacity. There was no need. Her guilt and shame itself were Rajashree own worst reprimand.

 
As the old lady was meticulously scrutinizing the diamond pendant, comprehension slowly dawned on Vijay.


The train was slowing down to stop at a station.

 
“Come, let’s go out on the platform,” Vijay said to me putting his hand affectionately on my shoulder, “I desperately need a breath of fresh air...!”  
 
 
VIKRAM KARVE 
 
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

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

Saturday, July 3, 2010

DOG QUOTES

MY FAVOURITE DOG QUOTES
By
VIKRAM KARVE

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between a dog and a man.
-- Mark Twain

My goal in life is to be as good of a person as my dog already believes me to be.
-- Unknown

One reason a dog is such a lovable creature is his tail wags instead of his tongue.
-- Unknown

If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.
-- Woodrow Wilson

What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight - it is the size of the fight in the dog.
-- Dwight D. Eisenhower

No man can be condemned for owning a dog. As long as he has a dog, he has a friend; and the poorer he gets, the better friend he has.
-- Will Rogers


Money will buy you a pretty good dog, but it won't buy the wag of its tail.
-- Henry Wheeler Shaw

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
-- Josh Billings

The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool out of yourself with him, and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool out of himself too.
-- Samuel Butler

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
-- Ben Williams

If your dog thinks you are the greatest... don't seek a second opinion.
-- Unknown

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

 

MY FAVOURITE DOG QUOTES

MY FAVOURITE DOG QUOTES

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Pristine Paradise in Pune

Pristine Paradise in Pune

SAPIENCE One of my earliest stories - Short Fiction - Love, Romance, Deceit, Adventure...

SAPIENCE
Fiction Short Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE  

From my Archives: Short Fiction - Love, Romance, Deceit, Adventure...

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 my travel agent 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 at him, holding his shoulders and shaking him. 
He did not say anything. He just remained silent and averted his eyes.
“Is it someone else? Tell me, is there 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…? I cheated you…? You are accusing me of cheating on you…?” I said dumbfounded and furious.
“You shouldn’t have tried to hide things from me,” he said as if he were accusing me.
“Hide what?” I asked, getting livid.
“You never told me that you are an adopted child,” he said.
I was shocked and shouted at him loudly in anger, “What nonsense! Don’t talk rubbish. I’m not adopted…!”
“You are...maybe you don't know but you are not their real daughter, you are an adopted daughter.”
“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 sick lies…?” 
“Don’t worry. No one else knows. It’s a reliable and discreet investigation agency.”  
“It’s not true. I am not adopted,” I said feeling shattered numb, feeling paralysed, cold, 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...it would terribly hurt them.
I did not have the heart to hurt my gentle parents who loved me so much and had given me everything.
They did not say anything to me when my engagement was called off, 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.
Time and life moved on.
I relocated abroad past and immersed myself in my work.
They say time heals but time did not heal this wound.
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 – very 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 Saheb 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. My father is dead; I have become an orphan…”
“Me too…” a familiar voice said softly behind me.
I turned around and stared into the eyes of my ex fiancé Anil.  
Anil looked into my eyes with tenderness.
Slowly comprehension began to dawn on me, and we, Anil and I, kept looking into each other’s eyes in silence; grotesque silence; deafening silence; illuminating silence; empathizing silence; compassionate silence – an enlightening silence. Sapience.


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.



vikramkarve@sify.com

THE PROPOSAL Short Fiction – A Love Story

THE PROPOSAL
Short Fiction – A Love Story

By


VIKRAM KARVE 



I look at myself in the full-length mirror.


I like what I see.

Yes. I am beautiful, very beautiful, very very beautiful indeed!

No doubt about it. I always was a great beauty.

They say that a beautiful woman often has a tragic life.

Does tragedy always come from being a great beauty?

I don’t know whether this is universally true, but certainly, I have had a very tragic life. But I will not tell you too much about it right now and spoil my mood.  Now I will look into the mirror and admire myself, my exquisite body.

Not many women close to forty can stand in front of a mirror with so much pride and assurance. A woman in full bloom. I admire my perfect body; almost fall in love with my own body. Like Narcissus.

Suddenly I experience a tremor of anxiety as I see the first signs of the process of ageing. Infinitesimal. Almost indiscernible.  But indisputable.

Two minute furrows on my forehead, the slight coarsening of the skin below the eyes, the almost unnoticeable heaviness of the abdomen with its suggestion of fold….

I can easily cover them up. With make-up. And the right dress. But for how long can I wear a mask?

Time is running out for me. Sameer could be my last chance. I’m already regretting that I had put the matter so lightly the last time we had met, and before that. Tonight is my probably my last chance – I have to go in for the kill.

Love Trap. 

What a phrase to use.

But that’s exactly what I’m going to do – ensnare Sameer in my Love Trap and move in for the kill.

Like a predator.

For the first time in my life I would use my beauty to my advantage, not to be taken advantage of – like it happened all these years.

I was just 19, a fresh graduate wondering what to do in life, when my elder sister Nisha died in childbirth, leaving behind a newborn girl and a young heartbroken husband, Ashok.

We, my mother and I, went to stay with Ashok in Mumbai to nurse the baby girl and after a few months named her Smita – as she was a cheerful smiling baby.

From time to time, especially on weekends, my father, who was still working at that time, would come over from Pune, and I could see that he was getting quite irritable having to stay separate from his long-married wife though he didn’t say it.

One day Ashok proposed to me – actually he asked my mother for my hand in marriage.

My mother was overjoyed. She put lovingly her hand on my arm, looked into my eyes and said, “Ashok loves you, wants to marry you. He’s still young, only 27. He needs a wife. And Smita needs a mother.”

“Yes, Smita needs a mother,” I said tightly holding the baby wondering what would happen to the hapless baby is Ashok remarried someone else.

My mother spoke to my father. He agreed – to him it seemed quite a logical thing to do and maybe he was relieved that his much-married wife would be coming back to live with him.

So I got married to Ashok and I put on hold all my immediate dreams of higher studies, a career.

How should I describe my marriage?

No expectations, no disappointments, no role-ambiguity, a cordial relationship, a happy family, a blissful marriage – at least from the outside.

Children? Our children. Ashok’s and mine.

It just didn’t happen. With Nisha’s death, a little something in him had died. He must have loved her very much, intensely.

I accepted the situation with grace and tried to focus on being a good wife and a doting mother. As Smita grew older Ashok encouraged me to study, do an MBA, and start a career.

Ashok was married to his job. Things were fine, till one evening Ashok came home and broke the news that he had been passed over for promotion.

Ashok was shattered. He had worked sincerely, slogged hard, given his life for his career. He had remained loyal to his company without getting loyalty in return.
         
He felt terribly betrayed. For Ashok, after Nisha had gone, his career meant everything, and he just couldn’t take it, being sidelined in his career, having to work under his erstwhile juniors.

He just could not cope with this setback, so he tried to find solace in alcohol.

Within months he slipped into the abyss of alcoholism.

From a workaholic he became an alcoholic, bitter, cynical, and one day my world disintegrated. 

Ashok died in a car accident, driving home drunk.

I wish he had died in some better way.

So after eight years of marriage I found myself at the age of 27 with an 8 year old Smita, the light of my life, single, but not helpless as I was doing quite well in my career as a bank executive.

And now, Smita was 20, already working in my bank, and doing her MBA in the evenings, earning and learning, and I was so proud of her.

And then I fell in love – for the first time in my life I had fallen in love.

Let me tell you about it.

I still remember the day Sameer breezed into my office announcing that he would be working with me. “Hi, Nalini, I am Sameer, your new Deputy,” he announced superciliously, sitting down and lighting a cigarette.

“Put off that cigarette!” I shouted, “And don’t you dare come into my office unless I call you.

“Hey, Sweetie, you look red hot sexy when you are angry. My wife is going to be real jealous when I tell her how stunning my boss is,” he laughed mischievously.

“She won’t, when you tell her that your boss is a thirty five year old widow with college going daughter,” I retorted in anger and stormed out of my office to protest against his appointment for which I had not been consulted.

“Sameer is a genius,” my boss said, “the directors head-hunted him and managed to lure him over from our biggest rival with great difficulty. He’s going to rejuvenate your department…”

I got the message. This new man was a threat, and if I wasn’t careful it wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t leap frog over me or even ease me out.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t know the culture was so formal out here,” Sameer was contrite when I returned; “I’ll maintain decorum in future.”

“It’s okay,” I said, and began to tell him about our work.

Sameer was extremely intelligent, knowledgeable, supportive, open, sincere, affable and great to work with, but initially I kept my distance, treated him with forced geniality, tinged with wariness.

It was only during his painful divorce with his wife living in Delhi, the seeds of which seemed to have been sown much earlier and maybe the reason why he had relocated to Mumbai, that is when we became close and I often lent him my shoulder to cry on.

It was inevitable that we fell in love – lonely buddies with a thirst for life, soul-mates, attracted to each other, office-spouses who now needed to become real spouses.

Normally a man is supposed to make the first move, and I waited for Sameer to propose, but maybe he was shy, being seven years my junior. But I had waited long enough, maybe he too had waited long enough, and…I shuddered to think…if I lost him…I was thirty nine…Sameer was my last chance…my only love…soon my daughter Smita would go away too…I didn’t want to live the rest of my life like a loveless lonely maid. 

I looked at the wall-clock. 7:30. Sameer would he here any time now to take me out for dinner.

Normally we take Smita out with us too, but tonight I had insist that only the two of us, Sameer and me, would go, and surprisingly Smita doesn't protest.

I put on the final touches of make-up, generously dabbed on my favourite perfume.

The door-bell rang. “Mummy, Sameer is here,” I heard Smita yelling.

I gave myself a final look in the mirror – I looked really gorgeous – yes, truly stunning, dressed to kill; I couldn’t have titivated better than this.

“Wow!” Smita said with delightful surprise in her eyes, “You look dashing!”

Sameer looked at me mesmerized.

He desperately tried to stop his eyes rove all over my body, even to places they it would be considered naughty.

“Hey, what’s with you two? Aren’t you going to go out fast and let me enjoy my TV and popcorn?” Smita teased.

Soon we were driving on Marine Drive towards our favourite restaurant, the best place for an unhurried romantic dinner.

“It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s sit by the sea,” Sameer said spontaneously, slowing down the car.

“I’d love to,” I said.

We sat close to each other on the parapet, facing the placid waters of the Arabian Sea, the lights of the ships in the distance, the twinkling stars in the clear sky above us, the sea breeze pure, refreshing.

“I want to say something…” Sameer hesitated.

“Say it!” I urged him.

“I wanted to ask…” he faltered.

“Ask. Please ask me,” I beseeched him.

Sameer looked at me, into my eyes, and said, “I want ask your permission to marry Smita. We love each other. We want to get married. I told her to tell you but Smita said I must ask you. She’ll do as you say…I promise I’ll keep her happy…” 

Sameer kept on speaking but his voice trailed off and his words did not register as my mind went blank...



THE PROPOSAL
Short Fiction – A Love Story 
By 
VIKRAM KARVE  
 
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.






  

vikramkarve@sify.com