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karve.rediffiland.com/
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| Friends
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 23:53 | 30/Sep/2008 |
| Last Post | |
| LAST POST In the early hours of the 22nd of September 2008, Pratap Dattatraya Joshi, breathed his last, and departed for his heavenly abode, at the Deenanath Mangeshkar Hospital in Pune. Pratap Joshi was an epitome of simple living and high thinking. Born on the 6th of March 1932, he imbibed sterling values from his father, DP Joshi, a Teacher an...
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| 21:14 | 25/Jul/2008 |
| My Pet | |
| Dear Reader, Just click the link below and read what my pet has to say http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/07/sherry -karve-1.htm
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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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| Sandra Banerji | 18:58 | 17/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (24)
| City: Bangalore
| Interests: blogging
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| Curse of Child Abuse |
| I have a habit of blog hopping. I hop from blog to blog to find amazingly interesting materials that i wouldn't find by doing a general google search. It has proved to be a great exercise for me. But it has its negetive consequences. Last evening while blog hopping i landed on a disturbing blog on child abuse, and learned what a great curse it is t...
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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 | 18:50 | 25/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (118)
| City: valleyofflowers
| Interests: :P
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| King of festivals |
| ?May the festival of lights light up ur life with happiness and joy... Amitabh –?Mere Paas Rocket Hai,Shurli Hai,Chakri Hai,Murga Bumb Hai,Anaar Hai,Tumhare Paas Kya Hai??Shashi Kapoor -Mere PaasMAA…Chis Hai! Happy Diwali to all of you my dear K B,Devyani Di,Shub(Chakoo),Rahul,Kim Aggrwal,Shikha,Tanishka,Chandra kant,Raghu Iyer,Monalisa,Moe M,R...
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| Pritz | 19:09 | 21/Apr/2008 |
| Friends: (48)
| 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 | 18:54 | 4/Nov/2008 |
| Friends: (590)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Music and reading
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| Love is an art |
| Love is the colored lensWe wear on our heart’s eyeAnd everything that is viewed henceWears a garb of magic and wonderThe sky is bluer stillThe clouds frothing whiteBirds are sighted in pairsCrooning songs with all their mightLove is the paint brushWe bear in our mind’s handAn artists’ impression is createdOut of every knick-knackThe world is a play...
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| meena sundar | 21:08 | 23/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (513)
| City: Chennai
| Interests: Life
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| Angels of my life…. |
| Too Long post..Please have mercy on me this time .Thank you friends! J “Our Lives becomes beautiful not because we are perfect. Our lives becomes beautiful because we put our heart into what we are doing” – Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev ~ Amma : My amma is a very remarkable woman. Even at this age of 58 she cooks and cleans the house all by hersel...
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| jiya jiya | 12:21 | 9/Sep/2008 |
| Friends: (53)
| City: Ahmedabad
| Interests: writing
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| books |
| Your favorirte books and why ????
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| Sandeep Ozarde | 21:10 | 5/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (621)
| City: Bombay
| Interests: BREAKFAST: Assam ...
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| Mumbai...Shanghai or Goodbye! |
| Quite a thoughtful article. The nerve centres of world markets are likely to be more distributed and interconnected now By Praveen Suthrum Two weeks ago, at my B-school’s alumni party, I ran into a New Yorker who has moved to Mumbai. When I asked him why he chose Mumbai, he said, “Well, the word on Wall Street is Mumbai, Dubai, Shanghai or goodbye...
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| Amit Agrawal | 17:20 | 20/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (300)
| City: New Delhi
| Interests: hayaa aur hayaat
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| If Words Could Heal |
| If words could heal it would have been easy,If climbing mountains was not an uphill task.I would tell you o dear friend that its gonna pass.ButIt is indeed gonna pass dear as it is meant to be,and not before it makes you bolder and stronger.Life's tests are like that, the most painful onesare the ones who give you precious moments disguised,The tro...
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| monu g | 22:10 | 31/Aug/2008 |
| Friends: (200)
| City: This Heavenly Planet
| Interests: To Live Life To I...
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| A NIGHT TO REMEMBER... |
| Have u ever thought about the most memorable moments of Ur Life??? Have u ever thought what makes them so special and close to Ur heart?? It’s usually the FIRST time u feel or find something U’ve never felt or found before… And what IF something soooooooooo hilarious makes it even more memorable………. Hehehehehehehe…. There was this lovely couple who...
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| udita chaudhary | 18:06 | 3/Sep/2007 |
| Friends: (244)
| 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: (345)
| 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 | 00:16 | 9/Jun/2008 |
| Friends: (101)
| City: --
| Interests: Reading, Food, Mo...
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| Book Review: Keep Off The Grass - By Kar... |
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| The novel has an honest attempt - to make you laugh till your sides ache. The book is replete with humor, laughter and funny one-liners which keep you on the edgeto the last word read. Certainly this one tickles your funny bone. The novel's protagonist Samrat Ratan, son of second generation US immigrantschooses to leave hot shot investment banking,...
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| A J | 14:46 | 6/Nov/2008 |
| Friends: (283)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Healing, Playing ...
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| Why I wear an ulta watch |
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| Being a leftie has added a new ritual into my life.Now before I leave home, Ma fastens the watch on my wrist.A fastrack brand, the watch’s bezel often confuses Ma who spends a good two minute to figure out what’s the right side to it. And in the end, I guide her to the right side and the watch is fastened. Trust me guys, you should witness the even...
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| Sandhya Suri | 21:47 | 21/Jan/2008 |
| Friends: (658)
| 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: (271)
| 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 | 16:40 | 8/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (418)
| Interests: Books, crossword,...
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| Adulation and fall from grace |
| I was talking to a sports adminsitrator based in Malaysia and he very poignantly said, there is more politics in sport than in politics per se. I couldnt agree with him more. I have been pondering over this. But the fact that Dada has announced his retirement and the others of the fab five are ready to hang up their boots soon is not a comforting t...
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| Ramesh Pillai | 23:19 | 23/May/2008 |
| Friends: (22)
| City: Alleppey
| Interests: Sporting, reading...
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| WHO KILLED MY UNCLE? |
| Preamble:He used tocome home once in a month or so. He has been literally on the roads since 1976.He left home when his son was 10 years old. His son is 42 now. He came back in1986. But by then his family didn’t want him. Well, no blame games, who wouldneed a man who deserts his family and vanishes for 10 long years. The son says.“ I have never kno...
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| Reshma Thakkar | 14:55 | 7/Nov/2008 |
| Friends: (2432)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Enjoying life as ...
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| NEW VERSIONS OF A QUOTE |
| THE ORIGINAL QUOTE If you love someone, Set her free... If she comes back, she's yours, If she doesn't, she never was.... THE NEW VERSIONS ARE ..... Pessimist: If you love someone, Set her free ... If she ever comes back, she's yours, If she doesn't, as expected, she never was Optimist: If you love someone, Set her free ... Don...
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| Trishna Mumbai | 10:43 | 24/Sep/2008 |
| Friends: (7)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Life in all its o...
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| Wanted:Comfort - Concluded |
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| “No you are not, Pri, not yet”, I said. “Lets get real, Pri – couples on bikes are just learning about what love is. It’s exciting for them, its perhaps their first intense relationship. They are not weighed down by EMIs, credit card payments and first term exams. Love between teenagers gives highest weightage to physical proximity for a much marr...
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| Aparna Bagwe | 15:54 | 26/Oct/2008 |
| Friends: (227)
| City: Mumbai
| Interests: Pets, Music, Book...
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| A Fervent Plea, from the Heart...Just as most of us cannot bear very loud noisesJust as many of us are scared of sudden bursts of sound and light So are the rest of our animal brethrenLet us not forget that we the humans are thinking animals.During Diwali, a lot of cruelty takes placeKnowingly and unknowingly... at the hands of children and even ad...
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| poornima k | 10:22 | 4/Nov/2008 |
| Friends: (457)
| City: Bangalore
| Interests: Soch ko Badlo, Si...
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| Like Mother, Like Daughter |
| You know it"s quite difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when it all happened. One minute we’re little girls are standing in front of the mirror in our mother"s best diamante and lipstick, desperate to be just like the perfume-scented goddess who tucks us up each night. FLASH! And the next minute, the idea of turning into the same woman becomes a...
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| santosh sutar | 11:48 | 29/Mar/2008 |
| Friends: (42)
| City: Pune
| Interests: music educatio | | | | |
Mumbai
