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 11:24 | 15/Jan/2008 |
| A Simple Short Story | |
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| Dear Reader, please click the link below and read a simple short story about a dog and a dog-lover master: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post /2008/01/a-dog-s-life.htm Happy Reading Vikram Karve http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com
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| 13:29 | 5/Dec/2007 |
| Baramati | |
| BARAMATI - Back to My Roots - An Eye-Opening Visit ByVIKRAM WAMAN KARVEBaramati. My birthplace. Baramati – half a decade ago, the then dusty mofussil town in the back of beyond, where I was born on the 12th of September in 1956, which has now metamorphosed into a vibrant oasis of agriculture, education and industry.We visited Baramati on Saturday, ...
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| 01:33 | 25/Jul/2007 |
| Fiction Short Story - Suspicion | |
| SUSPICION [a fiction short story] by VIKRAM KARVE The moment I saw the telephone booth I decided to ring up my wife in Pune. I wish I hadn’t. But then you wouldn’t be reading this story. At that precise point of time I should have been just out of Mumbai harbour, sailing on the high seas, but my ship’s departure was suddenly postponed by a day as some cargo documents were not in order and whilst the ship-chandlers and agents were on the job, obtaining the necessary clearances, I decided to see a movie at the Regal cinema and then kill time window-shopping on Colaba Causeway. Having enjoyed the afternoon show, I was lazily strolling down Colaba Causeway when I saw the telephone booth. I wasn’t carrying my cell-phone – never do when sailing. I looked at my watch: 6.45PM. Priya, my wife, should be home in Pune by now. I dialed our home number. The phone at the other end started ringing. Five rings. No one picked up. Ten rings. Twenty. And suddenly it cut-off. I tried again. No one picked up. I tried her cell-phone – ten rings, cut-off, she didn’t answer. Walking towards Marine Drive , I wondered why Priya was late coming home. Her office finished at five, and it was just half-an-hour’s scooter drive to our home. Priya was always home by 6 PM. 6.15 at the most! I looked at my watch: 7.15PM. Suddenly I spotted another phone booth. There was a proliferation of these nowadays. I went in and dialed. No reply. I dialed again and again. Our home landline number, her mobile number. I must have dialed both numbers at least ten times and every time the story was the same – ten rings and cut off. As I walked by the sea in the enveloping darkness, strange thoughts began entering my brain. Maybe Priya had an accident. I wished I had never bought her that scooter. It was so dangerous driving a two-wheeler in the chaotic evening traffic of Pune. And Priya’s driving was so rash. I had warned her so many times about her reckless driving. But she just wouldn’t listen. Stubborn! That’s what she was. Like she insisted on buying the latest two-wheeler model with powerful pick-up, so she could zip around town. I’d suggested she use the car, but she said it was impossible for her to drive a car in the frenzied traffic on the narrow roads of Pune. And, of course, she was tired of traveling by bus. Besides it was below her dignity. At first I was angry with her; then gradually my anger turned to anxiety. An accident? A distinct possibility. Maybe I was imagining things. Getting worried for nothing. Priya must be home by now! “Please can I use your mobile phone?” I asked a stranger sitting on the parapet on the sea face. “Sure,” he said, “tell me the number. I’ll try.” I told him. He dialed. Once, twice! Then with a knowledgeable look on his face he told me what I already knew, “No one is picking up.” I looked at my watch: 7.45PM. I felt a tremor of trepidation. Instinctively I knew that something was wrong. I tried to calm myself and think rationally. “Anything wrong?” the stranger asked looking intently at me. “No,” I said trying to wipe out the anxiety on my face, smoothening my worried look into a grin. “I’m trying to get my wife.” “Why don’t you try some other number? Her friend, her office?” he said holding out his cell-phone. Yes. Her office. Priya’s office. How come I didn’t think of it before? I dialed Priya’s office number. “Hello,” said a male voice. “I want to speak to Priya Ranade,” I said. “I’m her husband speaking from Mumbai.” “Oh,” the voice said,” Just a minute.” There was long pause. The silence was killing. Then suddenly the sound of someone picking up the phone. “Hello, Mr. Ranade, Godbole here.” Godbole was Priya’s boss. “Your wife left at five, as usual,” he said. “In fact even we are winding up now. It’s almost eight.” I could her some conversation in the background. “Just hold the line please,” Godbole said. After a few seconds Godbole spoke, “You’re speaking from Mumbai, are you? Anything wrong? Any problem?” “No one is picking up the phone at my house,” I said.” Even her mobile.” “I see,” Godbole said. “Why don’t you check up with Ashok Pandit. They left office together. Maybe your wife is at his place.” “Yes.” The word escaped my mouth. “Just a second,” Godbole said. “I’ll give you Ashok Pandit’s residence number.” “Thanks, sir. I’ve got it,” I said, switched off and looked beseechingly at the stranger. “Go ahead,” he said, got up and walked away to give me privacy. Almost immediately I dialed Ashok’s number. I knew it by heart. After all, Ashok was one of my best friends, besides being Priya’s colleague at office. Anjali, Ashok’s wife, came on the line. “Hi, Anjali. Vinay here.” “From the ship?” “No. From Mumbai.” “Anything wrong?” “No. Is Ashok there?” “No. He’s not come back from office.” “But it’s eight o’clock,” I said. “Ashok told me he’d be late,” Anjali said. “Some important business meeting. Dinner with a client or something. He told me not to wait for dinner. Why don’t you try his mobile?” She sounded so nonchalant that I decided not to delve any further. “I just rang up to say goodbye,” I said and hung up. So this was what going on the moment my back was turned. Under the garb of platonic friendship. And to think I had left Pune only yesterday, and they were having a good time already. It was only yesterday morning that Ashok had come to see me off on the Deccan Queen. I’d asked him to take care of Priya while I was away at sea. And do you know what he said? “Don’t worry. Vinay. I’ll take good care of Priya. I’ll look after her so well that she won’t even miss you.” Sure! She wasn’t missing me! I should have known. The familiar way they talked to each other; their ‘harmless’ jokes. Platonic friendship my foot! I had been a fool blinded by trust. Deep down I felt terribly betrayed. I was so angry, so full of hate, that I could feel the venom rising within me. I cannot begin to describe the intense emotions I experienced, but a strange force took charge of me impelling me to act, propelling me toward the nearest taxi. “Dadar,” I told the taxi driver, “Poona Taxi Stand.” Something vibrated in my hands. Shit! I had forgotten to return the stranger’s cell-phone. I should have turned back, returned the mobile, but I do not know what bizarre force overwhelmed me that I just switched it off. Soon I was on my way to Pune, having hired an entire taxi to myself owing to the urgency of my mission. Also I did not want any company. As I closed my eyes in self-commiseration, I saw both halves of my life, my marriage and my career, side by side, as I had never seen them before, and I tried to fathom how I could be so stupid in one and so capable in the other. The voice of the taxi-driver shook me out of my thoughts, “Sir, we’ll stop at the Food-Court before climbing the ghats. You can have a cup of tea or eat something.” I decided to give Priya her last chance. I dialed her cell number. Our home number. It was the same story. Ten rings. No one picked up. I looked at my watch. 10 PM. I dialed Ashok Pandit’s home number. A few rings. “Hello,” It was Ashok’s wife Anjali again. “I want to speak to Ashok Pandit,” I said curtly. “He’s not home,” Anjali said. I could sense the irritation in her voice. “Who’s speaking? Vinay? Why don’t you try his mobile?” I tried Ashok’s mobile. ‘Out of coverage area’: a recorded message said. Must have gone to his farmhouse in Panshet. There was no doubt about it now. Too much of a coincidence. Unfaithful Wife and Devious Friend! Making a cuckold of me. Having a good time at the farmhouse on the very night of my departure! As if they were waiting for me to go. Just imagine what they would be up to during my six month absence away at sea. I felt tormented by the torrent of anger flowing within me. There was no going back now. I had to get the bottom of this. The taxi took two hours to reach Pune - the longest two hours of my life. As I entered my apartment block I noticed that Priya’s scooter was parked at the usual place. So there had been no accident. My suspicions were true! I ran up the steps to my second floor flat. There was no lock on the door. So she had come back. I rang the bell. Once. Twice. Priya opened the door. She was looking at me as if she had seen a ghost. I stepped inside and quickly went to the bedroom. There was no one there. “What’s wrong?” Priya exclaimed. “Why have you suddenly come back?” “Where were you?” I asked ignoring her question. “I’ve been ringing up all evening.” “You were supposed to be sailing.” “The sailing got postponed,” I said irritably. “Answer my question. Where were you? I rang up at least five times.” “I was right here,” Priya said. We stood facing each other. I saw a flicker in her eyes. I knew she was hiding something. Then she spoke, trying to keep her voice calm, “There is something wrong with our phone. Even Ashok said he couldn’t get me.” “When?” I snapped. “He came to check in the evening. I told him to make a complaint.” “He came here? Why? You could have rung up on your mobile.” “I lost my cell-phone.” “When?" “I don’t know. Maybe in the office. Or on the way, the market.” “You expect me to believe that! Lost cell-phone! Phone dead! And Ashok’s mobile out of coverage.” “Ashok? You rung up Ashok? Are you mad?” “You think I am dumb. You liar, you cheat…..” I screamed incoherently in furious rage. “What’s wrong with you?” Priya shouted. “You suddenly land up at midnight and….” Before she could complete her sentence the telephone started ringing. I rushed and picked it up. “Priya, what’s wrong with Vinay?” It was Ashok’s voice. “He’s been ringing Anjali from Mumbai. There is a missed call on my mobile too.” “It’s me!” I said angrily to Ashok and put the phone down. And then I looked at Priya squarely in the eye and said, “And now what do you have to say? This phone suddenly comes to life. With Ashok at the other end. Ringing you at midnight! Wow! What coincidence?” She had no answer. Adulterous cheat! Deep down I felt terribly betrayed. I did not return to my ship. Just couldn’t. Everyone tried to convince me that I was imagining things. But I am not convinced. They took me to the telephone exchange. But tell me, do they repair faults at midnight? And next day Ashok turned up with Priya’s cell-phone claiming that it was found lying in the office conference room. And expected me to believe it! Ashok swore that he was innocent in the presence of his wife. Priya did likewise. But deep down within me is sown the seed of mistrust, growing day by day. Proliferating. Burgeoning into a massive tree of suspicion. I have to make a decision. Soon. Once and for all. Clear everything. This way or that way! I’ve read somewhere. The underlying principle of decision-making in uncertainty: “Suspend judgment till all possibilities are considered.” So till this very day I am living in a state of suspension, considering all possibilities. And the more I think, the more the possibilities grow. Oh yes! The possibilities are endless! I’ve got the sack for deserting my ship. And risk being blacklisted even by other companies if don’t return to the sea fast. And worse – they’ve tracked down the stranger’s mobile cell-phone and have filed a theft case against me and I am out on bail. But I’m still waiting. Doing nothing. My judgment suspended. While I consider all possibilities. Till I reach a conclusion. Get to the bottom of it. My wife wants me to consult a therapist – get some counseling. She thinks I’ve gone crazy. Everyone thinks I’ve gone crazy. Do you? VIKRAM KARVE copyright 2006 Vikram Karve vikramkarve@sify.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
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| 23:40 | 19/Jul/2007 |
| THE WALLFLOWER Parts 1,2,3,4,5 | |
| THE WALLFLOWER By VIKRAM KARVE [PART – 1] “I don’t want to marry Manisha,” I told my mother. My mother looked as if she had been pole-axed. Suddenly there was a metamorphosis in her expression – a distant look across my shoulder followed by a smile of forced geniality. “Manisha is coming!” my mother whispere...
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| 23:39 | 19/Jul/2007 |
| The Wallflower Part 5 | |
| THE WALLFLOWER by VIKRAM KARVE [Part 5] I read the letter once again, slowly, carefully, word by word, till the last line – “And remember to destroy this letter right now”. It was unbelievable – this bolt from the blue from Manisha. I laughed to myself. I thought I was smart, but it was Manisha who was playing the double game. I put the letter...
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| 13:27 | 15/Jul/2007 |
| 80/20 Pareto Principle | |
| Book ReviewThe 80/20 Principle: The Secret of Achieving More with Less by Richard Koch(Reviewed by Vikram Karve)The Pareto Principle (also known as the 80-20 rule) states that for many phenomena, 80% of the consequences stem from 20% of the causes. Richard Koch takes a fresh look at the 80/20 principle and finds that the basic imbalance observed by...
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| 13:23 | 15/Jul/2007 |
| THE GIFT | |
| THE GIFT by VIKRAM KARVE I do not know how the idea entered my brain in the first place; but once conceived, it haunted me with such urgency that a strange force took charge of me, impelling me to act. I tucked the packet under my arm and walked towards my destination, looking around furtively like someone with a guilty conscience. The moment I had seen her photograph I knew that I had to see her. A man’s first love fills an enduring place in his heart. Ten years. Ten long years. She had married money. And status. I was heartbroken. Yet I bore her no pique or rancor. Never will. How can I? I had truly loved her. I still love her. I will always love her. Till my dying day. I was desperately eager to impress her. To give her a gift would be too obvious. I did not know how much she had told her husband. About me! About us! Her children should be the same age as mine. Maybe slightly older. They say the best route to a married woman’s heart is through her children. I looked at the packet under my arm. A gift. The deluxe set of children’s encyclopedias I had promised my son. And my daughter. Year after year. For the last three years. And did not buy. Because it was too expensive. And now I was going to present it to Anjali’s children. Just to impress her. Why? I do not know. As I rang the doorbell, I felt a tremor of anticipation. Suddenly I realized that I did not know whether Anjali would be happy to see me or pretend she didn’t recognize me. The door opened. Anjali looked ravishing. She gave me her sparkling smile and welcomed me with genuine happiness, “Sanjiv! After so many years! What a delightful surprise. How did you manage to find me?’ We looked at each other. Anjali had fully blossomed and looked stunning. She looked so exquisite, so dazzling, that I cannot begin to describe the intense emotion I felt as I looked intently into her radiating eyes, totally mesmerized by her beauty. “Stop staring at me, “Anjali said, her large expressive eyes dancing mischievously. “You look so beautiful. And so young!” “But you look old. Even your beard has becoming gray.” Anjali paused, probably regretting what she had said. Then suddenly she held out her hand to me and said, “I am so happy to see you, Sanjiv. Come inside.” Her house was extravagant. Wealth and opulence showed everywhere. Anjali carried herself majestically with regal poise; her demeanor slick and confident. No wonder! To ‘belong’ had always been the driving force of her life. Money, status, social prestige, success – she had got everything she wanted. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy, and failure. “You like my house?” she asked. “Sit down. And don’t look so lost.” I sat down on a sofa and kept the gift wrapped packet on the side-table. Anjali sat down opposite. “How did you know I live here? We shifted to Mumbai only a month ago.” I took out the wallet from my pocket and gave it to her. “Your husband’s purse. I saw your photograph in it.” Anjali opened the purse and started to check the contents. “You don’t trust cops, do you?” I smiled. Anjali blushed. She kept the wallet on the table. She looked at me with frank admiration in her eyes. “IPS? That’s fantastic. I never thought you would do so well! What are you? Superintendent? Deputy Commissioner?” Now it was my turn to blush. “No,” I said sheepishly. “I am only a sub-inspector.” “Oh!” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. But I had read the language of her eyes. The nuance wasn’t lost on me. Suddenly she had changed. “Is Mr. Joshi at home?” I asked. “He is still at the office,” Anjali said. “Oh! I thought he would be home,” I said. “I’ll make you some tea,” she said and started to get up. “Please sit down, Anjali. Let’s talk.” I looked at my watch. “It’s already six-thirty. Let’s wait for Mr. Joshi. Maybe he’ll offer me a drink. And dinner.” “My husband comes home very late,” Anjali said. “After all, he is the Managing Director. There is so much work. And conferences. Important business meetings. He is the top boss – a very successful and extremely busy man.” She couldn’t have spelt it out more clearly. I got the message loud and clear. Anjali changed the topic and asked, “Where did you find the purse?” “It was deposited in the lost-and-found section last evening,” I lied. “It’s strange,” Anjali said. “He didn’t mention anything.” “He may not have noticed,” I said, tongue-in-cheek, “After all Mr. Joshi is a very busy man to notice such minor things like a missing purse.” “Yes,” she said, giving a distant look. Anjali opened the purse once more and examined his credit cards and driving license. At first she appeared confused. Then she gave me a cold hard look. But she didn’t say anything. There was a long period of silence. Anjali kept staring at me. Looking directly into my eyes. A distant look. Almost dismissive. I began to feel uneasy. Suddenly I remembered the gift wrapped packet I had brought and exclaimed enthusiastically, “Anjali, where are your children? I have got a gift for them. Just a small present for your kids!” From the look on her face, I immediately sensed that I had said something terribly wrong. I saw tears well up in her eyes. All of a sudden, Anjali looked small, weak and vulnerable. I felt a sense of deep regret as comprehension dawned on me. I looked at her helplessly, pleading innocence, but it was of no use. Some day Anjali might understand my actions, but at that moment it was hopeless to try and explain. The hurt was deep, and I had to let it go in silence. We just sat there in silence, not knowing what to say. A deafening silence. A grotesque silence. It’s strange how moments you have rehearsed for end up with a different script. I could not bear it any longer. I quickly got up and started walking swiftly towards the door. Suddenly I realized that I had forgotten to pick up the packet – the gift. But I did not turn back. Why? I do not know. “Don’t go, Sanjiv. I want to talk to you,” Anjali spoke coldly. I stopped in my tracks. I could hear Anjali footsteps behind me. I turned around to face her. She seemed a bit composed. “You lied to me, Sanjiv,” Anjali said. “I want to know where you found this wallet.” I did not know what to say. I tried to avoid her eyes. “Tell me,” Anjali pleaded. When in doubt, I speak the truth. “We raided one of those exclusive classy joints last night,” I stammered. “A posh call-girl racket……….” I could not continue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” “I know! Oh yes I know!” Anjali said mockingly. “That impotent creep! Trying to prove his virility to himself.” With those few words, she had bared the secret of her marriage. I looked at her. Her manner was relaxed and nonchalant; her fury was visible only in her eyes. I was nonplussed. Suddenly I blurted out, “Don’t worry Anjali. I have dropped the charges. I’ll hush it up.” I still don’t know why I uttered those words, but on hearing them there was a visible metamorphosis in Anjali. Suddenly she became flaming mad. She looked so distraught and angry that I felt very frightened. Terrified that she would go berserk and attack me, slap me, or something, I instinctively stepped back. But Anjali suddenly turned and left the room. I waited, pole-axed, for a moment and after regaining my composure decided to leave and started to move towards the door. “Wait!” I heard her scream. I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Anjali quickly walked towards me and thrust out her right hand. She held a bundle of hundred rupee notes. “So this is what you have come for, isn’t it? A bribe to hush up the case, isn’t it? Even from me! You unscrupulous dog, I didn’t expect you to fall so low. Here - take the money and get out. This is all I have at home. If you want more, you know where to find my husband; don’t you?” “No, Anjali,” I recoiled. “Please don’t ………..” “Cheap!” Anjali spat out. There was contempt in her eyes. “Cheap riffraff! That’s what you always were, Sanjiv. Get out you filthy blackmailer.” She threw the bundle of notes at me. It hit my chest and fell on the ground, the money scattering near my feet. “I love you, Anjali,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “Love,” she exclaimed, her radiating eyes burning with anger. “So you have come to see how your barren old flame is flourishing, isn’t it?” She paused and said sarcastically, “So you are pleased aren’t you? Happy to see my success?” Her sly and sarcastic suggestion that I might be happy at her misfortune hurt me more than anything else. I turned around and walked out of the house. As I walked towards the gate something hit me on my back. I winced in pain. The three volumes of the expensive Children’s Encyclopedia were scattered on the ground, their silver paper gift wrapper torn. I knew that Anjali was standing in the door looking at me. But I did not look back at her. I gathered the books and walked away into the darkness. As I gradually came into consciousness from my drunken stupor, I realized that I was in my bed. Though sunlight filtered in through the open windows, everything looked blurred. Slowly things began to come into focus. My daughter was sitting beside me on the bed. She touched my arm with tenderness. There were tears in her eyes. My son stood on the other side. There was fear in his eyes. My wife looked at me with loving pity and said, “The children want to thank you for the lovely gift. Happy Valentine's Day!” She was holding the set of encyclopedias in her hands. And I felt a deep love for my wife and children which I had never felt before. VIKRAM KARVE Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve vikramkarve@sify.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com
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| 00:15 | 15/Jul/2007 |
| My Monkey Trap | |
| MY MONKEY TRAP By VIKRAM KARVE “Come, Vijay,” Captain Naik said, leading me into his study, “I’ll show you something interesting.” He opened a cupboard, pulled out a strange-looking contraption and laid it on the table. I looked at it, confused but curious. The peculiar apparatus consisted of a hollowed-out coconut attached to a solid iron chain, about two feet long, with a large metal stake at the other end. “You know what this is?” he asked. “No,” I answered “I got this in Penang when I was cadet, almost thirty years ago,” Captain Naik said, picking up the coconut in his left hand, holding the chain in his right. He looked at me and explained, “This is a monkey trap. The hollowed-out coconut is filled with some cooked rice through this small hole, chained to the stake which is driven firmly into the ground. Look at this hole. It’s just big enough so that the monkey’s hand to go in, but too small for his fist filled with rice to come out. The monkey reaches in, grabs the rice and is suddenly trapped. Because his greed won’t allow him to let go of the rice and extricate his hand, the monkey remains trapped, a victim of his greed, until he is captured. The monkey cannot see that freedom without the rice is more valuable than capture with it. That’s what happens to most of us. Probably it’s the story of your life too. Think about it.” I thought about it and said, “Suppose I quit the merchant navy. What will I do?” “Why don’t you join me?” Captain Naik suggested, “It’s a comfortable job. Professionally satisfying. And plenty of time for your family too. Besides, I need people like you. Of course, you won’t get your tax-free couple of thousand dollars, but the pay is good by Indian standards.” Captain Naik was the director of a maritime training institute in Goa , running various courses for merchant navy officers. It was a lovely self-contained campus on the shores of the Arabian Sea . At first I wondered whether he had a vested interest, but I knew that was not true. Captain Naik had been my mentor and well-wisher; it was he who had groomed me when I had been a cadet on his ship many years ago. And later too, when I was a junior officer. That’s why I had made it a point to visit him the moment my ship touched Murmagao port. For the next six months, as I sailed on the high seas, I could not forget the ‘monkey trap’ – in fact, it haunted me. And soon I knew what my decision would be. But first, I would have to discuss it with my wife. Truly speaking, that was not really necessary. She would be the happiest person on earth. For I could clearly recall every word of the vicious argument we had just before I left home about seven months ago. It was our tenth wedding anniversary and we had thrown a small party. As I walked towards the kitchen door, I noticed my wife, Anjali, engrossed in a conversation with her childhood friend Meena, their backs toward me. “Tell me, Anjali,” Meena was saying, “If you could live your life again, what would you like to change?” “My marriage!” Anjali answered. I was stunned and stopped in my tracks, dumbstruck, at the kitchen door. After the party was over, I confronted Anjali, “What were you doing in the kitchen all the time with that Meena friend of yours? You should have circulated amongst the important guests,” “I feel out of place in your crowd,” Anjali answered. “My crowd!” I thundered. “And you regret marrying me, do you?” I paused for a moment, and then said firmly, “Listen Anjali, you better stop associating with riffraff like Meena. Think of our status.” “Riffraff!” Anjali was staring at me incredulously. “I was also what you call ‘riffraff’ once. And quite happy too! What’s the use of all these material comforts? And wealth and so-called status? None of it can compensate for the companionship and security of a husband. This loneliness, it’s corrosive; eating into me. Sometimes I feel you just wanted a caretaker to look after your parents, your house, and of course, now your children. To hold the fort while you gallivant around for months at a time. And that’s why you married a simple middle-class girl like me; or rather you bought me! That’s what you think, isn’t it?” I winced when she said, ‘bought’. But in a certain way, I knew it was true. Which is why I lost my temper and shouted, “I don’t gallivant around - It’s hard earned money I have to slog and undergo hardship for! I do it for all of you. And yes indeed! I bought you. Yes I ‘bought’ you! That’s because you were willing to sell yourself. Remember one thing. No one can buy anything unless someone is willing to sell it.” I instantly regretted my words realizing that they would only worsen the gaps in our relationship. Gaps I had failed to fill all these ten years by expensive gifts and material comforts. That’s what I was always doing. Always trying to use money to fill gaps in our relationship. And now, almost six months later, I was flying home after handing over command – for the last time. My last ship. I had made my decision. It was probably the meeting with Captain Naik and the ‘monkey trap’ which clinched the issue, but my decision was final. I had even written to him and would be joining him at his maritime training institute in a month. But I did not write or tell Anjali. For her I wanted it to be a surprise – the happiest moment of her life! And mine too. I didn’t hire a luxury air-conditioned taxi from Mumbai airport direct to my house in Pune like I always did. I knew I would have to get used to being less lavish in the future. So I took a bus to Dadar and caught the Deccan Express at seven in the morning. I was traveling light – no expensive gifts this time, and it being off-season, I was lucky to get a seat in an unreserved second-class compartment. When I reached home at about lunch time, I was shocked to find Anjali missing. My old parents were having lunch by themselves; my children were at school. When Anjali arrived at two in the afternoon, I was stunned by the metamorphosis in her appearance. Designer dress, fashionable jewellery, permed hair, fancy make-up - painted like a doll; in short, the works. “What a surprise!” she exclaimed on seeing me.” You should have rung up.” “Anjali, I want to talk to you. It’s something important,” I said. “Not now,” she said, almost ignoring me. “I am already late. I just came for a quick change of clothes. Something suitable for the races….” “Races?” I couldn’t believe it. “Don’t you know? Today is the Pune Derby. Mrs Shah is coming to pick me up. You know her? The one whose husband is working in the Gulf. And you better buy me a new car.” “New car?” I asked dumbfounded. “The old one looks cheap. I hate to be seen in it. Doesn’t befit our status. We must have something good – the latest luxury limousine. I know we can afford it.” The next few days passed in a haze of confusion. Punctuated by one surprise after another from Anjali. She wanted a deluxe flat in one of those exclusive townships. To send our children to an elite boarding school in Mussoorie of all places, membership to time-share holiday resorts, a farmhouse near Lonavala, and on and on – her demands were endless. And in between she would ask me, “Vijay, I hope you are happy that I am trying to change myself. It’s all for your sake. You were right. It is money and status that matter. Without a standard of living, there can be no quality of life!” I did not know whether to laugh or cry. That she was once a simple domesticated middle-class girl whose concept of utopia was a happy family life was now but a distant memory to her. To ‘belong’ was now the driving force of her life. I wish I could give this story a happy ending. But I’ll tell you what actually happened. First, I rang up my shipping agent in Mumbai and told him to get me the most lucrative contract to go to sea as soon as possible. Then I wrote a long letter to Captain Naik regretting my inability to join him immediately. But I also wrote asking him to keep the offer open. Just in case there was a reverse transformation in Anjali – back to her earlier self. I am an optimist and I think it will happen someday. And I hope the day comes fast; when both of us, Anjali and I, can free ourselves from the Monkey Traps of our own making. Dear Reader. Close your eyes and ponder a bit. Have you entangled yourself in a monkey trap of your own making? Think about it! Reflect! And in your mind’s eye visualize all your own very ‘Monkey Traps’ which you have created for yourself. What are you waiting for? The solution is in your hands. Just let go, and free yourself. And do let me know what you feel – Which is more important: Freedom or golden manacles; standard of living or quality of life? And do help me free myself from my ‘Monkey Trap’. VIKRAM KARVE Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://www.ryze.com/go/karve http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve vikramkarve@sify.com
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| 10:14 | 11/Jul/2007 |
| A Small Girl's Tale | |
| A SMALL GIRL’S TALE (a fiction short story) by VIKRAM KARVE It all started when God took my baby brother away. Poor thing! God took him away even before he was born. And Mamma was never the same again; she changed forever. We were so happy then. My Papa, my Mamma, Granny and me. We all lived in a cute little house in a place called Madiwale...
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| 14:59 | 10/Jul/2007 |
| A "LOVE" STORY | |
| A "love" story by VIKRAM KARVE At exactly 8 PM her cell-phone rings in her hand. She’s expecting the call – that’s why she’s holding the cell-phone in her hand. She looks at the caller-id, accepts the call, moves the mobile phone near her ear and says, “I love you, darling!” “I love you, Sugar!” says her husband’s voice from half way around the globe. On his bed beside him, sprawled with arms and legs outstretched like a fallen statue, the woman is still asleep, her breathing untroubled. It’s a long distance marriage, and the ‘married bachelors’ have been following the same drill for quite some time now – two calls every day at exactly the same time (Eight in the morning she calls him up just before leaving for work and eight in the evening she receives his call from half way across the globe just before he leaves for work). And both of them start their conversation automatically with the words: “I love you, darling! Or, I love you, Sugar!” He’s her ‘darling’ and she’s his ‘Sugar’!) “How was your day?” the husband asks. “Hectic. Lot ’s of work. Deadlines!” the wife answers. She steals a glance at the handsome young man sitting beside her in the darkened lounge bar. “It’s terrible here too,” the husband says. “It’s killing, the work. Too much traveling. Sales meets, seminars, conferences. One hotel to another. Living out of a suitcase. I’m feeling exhausted.” It’s true. The husband is indeed feeling exhausted; a relaxing, satiating kind of exhaustion. He gets up and opens the window and allows the early morning air to cool his body, then turns around and looks at the marvelous body of the woman on his bed. She looks lovelier than ever before, and as he remembers the ferocity of her lovemaking, he feels waves of desire rise within him. Not for a long time has the mere sight of a woman aroused the lion in him to such an extent. He smiles to himself. He feels proud and elated; it was a grand performance. Spontaneous lovemaking at its best; not like the planned and contrived “ quality ” lovemaking with his wife, full of performance anxiety, each performing for the other’s gratification, and both faking pleasure thinking the other would not know. “Yes, darling. Poor you. I can understand,” the wife says, and sips her potent cocktail. It’s her third. She wonders what it is – the mysterious but deadly intoxicating cocktails her companion is plying her with, and she is feeling gloriously high. “I’m just waiting for this hectic spell of work to be over so we can meet,” the husband says. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the sleeping woman. Mesmerized, marveling. It is difficult to believe that in a few hours from now they would be addressing each other formally again. “Oh, yes. It’s been three months and I’m dying to meet you. When are we meeting?” the wife asks. “I’m planning a fantastic vacation. I’ll let you know soon. We’ll go to some exotic place. Just the two of us. Quality Time!” the husband says to his wife, looking yearningly at the gorgeously sexy woman on his bed. “That’s great! We must spend some Quality Time together.” the wife says, snuggling against her strikingly handsome colleague. He presses his knee against hers. She presses hers against his. He moves his hand around her over her soft skin and pulls her gently. She feels an inchoate desire. He gently strokes her hair, and she turns towards him, her mouth partly open as he leans over her. Fuelled by the alcohol in her veins, she can sense the want churning inside her like fire. And as she looks into his eyes, and feels the intensity of his caresses, she can sense her resistance melting. “I love you, Sugar!” the husband says. “I love you, darling!” the wife says. Their lovey-dovey conversation completed, both of them disconnect their cell-phones. And carry on with renewed zeal their passionate amorous activity presently in hand. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush! I’ve heard somewhere: ‘ Absence makes the heart grow fonder – for someone else’. Married, yet bachelors! Forced distance and unnatural loneliness – for too long. It does take its toll, doesn’t it? And what about the so-called much touted buzzword ‘Quality Time’ ? There’s no doubt about it! It’s Quality Time that sustains and nourishes long distance marriages. Yes. Quality Time! Quality Time – with someone else! Dear Reader, do you agree? Or, don’t you? VIKRAM KARVE Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve vikramkarve@sify.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve http://www.ryze.com/go/karve
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| Sangeeta | 22:19 | 2/Dec/2007 |
| Friends: (128)
| City: Dehradun
| Interests: muzik,nature,pain...
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| my Angel |
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| She is an angel,She doesn’t know this.Neither people let her feel so,nor they will show it. Her tiny hands ,soft little toes Full with mud and sand.She doesnt meet what she deserves at the day’s end. She is one of the God’s GodWhat my friend said once.Why her prayers never ever heardWhy all came back bounce. She lives in a dirty narrow street, loo...
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| Jasmine Jassi | 22:39 | 18/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (65)
| City: valleyofflowers
| Interests: :)
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| My Gravity !! |
| Dreams procession With supple rhythm Pulsating, colorful glitters Marching over every breath I wish to give them wings To fly higher and farther But something always bring them back to u How can dreams fly against u My gravity!! Jasmine J
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| Pritz | 19:09 | 21/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (47)
| Interests: reading
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| Sarre Jahan se acha Hindusita humara hum... |
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| The other day we were having discussion with ourcolleagues about the Indiaand Indian economy. I can say that it was more of a comparison of life style inIndiaand abroad, specifically speaking between Indian life and German life.Some how all of us found German life very simple and nice. To mention fewpoints:- State Health Insurance- Unemployment all...
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| Tammanna | 21:37 | 21/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (366)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Music and reading
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| Under the soul tree's shade... |
| Under the soul tree’s shade….. My soul tree has a hollowFilled with treasuresOf toys and joysTucked away safelyFrom the rain and windsTo play with carefullyOn idyllic lazy afternoonsBe my friendGaze into my soul’s mirrorGilded handle to holdGold-plated and allHand in hand we’ll walkMeadows and dreamscapesPicking from sandy shoresEmpty shells and co...
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| meena sundar | 17:40 | 26/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (598)
| City: Chennai
| Interests: Life
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| illusion or real |
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| If we say, something is not thereThen there is nothing in thereBut if we constantly Hear there is something in thereThen someday We come to believeSomething must be thereWords and thoughtsAlways have some power If we continue to hear and talk about themThen the illusion, Looks real!It is fateThat, we humans are weak To eliminate all in the...
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| jiya jiya | 15:57 | 10/Oct/2007 |
| Friends: (48)
| City: Ahmedabad
| Interests: writing
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| The mystry of vibes .......?anser me |
| I was talking to a guy for the marriage,and looking at his pic i experienced somekind of an emotional thing andi told him , i am experincing thisvibe from you which makes me say " that you are a a happy/honest/loving soul " an Godwill bless you....???"""That guy actually blurted out "I don't know what am I looking for"what the ...
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| Sandeep Ozarde | 10:47 | 26/Oct/2007 |
| Friends: (618)
| City: Bombay
| Interests: BREAKFAST: Assam ...
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| The Real Shopping-Cart Revolution |
| Five hundred years of progress packed into a sack of flour.By J. Bradford DeLong, Wired MagHere's some food for thought.A smart shopper can buy a 5-pound bag of Gold Medal flour for 69 cents. That's enough to feed three people for a day - 7,500 easy-to-digest, relatively nutritious, and potentially tasty calories. All for less than 0.7 percent of a...
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| Amit Agrawal | 20:14 | 18/Mar/2008 |
| Friends: (275)
| City: New Delhi
| Interests: hayaa aur hayaat
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| thank you pratap |
| I recently relocated to delhi - a city where I had done my graduation. Graduation was a very defining moment of my life where I learnt a lot. Had awesome fun with friends and life taught me in all possible ways. I really treasure those times.So when I got some time to sneak out to the college on a saturday I took the chance and went along.Went by c...
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| monu g | 10:18 | 20/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (181)
| City: This Heavenly Planet
| Interests: To Live Life To I...
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| MCP |
| “You didn’t bring along Sandhya” Ritu asked“No, I didn’t” Sachin replied“Why?” “I left her back home.”“Com’on you couldn’t be doing this.. Where is she?” Ritu sounded unconvinced“Why can't?.. I m the husband.. I can do what I want. Call me an MCP but I didn’t bring her along” Sachin teased her“Whats MCP?” she asked innocently“You don’t know that!”...
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| udita chaudhary | 18:06 | 3/Sep/2007 |
| Friends: (237)
| City: Delhi
| Interests: self-improvement,...
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| "What a Wonderful World"-Louis Armstrong“ I see trees of green, red roses too I see them bloom for me and youAnd I think to myself, what a wonderful worldI see skies of blue and clouds of white The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night And I think to myself, what a wonderful world”The soulful rendering of this song evokes vivid images of a vib...
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| Dheeraj Khanna | 21:15 | 19/Aug/2007 |
| Friends: (342)
| Interests: cricket, movies, ...
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| The Bourne Series...... download now!! |
| The Bourne Ultimatum has turn out to be huge this summer in Hollywood. So I thought, why not give a tribute to that great spy-master Robert Ludlum who created Bourne and made him a delicious character, an anti-thesis of James Bond.So I give you the The Bourne Trilogy. Now available for download.Go ahead, get ready for a thrilling ride.Downloand the...
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| Ash K | 23:42 | 6/Oct/2007 |
| Friends: (111)
| City: --
| Interests: Reading, Food, Mo...
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| Daffodils - |
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| Althought my tryst with the world of words, prose, similes, metaphors, euphemisms and literature began with the advent of i-land, I also owe part of this passionate endeavour to the poem penned by William Wordsworth. The poem is plain and simple, yet has a style which is unique and one of its kind, hard to emulate kinds. Stumbled upon this poem on ...
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| A J | 17:57 | 30/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (270)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Chopping off the ...
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| Not again - Part 2 |
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| Part 2? Oye saala part 1 kahan hai??Wait wait.. I guess you no understanding.28 April passing,I no remembering,then remembering,my 2nd anniversary on Rediff iLand passing,last year also me forgetting,this year also forgetting.Read what happened last year: Read readBut hey, HIPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.I love being on iLand... and I love you all.....(me ...
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| Sandhya Suri | 21:47 | 21/Jan/2008 |
| Friends: (656)
| City: Jaipur
| Interests: Life
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| Smirk |
| Wandering…The dark alleys of the mind’s deepest corridorsResounding… Crying…Grasping the folds of the silken shawl of memoriesSearching… Seeking…Truths too bitter to tell, too smattered with the bloodSpreading… Covering…Hiding the realities, the ignorant bliss of a heartless mindSalvaging… Begging…For redemption from the knowledge that defies the s...
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| Mini Francis | 11:30 | 17/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (256)
| City: delhi
| Interests: Kids, Reading,
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| FRIENDS |
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| A STORY OF TWO FRIENDSA story tells that two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand: TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE.They kept on walking until they f...
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| Madhavan PK | 12:52 | 3/May/2008 |
| Friends: (375)
| Interests: Books, crossword,...
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| Not In the fitness of things |
| Ateliers Fitness made a promise. To wash and wish away my sins of fifteen plus years in 3 months. I whistled, “sweat (sweet) dreams are made of these”. After a few days, I strangely liked the treadmill, hated the elliptical, felt macho lifting weights and grimaced doing the abs. There were more trainers than clients at the time I visited the five...
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| Ramesh Pillai | 21:02 | 17/Jan/2008 |
| Friends: (22)
| City: Alleppey
| Interests: Sporting, reading...
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| Life is a Bitch |
| Hi Guys.....Long time.I used to wonder why I was what I was. Why wasn't I that shrewd son of a bitch who was more calculating (Mathlabi?) in life? Why wasn't I smart enough to USE people to my own good? Why wasn't I attractive in terms of being popular amongst the people who mattered the most? Why? Why? Why? It took me 39 years to find out all tho...
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| Reshma Thakkar | 21:11 | 26/Mar/2008 |
| Friends: (2129)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Enjoying life as ...
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| SHOULD WE |
| Should we build our surroundings --or thoughts?Should we seek pleasure --or happiness?Should we progress materially --or spiritually?Should we nurse our ego --or ability?Should we fear death --or disease?Should we be worthy of praise from man --Or God?Should we be intelligent --Or wise?Should we attempt to win --Or achieve?Should we envy –Or admir...
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| Trishna Mumbai | 09:44 | 18/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (9)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: ...
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| Daddy... |
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| There are several types of love stories in this world. I had the opportunity to be witness to a simple, strong one - perhaps stuff that legends are made of - the love story of my parents which now remains as a warm memory with the passing away of my father in early April. My dad was 24yrs old when he was married, my mom was 18. He had a salary of R...
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| Aparna Bagwe | 14:09 | 15/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (197)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Pets, Music, Book...
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Mumbai
