“Sir — there is someone to see you…” my Assistant says over the intercom.
“I told you not to disturb me…” I say, angrily.
“Sir — it is a small boy…” my Assistant says.
“Small Boy…?” I ask my Assistant, curious.
“Yes, Sir — the boy is wearing school uniform — I think he is from the school next-door. He says that he wants to meet you urgently…” my Assistant says.
“Okay — send him in…” I tell my Assistant.
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The Small Boy comes in and he stands respectfully before me.
I tell the boy to sit down and ask him what is the matter.
“Thank You, Sir — for allowing me to meet you…” the small boy says to me.
“What is the matter…? Why do you want to see me…?” I ask the boy.
“Sir — I want to hire you…?” the boy says.
“What…? You want to “hire” me…?” I ask, amused.
“Sir — I want you to fight my case…” the boy says, with a serious look on his face.
“Oh. What have you done…?” I ask the boy.
“I have done nothing, Sir — it is my parents…” the boy says.
“Your parents…? What have they done…?” I ask the boy.
“They want to divorce…” the boy says.
“Oh. So what do you want me to do…?” I say to the boy.
“I want you to help me to stop their divorce…” the boy says.
“How can I do that…?” I say to the boy.
“Sir — can I explain a bit…?” the boy says.
“Sure — go ahead…” I say to the boy — wondering what he will say.
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The boy says to me:
“Sir — I saw an English Movie recently — in which — there was a wedding scene — and — the Priest asks everyone:
“If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in marriage — let them speak now — or forever hold their peace…”…”
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After hearing the boy’s words — I say to the small boy:
“Yes.
I have seen such wedding scenes too.
So — what is your point…?”
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The boy looks at me and speaks in a genuine tone of voice.
“Sir — if people can object to a marriage — why can’t people object to a divorce…?” the small boy says.
“Object…? To a divorce…?” I say — bewildered.
“I want to object to my parents’ divorce…” the small boy says.
“Tell me — how do you know that your parents are divorcing…?” I ask the boy.
“They told me last evening…” the boy says.
“Oh. Did they tell you why they are divorcing…?” I ask the boy.
“No. They just said that they want to go their separate ways….” the boy says.
“Do your parents fight…?” I ask the boy.
“No — never — I have never seen my parents fighting — they are always very polite to each other — at least in front of me…” the boy says.
“Oh…” I say.
“My mother said that it was going to be a “friendly” divorce…” the boy says.
“Friendly Divorce…? Did your mother explain anything about the “friendly” divorce…?” I ask the boy.
“She said that they would remain friends even after their divorce…” the boy says.
“That’s good…” I say.
“She said that my father would be moving out of the house — but I could visit him every weekend…” the boy says.
“So you will stay with your mother — and you can meet your father too. That’s good — you will have both your mother and your father…” I say to the boy.
“I want all of us to stay together in the same house — my father, my mother and Me — together — as one family…” the boy says.
“So — why don’t you talk to your parents…?” I ask the boy.
“I did — I told them that I am happy with things as they are — I don’t want my father to go away — I don’t want my parents to divorce…” the boy says, emphatically.
“So — what did they say…?” I ask the boy.
“They said that they had already taken a decision — to separate…” the boy says.
“Oh…” I say.
“That’s why I have come to you…” the boy says to me.
“What do you want me to do…?” I ask the boy.
“I want you to put a case in court — that — I object to the divorce of my parents…” the boy says.
“Well — I really don’t know…” I begin speaking — but the boy interrupts me.
“You don’t know…? I thought you were a big lawyer…” the boy says, with a confused look on his face.
“Well — I am a criminal lawyer. I deal with cases of crime…” I say to the boy.
“Isn’t divorce a “crime”…?” the small boy asks me.
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I look at the small boy — pondering over his question.
Legally — divorce may not be a crime.
But — morally and ethically — divorce certainly seems to be a “crime” — at least from the small boy’s point of view.
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At night — I can’t sleep — as I think of the small boy and his moot question:
“Isn’t divorce a “crime”…?”
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Think about it — Dear Reader — from the small boy’s point of view.
This story is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
Vikram Karve in the main foyer of IAT Pune – now called DIAT / MILIT – January 2019
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NOSTALGIA : IAT – DIAT – MILIT
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From time to time – I receive invitations from my erstwhile “alma mater” – the Institute of Armament Technology (IAT) Girinagar Pune – now called DIAT and MILIT – for delivering “Guest Lectures”.
I always accept these invitations to deliver lectures since I love visiting this wonderful place, reliving fond memories of my memorable tenures at IAT and interacting with young defence officers and scientists.
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During one such guest lecture visit a few years ago – we had an interesting discussion.
At the customary post-lecture “PLD” in the Officers Mess – someone speculated that – soon – this prestigious institution (IAT/DIAT/MILIT) may be affiliated to the new INDU (Indian Defence University) – which was being planned to be established in the near future.
“Is INDU being located in this excellent campus of IAT at Girinagar Pune…?” I asked the officers.
“Not likely…” someone said, “like everything which is “Delhi-Centric” – they will locate it somewhere near Delhi/NCR – so that it is convenient for retired senior officers and civilian bureaucrats…”
“Looks like it will be more of a “resettlement” facility for senior officers rather than an “institution of learning”…” someone quipped.
“No wonder many senior officers are rushing to get Ph.D. – so that they can settle down as faculty in INDU…” another joked.
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I felt amused – but – I also felt sad.
Once upon a time – IAT was a true “centre of excellence”.
In earlier days – IAT was affiliated to the University of Poona/Pune (UoP) – which has been renamed as Savitribai Phule Pune University (SPPU).
UoP/SPPU was – and still is – a highly prestigious university.
Everything was fine.
But – due to the proclivity to “fix” things that aren’t “broken” – the “powers-that-be” decided to convert IAT into a Deemed University.
So – IAT became DIAT Deemed University.
The earlier acronym IAT stood for “Institute of Armament Technology”.
DIAT stood for “Defence Institute of Advanced Technology”.
Ironically – IAT was more “Defence” in Culture – and more “Advanced” in Technology – than DIAT.
Later – DIAT was split into two parts – and half of the institution became MILIT (Military Institute of Technology).
First – IAT was made DIAT – then – DIAT was split into MILIT and DIAT – I wondered why…?
So – I decided to find out the reason.
“Why was DIAT split…?” I asked the officers and veterans.
“Well – this institution was split up mainly due to “Personality Clashes” – “Ego Battles” – “Turf Wars” – and “Empire Building” Syndrome…” opined a “clued-up” veteran.
“This is a case study on how to convert a “centre of excellence” into a “centre of mediocrity”…” someone else quipped.
He had a point.
In the 1980’s and 1990’s – when I had served on the teaching faculty – IAT was indeed a “Centre of Excellence” – but – it appeared that things were going downhill – ever since the name was changed.
After the stimulating PLD – I enjoyed a hearty lunch
After lunch – while driving through the beautiful campus below Sinhagad Fort in the verdant green hills of Girinagar overlooking the cool blue Khadakwasla Lake – I reminisced about my wonderful IAT days – and – I remembered this rather amusing story from my IAT Pune Days.
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Vikram Karve at IAT Officers Mess – now – MILIT Officers Mess – February 2020
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“NUKTA CHEENI” aka NUKTACHINI ( नुक्ताचीनी )
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Here is a story from my IAT Pune Days – during my tenure as Faculty in the erstwhile prestigious Multi-Service Training Institution in Pune.
IAT Pune was a truly centre of excellence – and I cherish my multiple tenures on the faculty of IAT – the premier institution of higher learning, post-graduate education and professional training in defence technologies.
Sadly – IAT Pune does not exist in its original avatar anymore.
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This story happened around 39 years ago – in the 1980’s…
Long back – at IAT Pune – each Officer-in-Charge (OIC) of a Training Course was required to conduct an “end of course feedback session”.
This was called Exercise “Nukta-Cheeni” ( नुक्ताचीनी )
In Hindi – the expression “Nukta Cheeni” means “to find fault”
So – I guess – the trainees were supposed to find some faults with the course they had just attended.
In the Navy – we were not familiar with such “mumbo jumbo” gobbledygook – so I guess this expression must have originated from the Army – where Hindi is the predominant language.
Also – in the Navy – no one gave a tinker’s damn about things like feedback – especially for training courses.
In the Navy – you finished the course – enjoyed some chilled beer with the faculty at a Pre-Lunch Drinks (PLD) “Elbow-Bending” Session to celebrate the end of the course – and that was that.
IAT was a inter-service institution – comprising Army, Navy and Air Force Officers – and Defence Scientists too.
IAT was located in a huge picturesque and verdant campus at Girinagar in the foothills of Sinhagad near the Khadakvasla Lake .
But – those days – 39 years ago – in the 1980’s – IAT was run in Army Style – yes – in true PONGO Style – and – the Army Director and Dean took this “Exercise Nukta-Cheeni” quite seriously.
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Yes – in true “Pongo” Style – they called it an “exercise”.
Well – as far as “Pongos” were concerned – everything was an “exercise” – even pleasurable things.
For all you know – probably – for “Pongos” – even “making love” was an “exercise”.
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Those days – as a young Officer-in-Charge (OIC) of a premier postgraduate course – I was full of sincerity, service-mindedness and zest – so I decided to conduct “Exercise Nukta-Cheeni” meticulously – going “by the book” – as prescribed in the Standing Orders.
It was the last working day of the course – and the student officers were eager to pack their luggage and proceed on transfer to their respective ships/units.
So – they wanted to get over this “Nukta-Cheeni” exercise as quickly as possible.
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This prestigious two years long advanced technology course was also awarded the Master of Engineering Degree (ME) by the University of Pune.
Students had just submitted their dissertations – and as per practice – the dissertation viva-voce examination would be held a few months later – for which the student officers would be summoned on Ty Duty from their ships/units.
Now – I happened to be the only “recognized” University Examiner and Dissertation Guide for that particular course.
So – ipso facto – as their “Guide” – I would be examining their dissertations as an internal examiner – and thus – I would play vital role in their final grading – since the dissertation carried a huge weightage.
That is why most student officers were quite circumspect in their “nukta-cheeni” – and they avoided “finding fault” with the course or with the faculty – since they did not want to annoy me and get on my wrong side.
Everyone ticked the right answers – wrote glowing reports about the conduct of the course – and praised the faculty – especially me – both as an instructor and as Officer-in-Charge (OIC) of the Course – since they wanted to be in my “good books” – especially when the time came for their dissertation viva-voce examination.
Also – most importantly – as their “Course OIC” – I would be writing their course performance assessment reports too – which would matter for their Naval Careers and future appointments.
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I started reading the feedback forms submitted by the student officers.
Reading the flattering feedback they had given me – it was a big “ego massage” for me.
I was feeling good.
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Suddenly – I read a feedback form:
“The “Course OIC” has got an “Abrasive Personality”…”
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I was taken aback.
Now – this was real “nukta-cheeni” (finding fault)
I was the “Course OIC”.
Despite this – the insolent bugger had written that I had an “Abrasive Personality”.
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My ego was punctured.
So – I angrily asked the concerned student officer:
“What the hell do you mean by your statement that I have got an “Abrasive Personality”…?”
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Seeing my anger – the contrite student officer backtracked to make amends.
“Sir – I meant it in a “positive sense”…” he said to me.
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On hearing these words – I felt a bit miffed.
So – I spoke to the student officer in a slightly angry tone.
“What do you mean by “Positive Sense”…? Are you trying to bullshit me…? How can “Abrasive Personality” be a positive attribute…?” I thundered.
“Sir – I meant that you are honest, straightforward and outspoken…” the student officer said, trembling with fear, “I am sorry, Sir – I will fill up another feedback form…”
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I looked the student officer sternly – directly into his eyes – and – I spoke to him.
“No. I am going to forward this “nukta-cheeni” form to the Director and Dean as it is – exactly as you wrote it – the aim of this feedback exercise is to find fault – and that is what you have done – if you feel that I have an “Abrasive Personality” – so be it – let everyone know that I have an abrasive personality…” I said, emphatically.
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And – I forwarded the form up the channel to the Dean – with my remark “Noted”.
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At night – before going to sleep – I thought about it.
I realized that the “nukta-cheeni” done by the student officer was bang-on accurate.
Indeed – I did have an “Abrasive Personality”
And – maybe – I do so even now.
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The student officer qualified for his Masters in Engineering (ME) in first class with distinction with top marks in dissertation.
Yes – I was his dissertation examiner and I gave him the top marks he genuinely deserved in his dissertation.
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Let me tell you one thing:
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People with “Abrasive Personality” never harm anyone.
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In fact:
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Like “sandpaper” – “abrasive” persons give a shine to whoever comes in contact with them.
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I have experienced this in my long career in the Navy:
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It is always better to have an “abrasive” boss – than a “smooth operator”.
This story is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
The Lady Army Officer puts on her Evening Mess Uniform – Black Trousers, White Full Sleeved Shirt tucked in with the Regimental Cummerbund.
She looks at herself in the full length mirror.
She starts from her polished black shoes – and moves her eyes up – till her shining shoulder tabs.
This is probably the last time she would be wearing the three stars of a Captain.
Tomorrow – after 6 years of service – she would be promoted to the rank of Major – and would be wearing the rank badge of the Three Lions National Emblem of a Major.
She looks at her face in the mirror.
She likes what she sees.
She looks smart and tidy, well-groomed, with her hair trimmed neatly – well turned out – just like an army officer should be.
But as she looks a bit closer – she feels a tremor of anxiety.
She sees those first signs of the process of ageing – infinitesimal – almost indiscernible – but indisputable – two minute furrows on her forehead, a slight coarsening of the skin below her eyes, a strand of grey hair, just one, a slight one – but it is there.
Is time running out for her…?
Will she have to live the rest of her life all alone – loveless and lonely…?
She remembers the time she spent at home, with her parents – on her annual leave – from which she has just returned.
Keen to get her married – her mother had lined up three suitable boys for her.
Sadly – nothing had worked out and she had drawn a blank.
Three boys – three rejections – total disaster.
In fact – in the first case – the boy hadn’t even bothered to see her.
The boy’s mother had rejected her outright the moment she came to know that the girl was in the Army.
“I don’t want a gun-toting daughter-in-law…” the snooty woman said.
And then – the mother of the prospective groom admonished the Lady Army Officer’s mother:
“Why did you waste our time…? You should have written in the matrimonial advertisement that your daughter was in the Army.”
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In the matrimonial ads – and in the marriage bureau forms – the Lady Army Officer’s mother had discreetly avoided mentioning that the bride was an Army Officer.
She had just said that her daughter was a Computer Engineer.
Maybe – the Lady Army Officer’s mother did not want to scare away prospective grooms in the very first instance.
Once they liked her daughter – maybe then it was the appropriate time to tell them that she was an Army Officer.
But even that hadn’t worked.
The “Techie” Boy from Bangalore had liked her.
“I am sure you can manage a transfer to Bangalore so we can live together…” he had asked.
“I don’t think so…” the Lady Army Officer had said, “I have just been posted to the North-East – and I will have to serve over there for at least 2-3 years before I am due for my next posting.”
“Then why don’t you quit the Army…? You are a Computer Engineer. I am sure that with your qualifications you will get a good job in Bangalore. I am sure I can help you out – I will talk to my Boss – maybe you can join my company itself…” he had said.
“I cannot quit the Army right now…” she had said, “I have just finished 6 years service and I have to complete my tenure of 10 years.”
“That’s 4 years more – I can’t wait for 4 years for marriage…” he had said.
“Why wait – we can get married now…” she had said.
“What is the point of getting married now and living separately for the first 4 years of our marriage…?” the “Techie” Boy had remarked – and then – he had said to her, “well I don’t want to do that – I want to live together with my wife – at least for the first few years of marriage. Why marry if you have to live separately…?”
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The 3rd boy was an MBA – an NRI Investment Banker living in New York.
He was okay with a “long distance” marriage – at least for 4 years – till she quit the Army.
“I’ll try for an assignment somewhere nearby in the East – in the Gulf – or Hong Kong – or Singapore – or maybe even in India – so we can meet more often…” he had said.
But there was one big hitch – the boy was an American Citizen.
And – she knew – that being in the Army – she could not marry a foreigner.
Obviously – the boy wasn’t going to give up his coveted American citizenship.
“Maybe we can work something out…” her father had said, “she can apply for permission – or maybe – they will allow her to quit the Army on these grounds of marriage to a foreign citizen.”
But – it was too late.
The NRI Boy’s mother had lined up a bevy of girls for him to see during his Two Week Christmas Vacation in India.
With so many girls dying to go to America – the NRI Boy was “hot-property” – affluent, handsome – a most eligible bachelor – and that very evening the Boy’s mother had called to inform them that her son’s marriage had been fixed to someone else.
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The Lady Army Officer’s mother was upset – and she said gloomily to her daughter:
“I told you not to join the Army.
You topped in Computer Engineering.
You had such a good job in the best software company.
They were even going to send you abroad to work onsite.
You had such a bright future in the IT software industry.
And suddenly – you give up a bright career in the IT industry – and you join the army.
You are almost 29 now – all your classmates are married – most have become mothers by now.
It is so difficult to find a “Boy” who wants to marry an Army Officer.
For most Boys – that’s not the “image” they have of a wife.
I think the only option for you is to find some Army Officer who is ready to marry you…”
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Maybe her mother was right.
Women Army Officers are simply not “marriage material” in the “civilian marriage market”.
Her brother-in-law Aditya had said the same thing too.
Yes – Aditya – her school and college buddy – who had married her younger sister.
“I feel it would be best for you to find a “husband in uniform”…” he had said.
“What do you mean…?” she asked him.
“When civilian boys come to know that you are an Army Officer – it conjures up an image of a “macho woman” – and most boys get put off. After all – men want a “feminine” woman as a wife…” he said.
“Don’t I look “feminine”…?” she asked him.
“You used to look “feminine” – before you joined the Army…” he said.
“What do you mean…? Have I changed…?” she asked him, surprised.
“Of course you have changed – it is inevitable – after all – you are a “woman in a man’s profession”…” he said.
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The Woman Army Officer was stunned – dumbstruck – and they stared at each other for some time.
Then – after a while – Aditya looked at her and spoke to her.
“I want to tell you something that I have not told anyone – not even you…” he said.
“What…?” she asked him.
“I was in love with you. I wanted to marry you. I was going to propose to you…” he said.
“Then why didn’t you…?” she asked him.
“You suddenly went and joined the Army. And then – you changed…” he said.
“So – you married my younger sister…!!!” she said, looking annoyed.
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The Woman Army Officer felt terrible.
Being rejected by three boys was bad enough.
And now this – Aditya – the boy who was in love with her – he had married her younger sister.
All this had happened just because she had joined the Army.
Quitting her promising job in IT and joining the Army was the biggest mistake of her life.
She regretted her “spur-of-the-moment” decision to join the Army.
Everything was going on fine.
She had a well paying job in the best software company where her talents were valued and her career prospects were bright.
Life was comfortable.
She took the company bus to work from her home in Aundh to her workplace in Hinjewadi.
And on weekends – she and her friends enjoyed the delights that a lovely cosmopolitan metro like Pune had to offer – Movies in Multiplexes – Shopping in Malls – Eating out in Restaurants – or just loafing around town.
Then – one day – she had seen that Army recruitment advertisement.
And – in a sudden burst of jingoism – fuelled by a spurt of adventurism – she had made the worst decision of her life.
She quit her excellent job in the best software company – and she joined the Army.
Everyone had advised her against it – her parents, her friends, her bosses, her colleagues – even her best friend Aditya – who was her school and college buddy – and now her work-colleague in the software firm where she worked.
But – she was in no mood to listen.
Women IT Techies were treated on par with men.
Men and women had equal opportunity.
In the Software Industry – there was no “glass ceiling” – and she would be able to work for as long as she wanted.
But here – in the Army – it was a feudal patriarchal culture.
In the Military – women were treated with kid gloves – as if they were “sissies” – and – for women – career opportunities were limited.
For male officers – the Army offered a lifetime career – they could become Generals.
But women officers could only serve for 10 years – at the most 14 years – and then – they were left “high-and-dry” – to fend for themselves in the civilian world.
Time was running out.
6 years of her army service were over – 4 years more – then maybe another 4 years – and she would be left to fend for herself – all alone in “civvy-street”.
Even “work-wise” – she would be “neither here or there”.
10 years of “jack of all trades” experience in the Army was nowhere as good as 10 years specialized domain experience in the IT software industry.
If she were lucky – at most – she would land up a run-of-the-mill job in HR – and she would have to be content to watch her erstwhile civilian colleagues zoom up the ladder.
She dreaded the worst case scenario – she would be a spinster in her 30’s – unmarriageable – unemployable – and destined to spend the rest of her life as a “lonely maid”.
She did not want that to happen to her.
She had to get married.
And – if she wanted to get married – it seemed that there was only one option left – she would have to find a “military” husband in uniform.
The few of her Lady Officer Academy Course-Mates who were married – they had got married to fellow Army Officers.
In the Army – it was quite easy for a Lady Army Officer to get a male officer to fall in love with her.
Starved of female companionship in the insular world of military cantonments – Male Army Officers were quite vulnerable.
In fact – some of the shrewd women officers had even meticulously planned contrived romances – and specifically targeted fellow Army Officers in uniform – culminating in successful matrimony with “prized catches”.
But somehow – she had not thought it proper to marry a colleague in uniform – she liked to keep her work relationships strictly professional – and – she considered these liaisons in uniform as “fraternization”.
But now – maybe it was time for her to take a “reality check” – and change her views.
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Marrying a fellow male Army Officer was was a good idea
But – in her present situation – the main problem was that there were hardly any suitable male officers out here – in this Godforsaken remote place where she was posted.
She regretted that she had unnecessarily opened her mouth in the party – when that male chauvinist General was criticizing female officers.
After downing a few drinks – the General had loudly commented that allowing women to join the Army was a big mistake – and then – he made demeaning comments about the capabilities of Women Army Officers – and he remarked that all women officers wanted soft jobs in comfortable stations while their male counterparts had to slog it out in tough remote places.
She had protested – and she said that women were as tough as men – and she boasted that she was ready to serve anywhere and undergo the same hardship as her male counterparts.
Maybe – her outburst had annoyed the General and the “Top Brass”.
Within a week – she was posted to this remote and desolate place in the “back of beyond”.
At least in her previous station – there were a number of eligible bachelor male officers who could be considered as prospective husbands.
But out here – in this remote and isolated far-flung place – there is no one.
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ELIGIBLE BACHELORS
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Dear Reader – let us see who are the male “bachelors” in the remote place where she is posted.
There is just one male unmarried officer in the unit around her age – the Adjutant – but then – he is already engaged to his childhood sweetheart.
The two subalterns are immature kids – just 22 or 23 – and they seem to be engrossed with each other.
And – all the other officers are married.
The Lady Army Officer feels lonely – as she has no friends in this desolate place.
She scrupulously avoids socializing with her married male colleagues.
Some have a “glad eye” – and you can never tell the proclivities of anyone – plus – there is always a danger that their jealous wives would get unnecessarily suspicious and complain to higher-ups that she was “stealing the affections” of their husbands.
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So – besides the Lady Army Officer – there are three “single” unmarried officers in the unit – living in the officers’ mess – the Adjutant and two subalterns.
The “Darby and Joan” subaltern couple seem to be obsessed with each other and keep to themselves – preoccupied in a world of their own – for most of the time.
They give her smiles of forced geniality and call her “Ma’am” – but they hardly talk to her – except for the customary salutes – and – “Good Morning” – “Good Evening” greetings – whenever they cross her path.
The love-smitten Adjutant is in his own world – forever thinking of his fiancée.
He has gone to his hometown on annual leave to get engaged to his fiancée.
That is all she knows about him – since the Adjutant is quite an introvert who does not talk much beyond pleasantries and “shop-talk”.
All this train of thought makes her feel gloomy about her future.
The Lady Army Officer looks at her watch.
It is 7:30 PM – or 1930 Hours – as they say in Army parlance.
The mess hall will open at 8 for dinner – so there is time for a drink in the bar.
Yes – tonight she definitely needs a stiff drink to soothe her downcast spirits.
The Lady Army Officer locks her room and walks towards the Bar of the Officers’ Mess.
The Lady Army Officer opens the glass door of the Officers’ Mess Bar – she enters the Bar Room – and she walks towards the bar counter.
“Back from leave…?” she hears a familiar voice.
Taken aback – the Lady Army Officer turns – and she sees the Adjutant sitting on a sofa in the corner of the bar-room.
“Good Evening, Sir…” she wishes the Adjutant.
“Good Evening…” he says to her.
“Sir – back from leave so early…?” she asks him.
“Come – sit with me…” the Adjutant says.
The Adjutant rises chivalrously – and he gestures for her to sit on the sofa opposite him.
The Lady Army Officer sits on the sofa.
“What’s your “poison”…?” the Adjutant asks her.
The Adjutant seems to be behaving quite strangely.
She has never seen him in such a gregarious mood before.
“I’ll have “Rum and Coke” – Sir…” she says.
“Rum and Coke…? That’s great…!!! You too seem to be in a “drinking mood”. I normally drink “Rum-Pani” – but I’ll have Rum and Coke too…” the Adjutant says – and he gestures to the barman to get the drinks.
The barman places their Rum-and-Coke drinks before them.
They sit opposite each other in silence, sip from their glasses.
“Sir – have you come back early from leave…?” the Lady Army Officer asks the Adjutant – trying to break the silence.
“Yes – I had 15 days leave left – but I have reported back early…” he says.
“Sir – how was your engagement…?” she asks.
“What bloody engagement…? There was no engagement…” he says.
“No engagement…? But I remember you telling me that you were going to get engaged to your fiancée during this leave…” she says to the Adjutant.
“She dumped me. They cancelled the engagement. Me – my family – everyone – we all became a laughing stock. I felt so bad that I just couldn’t stand it anymore – so I came back…” he says.
“Oh My God – I am sorry, Sir…” she says to him.
“Do you know – we were going steady since my NDA days. I was in my Fifth Term when I met her at the NDA ball. She was studying in her first year of Engineering in the Engineering College at Pune. I wanted to join the Arms – the Infantry, Artillery or Armoured Corps – but I opted for the Technical Services – so that I could be with her in Pune while I was doing my Degree Engineering Course at CME. You see – that is how much I was in love with her – I loved her even more than my army career…” the Adjutant says.
The Adjutant pauses – and he has a big gulp from his glass – and he signals the barman for another round of drinks.
“And then – Sir – what happened…?” the Lady Army Officer asks the Adjutant.
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The Adjutant looks at her and says:
“After finishing her Engineering – she got a job in the IT Industry – in a top software company in Pune.
We wanted to get married –but her parents kept on postponing it on some pretext or the other – first they said – let her settle down in her job – then they said – let her go abroad for onsite assignment – I waited and waited.
Then – the company sent her on a second assignment to the US – and – this time she remained in America for more than a year.
And now – she has switched jobs out there in America – she has got a really good job – and she has decided to remain there in the US.
I think she wants to stay in America forever – that’s what it looks like – the last time we spoke – she asked me if it is possible for me to quit the Army and join her in America…”
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The Lady Army Officer gives a look of empathy to the Adjutant.
“Sir – if you love her that much – why don’t you try…? You can quit the Army and join her over there in America…” the Lady Army Officer says to the Adjutant.
“Are you crazy…? You are a Short Service Commission Officer – and they will not allow even you to quit the Army till you complete 10 years. Do you think they will let an ex-NDA Permanent Commissioned Officer quit the Army so easily…? And – why should I leave the Army anyway – this is my chosen career – and I like it here…” the Adjutant says.
“Sir – someone has to compromise…” she suggests.
“It’s too late now. Do you know what her father said…? He said that his daughter was “out of my league” – her father boasted that she was earning much more than me – and she had much better career prospects than me – so he did not want her to quit her job and waste her life by becoming a full-time Army Officer’s Homemaker Wife dutifully following her husband like an appendage on postings to Godforsaken places like this one…” the Adjutant says.
“But you could have managed…” the Lady Army Officer starts to say – but – the Adjutant interrupts her.
“The fact is that – while her father was saying all this – she just remained quiet. I think she too was having second thoughts about marrying me – now that her career had taken off so well – and that too in the US. I think ambition prevailed over love…” the Adjutant says.
“Yes, Sir – I think many girls are like that nowadays – they put career above marriage…” the Lady Army Officer says, “but it is the same problem for Lady Officers as well – Civilians don’t want to marry Army Officers – male or female…” the Lady Army Officer says.
“Is it so…? Then it seems that the best place where I can find a wife is within the Army. I think I better begin searching for some “eligible” Lady Officers…” the Adjutant says.
“Sir – you don’t need to search very far…” the Lady Army Officer says – looking into the Adjutant’s eyes.
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The Adjutant keeps down his glass on the table – and he looks intently at the Lady Army Officer.
Then – he speaks to her.
“Am I thinking correctly – what you are saying – are you proposing marriage to me – I hope you are serious…?” the Adjutant says to the Lady Army Officer.
“Yes, Sir – I am in the same boat too. Why not we give it a try…? You and Me – let’s get married. Maybe it will be a marriage of convenience – but then…” the Lady Army Officer says.
“Yes – why not we give it a try…? Let’s get married. And do you know – the Army is encouraging such “marriages in uniform” nowadays – they want Army Officers to marry each other – okay – let’s get married – maybe they will give us “spouse postings” and post us at the same stations – so we can be together…” the Adjutant says.
They look at each other – into each other’s eyes.
“I am feeling good…” the Lady Army Officer says.
“Me too…” the Adjutant says.
“That calls for a drink…!!!” they both say in unison.
They clink their glasses and start laughing together.
And soon – the Lady Officer and the Gentleman Officer get married.
They become husband and wife – a “Military” Couple in Uniform.
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EPILOGUE
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If you look around in the 3 Defence Services – Army, Navy and Air Force – you will see that most women officers marry their male counterparts in uniform.
You may have wondered why so many Lady Officers prefer to marry Gentleman Officers – but now – you know the reason why most “fauji” women officers marry their erstwhile “brother” officers.
Of course – the defence services encourage such “marriages in uniform” by giving various incentives like spouse posting etc. – and – these “couples in uniform” live happily ever after.
This story is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
Many people – especially celebrities – they “outsource” their social media handles – and they have “ghost-tweeters” who tweet on their behalf.
Of course – many famous people “outsource” their writing and have “ghost-writers” who write on their behalf.
In fact – we seem to be outsourcing so many activities and tasks – personal, domestic, creative, social, work and organisational.
Yes – outsourcing is on the rise and becoming all pervasive.
All this reminds me of a story I wrote long ago.
Here is the story…
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LIFE PROCESS OUTSOURCING – IN A NUTSHELL
A Fictional Spoof By Vikram Karve
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Sometime ago – I met a smart young “upwardly mobile” couple loafing on Main Street (MG Road) in Pune.
“We are really enjoying life,” the husband said, “do you know how – well we have outsourced everything – yes – each and every thing – all household activities – parenting – and even pet parenting.”
“So you have done LIFE PROCESS OUTSOURCING…” I said, tongue in cheek.
“Absolutely – you’ve said it – “Life Process Outsourcing” – that is the key to happiness…” they exclaimed.
As I said Good Bye and walked on Main Street – I suddenly remembered a story I had written long ago on the subject of outsourcing – when I was trying to fathom as to what the term outsourcing really meant.
I wrote this story more than 18 years ago – on 18 April 2006 – at the height of the “BPO Boom” in Pune.
This story is included in my book of short stories COCKTAIL
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So here is the story – a spoof – abridged and updated – for you to read – my ignorant take on outsourcing.
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LIFE PROCESS OUTSOURCING (LPO)
Spoof By VIKRAM KARVE
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Pune – during the “Outsourcing/BPO Boom”
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On the morning of New Year’s Eve – the 31st of December – the last day of the year – while I am leisurely loafing on Main Street (MG Road) in Pune – I meet an old friend of mine.
“Hi…!!!” I say to him.
“Hi…” he says, “where to…?”
“Aimless Loitering…” I say, “And you…?”
“I am going to work…” he says.
“Work…? This early…? I thought your shift starts in the evening – or late at night. You work at a call-center don’t you…?” I say to him.
“Not now. I quit that job. Now – I am on my own…” he says.
“On your own…? What do you do…?” I ask him – curious.
“LPO…” he says – in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
“LPO…? What’s that..?” I ask him – confused.
“Life Process Outsourcing…” he says.
“Life Process Outsourcing…? Never heard of it…!!!” I say to him.
“You’ve heard of Business Process Outsourcing haven’t you…?” he asks me.
“BPO…? Outsourcing non-core business activities and functions…?” I say – trying to understand.
“Precisely. LPO is similar to BPO. There – it’s “Business Processes” that are outsourced – here – it’s “Life Processes” that are outsourced…” he says.
“Life Processes…? Outsourced…?” I ask – curious.
“Why don’t you come along with me…? I’ll show you…” he says to me.
I readily accept his invitation.
Soon – we are in his office.
It looks like a mini call-center.
A young attractive girl welcomes us.
“Meet Rita – My Manager…” my friend says – and he introduces us.
Rita looks distraught – and she says to my friend in an apologetic voice.
“I am not feeling well. Must be viral fever…” Rita says to my friend with a beseeching look.
My friend smiles at her and speaks in a comforting voice.
“No problem. You go home. My friend here will stand in for you…” my friends says to Rita.
“What…? How can I stand in for her…? I don’t have a clue about all this LPO thing…!” I protest.
“There is nothing to beat learning on the job…!!! Rita will show you…” my friend says.
Rita explains to me – a most brief explanation.
“It’s simple. See the console. You just press the appropriate switch and route the call to the appropriate person or agency…” Rita says to me.
And with these words – Rita disappears.
It is the shortest “induction training” I have ever had in my life.
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And so – I plunge into the world of Life Process Outsourcing – or LPO – as they call it.
It’s all very simple.
Everyone is busy.
Working people don’t seem to have time these days.
But – they have lots of money – especially those Double Income Career Couples –Double Income No Kids (DINK) and Double Income Single Kids (DISK) – IT Nerds – MBA hot shots – Finance Wizards – just about everybody running desperately in the urban rat-race of life.
So what do they do….?
Simple.
They “outsource”…!!!
“Non-Core Life Activities” – for which you have neither the inclination – nor the time – you just outsource them – so you can maximize your work-time to rake in the money and make a fast climb up the career ladder of success.
A ring – a flash on the console in front of me – and I take my first LPO call.
“My daughter has puked in her school. They want someone to pick her up and take her home. I am busy in a shoot and just can’t leave…” a creative ad agency type female with a husky voice says.
“Why don’t you tell your husband…?” I suggest.
“Are you crazy or something…? I am a single mother…!!!” she screams.
“Sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t know. My sympathies and condolences…!!!” I say.
“Condolences…? Who is this…? Is this LPO…?” she asks, with irritation in her voice.
“Yes ma’am…” I say.
I press the button marked “Children” – and I transfer the call – hoping I have made the right choice.
Maybe – I should have pressed “Doctor”.
Nothing happens for the next few moments.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
A yuppie wants his grandmother to be taken to a movie.
I press the “Movies” button.
“Movies” transfers the call back to me – and says matter-of-factly.
“Hey – this is for movie tickets. Try “escort services”. The bugger wants the old hag “escorted” to the movies…” the person in “Movies’ says to me.
“Escort Services” are in high demand.
These guys and girls – slogging in their offices minting money – want “escort services” for their kith and kin for various non-core family processes like shopping, movies, eating out, sightseeing, marriages, funerals – all types of functions – even going to art galleries, book fairs, exhibitions, zoos, museums – or even a walk in the nearby garden.
A father wants someone to read bedtime stories to his small son while he works late.
A busy couple wants proxy “stand-in parents” at the school PTA meeting.
An investment banker rings up from Singapore – he wants his mother to be taken to a temple to pray – to perform an elaborate pooja – in the temple – at a certain time on a specific day.
Someone wants his kids to be taken for a swim, brunch, a movie and to a bookstore for browsing books and music.
A sweet-voiced female IT project manager wants someone to motivate and pep-talk her husband – who has been recently sacked – and is cribbing away at home – and is thoroughly depressed and demoralized.
The sacked husband desperately needs someone to talk to – he needs to cry on someone’s shoulder – to unburden himself – but his own wife is busy – she neither has the time nor does she have the inclination to take a few days off to boost the morale of her depressed husband – when – for her – there are deadlines to be met at work – and so much is at stake for her career.
The things they want “outsourced” – they range from the mundane to the bizarre.
“Life Processes” – that you earlier enjoyed doing – and you took pride in doing – or you did as your sacred duty – these “Life Processes” are nowadays considered “non-core life activities” by most highfalutin people.
At the end of the day – I feel illuminated on this novel concept of “Life Process Outsourcing” (LPO)
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I am about to leave – when suddenly – a call comes in.
“LPO…?” a man asks softly.
“Yes – this is LPO. May I help you…?” I say.
“I am speaking from Frankfurt Airport. I really don’t know if I can ask this…?” he says nervously.
“Please go ahead and feel free to ask anything you desire, Sir. We do everything…” I say.
“Everything…?” he asks me in a curious voice.
“Yes, Sir. Anything and everything…!!!” I say confidently.
“I don’t know how to say this. This is the first time I am asking. You see – I am working 24/7 on an important project for the last few months. I am globetrotting around the world – and I can’t make it back there to my home in Pune. Can you please arrange for someone suitable to take my wife out to the New Year’s Eve Dance…?” he says – a bit hesitant – but almost beseeching.
I am taken aback – but I recover quickly and speak to him empathetically .
“Yes, Sir – I will arrange it…” I say to him.
“Please send someone really good – an excellent dancer – and make sure she enjoys and has a good time. She loves dancing – and I just haven’t had the time…” the globetrotting husband says.
“Of course, Sir…” I say to him with assurance.
“And I told you – I have been away abroad for quite some time now – globetrotting – and – I have got to stay out here till I complete the project…” he says.
“I know. Work takes top priority…” I say with empathy.
“My wife. She’s been lonely. She desperately needs some love. Do you have someone with a loving and caring nature who can give her some love…? You see – I am so busy that I just don’t have the time to give her love. You understand what I am saying – don’t you….?” he says.
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I let the words sink in.
The guy wants to outsource the “Love Process”.
This is one call I am not going to transfer.
This “process” is something I am going to take on myself.
Yes – I am going to “in-source” this “love process” to myself.
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So – I pick up the pen on the writing pad – and – I speak to the man in a most courteous and polite voice.
“Please give me the details, Sir…” I say to the man.
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Later – in the evening – as I walk towards my “destination” with a song on my lips and a spring in my step – I feel truly enlightened.
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Till this moment – I never knew that:
“Love” is a “non-core” “Life-Process” – worthy of outsourcing.
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Long Live “LPO”…!!!
I love LPO.
What really is LPO…?
Is it “Life Process Outsourcing”…?
Or – is it “Love Process Outsourcing”…?
Call it what you like – but I am sure you have got an idea of the great benefits of outsourcing.
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Dear Reader:
Now you know what to do – if you want to outsource something – whether it is a “Life Process” – or “Love Process”.
Just call up “LPO” – and I will be there to assist you.
This story is a fictional spoof, a yarn, pure fiction, just for a laugh, no offence meant to anyone, so please take it with a pinch of salt.
This story is a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the story are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
“Yes. That’s why I have got my bag with me…” she says.
“But where do you want to go…?” I say.
“Take me to your place. I will stay with you…” she says.
“How can you stay with me…? You are married to someone else…” I say.
“I don’t care. I cannot live with my husband any longer. I am moving in with you…” she says.
“You can’t just move in with me. I told you that. You also know that my parents are coming to spend a week with me in Pune…” I say.
“But you have told your parents about me — haven’t you…?” she asks me.
“Yes…” I say.
“And your parents have agreed…?” she asks me.
“Yes. They have agreed to meet you. But only after you divorce your husband. And let me make one thing quite clear. My parents are quite orthodox. They will never accept a ‘live-in relationship’. According to them — living together without being married is called ‘living in sin’…” I say to her.
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She looks at me angrily and she says to me:
“What are you saying…?
“Living in Sin”…?
“Sin”…?
That’s funny.
If we have a clandestine love affair in secret — it is okay.
But — if we live openly together — it becomes “Sin”…!!!”
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She seems very angry.
I want to reason with her.
_________
So — I say to her:
“Let’s not argue about this.
You know that you will first have to divorce your husband — before you can even think of marrying me…”
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She looks distraught while she speaks to me.
“He refused point blank. My husband told me that he will never give me a divorce…” she says.
“Did you directly ask him for a divorce…?” I ask her.
“Yes…” she says.
“When…?” I ask her.
“This morning. Before he left for Mumbai…” she says.
“Mumbai…?” I ask her.
“He is catching the afternoon flight to Singapore…” she says.
“Singapore…? You never told me that your husband was going to Singapore…” I say, surprised.
“I didn’t know till late last night. He said he got a call yesterday evening. It is about some good job offer in Singapore. They called him over for an interview immediately. He is confident he will get the job. He says that the interview is a mere formality — just to negotiate his pay, perks etc…” she says.
“Oh…? So — he will be moving to Singapore…!!!” I say.
“Not he alone — WE will be moving to Singapore — both my husband and me — both of us will be moving to Singapore — he said that I was to go along with him to Singapore too — so even I will have to move to Singapore along with my husband…” she says.
“But what about your job…?” I ask her.
“He said that he will arrange with my company to transfer me to our Singapore office. He said that if my company does not transfer me to Singapore — the he will get me a good job in Singapore. He told me he has enough clout in the IT industry…” she says.
“Of course your husband has big clout in the industry — he is quite a big shot. That is why I am so scared. If he finds out about us — he will have me thrown out my job. He will ruin my career…” I say.
“So you have chickened out…?” she says, taunting me.
“No. No. I have not chickened out…” I say.
“Oh, yes — you have chickened out. You are not the same any more. What happened to all that talk about how much you love me — your promises that you would do anything for me. You have had your fun with me — and now when the time has come to do something — you want to run away from a commitment…” she says.
“I am not running away from my commitment. I promise I will marry you. I will convince my parents. But first — you will have to divorce your husband. You talk to him. I am sure everything will work out…” I say.
“Nothing is going to work out. Do you know what he said when I asked him for a divorce this morning…?” she says.
“What happened…?” I ask her.
“He blew up into a terrible rage. He told me that I would get divorce over his dead body. And then …” she says, tears welling up in her eyes.
“And then…?” I ask her, feeling worried.
“He brutally raped me. Like always. He is so rough with me, so brutal. He is a filthy pervert, a cruel sadist. Nowadays he gets rough, very rough — and he tries to…” she says to me — and — she starts crying.
I look at her in silence.
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She sobs — and — she says to me:
“He did it this morning too. It is so disgusting, so painful, so terrible — I think I am still bleeding down there even now.
I cannot bear it any longer. His violent sadism is getting worse and worse. I cannot live with him for a single moment longer.
If you don’t take me with you — the only way I can get out of this hell is to kill myself — I will commit suicide…”
as she says these words — she break down — and starts sobbing.
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“Please. Don’t cry. Let’s go to a doctor first…” I say.
“I don’t want to to a doctor. It is very embarrassing. It is easier for me to suffer the pain than bear the shame…” she says.
“Listen. I know a lady doctor. You can tell her everything. She is very nice and she won’t tell anybody. I will take the day off. You ring up your office too. We will go to the doctor now. And then — I will take you home…” I say, trying to console her.
“You are taking me to your home. Can I stay with you…? Forever…?” she asks.
“No. Not forever. You can stay at my place till the evening. Then you can go and live with your folks for a few days. Meanwhile we will think of something…” I say.
“My folks…? I have no folks — I have no family — I am an orphan…” she says.
“Don’t say that. I know that your parents are divorced. But you are not an orphan…” I say.
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She looks at me and she says to me:
“I don’t even know where my father is — he left 20 years ago — when I was just 5 years old.
And my mother — she got married to this horrible man — my so-called “stepfather”.
Lecherous bastard. He always had his eyes on me. He tried to molest me — to rape me — he did — so many times.
And he kept threatening me — that he would throw us out of the house — I could not tell anyone — no one would believe me.
Outwardly — my stepfather looked like a respectable gentleman — just like my husband.
My memories of those days are so terrible — that I shiver with fear when I think of that lecherous sadist — my horrible stepfather.
I just hate him. I am still so scared of him. I was desperate to escape from him — so — I got hurriedly married to the first boy I saw.
I never imagined I would land up in a worse situation. I jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
Now you listen to me — I am telling you for the last time — we have to elope today — if you ditch me — I will commit suicide…”
she says these words, with anxiety in her voice.
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I feel worried for her.
“Don’t say that. Something will work out. We will find some solution to the problem…” I say, trying to console her.
“Solution…? There is no solution to my problem. My husband won’t give me a divorce. And — you won’t take me into your home till I am divorced. For me — it is a “Dead End”…” she says, with despondency written all over her face.
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Suddenly — someone turns up the volume on the TV in the Coffee Shop.
They all look at the TV screen.
There is a “Breaking News”.
There has been a terrible accident on the Pune Mumbai Expressway.
They show visuals of a mangled car smashed into a truck.
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On TV — the news-reporter is saying excitedly:
“… the speeding taxi lost control — jumped over the road divider — and crashed into an oncoming truck.
The driver of the taxi miraculously escaped with injuries — but the passenger — a renowned Software Engineer — was killed — and he died instantly.
The name of the Software Engineer who lost his life in the accident is XXX…”
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I watch the news — I hear the name of the man killed in the accident — XXX— it is her husband.
I exclaim in excitement to her.
“Hey. See the TV. It is your husband. That is your husband’s name. Your husband died in the accident. Your husband is dead…” I say to her, feeling stunned.
She is watching the news on TV too.
“Yes — it is my husband’s name — they are saying that he has died in the accident…” she says, looking at the TV — her face expressionless.
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We sit in silence — watching the news of the terrible accident — in which her husband has been declared dead.
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After a few moments — she lovingly takes my hand in hers.
And — she says to me:
“It looks like the knotty problem has untangled itself.
Yes — the problem has been solved.
“Love Triangle” — Solved — QED …”
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And then — she snuggles close to me — and she breaks down into tears.
But — these are tears of happiness — tears of relief from her sorrow.
This story is a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the story are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
RITA – My ex-fiancée who dumped me and broke our engagement
GEORGE – Me (The Narrator of this Story)
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EPIPHANY
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One month after my wife Anita died – I decided to shift out of my house to an old age home.
Anita had been such a loving and caring wife for 50 years – and her memories haunted our home to such an extent – that I could not bear to live in my house any longer.
So – I started going through our belongings – deciding which things to take with me to keep forever – and – which things to dispose off.
First – I sorted my belongings.
Then – I started going through Anita’s things.
I found the envelope hidden at the bottom of my wife Anita’s jewelry box – below her ornaments – when I was clearing her private cupboard.
The envelope was open.
There was a letter inside.
I started reading the letter.
It was a letter addressed to my wife Anita – written by Rita.
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(Rita was my ex-fiancee who had dumped me)
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Here is the letter written by my ex-fiancée Rita to my wife Anita:
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Dear Anita,
Since you frankly told me everything about you and George last evening –I could not sleep all night.
I thought over the matter.
I also talked to my parents.
I have decided to break my engagement with George.
I think this will be best for all of us.
I am enclosing inside this envelope the engagement ring that George gave me.
This engagement ring now rightfully belongs to you.
Dear Anita – I wish you a happy married life with George.
I have decided to go abroad to my aunt’s place in London for a few months to cool off and get over this sudden disappointment.
My parents will inform George and his parents about the broken engagement.
Yours sincerely,
Rita
21 February 1966
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Yes – it was Rita’s handwriting – no doubt about it.
How can I ever forget her typical cursive handwriting style…?
And – below her signature – as was her habit – Rita had meticulously written the date – 21 February 1966
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Dear Reader – you guessed right – I am George.
Yes – I am George.
Today is the 21st of February 2016
50 years have passed since Rita wrote this letter – which I am seeing for the first time in my life today.
Yes – it is for the first time in my life that I am seeing this letter – which Rita wrote to to Anita.
Till this day – I did not know that Anita had met Rita on the 20th of February 1966 – just one week after my engagement with Rita.
And – immediately after Anita met my ex-fiancée Rita – on the very next day – on the 21st of February 1966 – Rita wrote that letter to Anita informing her that she had broken her engagement with me – enclosing the engagement ring I had given to her – and wishing Anita a happily married life with me.
And then – Rita flew to London – telling her parents to inform me that she wanted to break our engagement.
___________
I wonder what Anita told Rita about me.
It is evident from Rita’s letter that Rita dumped me after Anita had spoken to her.
I don’t know what terrible lies Anita told Rita that made Rita take the extreme step of breaking our engagement and dumping me so cruelly.
I can never forget how stunned, devastated and vulnerable I was – when I naively walked into Anita’s compassionate and welcoming arms.
And just imagine – all these years I thought that Anita was a kindhearted loving woman – who had rescued me – and pulled me out of the abyss of depression – after Rita broke the engagement and dumped me.
Yes – all these 50 years I was ever grateful to Anita for her act of kindness – I thought Anita had done me a big favour by marrying me – after I had been dumped by Rita.
Now – after 50 years – from her letter – it is evident that it was my wife Anita who had orchestrated my breakup with my then fiancée Rita – by telling her false stories about me.
Did Anita tell Rita that – Anita and Me were having an affair…?
Or – was it something worse…?
Had Anita falsely told Rita that she – Anita – was pregnant with my child…?
What lies had Anita told Rita – that made Rita suddenly break off the engagement – without even talking to me…? ___________
I was totally devastated – when Rita’s father had called up to break the engagement.
I had instantly sunk into a terrible depression.
And – all these 50 years – I thought Anita was such a loving and caring woman – who had pulled me out of my depression by marrying me.
Now – after reading the letter – I know that Anita was a devious woman – who had intentionally torpedoed and sabotaged my engagement with Rita – made me emotionally vulnerable – and then – trapped me into marriage.
____________
Now – after knowing all this – I hate Anita – bloody scheming bitch …
My blood boils …
But – I control the train of my thoughts.
There is no point thinking ill of the dead.
But – what exactly did Anita tell Rita…?
I will never know.
Anita is dead.
And Rita – she disappeared from my life forever – yes – Rita had disappeared – vanished into thin air – forever.
50 years have passed.
Maybe – Rita is dead.
And even if Rita is alive – and – even if I do meet her now – what is the point of asking her anything.
Will Rita believe what I have to say…?
It is all over.
I will never know the falsehoods – the lies – the untruths about me – that Anita told Rita.
I will have to live with this burden for the few remaining years of my life.
___________
But hey – where is the engagement ring I had given Rita…?
It was an exclusive diamond-studded solid-gold engagement ring which had cost me a fortune.
Rita’s letter says that the ring is enclosed in the envelope along with the letter that she had given Anita.
I look inside the envelope.
There is no ring in the envelope.
I search Anita’s jewellery box – her cupboard – everywhere – but I cannot find the ring anywhere.
Anita must have sold it – yes – that cheap woman must have sold the expensive engagement ring.
What a terrible woman…!!!
Not content with breaking my engagement to Rita – Anita even sells the engagement ring I gave to Rita.
__________
So – it is becoming clear that Anita did many devious things.
First – Anita contrives the breaking up of my engagement with Rita by telling Rita false stories about me.
Then – when I am down in the dumps due to the broken engagement – Anita makes me believe that she is doing me a big “favour” by marrying me.
Of course – Anita never shows me Rita’s letter in which Rita has sent Anita the expensive engagement ring.
And – the worst thing of all – Anita sells off the exclusive diamond-studded solid-gold engagement ring.
__________
My wife Anita.
My late wife Anita.
What a terrible woman…?
How wicked can one get…?
And – just imagine – all these 50 years I thought Anita was such a loving and caring wife.
This Story is a work of Fiction. All Stories in this Blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
Here is an abridged, revised, edited for the digital screen “online” version of one of my earliest short fiction stories – written by me long back – for a print magazine – more than 30 years ago – in the 1990’s – after a visit to Mysore – and my favourite place over there – The Brindavan Gardens.
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Dear Reader:
This story happened more than 30 years ago – when there were no mobile phones – and – technology was quite nascent.
Yes – there were no smartphones – or even mobile phones – there were only landline phones – more than 30 years ago – in the in the 1990’s.
Since there were no smartphones – and no digital processing technology either – you took photos using cameras – and processed the film in a photo-lab (dark room) to develop and print the photographs.
Also – there was no internet – no email – there were none of the technology and gadgets that you take granted today.
Hence – the rather archaic espionage methods described in the story.
I hope you will like this old fashioned “spy” thriller …
Technology may have advanced – but human nature remains the same…
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LOVERS’ PARK
ROMANCE STORY BY VIKRAM KARVE
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Circa – early 1990’s
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The Mysore race-course is undoubtedly the most picturesque racecourse in India.
The lush green grass track, the verdant expanse right up to the foot of the rugged Chamundi hills which serve as a magnificent backdrop with the mighty temple atop, standing like a sentinel.
The luxuriant ambience is so delightful and soothing to the eye that it instantly lifts your spirits.
And on this bright morning on the first Saturday of October – the atmosphere was so refreshing – that I felt as if I were on top of the world.
“I love this place – it’s so beautiful…” I said.
“And lucky too…” my husband Girish said, “I have already made fifty grand. And I am sure Bingo will win the Derby tomorrow.”
Girish appraisingly looked at the horses being paraded in the paddock.
Then – he suddenly excused himself – and he briskly walked towards the Bookies’ betting ring.
I still can’t describe the shock I experienced when I suddenly saw Dilip – bold as brass – standing right in front of me – as if he had appeared from nowhere.
“Excuse me, ma’am…” Dilip said.
“Yes…? Do you want to speak to me…?” I asked him – trying to hide any trace of recognition.
“I think you have dropped this ticket…” Dilip said.
In his hand –there was tote jackpot ticket,
Dilip was looking at me in a funny sort of way – neither avoiding my eyes – nor seeking them.
I understood at once.
I took the tote ticket he proffered – put it in my purse and thanked him.
Dilip smiled at me.
Then he turned and briskly walked away towards the first enclosure of the spectators’ gallery of the race-course.
I felt a tremor of trepidation – but as I looked around I realized that no one had noticed our quick encounter in the hustle-bustle of the racecourse.
As I waited for my husband to emerge from the bookies’ betting ring – in my mind’s eye – I marvelled at the finesse with which Dilip had cleverly stage-managed the contrived encounter to make it look completely accidental.
It was only after lunch, in the solitude of my hotel room that I took out the tote jackpot ticket and examined it.
I smiled to myself.
It was the simplest “substitution cipher”.
Maybe – Dilip thought I had gone rusty – so he had used a last minute improvisation for urgent emergency communication.
That meant Dilip wasn’t shadowing me.
He hadn’t expected me at the Mysore racecourse.
But having suddenly seen me – he desperately wanted to make contact.
So he quickly improvised and contrived the encounter – and left further initiative to me.
The ball was now squarely in my court.
I scribbled the five numbers of the jackpot combination on a piece of paper.
For seasoned punters and racing buffs – it was an unlikely jackpot combination that hardly had a chance of winning.
And now that the day’s races were over – the jackpot ticket was worthless.
But for me – hidden in the ticket was some information – since I knew how to decipher the secret code.
To the five numbers – I added the two numbers of my birth-date.
I now had seven numbers.
From each number – I subtracted Dilip’s single digit birth-date.
Now – in front of me – I had a seven-digit combination.
I picked up the telephone and dialled the seven numbers.
_________
(Remember – this happened long back – around 30 years ago – and at that time – Mysore still had seven digit telephone numbers. I wonder what it is now.)
_________
It was a travel agency – a nice cover for his clandestine work.
I did not identify myself – but I only said: “Railway Enquiry…”
“Oh, Yes, madam…” a male voice answered.
I recognized the voice at once.
It was Dilip – probably anxiously waiting for my call.
“You are booked on our evening sightseeing tour. Seat No. 13. The luxury coach will be at your hotel at 3 PM in the afternoon. And don’t carry your mobile with you. We don’t want to be tracked…” he said.
I looked at my watch.
It was almost 2:30 PM in the afternoon.
Time for a quick wash.
I tore up the jackpot tote ticket and scribble paper and flushed it down the toilet.
It was too dangerous to keep them around once their utility was over.
And should the ticket fall into the wrong hands – anything was possible.
You should never underestimate anybody.
We all know that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve.
The tourist bus arrived precisely at 3 o’clock and soon I was in seat No. 13, a window seat.
I had barely sat down when Dilip occupied the adjacent seat No. 14.
He was carrying the ubiquitous tourist bag, but I knew what was inside – the tools of his trade-craft.
“Thanks for coming, Vibha…” he said.
“I was scared you would do something stupid and indiscreet…” I scolded him, “And Girish…”
“You haven’t told your husband about us…?” Dilip interrupted.
“No…” I said.
“You should have told him everything. Why didn’t you tell him about us…?” he asked.
“I don’t know…” I said.
“Tell him now. There’s no place for secrets between husband and wife…” Dilip said.
“I can’t. I don’t want to. It’s too late now…” I said.
I was getting a bit impatient – so I said to him:
“Listen, Dilip. This is dangerous. What do you want…? Girish, my husband, he may…” I tried to caution him.
“He’s gone to Ooty. It’s a four hours’ drive. He should be half-way up the hills by now…” Dilip interjected looking at his watch.
“He is coming back tomorrow…” I said.
“I know. He will be there in time for the Mysore Derby. Your horse Bingo is running, isn’t it…? Bingo is the hot favourite too…!!!” Dilip said.
“How do you know all this…?” I asked.
“It’s common knowledge. Besides – I make a living prying into other people’s lives…” Dilip said.
Dilip paused for a moment – and he said to me:
“Don’t worry, Vibha. The races start only at two in the afternoon. And the Derby is at four o’clock. We have got plenty of time together – the entire evening today, and tomorrow morning too. Your husband Girish – he won’t know about all this. I promise you…”
__________
The bus stopped.
We had arrived at the majestic Mysore Palace .
“Come, Vibha. Let me take your photo…” Dilip said, taking out his camera.
“No…” I snapped.
“Okay. You take mine. I will stand there. Make sure you get the Palace entrance in the frame…” he said.
Then Dilip gave me the camera – and he said to me:
“Have a look. It is a special camera. I’ll focus the zoom lens if you want…”
_________
I pointed the camera in the direction of the palace and looked through the viewfinder.
But the palace was nowhere to be seen in the frame.
The camera had a ninety-degree perpendicular prismatic zoom lens.
I could see the tourists from our bus crowding around the shoe-stand about fifty meters to my left, depositing their shoes.
“Dilip – tell me – who is the “Target”…?” I asked.
“Two “Targets” – look at the woman in the sky-blue sari, long hair. And the man in the yellow T-shirt and jeans, still wearing his Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses. That is the “Target” couple…” Dilip said.
I happily clicked away – took a number of photos of the unsuspecting victims.
Of course – the young target couple – they never realized that it was they who were in my frame – as my camera was pointed in a different direction – towards the palace.
“I don’t think they are having an affair…” I said, once we were inside the cool confines of the Mysore Palace , admiring the wall paintings of the Dasara procession.
“Why…? Why can’t those two be lovers…?” Dilip asked.
“The boy looks so young, mod and handsome. And the woman – she is middle-aged – a shy, timid, unadventurous, stay-at-home type. And just look at her face – her looks so pedestrian – it is a most improbable combination…” I said.
“Yes – a ‘most “improbable” combination’ – that is why their affair is flourishing for so long…!!!” Dilip remarked.
_________
I gave Dilip a quizzical look.
“Three years…” Dilip said. “It’s going on for over three years. The woman is a widow. She gets a huge monthly maintenance from her in-laws’ property – in Lakhs. It’s a wealthy business family. They want to stop giving her the monthly maintenance.”
“I don’t understand…” I said, confused.
“The right of a widow to maintenance is conditional upon her leading a “life of chastity”…” Dilip quoted matter-of-factly
“A “life of chastity”…!!! What nonsense…!!!” I said.
“That’s what their hot-shot lawyer told me. The one who commissioned this investigation…” Dilip said.
“So…?”
“So – they will probably confront her with this evidence and coerce her into signing-off everything. She may even have to give up her children…” Dilip said.
“What if she doesn’t agree…?”
“Then – we will intensify the surveillance. A ‘no holds barred’ investigation. Two-way mirrors with installed video cameras, bugs with recording equipment…” Dilip paused for a moment – and then he said, “In fact, in this case I am so desperate for success that I am even considering image morphing if nothing else works…”
I was shocked, and annoyed – so I asked Dilip:
“Isn’t it morally disgusting…? To do all these unethical dirty things. Extortion…? Blackmail…? To what length does one go…?”
Dilip gave me a wicked smile.
“Once you have the right information – the possibilities are endless…” Dilip said softly, “It’s not my concern to worry about moral and ethical issues. I never ask the question ‘why’. I just state my fee. And even if I do know why, I have made it a policy never to show that I understand what other people are up to.”
“And – what are you up to, Dilip…? And – why me…?” I asked.
Dilip did not answer.
He just smiled – and he led me towards our bus.
I was glad that I had not married Dilip.
I had never known he could sink to such depths of depravity.
I hated him for the way he was using me.
He was taking advantage of my fear – the fear of my past with Dilip – which I had hidden from my husband Girish.
If you hide something from someone – there is always the “fear of being found out”.
_________
Dilip was exploiting my helplessness.
Filthy emotional blackmailer.
Shameless bully.
I looked at Dilip with loathing – but he just grinned at me bald-facedly like a Cheshire Cat.
Nalini – my elder sister – she had been right about Dilip.
I would always thank Nalini for saving my life.
But for her timely intervention – I would have married Dilip.
Maybe – I would have even eloped with him.
I shudder to think what my life would have been like had I married Dilip.
“It’s beautiful…” Dilip said, looking at the famous painting – ‘Lady with the Lamp’ – at the Mysore Museum.
“Yes…” I answered, jolted out of my thoughts.
“Do you remember, Vibha…? The last time we were here. It’s been almost ten years…” he said.
I did not answer – but I clearly remembered that day.
It was our college tour.
And – Dilip had quickly pulled me into a dark corner and kissed me on the lips.
A hasty inchoate stolen kiss.
My first kiss – the exciting tremors of electric trepidation I had experienced.
How could I ever forget…?
“Vibha – tell me honestly. Why did you ditch me so suddenly, so mercilessly…?” Dilip asked.
“Nalini told me not to marry you…” I said involuntarily – instantly regretting my words.
“And then – she forced you to marry Girish – your brother-in-law…?” he said.
“Girish is not my brother-in-law. He is my “co-brother”…” I said.
“Co-Brother indeed…! He is the younger brother of your elder sister Nalini’s husband. So he is your brother-in-law also, isn’t it…?” Dilip said sarcastically.
“So what…?” I snapped angrily. “It is not illegal. Two brothers marrying two sisters – it’s quite common. And it’s none of your business.”
“Business…” Dilip said, “That’s what it is. “Business”…!!! Two sisters marry two brothers. So it’s all in the family. The business. The money. The tea estates and coffee plantations. The industries. The property. Everything.”
“So that’s what you had your eyes on, didn’t you…? My father’s property…!!!” I blurted out.
I knew it was a cruel thing to say – and I could see that Dilip was genuinely hurt.
I realized that Dilip was still in love with me.
Maybe – Dilip was jealous of my successful marriage – my happiness – my wealth – my status in society – that’s what had made him bitter.
But seeing the expression on his face – I knew that Dilip would not harm me – for he was indeed truly in love with me.
“I am sorry, Dilip. Forget the past and let’s get on with our surveillance…” I said, looking at the ‘target’ couple.
__________
And so – we reached the magnificent Brindavan gardens, posing as tourists in the growing crowd of humanity, stalking the couple, surreptitiously taking their photographs as they romantically watched the water, gushing through the sluice gates of Krishnarajasagar dam, forming a rainbow admits the spraying surf.
After sunset we enjoyed the performance at the musical fountain sitting right behind the ‘couple’.
Suddenly – the lights went out – and – everyone stood up and started moving.
Trying to adjust our eyes to the enveloping darkness, we desperately tried not to lose track of target couple, as they made their way, in the confusion, towards “Lovers’ Park” – yes – the amorous young couple was walking hand-in-hand towards Lovers’ Park.
It was pitch dark.
I looked through the camera – switching to night vision mode.
Through the lens of the night vision device I could clearly discern two silhouettes, an eerie blue-green against the infrared background.
The images were blurred and tended to merge as the two figures embraced each other.
But that did not matter since I knew that the infrared camera would process the signal through an image intensifier before recording, rendering crystal-clear photo quality pictures.
I was immersed in recording the antics of the couple, trying to discern the blurred eerie infra-red night vision images.
“Let’s go…” Dilip whispered.
We stealthily negotiated our way out, but in hindsight, there was really no need to be clandestine about it, since we were just another couple ostensibly having a “good time” in the darkness and dense foliage of “Lovers’ Park” – as it was known.
Pondering over the day’s events – I realized how right Dilip had been taking me along.
Surveillance involves hours of shadowing and stalking training and tracking your target – sitting for hours in all sorts of places like hotels, restaurants, parks, cars – hanging around airports, railway stations, bus stands or even on the streets, waiting and watching.
A man and a woman would appear for less conspicuous than a single man – or a pair of men.
And if they look like a married couple – it’s even better for the cover.
And – we – Dilip and I – we did look like a much-married tourist couple.
I wondered why I had agreed to do all this.
Maybe because I felt a sense of guilt – remorse – a sort of an obligation I owed Dilip.
Any girl always has a feeling of debt – a guilt-complex – towards a decent man who she has ditched – and brutally dumped.
Possibly – it was because I wanted to find out what life would have been like had I married Dilip.
Or maybe – it was because I was scared and fearful that Dilip would blackmail me.
Dilip was the only secret I had kept from my husband – a skeleton I wanted to keep firmly locked away in the cupboard.
Or maybe – it was because a woman’s first love always has an enduring place in her heart.
I guess it was a combination of all the above reasons.
The tourist bus reached my hotel at precisely 9.30 PM.
Before getting down from the bus, Dilip handed over the bag containing the infrared device, special cameras and all paraphernalia to a non-descript middle-aged man sitting right behind us.
“Who was that man…?” I asked, after the bus drove away, with the mystery-man still sitting inside.
“Oh – that man. Don’t worry about him…” Dilip said, leading me into the foyer of the hotel.
“No…” I insisted, “I want to know who that man is – and why he was in that bus. Was he also following the target couple…?”
“No – that man was not following the couple – he was following us. It is sometimes important for an operative conducting surveillance to put himself, his own self, under observation,” Dilip said nonchalantly.
At first – the sentence sounded innocuous – but gradually – comprehension began to dawn on me – and as I realized the import of those words – I experienced a chill of panic.
All sorts of thoughts entered my brain.
Photographs of Dilip and Me.
Oh My God…!!!
The man may even have bugged our conversation.
The possibilities were endless.
I looked at Dilip.
Didn’t he have any scruples…?
My impulse was to run to my room and lock myself up.
But when Dilip invited me to have dinner with him in the restaurant – I knew I dare not refuse.
I had no choice.
Dilip had me at his mercy.
He had his manacles on me.
The only way to escape Dilip’s clutches was to tell Girish everything.
But how could I…?
Especially after today…!!!
I shivered with fear when I tried to imagine the consequences.
After dinner – I invited Dilip to my room for a cup of coffee.
I knew it was suicidal – but I had decided to give Dilip what he wanted – and then get rid of him – out of my life, once and for all, forever.
The moment we entered the room – the phone rang.
It was for Dilip – a man’s voice – it was probably the same man sitting behind us in the bus.
Dilip took the receiver from my hands and spoke: “I told you not to ring up here… What…? But how is that possible…? Oh, My God…! I am coming at once.”
“What happened…?” I asked him.
“We got the wrong couple on the infrared camera in Lovers’ Park. Tell me – could you not see couple clearly…?” Dilip asked me.
“No – it was dark and hazy…” I said, “I could see just blurred images.”
Instinctively – I rushed along with Dilip to his office-cum-laboratory.
He emphatically told me not to come – but I did not listen – a strange inner force propelled me to go with him.
I looked at the blurred images on the large workstation monitor.
Then – as Dilip kept zooming in – again and again – enhancing the magnification and focus – the images started becoming clear.
And – as I watched – something started happening inside me – and I could sense my heartbeats rise.
Oh, My God…!
I could not believe it…!
It was Nalini and Girish.
Or – Girish and Nalini.
Whichever way you like it.
It doesn’t matter.
Or – does it…?
In a nutshell – they were “making out” in Lovers’ Park.
Nalini, my darling elder sister – the very person instrumental in arranging my marriage to Girish.
And Girish – my beloved “faithful” husband.
Their expressions so confident, so happy, so carefree.
So lovey-dovey.
So sure that they would never be found out.
So convenient.
How long was this going on…?
Living a lie.
Deep down – I felt terribly betrayed.
Seeing those disgusting pictures of my husband Girish and my sister Nalini “making out” in Lovers’ Park – I felt terrible – as if I had been pole-axed – a sharp sensation drilling into my vitals – my stomach curdling – as I threw up my dinner.
For a moment – I went blank.
Then – it was extraordinary how clear my mind became all of a sudden.
“Listen, Dilip…” I said emphatically, “I want a full-scale comprehensive surveillance of Girish and Nalini. Two-way mirrors, bugs, photos, video, audio – the entire works. A no-holds barred investigation. And dig deep into the past. I want to know everything about my husband and my sister.”
“No, Vibha…!” Dilip said. “I can’t do it.”
“You can’t do it…? Or you won’t do it…? Or you don’t want to do it…?” I asked.
“No, Vibha… ” Dilip said, once again.
I said to him with a most assertive voice: “Listen, Dilip. You have to do it. I want you to do it.”
“Why, Vibha…? Why…?” he asked.
I smiled and said to him:
“Dilip – remember what you said in the afternoon about your professional credo and motto: ‘I never ask the question “why” – I just state my fee’…”
_________
I paused – and then I said to him:
“So – my dear Dilip. Don’t ask any questions. Just state your fee. And do a good job – I want a complete dossier on the shenanigans of my darling husband Girish and my dear sister Nalini…”
“But, Vibha. What will you do with all this information…?” Dilip protested.
“Remember what you said, Dilip:
“Once you have the right information – the possibilities are endless” – do you remember…?” I said to him.
_________
I almost licked my lips in anticipation – as I could feel the venom rising within me.
Dilip did not say anything – he just kept looking at me in silence.
After some time – I looked at Dilip and said to him:
“Yes indeed – the possibilities are endless. Tell me Dilip – they say that information is power – isn’t it…? Just imagine what all I can do to them once I have all the information about them. Oh yes – the possibilities are endless – aren’t they…?”
_________
“Yes…” he echoed, “The possibilities are endless…!!!”
_________
I intertwined my arm in Dilip’s arm – and I said to him:
“Come with me, Dilip – let’s go to Lovers’ Park…!!!”
This story is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
All Stories in this Blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
Recent Foodie Picture of Me enjoying Biryani at Café Goodluck
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FOODIE MEMORIES
__________
There is nothing better than having a Foodie Girlfriend.
Most of my girlfriends were Foodies.
__________
Of course – one foodie girlfriend dumped me saying that she was putting on too much weight due to our foodie dates.
She told me that she intended to go on a strict diet to lose weight – which was not possible in my company.
In fact – she said that even seeing me – or thinking of me – it made her put on weight – so she was dumping me and moving on.
I met her 10 years later.
She was happily married – and – she had become quite “Roly-Poly”.
____________
But all that is past history of my halcyon days of the 1970’s – when I was a young Navy bachelor in Mumbai.
Now – as an “over-the-hill” Veteran in my late 60’s approaching 70 – the only “girlfriends” I have are online social-media “girlfriends” – who have been so kind and generous to interact with me and keep me in good cheer.
Recently – I was delighted to learn that one of my online “girlfriends” is an avid foodie.
Today – Social Media is full of depressing posts spreading negativity – so – whenever I see a Foodie Post on Social Media – I feel good – and these lovely foodie posts evoke delicious foodie memories – like this one – from my Vizag Navy Days – around 36 years ago – in the 1980’s.
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PROLOGUE
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Do you know how to make Dhaba Style Chicken…?
A Foodie Friend requested me to post a recipe for Dhaba Style Meat/Chicken.
Here it is – a Recipe for Dhaba Style Chicken Curry – which I learnt around 36 years ago at a Dhaba on the Highway near Vizag…
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DHABA STYLE CHICKEN CURRY First Cook (Boil) – Then Fry Mouthwatering Vizag Food Memories By VIKRAM KARVE
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I have learnt most of my cooking by observing dishes being cooked – especially in street-food eateries – and – of course – in Navy Ships’ Galleys.
I vividly remember the tastiest chicken curry I ever eaten and truly relished long back – around 36 years ago – sometime in the late 1980’s – at a rustic wayside dhaba on the highway near Visakhapatnam – or Vizag – as we knew it.
_________
(a dhaba is a simple roadside eatery)
_________
The ramshackle place was called “NSTL Dhaba”
(or NSTL “Dhabha” – if you prefer to spell it that way).
Why did it have that name…?
I do not know.
Maybe – the place does not exist now.
Or maybe – the rustic dhaba may have metamorphosed into the ubiquitous motel-type restaurants that one sees on our highways.
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MIDNIGHT DINNER AT THE NSTL DHABA
_________
We reached there well past midnight – well fortified and primed with plenty of Rum – as one must be – when one goes to a dhaba.
We ordered the chicken curry – and – I watched it being cooked.
Half the joy of enjoying delicious food is in watching it being made – imbibing the aroma – and – enjoying the sheer pleasure of observing the cooking process.
And – in this Dhaba – the food was made in front of you – in the open kitchen – which comprised an open air charcoal bhatti with a tandoor and two huge cauldrons embedded – and – a couple of smaller openings for a frying pan or vessel.
They say that the best way to make a fish curry is to catch the fish fresh and cook it immediately.
Similarly – the best way to make a chicken curry is to cut a chicken fresh and cook it immediately with its juices intact.
And remember – it is best to use country chicken or desi murgi or gavraan kombdi for authentic taste.
And that is what was done here in this dhaba.
Let me describe the process of making the chicken curry.
The live chicken is cut after you place the order.
And then – the freshly cut, dressed and cleaned – the desi murgi is thrown whole into the huge cauldron full of luxuriantly thick yummy looking gravy simmering over the slow fire.
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How do you cook your Indian Mutton or Chicken Curries…?
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Do you first fry the meat – and then add water and cook it…?
You first FRY and then BOIL – aka – FRY and BOIL
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Or – do you cook (boil) the meat first – and then fry it…?
You first BOIL and then FRY – aka – BOIL and FRY
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In this dhaba – the BOIL and FRY technique was used.
First Cook (Boil) – Then Fry
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Here the chicken is cooked first in the gravy – on a slow fire – lovingly and unhurriedly – and – then stir fried later.
(throwing the boiled chicken in an oil tadka into a hot cauldron)
Like I told you – in this dhaba – a gravy is simmering 24/7 in a huge cauldron – being topped up from time to time.
Yes – first they cook (boil) the whole chicken in the gravy.
Then – when done – they pull out the whole chicken from the gravy – cut the whole chicken into pieces – and – they throw the chicken pieces into hot oil – and – stir fry on full heat.
Lastly – they throw in some gravy – stir vigorously – give a finishing touch – and garnish before serving.
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This is a busy dhaba – so – at any point of time – there are a number of whole chickens floating in the gravy – and – the cook is keeping an eagle eye on each and every one of them – in order to pick the chicken out at the right time when it is ready for frying.
From time to time – the cook gently nurtures the floating chickens – and this helps them absorb the flavor and juices of the gravy.
As the chickens absorb the gravy – they become heavier – and acquire an appetizing glaze.
Once the cook feels a chicken is ready (30-40 minutes of gentle slow nurtured cooking) – he takes out the chicken – chops it up – and throws it into a red-hot wok pan to stir fry – basting the chicken with boiling oil.
Then once the chicken is nicely fried – the cook ladles in a generous amount of gravy from the cauldron – and gives the chicken pieces a final fry.
When ready – the chicken curry is garnished with crisp fried onion strips and coriander – and savored with hot tandoori roti.
We have a bowl of dal (simmering in the other cauldron) duly “tadkofied” as a side dish.
Yes – one cauldron has the simmering chicken gravy – and – the other cauldron has the simmering dal.
These are the only two dishes on the menu – chicken curry – and – dal fry.
The chicken is delicious – and – the gravy tastes magnificent – as we dunk fresh hot tandoori rotis in the gravy and relish them.
Ambrosia…!!!
We eat to our heart’s content – a well-filled stomach radiates happiness!
I still remember how delightfully delicious, flavorsome and nourishing every morsel tasted – and – just thinking about the lip-smacking rustic chicken curry has made me so ravenously hungry that I am heading for one of those untried and “untasted” Dhabas/Eateries in my vicinity to sample their wares.
If you don’t find this type of “Dhaba Chicken” anywhere – just try and make this rustic chicken curry at home.
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Remember the cardinal rule for cooking Meat (especially Chicken)
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1. First Cook (Boil or Steam)
2. Then Fry
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It is easy to cook and tastes delicious – you can take my word for it.
And – if anyone in Vizag is reading this – do let us know whether the Highway NSTL Dhaba still exists – or – has it vanished – or – like most yesteryear simple dhabas – has it metamorphosed into a fancy motel or restaurant…?
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HOW TO EAT IN A DHABA
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We would take a bottle of rum with us whenever we went to the dhaba – and the dhaba owner would come to our table with Stainless Steel Tumblers (including one for himself) – and we would enjoy “Rum Pani” to build up our appetites – while the chicken was being slowly and lovingly cooked.
Sipping your rum – while watching your chicken being cooked – it stimulates your appetite even more.
Then – piping hot chicken curry with yummy tandoori roti fresh from the tandoor.
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the story are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
This Love Story started 50 years ago — in the year 1974
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Circa 1974
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Girl: Oh My God — we have “done it”. I can’t believe that we “did it”. Now — we will have to get married. Let’s get married.
Boy: Yes. Of course — we’ll get married.
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Circa 1975
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Girl: We are in a serious relationship for over one year now. Let’s get married.
Boy: Are you crazy…? You’re not even 18 years old.
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Circa 1976
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Girl: I am 18 now — let’s get married.
Boy: Just one more year. Let me finish my engineering degree and get a good job. Then — we will get married.
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Circa 1977
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Girl: Now you have got a job. Let’s get married.
Boy: Let me finish my training. I don’t think the Navy allows officers to get married during training.
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Circa 1978
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Girl: You have finished your Navy Training. I have finished my Engineering. Let’s get married.
Boy: I can’t marry before 25. That’s what the Navy rule says. Even if we get special permission to get married — we won’t get married accommodation till I am 25 years old — so we will have to live apart. So — let’s wait for 3 years till I am 25 years old — and then we’ll get married. Meanwhile why don’t you pick up a job while I finish off my sea-time…? By that time — I will be 25 years old. Also — a job will keep you occupied.
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THREE YEARS LATER
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Circa 1981
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Boy: I am 25 years old now. I have finished my “sea-time” too and I am due for a “long course”. It is the ideal time to get married. One year of bliss. We will get a house there in the training base and we will have plenty of time together. Let’s get married.
Girl: Not now. My career is just taking off — in fact — they are sending me abroad — to the US — to work on a very important project — this assignment is very important for my career — “make or break” — so let’s wait till I come back. It’s just one year — then we will get married.
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Circa 1982
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Boy: I think we will have to postpone our marriage a bit. They are sending me overseas as commissioning crew of a brand new ship. Families are not allowed. So — let’s wait for one year till I come back.
Girl: Okay — meanwhile I will consolidate my career too. We will get married when you come back.
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Circa 1983
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Boy : Well — I am back. My “sea-time” will end soon too and I will get a comfortable shore appointment. So — let’s get married.
Girl: Can we wait for just one more year…? They are sending me abroad again — to Australia — on a very prestigious project — as an independent manager — it’s very important for my career. The moment I come back next year — we’ll get married.
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Circa 1984
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Boy: Now — you are well settled in your career — so — let’s get married.
Girl: Actually — I am thinking of changing my job. I have got a great job offer abroad — in New Zealand — a “life changing” opportunity — they promised to fast-track my “work visa” too — if I join immediately. I don’t want to miss this career opportunity — this stint in New Zealand — it will really help me in my career. So — let’s wait for some time — just for a year or two. We will get married after that.
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TWO YEARS LATER
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Circa 1986
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Boy: I am 30 years old now — and — you are 28. Let’s get married.
Girl: Okay — but you will have to quit the Navy and relocate to New Zealand with me. I have decided to stay on in New Zealand — the job is great — I love the place — and — I need to stay there continuously for a few years — to get residency — and then — for citizenship. Why don’t you quit the Navy…? Yes — I think it will be good for us — if you resign from your Navy job. In any case — you are just stagnating in your Navy job — which doesn’t seem to have any bright prospects in the future. So — why don’t you quit the Navy…? We will get married — and you can come to New Zealand with me. I am sure you will find a good job there — or — you can do a course in some “skill shortage” area — and it will be even easier for you to get a good job over there.
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DID THEY GET MARRIED…?
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The Boy did not resign from the Navy.
Even if the Boy had wanted to resign from the Navy — the Navy would not have allowed him to quit — at least for 10 years more — till he got “superseded” for promotion.
And — the Boy was not interested in getting “superseded” — since he was serious about his Navy career.
So — the Boy did not relocate to New Zealand to join his “sweetheart” and get married to her.
The Boy remained in India — and — the Girl went back to New Zealand after her vacation was over.
And — their marriage was postponed once again.
But this time — it turned out to be an “indefinite postponement” of their marriage.
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30 YEARS LATER
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Circa 2016
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Girl: Hey — what a pleasant surprise — seeing you after so many years — and here — of all places — in the busiest airport in the world.
Boy: Yes — it’s so good to see you too — it’s been 30 years — we last met in 1986 — isn’t it…?
Girl: So what are you doing here in the transit lounge — changing flights…?
Boy: Yes — going on a holiday…
Girl: That’s great — so — where is your family…?
Boy: No family — I am not married.
Girl: Divorced…? Or — you never got married…?
Boy: I never got married…
Girl: Me too…!!!
Boy: Oh — you never got married…?
Girl: Yes. I am “happily single”. You know — after some time — I got used to being single — I started enjoying being single — so I stopped thinking about marriage.
Boy: Me too — I am enjoying my “bachelorhood”. And in the Navy — it is very easy to remain a bachelor — you are well looked after — so — I forgot about marriage.
Girl: Are you still in the Navy…?
Boy: No — I retired 3 years ago — and — now — I am enjoying life travelling all around the world — seeing all the places I wanted to see — there are so many in my “bucket list”…
Girl: That’s great. I wonder if I will be able to “retire” like you. I have my own company now…
Boy: Wow — you seem to have made it big…!!!
Girl: Yes — I have done quite well in my career.
Boy: Hey — it’s time for my flight — so — “see you” — wish you “all the best”.
Girl: Bye — it was nice meeting you — do enjoy your holiday…
Boy: Bye — Take Care…
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So — once again — the Girl and the Boy parted ways — both “happily single”.
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EPILOGUE
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Dear Reader,
Have you seen persons who keep postponing marriage…?
Sometimes — like in the story — they keep postponing marriage — and then — they remain single all their life.
This story is a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
This happened long back — around 37 years ago — in the 1980’s.
It was “Fleet Night” — the Annual Fleet Awards Function.
The Chief Guest for the function was the Chief of the Naval Staff (CNS) — who had come down from Naval Headquarters, New Delhi — to grace the occasion.
The Commander-in-Chief (C-in-C) — the Fleet Commander — and — the local “Top Brass” — all were present with their families.
Officers and Sailors of various Ships of the Fleet were seated with their families in the grand auditorium.
First — there was a most enjoyable entertainment programme performed by officers and sailors of the fleet and their families.
This was followed by a prize distribution ceremony to present the Fleet Awards.
Various Trophies were being awarded to ships.
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Our ship was a frontline warship which had performed exceedingly well in all aspects throughout the previous year.
We were sure that our ship deserved to win most of the Trophies.
Many thought that — maybe — our ship would win all the Trophies.
In fact — even officers from other ships acknowledged that our ship deserved most of the Trophies — due to our superb consistent demonstrated performance.
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The prize distribution ceremony started.
The winners of the various Trophies were announced by the Fleet Commander — one by one — and — the respective Captains went up to receive the Trophies from the Navy Chief (CNS) who was the Chief Guest.
As the prize distribution progressed — we were disappointed that our ship had not been awarded even one single trophy so far.
It seemed that our ship was being totally ignored.
The blatant bias was evident to all.
Our Executive Officer (XO) remarked that maybe this prejudice against our ship was because the Fleet Commander did not like our Captain.
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We really did not know the actual reason for Fleet Commander’s dislike of our Captain.
But — someone said that this aversion was because our Captain was a “CW Officer” — who had been promoted from the “Lower Deck” under the “Upper Yardman Scheme”
During his service in the “lower deck” as a Sailor — our Captain had been selected as a CW (Commission Worthy) Candidate.
Then — after a tough selection procedure — he been promoted from the ranks of sailors — to the rank of Acting Sub Lieutenant.
Our Captain was an officer — who started his career as a sailor — and then — he had come up the hard way — unlike most of his “elitist” counterparts — who had joined the “prestigious” National Defence Academy (NDA) — and had been commissioned as Naval Officers — after training as Cadets and Midshipmen.
It seemed that the ex-NDA Fleet Commander had a dislike for “CW Officers” in general — but — he had a particular dislike towards our Captain.
In fact — many officers felt that the ex-NDA Fleet Commander was also biased against Direct Entry Officers who had graduated from the Naval Academy — and — he seemed to openly favour ex-NDA Officers.
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It all seemed very unfair to us.
It was clear that our ship was being discriminated against — because of personal likes and dislikes.
As the award ceremony progressed towards its conclusion — we were reconciled to returning back to our ship empty handed — without even one single trophy.
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Suddenly — we were surprised to hear our ship’s name being announced for a Trophy.
The Trophy was for “Maximum Days at Sea”.
Yes — the Trophy for Maximum Days at Sea in the year.
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Now:
“Days at Sea” was a recorded fact.
This could not be manipulated.
And — it was an undisputed fact that our ship had indeed spent the maximum days at sea in that year — as compared to other ships of the fleet.
So — they had no choice but to award the “Maximum Days at Sea” Trophy to our ship.
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Our Captain went up to receive the Trophy.
The Navy Chief (CNS) presented the “Maximum Days at Sea Trophy” to our Captain.
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And — the witty Navy Chief (CNS) remarked to the Fleet Commander:
“Well — you denied him all the trophies — but — you couldn’t deny him this trophy — could you…?”
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On hearing this — the Fleet Commander had a rather embarrassed look on his face.
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Indeed — a succinct “parting shot” by the Navy Chief…!!!
This story is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E&OE
Copyright Notice:
No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.
A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Navy Officer turned full time writer and blogger. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a large number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals and magazines for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.
Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
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Vikram Karve 