In the early hours of the 22^nd 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 6^th of March 1932, he imbibed sterling values from his father, DP Joshi, a Teacher and Scout, a legend in his lifetime.

A product of the prestigious First Course of the National Defence Academy [or 1^st JSW, as he liked to call it], Brigadier PD Joshi was certainly not the archetypal pompous hard-drinking handlebar-moustached high-falutin Colonel Blimp type of Officer. He was a simple, down-to-earth, Spartan, unassuming, dedicated, sincere, patriotic, scrupulously honest, erudite person possessing a golden heart filled with humility and compassion. Throughout his distinguished career spanning 37 years, and even thereafter, he spread happiness, benevolence and goodwill owing to his cheerful disposition, kind-hearted nature and inimitable sense of humour.

Forever young at heart, Pratap Joshi didn't suffer from the Auld Lang Syne Complex. After retirement he didn't live in the past, languishing and brooding about the "good old days", but moved on with exceptional enthusiasm and childlike zeal to his new loves music and social work.

Starting from the scratch, he studied classical music with sheer dedication, resolute grit and passionate zest for many years till he was bestowed with the prestigious post graduate degree of Sangeet Alankar. Then he taught music to one and all, free of cost, making special efforts to teach the needy and underprivileged.

Travelling extensively, and roughing it out in the heart of the mofussil, to rural and far flung regions, he made a significant social contribution to enhancing primary education in backward areas, as the Chief Trustee of the Natu Foundation Educational Trust. He eagerly contributed his expertise to Jnana Prabodhini and for improving the efficiency of Hospitals.

Pratap Joshi loved animals, especially dogs. He always had pet dogs, and showered his unconditional love on them and all the dogs that he came across in the neighbourhood, pet and stray. It was distressing to see Dolly desperately searching for him soon after he had gone away from us forever. We shall always remember the love with which he snuggled and cuddled Sherry, our Doberman girl, when she was a baby.

He had a genuine zest for living, and enjoyed every moment of his life, indulging himself in his favourite foods, movies, travel, music anything he liked, he did it! He laughed, and made others laugh.

I first met Pratap Joshi in March 1982 and he left such a lasting impression on me that I became his fan ever since. He was my father-in-law, more like a loving father who I could count on to stand by me, advice and inspire me, in happiness and in adversity, and I shall forever cherish every moment I shared with him. My son, a seafarer, was his favourite grandchild, the apple of his eye. It was a pity he couldn't be with his beloved grandfather during his last moments as he is sailing on the high seas. Such are the tragedies and travesties of life, and death.

We will miss you dearly "Daddy". You lived your life to its fullest and loved all of us from the bottom of your heart. We are sure you will shower us with your blessings from your heavenly abode. You were a noble and virtuous man who always did good to everyone you met and wherever you went. May your Soul Rest in Peace.

VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

vikramkarve@hotmail.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

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

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/07/sherry-karve-1.htm

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/post/2008/01/a-dog-s-life.htm

Happy Reading

Vikram Karve

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

[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

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 whispered.

I turned around quickly and saw Manisha entering the wicket-gate and walking towards us.

She wished my mother and smiled at me. "I want to come and see you off at the airport."

"Why bother? I'll go on my own," I said. "The flights are quite unpredictable. They never leave on time. And how will you come back all the way?"

"You two talk here in the garden," my mother said. "I'll go inside and pack your things."

"I am sorry about last night," Manisha said, with genuine regret in her voice.

"It's okay." I looked at Manisha. Plump and full-faced, with small brown eyes and dusky complexion, hair drawn back into a conventional knot there was only one adjective to describe Manisha 'prosaic'; yes, she looked prosaic so commonplace, unexciting and pedestrian.

"I'll go inside and help your mother," Manisha said, and went inside.

'Last night' was the fiasco at the disco. Manisha and I - An unmitigated disaster!

"Let's dance," I had asked Manisha.

"No," Manisha was firm.

"Come on. I'll teach you," I pleaded. "Everyone is on the floor."

But Manisha did not budge. So we just sat there watching. Everybody was thoroughly enjoying themselves. Many of my friends and colleagues were on the floor, with their wives, fiancées and girlfriends. Among them Sanjiv and Swati.

"Who is this wallflower you've brought with you?" taunted Sanjiv, during a break in the music.

"My fiancée, Manisha," I answered, trying to keep cool.

"Your fiancée? How come you've hooked on to such a Vern?" Swati mocked. "Come on Vijay," she said derisively, coming close and looking directly into my eyes. "You are an Executive now, not a clerk. Don't live in your past. Find someone better. She doesn't belong here."

If someone had stuck a knife into my heart it would have been easier to endure than these words. It always rankled; the fact that I had come up the hard way, promoted from the ranks.

"This is too much" I said angrily to Sanjiv.

"Cool down, Vijay," Sanjiv said putting his hand on my shoulder. "You know Swati doesn't mean it."

But I knew that Swati had meant every word she uttered.

"Let's go," I told Manisha. "I've had enough."

When we were driving home, Manisha asked innocently, "What's a Vern?"

"Vernacular!" I answered. And at that moment there was a burst of firecrackers and rockets lit up the sky to usher in the New Year.

That night I could not sleep. I thought of my future, trying to see both halves of my future life, my career and my marriage, side by side. I realized that my career was more important to me than anything else. I had to succeed at any cost. And a key ingredient in the recipe for success was a 'socially valuable' wife. It mattered. It was the truth. Whether you like it or not. Swati was right. Manisha just didn't belong to that aspect and class of society of which I was now a part. I had crossed the class barrier; but Manisha had remained where she was. And she would remain there, unwilling and unable to change.

In marriage one has to be rational. Manisha would be an encumbrance, maybe even an embarrassment. It was a mistake - my getting engaged to her. She was the girl next door, we had grown up together and everyone assumed we would be married one day. And our parents got us engaged. At that point of time I didn't think much of it. It was only now, that my eyes had opened; I realized the enormity of the situation. I was an upwardly mobile executive now, not a mere clerk, and the equations had changed. What I needed was someone like Swati. Smart, chic and savvy. Convent educated, well groomed and accustomed to the prevalent lifestyle, a perfect hostess, an asset to my career. And most importantly she was from a well-connected family. I tired to imagine what life would have been like had I married Swati.

Sanjiv was so lucky. He was already going places. After all Swati was the daughter of the senior VP.

Suddenly I returned to the present. I could bear my mother calling me. I went inside. Manisha was helping her pack my bags, unaware of what was going on in my mind. I felt a sense of deep guilt, but then it was question of my life.

"What's wrong with you?" my mother asked after Manisha had left.

"Why were so rude to Manisha, so distant? She loves you so much!"

"I don't love her," I said.

"What?" my mother asked surprised, "Is there some else?"

"No," I said.

"I don't understand you."

"Manisha is not compatible anymore. She just doesn't fit in."

I could see that my mother was angry. Outwardly she remained calm and nonchalant; her fury was visible only in her eyes.

"Who do you think you are?" she said icily, trying to control herself. "You know Manisha from childhood, isn't it? For the last two years you have been engaged and moving around together. And suddenly you say Manisha is not compatible?" My mother paused for a moment, and then taking my hand asked me softly, "What happened last night?"

I told her. Then we argued for over two hours and till the end I stuck to my guns. Finally my mother said, "This is going to be difficult. And relations between our families are going to be permanently strained. Think about Manisha. It will be so difficult for her to get married after the stigma of a broken engagement. Forget about last night. It's just a small incident. Think about it again. Manisha is the ideal wife, so suitable for you."

But I had made up my mind, so I told my mother, "If you want I'll go and talk to her father right now and break off the engagement."

"No," my mother snapped. "Let your father come home. He will decide what to do."

The doorbell rang. I opened the door. Standing outside along with my father were Manisha and her parents.

"I have fixed up your wedding with Manisha Patwardhan on the 30th of May of this year," my father thundered peremptorily in his usual impetuous style.

"Congratulations," echoed Manisha's parents, Mr. and Mr. Patwardhan.

I was dumbstruck. Manisha was smiling coyly. My mother was signaling to me with her eyes not to say anything. She was probably happy at the fait accompli. I felt trapped. I excused myself and went up to my room. I locked the door. Someone knocked.

"Give me five minutes," I said. "I'll get ready and come down."

"Come soon," said Manisha from the other side of the door.

I took out my notepad and wrote a letter to Manisha:

Dear Manisha,

Forgive me, but I have discovered that I can't marry you and I think that it is best for us to say goodbye.

Yours sincerely,

Vijay

I knew the words sounded insincere, but that was all I could write for my mind had bone blank and I wanted to get it over with as fast as possible; just one sentence to terminate our long relationship. I knew I was being cruel but I just couldn't help it.

I sealed the letter in a postal envelope, wrote Manisha's name and address on it and put it in my bag. I looked at my watch. It was time to leave.

Everyone came to the airport to see me off. Sanjiv and Swati had come too. They were located at Pune and I was off on a promotion to Delhi.

"I'm really very sorry about last night," Swati apologized to us. She took Manisha's hand and said tenderly, "Manisha, please forgive me. You are truly an ideal couple both made for each other."

As I walked towards the boarding area Manisha's father Mr. Patwardhan shouted to me jovially, "Hey, Vijay. Don't forget to come on 30th of May. The wedding muhurat is exactly at 10.35 in the morning. Everything is fixed. I have already booked the best hall in town. If you don't turn up I'll lose my deposit!"

I nodded to him but in my mind's eye I smiled to myself the "joke" was going to be on him! Then I waved everyone goodbye, went to the waiting hall, sat on a chair, opened my bag and took out the letter I had written to Manisha. I wish I had torn up the letter there and then, but some strange force stopped me. I put the envelope in my pocket and remembered my mother's parting words: "Please Vijay. Marry Manisha. Don't make everyone unhappy. Manisha is good girl. She'll adjust. I'll talk to her."

During the flight I thought about it. I tried my utmost, but I just could not visualize Manisha as my wife in my new life any more. Till now I had done everything to make everybody happy. But what about me? It was my life after all. Time would heal wounds, abate the injury and dissipate the anger; but if I got trapped for life with Manisha, it would be an unmitigated sheer disaster.

I collected my baggage and walked towards the exit of Delhi Airport. Suddenly I spotted a red post box. I felt the envelope in my pocket. I knew I had to make the crucial decision right now. Yes, it was now or never.

To be continued.

VIKRAM KARVE

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

vikramkarve@hotmail.com

THE WALLFLOWER

By

VIKRAM KARVE

[PART 2]

[continued from Part 1]

I collected my baggage and walked towards the exit of Delhi Airport. Suddenly I spotted a red post box. I felt the envelope in my pocket. I knew I had to make the crucial decision right now. Yes, it was now or never.

I walked towards the red post box and stood in front of it, indecisive and confused. I took a deep breath, took out the envelope from my pocket and looked at it the address, postage stamp everything was okay.

I moved my hand to post the letter. A strange force stopped my hand in its tracks. I hesitated, and in my mind I tried to imagine the severe ramifications, the terrible consequences of what I was about to do.

At first Manisha would be delighted, even surprised, to see my handwriting on the letter. And then she would read it.! I dreaded to even think about the unimaginable hurt and distress she would feel. and then her parents. and mine.the sense of betrayal and insult.relationships built and nurtured for years would be strained, even broken, forever. And poor Manisha.everyone knew we were engaged.how tongues would wag.the stigma of broken engagement.the anguish of my betrayal of her love. she would be devastated. may even commit.

Suddenly my cell-phone rang interrupting my train of thoughts. 'Must be Manisha monitoring me as usual,' I thought getting irritated at her Manisha's suffocating familiarity and closeness seemed like manacles and I was glad I was getting away from her. I decided not to answer, but my mobile kept ringing persistently, so I looked at the display. It wasn't Manisha, but an unknown new number.

"Hello," I said into my cell-phone.

"Mr. Joshi?" a male voice spoke.

"Yes. Vijay Joshi here. Who is it, please?" I asked.

"Sir, we've come to receive you. Please come to the exit gate and look for the board with your name."

"I'm coming," I said and looked the letter addressed to Manisha in my hand.

No. Not now in a hurry. Providence was giving me signals to wait, reflect, and think it over, not to do something so irretrievable in such a hurry. So I put the envelope in my pocket and walked away from the post box towards the exit.

I settled down well in my new job and liked my place in Delhi. Every morning I would put the envelope in my pocket determined to post it in the post box outside my office on my way to work but something happened and I didn't post the letter to Manisha. Meanwhile I rang up Manisha, and my mother, every evening, and made pretence that everything was okay. The stress and strain within me was steadily building up.

Every time I looked at the envelope I felt as if was holding a primed grenade in my hand. With every passing day, the 30^th of May was approaching nearer and nearer. Time was running out, and I knew I would have to unburden myself of the bombshell pretty fast. So one day, during lunch break, I decided to post the fateful letter and get it over with once and for all.

As I was walking out someone from the reception called out to me, "Hey, Mr. Joshi, is Mr. Gokhale in his office?"

Gokhale was my boss, and he was out on tour, so I said, "No, he's gone on tour. Anything I can do?"

"Sir, there's a courier for him," the receptionist said.

"I'll take it and give it to him when he comes," I said, signed the voucher and took the envelope from the courier.

The moment I looked at the envelope an electric tremor of trepidation quivered through me like a thunderbolt.

I cannot begin to describe the bewildered astonishment and shocking consternation I felt when I saw Manisha's distinctive handwriting on the envelope. Beautiful large flowing feminine writing with her trademark star-shaped 't' crossing, the huge circle dotting the 'i'. there was no doubt about it. And of course her favorite turquoise blue ink. There was no doubt about it but I turned the envelope around hoping I was wrong, but I was right the letter to my boss Mr. Gokhale was indeed from Manisha; she had written her name and address on the reverse, as bold as brass!

My pulse raced, my insides quivered, my brain resonated and I trembled with feverish anxiety. At first impulse I wanted to tear open the envelope and see what was inside, but I controlled myself, tried to mask my inner emotions, put on a fake smile of geniality for everyone around, gently put the letter in my pocket and began retracing my steps back to my office.

I discreetly felt the two envelopes in my suit pocket one, my unposted letter to Manisha; and the other, much fatter, Manisha's unopened letter to my boss Mr. Avinash Gokhale.

To be continued.

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright 2007 Vikram Karve

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

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

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

vikramkarve@sify.com

vikramkarve@hotmail.com

THE WALLFLOWER

By

VIKRAM KARVE

[Part 3]

[continued from part 2]

I locked myself in my office, sat down, calmed myself with a glass of water, took out the two envelopes and put them on the table in front of me. My unposted letter to Manisha would now have to wait I thanked my stars that some mysterious hidden restraining force had stopped me from posting it every time I tried to.

I picked up Manisha's envelope addressed to Avinash Gokhale. It was sheer serendipity that I happened to be at the reception when the courier arrived otherwise I would have never known.

I looked at the envelope. The whole thing was incredulous. Why on earth should Manisha write to Avinash Gokhale? What was the connection? How did she know Gokhale? What had she written to him?

Had my simpleton mother blurted out something to her told Manisha or her parents what I'd said that I didn't want to marry her? My mind went haywire with strange thoughts. Revenge! Yes, revenge. Stung by my betrayal, Manisha had somehow found out the name of my boss, from Sanjiv or Swati most probably, and was out to ruin my career wreck vengeance on me for ditching her. Written to Avinash Gokhale what a jerk I was. These things mattered in my company. My heart skipped a beat. I felt a tremor of trepidation. I suddenly realized that I had to swiftly interrupt this pernicious line of thinking and insidious train of thoughts.

No, No! It was just not possible. No chance. Manisha was not the vindictive type. She would never do such a thing. Especially to me. She always loved me so much. And I was sure my mother would not have been so indiscreet and would have kept our conversation to herself.

But then anything is possible. I couldn't take any chances. Dying with curiosity I desperately felt like tearing open the envelope and reading the letter. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. It was simple. I would open the letter in the privacy of my house. Steam-open the envelope very carefully so no one would even discern. Then I would read it and accordingly decide the further course of action.

I wondered why Manisha had sent this letter so indiscreetly to the office address with her name and address written so blatantly. Was it on purpose? She could have spoken privately to Gokhale, or even e-mailed him. Why this bold as brass missive? Was it on purpose? She wanted me to know.No. No. It was too bizarre!

I had an impulse to call up Manisha then and there and get it over with once and for all, but I stopped myself. I had to know first what she had written in that letter before I could do anything.

The suspense was killing. I felt restless and uneasy. When I feel tense I go for a long walk. That's what I did. I went for a long walk around my entire office, each department, making pretence of MBWA [Management By Walking Around]. When I returned to my office it was four, still an hour to go. The next hour was the longest hour of my life.

The moment it was five, I rushed out of my office. The moment I opened the door I ran bang into the receptionist. "Mr. Joshi, Sir. That letter for Mr. Gokhale you want me to give it to his PA?"

"No. No. I'll give to him personally," I said feeling the envelope in my coat pocket.

She gave me a curious questioning look so I hastily said, "Don't worry, I've locked it carefully in my drawer," and hurriedly walked away.

I rushed home to my apartment. I put some water in a pot to boil and then carefully held the envelope over it. I had to steam it open very meticulously and delicately no tell tale signs.

Soon I had Manisha letter in my hands.

Dear Avinash. she began. Oh . great. Dear Avinash indeed! Already on first name terms Thank God for small mercies it wasn't Darling Avinash , Sweetie-pie or something more mushy!

[to be continued.]

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright 2007 Vikram Karve

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

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

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

vikramkarve@sify.com

vikramkarve@hotmail.com

THE WALLFLOWER

By

VIKRAM KARVE

[Part 4]

[Continued from part 3]

Dear Avinash,

The suddenness with which you popped the question left me so dumbfounded that I am still recovering from the shock. Shock? Maybe that's the wrong word, but the swiftness of your proposal, out of the blue, on our very first date well I am a simple girl and it really left me dazed.

You called once. I didn't answer. You didn't call again. I really appreciate that. That was very gentlemanly of you.

You sent me an e-mail. Explaining your feelings. Apologizing for what you did at the spur of the moment. Said sorry for having hurt my feelings. Please don't say sorry. You haven't hurt my feelings at all. Maybe outwardly I didn't show it, but in fact, inside, I felt so good, so happy, that a suave man like you found a simple ordinary looking girl like me so attractive.

Avinash, please try to understand. I also feel the same way about you. I can't exactly describe the emotions I experienced when we were together. Is it love? I don't know. It's the first time it's happened to me that I've felt so attracted to someone. I really feel like being with you, forever, spending the rest of our lives together. Thanks for proposing to me, Avinash I accept.

What I want to say now I don't want to say over the phone, or e-mail, so I am writing this letter. I am writing this because I believe that there is no place for secrets between husband and wife. Please read it carefully and destroy it. For my sake. Please. Read what I have written, think about it carefully, and I'll wait for your reply.

You know Vijay, don't you? Vijay Joshi. Of course you do. He works with you in Delhi. You are his boss.