Posts Tagged ‘divorce’

How to Find Your Perfect Marriage Partner – Numerology and Compatibility

August 21, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: MARRIAGE COMPATIBILITY GUIDE – How to Find Your Perfect Match.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…


A Spoof
(Just for Fun)

Most people say that my wife and I are the most incompatible couple they have ever met. 

Many of our friends and relatives wonder how we have managed to stay married together for more than 33 years.

Even our children are surprised as to how two individuals with such contrasting temperaments can remain together for so long. 

The fact that my wife and I have lived together for over 33 years implies that – though outwardly it may not seem so – inwardly – there must be some“mysterious hidden compatibility“ between me and my wife.

Sometimes – you have a fact of life before you that defies rational logic – like the fact that we remain married for more than 33 years – whereas – logically – a terribly incompatible couple like us should have split-up long back.

So – you have to work backwards – to try to find some reason to substantiate and “validate” this incomprehensible fact – and try to justify the “inconsistency”

I call this reverse logic or ex post facto justification

As I said – we – my wife and I – are a terribly incompatible couple.

Yet – our marriage has lasted for more than 33 years. 

Therefore – I had to find some reason for this mystery.

That is why I took solace in numerology. 

And – hey presto – I was able to “prove” that we – my wife and I – are indeed “compatible” (at least on paper).

Dear Reader: Have a look at the Pythagorean Numerology Table below:

Now let us use this Pythagorean Numerological Table.

Let’s calculate the numerological value of my name VIKRAM 

(4+9+2+9+1+4 = 29 = 2+9 = 11 = 1+1 = 2

My numerological value is 2

Now – let’s compute the numerological value of my wife’s name POORNIMA 

(7+6+6+9+5+9+4+1 = 47 = 4+7 = 11 = 1+1 = 2)

Hey – my wife’s numerological value is also 2

The numerological values of both our names is the same. 

My number is 2 

My wife’s number is also 2

It is a “Perfect Match” 

No wonder we are such a “perfect match” – at least from the numerology point of view – so now we can “justify” our long married life.


Are you married..? 

Are you planning to get married..? 

Are you in love..? 

Are you in a relationship..? 

Are you dating someone..? 

Are you thinking of getting into a relationship with someone…?

Just check out your mutual numerological compatibility. 

Now you know what to do on your first date now – don’t you…?

Maybe it is a good idea to have some fun.

Check out your numerological compatibility – with your spouse – your friends – your loved ones – your boss – your colleagues – or anyone with whom you are planning a close relationship. 

Just use the simple Pythagorean Table above – and compute the numerological value of your names. 


If you have a “perfect match” – it’s great. 

But suppose you do not have a “perfect match”.

No problem.

Do not worry if your numerological values are not identical (perfect match).

You can always hope for harmony in numerological values.

Even if the numerological values are in harmony (one value divisible by the other) – it is a sign of excellent compatibility. 

For example – if the husband’s numerological value is 3 – and the wife’s value comes out to be a multiple of 3 like 6 or 9 (or vice versa) – then they are in “harmony”. 

So – if you find out that your marriage “rocks” – be happy – tell your spouse and celebrate.

And – if your numerological values just do not match (inharmonious combinations like 2 and 7 or 3 and 8 or 4 and 9) – just don’t worry.

When in doubt – there is no harm in using means to justify the end.

Try out some other numerology system – like Chaldean, Indian, Arabic, Chinese, Hebrew, African, even Abracadabra – there are so many numerology tables, charts and calculators available. 

Keep trying all permutations and combinations – till you “discover” your mutual compatibility. 

And then – you can “validate” your marital compatibility – and be happy. 

That is the trick scientists do while doing “research”.

You just keep on trying all permutations and combinations – till you find a “justification” for your “hypothesis”.


Dear Reader: You can easily “discover” your “compatibility” with any person you want to by using this simple numerological method. 

Use this technique to convince your loved one about how “mutually compatible” you two are. 

Maybe – this will enhance your romance. 

Try it with your boss and colleagues too. 

Maybe – it will improve interpersonal relationships at work.

But here is a caveat.

Please do not use numerology as an excuse to “dump” someone.

Now – that is unethical – and just not done. 

And – Hey – please do not take this too seriously – I told you right at the beginning that all this is just for fun…!

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

1. This article is a 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.
2. While you can use numerology for fun – please do your due diligence in real life – since – to the best of my knowledge – numerology has no scientific basis. 
3. 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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (All Rights Reserved)
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

This is a revised and updated version of my article first written by me Vikram Karve in the year 2008 and posted online earlier by me in this blog at urls:…  and…  and… etc

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at 8/21/2015 12:17:00 PM

Love and Friendship – Merry-Go-Round Romance Story

August 20, 2015

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

12 SEPTEMBER – 7 Pages from the Diary of My Life – A story of merry-go-round relationships by Vikram Karve

I wrote this story around 2 years ago – on my birthday 12 September 2013 and I posted it on my blog.

I think it is one of my good stories. 

Surprisingly – this story went unnoticed and unappreciated.

So – I am posting this story once more for your to read. 

Do tell me if you like it.

7 Pages from the Diary of My Life
My Love Story
Short Fiction

12 SEPTEMBER – A Love Story by Vikram Karve

12 September 1977
Shivalik Hostel IIT Delhi

VIJAY  and  ME

It is our 21st Birthday.

Yes – we are both 21 years old today.

Vijay and Me were born on the same day.

Our hostel-mates brought a specially ordered birthday cake all the way from CP from the famous Wenger’s Bakery for Vijay and me – and we celebrated our birthday in our hostel canteen at tea time.

We have been celebrating our birthday together for the last 12 years – for 7 years in our boarding school at Lovedale near Ooty.

And then for 5 years here at IIT Delhi.

But – this is a special occasion for two reasons.

We are 21 years old.

And – this may be our last birthday together.

Who knows where we will be next year – after we finish our B. Tech. engineering course – and each of us go our own ways pursuing our own careers in the journey of our lives.

To celebrate this special occasion we decide to booze – for the first time in our lives.

So – we get a bottle of Whisky from the booze shop in Green Park.

And we get lots of Tandoori Chicken and Kebabs from the Essex Farms shop in Hauz Khas.

Then we sit on the terrace and drink and talk – reminisce about our childhood and the good times we had together.

By the time we kill the bottle of whisky – we are gloriously drunk.

In that glorious drunken state we make a promise to each other – Vijay and Me – we promise each other – that we will meet every year on the 12th of September to celebrate our birthdays together.

12 September 1978

VIJAY  and  ME

As promised – we meet on our birthday.

This is our first birthday after we passed out with our B.Tech. degrees.

Vijay comes down from Ahmedabad – where he is studying Management at the elite IIM-A.

I pick him up from the railway station – and I drive him down on my scooter to my room in the trainee hostel.

In the morning I show him my workplace – my impressive factory – and then my boss gives me the day off to celebrate my birthday.

We scooter down to heart of town – and we spend a few hours loafing, window-shopping and ogling at the PYTs strolling on Brigade Road and MG Road.

Later – after a few beers – we enjoy a “Cabaret” (our first) at a restaurant called “Three Aces”.

Emboldened by “Dutch Courage” fuelled by the alcohol in our veins – we want to do something more “adventurous”.

But – the moment I see those “sexy females” – I chicken out.

I do not want to admit that I am feeling scared.

So – I say that I am experiencing “pangs of conscience” in doing such “sinful” things.

Vijay instantly agrees. 

He looks relieved. 

I think – that like me – Vijay too is feeling anxious – and is “shit scared” about the whole sordid thing.

We beat a hasty retreat.

And so – we end our 22nd Birthday with our virtue unspoiled – and our virginity intact.

12 September 1982
Visakhapatnam (Vizag)


I really like Usha – Vijay’s brand new wife.

Usha is a plump, graceful girl with a very pretty face.

She has a sincere, friendly smile which radiates a charming innocence.

They were married just a month ago – and I could not attend their wedding as I was sent abroad for more than 3 years for advanced training and on-the-job work experience.

That is why I am so happy that I could keep our 12th September birthday date after a gap of four years. 

(We met last on 12 September 1978 in Bangalore, remember!)

They say that when a woman finds her way into a group of men friends – especially two close friends like Vijay and me – the friendship among men sometimes disintegrates.

But after meeting Usha – I know that is not going to happen.

Usha is a “back-home-type” small town girl.

She has a certain innocent charm about her.

Usha welcomes me into her home with honest warmth and genuine affection – and I instantly know that we are going to get along very well – and the bonds of my friendship with Vijay are going to be strengthened.

“How come you landed up in Vizag?” I ask Vijay.

“You have to prove yourself in the field before they take you to the company headquarters in Mumbai,” Vijay says.

Vijay has specialized in Marketing at IIM and has landed up a lucrative job at a famous FMCG company and he has been given the most challenging assignment.

Vijay cribs about Vizag being quite a boring place.

But his wife Usha says, “I wish we stay here. I love Visakhapatnam. It is such a nice place, the people are so good here and we are very happy here. I don’t want to go to big city like Mumbai.”

Vijay has taken the day off so we drive down the East Coast Road to Rishikonda Beach and swim in the sea.

Vijay keeps calling Usha to join us in the water for a swim but she seems quite shy.

Usha sits on the beach in her sari and watches Vijay and me enjoy ourselves frolicking in the cool blue water of the Bay of Bengal.

In the evening, Vijay and I sip chilled beer on the lush green lawns of the Waltair Club.

We both want Usha to come with us to the club, but Usha remains at home.

Usha tells us to enjoy ourselves but she insists that we come home for dinner as she will be cooking something special for the occasion.

Vijay starts talking about his newly wedded wife, “Sorry about Usha, yaar, she is quite a prudish type. Usha likes to remain home most of the time. She just does not want to go out anywhere. You saw how shy she was at the beach.”

“Hey, don’t say that. Usha is the best thing that happened to you. You are lucky to get such a good wife,” I say.

When we get home I am impressed by the awesome way in which Usha has decorated the house for our birthday.

Usha has baked a birthday cake for both of us.

We cut the freshly baked birthday cake and then all of us enjoy a sumptuous dinner.

For both of us, Vijay and me, it was a memorable birthday indeed.

Early next morning I say goodbye.

We promise to meet next year.

And then I catch the morning flight out of Vizag.

12 September 1984


Well – I could not make it last year – on the 12th of September 1983 – as I was again sent abroad on a project – so we meet after a gap of 2 years.

Vijay has moved up the ladder pretty fast.

Just recently – he has been posted to the Head Office of his FMCG Company.

That is the beauty of being an IIM graduate – you move up very fast.

I wish that – like Vijay – I too had had taken the IIM route – instead of deciding to be a hard-core engineer – where you have to slog it out in the field – especially if you land up in “projects”.

I sit with Vijay’s wife Usha sipping tea in the balcony of their 3rd floor sea facing company flat on Marine Drive in Mumbai.

We watch the sunset – it is a spectacular sight – the interplay of colours in the sky and the sun is being swallowed by the placid blue waters of the Arabian Sea.

After the sun sets – the lights on the Queen’s Necklace come on – it looks fascinating.

The phone rings – and Usha goes inside to pick it up.

“You have a shower and get ready,” Usha says, “I’ll get ready too. Vijay said he’ll be here in half an hour – and we will go straightaway to the club.”

“Club? Why club? Let’s sit at home. You cook something simple. We’ll just sit and chat,” I say.

“Vijay said we’ll all go to the club,” Usha says with finality.

When Vijay arrives – there is a woman with him.

She looks beautiful, chic and very elegant.

Vijay introduces us to each other.

The woman’s name is Nisha – and she is Vijay’s colleague in his office. 

Nisha has an MBA in finance.

She was working abroad for some years.

Recently – Nisha has joined Vijay’s company as Finance Manager.

Vijay introduces Nisha as his office colleague.

But my sixth sense tells me that this woman Nisha is much more than a mere colleague.

Nisha goes in to freshen up.

“I hope you don’t mind if Nisha comes with us,” Vijay says to me.

“Of course I do mind if she comes with us,” I say, “we don’t want outsiders in our get-together, do we?”

“Let her come,” Usha pleads with me, “Poor thing. Nisha has just come back to India after getting out of a bad marriage. She has no one else in Mumbai – and Vijay is helping her settle down.”

“She’ll be good company,” Vijay says.

“I hope you are not trying to set me up with Nisha…?” I ask, tongue-in-cheek.

We start laughing – but suddenly Nisha comes in.

We drive to the club.

Usha sits beside Vijay in front.

Nisha sits with me in the rear of Vijay’s new Maruti 800 car.

Way back in 1984 – a Maruti Car was a prized possession – and Vijay is one of the lucky guys to get a much sought after Maruti Car from the first lot.

The smallness of the car creates a forced intimacy between Nisha and me.

Nisha sits close to me – the aroma of her perfume is enticing – our bodies touch – and I feel aroused by her tantalizing sensuousness. 

Nisha is indeed a very alluring woman.

We sit by the sea – watching lights of ships at a distance in the darkness – and we enjoy our drinks in a most pleasant ambience.

We – Vijay and Me – we drink Scotch Whisky.

Nisha gets high on Martini – while Usha has fruit juice.

It is a lovely evening.

On the way back – we drop Nisha at a working women’s hostel in Colaba – her temporary home till she finds a good apartment.

“Poor thing – it must be tough for Nisha to live in a hostel. Vijay, you must find her a good apartment fast,” Usha says, as we drive towards Marine Drive.

“I am trying to get Nisha a flat near our office in Churchgate,” Vijay says.

We drive down to Chowpatty – and walk on the sands by the sea – eating ice cream – a delightful end to a pleasurable evening.

12 September 1987
New Delhi


Last time – 3 years ago – it was Vijay, Usha, Nisha and Me – four of us together.

Now – Usha is missing – and it is Vijay, Nisha and Me.

Yes – now Usha has gone – and in her place there is Nisha.

Vijay divorced Usha and married Nisha.

Then both of them – Nisha and Vijay – relocated abroad to America.

Now they both work in New York.

And me – after slogging for many years in the field – I have finally been posted to our Delhi office.

It is great to be back in Delhi, after so many years.

We spend a nostalgic day visiting all our haunts in IIT Delhi – our hostel rooms, the canteens, the classrooms – walk round the campus.

Then – we spend the evening in my bungalow in Saket – drinking late into the night.

Later – when we are alone – Vijay says to me, “I have looked after Usha well. I have bought her a luxurious 3 BHK flat in Pune – and I have given her plenty of money. Yes – I have given her so much money that she can live well …”

“Hey, Vijay, why are you telling me all this? It is your personal matter. Are you feeling guilty? Don’t feel guilty – just forget it – whatever happened, has happened – and it is past history now. So don’t feel sorry. Come on – it is well past midnight. You have a flight to catch tomorrow. Let’s go to sleep.” I say.

And we go to sleep.

12 September 1989

USHA  and  ME

“Are you sure Vijay is not coming?” Usha, my wife, asks me.

(Yes – Vijay’s ex-wife Usha and I got married in 1988)

I look at my wife Usha and say: “No. I rang up Vijay twice today – but he is making all sorts of excuses.”

“Last year – Vijay was abroad on the 12th of September – but this time – he is in Mumbai on work – and he can surely make it – it’s just a 3 hour drive to Pune,” Usha says.

“Well – Usha – I really don’t know. Maybe – Vijay has got a guilty conscience for ditching you. Maybe – he can’t bear to see us together. Or maybe – Nisha has told him not to come…” I say.

“Okay, let’s celebrate your birthday – just you and me,” Usha says – and we go out for dinner.

12 September 2012
Khadakwasla near Pune


I sit with Vijay on the lawns of my farmhouse – and we sip our sundowners – as we watch the sun set behind the hills across the lake.

We meet after a gap of 25 years.

The last time Vijay and me got together was on 12 September 1987 – in New Delhi – when Vijay had come with his new wife Nisha – after divorcing Usha.

Like me – I am sure he is thinking about the twists and turns in the journey of our lives.

I think of all the birthdays – the 12th of September – we have spent together.

It is like a merry-go-round of relationships.

First – it was VIJAY and ME.

Then – it was VIJAY USHA and ME.

After that – it was VIJAY USHA NISHA and ME.

Later – it was VIJAY NISHA and ME.

Even later – it was USHA and ME.

Now – it is USHA ME and VIJAY.

Yes, you guessed right – Nisha divorced Vijay – and now Vijay is all alone.

Next morning I drop Vijay to the Mumbai airport – and he catches the flight back home to America.


12 September 2013

USHA  ME  and  ?

I hope Vijay will come.

But – I know he will not come.

I could see it in his eyes last time.

Maybe Vijay will never come.

Maybe Vijay and I will never meet again.

So – maybe this birthday – the 12th of September 2013 – and all my future birthdays – all the 12th’s of September – I will have to celebrate with my much married wife Usha.

Of course – it was thanks to Vijay that I first met Usha in Vizag 31 years ago – on 12 September 1982 – when she was newly married to Vijay.

But on every 12th of September I will always wait for Vijay – who was born on the same day as me – on the exact date and year – as if he were my twin brother.


Dear Reader:

As you guessed – Vijay did not come on September 12, 2013.

He did not come the next year too – on September 12, 2014.

Soon – in a few days from now – it will be September 12, 2015 – my 59th birthday – and it will be Vijay’s 59th birthday too. 

Like always – I will wait for Vijay to come. 

Tell me Dear Reader – Do you think Vijay will come?

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.

Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

I wrote this story in Sep 2013 and this story was first posted online by meVikram Karve on 12 September 2013 in my blog at 9/12/2013 02:16:00 PMat url:… and later re-posted at urls:…  and… and… 

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at 8/19/2015 11:19:00 AM

Humor in Uniform – A Spoof on Military Matrimony

August 12, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: A MARRIAGE WITH THREE ENDINGS.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…


A Spoof on Military Matrimony

A few years ago – I heard that a girl had turned down a marriage proposal from an Army Officer.

Everyone said that the boy was good.

“Yes, the boy is good – I like him – but I do not want to marry an army officer and get stuck throughout my life roaming around all over in small cantonments. I want to pursue my career as a Software Engineer in the IT Industry – in fact – I am thinking of going abroad to the US for better career prospects and settling down there in America. Will all this be possible if I marry an army officer…?” she said.

Last month – I attended the girl’s wedding.

The girl had done exactly what she had wanted – she got married to a NRI boy from the US and she too has migrated and joined her husband in America where both are pursuing their careers in the Computer Industry.

This would not have been possible had she married a “fauji” officer.

If the girl had married a “fauji” – as a “fauji” wife (“faujan”) – she would either be languishing in some remote cantonment after quitting her job – or – if she had decided to keep working – she and her “fauji” husband would be enduring a long-distance marriage. And – with a “fauji” husband – in all probability – her “American Dream” would have remained unrealised. 

This real life episode reminded me of a story (a playlet) I had written 2 years ago – in June 2013 – on a modern military marriage titled THE NEW AGE FAUJI WIFE

I am posting this story – once more – for you read and mull over – especially if you are a military wife – or are thinking of marrying a military officer: 

THE NEW AGE “FAUJI” COUPLE  a playlet by Vikram Karve

Cast of Characters

H –  Husband  [An Army Officer – a Major (33)]

W – Wife  (The Army Officer’s “Fauji” Wife (30) – an MBA from a leading B-School – she is a career woman working for a top FMCG MNC)

[Scene: The Major H and his wife W are sitting at the dining table, having dinner]

H: How was the day?

W: Hectic. Very Hectic. We are running against the clock preparing for this sudden top level meeting. And how about you? How was your day?

H: Terrible. My day was terrible. We are just wasting time preparing for the Raising Day celebrations. The Old Man is all hyper – he is sweating for his ACR and is driving us crazy with his micromanagement. He wants Officers to do the job of NCOs. Today he made me stand all day to supervise the placing of flower pots in the officers’ mess garden – and he personally came there ten times to shout at me. It’s bloody humiliating. This peacetime soldiering gets on my nerves – it’s much better to be fighting in the field.

W: Anyway – keep your Saturday evening free.

H: Saturday evening?

W: Yes. We are having a big office party at the Taj. The ‘Head Honcho’ and all the big shots are coming over from our Head Office and overseas branches. My boss has told me to bring you along – the ‘Head Honcho’ wants to meet all the spouses. So get your best suit ready.

H: Are you crazy?

W: Why? What happened?

H: Our ‘Raising Day’ Party is on Saturday evening. It is the main function of the raising day celebrations and all the top brass is coming. I told you that long back – didn’t I…?

W: Yes – you did tell me. But now – this has suddenly come up. As far as I am concerned – this office party at the Taj is an official function – you can say that it is a ‘working dinner’ – an essential part of my work – and I have to attend. And you better come too.

H: How can I come…? I have to be present at the Raising Day party. Attendance is compulsory for all officers – it is like being on duty. And remember – as an army wife – you are expected to accompany me to unit functions and social occasions. The CO has ordered that all wives are to be present for the Raising Day function. As it is – the CO’s wife is annoyed at your absence from the rehearsals.

W: The CO has “ordered”…? The bloody cheek…! Who the hell is your CO to order me around…? You are in the army. Not me. Do you understand…? I am not in the army. I am free to do as I please. You just tell your CO that. And as far as rehearsals are concerned – please make it clear to his wife – that so-called “First Lady” of yours – that I have better things to do than parading myself on the stage displaying my physical assets – and – I am not interested in prancing around on stage – in front of everyone – lip-syncing those vulgar Bollywood numbers.

H: Okay. Okay. Don’t take part in the entertainment show. But you have to be there as a hostess.

W: Hostess?

H: Well – all lady wives are required to stand at the entrance to welcome the guests. And then – you have to usher and look after the ‘senior ladies’. I think you have been especially allocated to look after the wife of the GOC. The 2 I/C said that you were the most polished and smart ‘lady wife’ in the unit.

W: Hey – I think you are missing the point. I am not coming for your party. You are coming for my party. 

H: No. You will have to come for the ‘Raising Day’ Party. It is your duty as an ‘Army Wife’.

W: Well – when I married you – I made it clear that my career was important to me. Maybe other army wives like being “eye candy” appendages of their husbands – but I do not intend playing “second fiddle” to you. I am an independent career woman – not your “arm candy” army wife.

H: Please understand. The CO will spoil my ACR if you don’t come. He specifically told me that you are to be present for the Raising Day function. As it is – the CO is angry that you don’t take part in AWWA and Ladies Club activities.

W: So how does it matter if he spoils your ACR. In any case – your army promotions are by time scale and seniority – you just have to pass time and wait patiently in the queue for your turn – and when your time comes – you will be promoted in due course. For me – in the corporate world – I have to slog hard against cutthroat competition and deliver results to earn every promotion. That is why I am a ‘Senior Manager’ today at such a young age – because of sheer performance and merit. And – that is the reason why I earn more than double the salary than what you get in the army. And – I have much better career prospects than you. My boss says that they consider me a ‘high-flyer’.

H: I know all that. There is no need to boast. If you do not want to come for the ‘Raising Day’ Party – you don’t come. I will make up some excuse and say that you are not feeling well or something.

W: I am not coming for your ‘Raising Day’ Party – that is sure. But – you just tell me one thing – suppose you don’t attend your ‘Raising Day’ Party – what will happen to you…?

H: Are you crazy? They will take action against me. They are sure to give me an adverse ACR.

W: They can spoil your ACR – but they can’t throw you out of the army – can they? Can they throw you out of the army – just for not attending a party?

H: No. I don’t think they can.

W: In my case they can – my boss will fire me if I am missing when the ‘Head Honcho’ wants to meet me. And – if I make a good impression – then – the sky is the limit. There is a position open in Singapore – and I have been short-listed. There are three others – but I stand a good chance. That is why my boss wants you to come for the party – so that the ‘Head Honcho’ can size you up.

H: Size me up…? Why does your ‘Head Honcho’ want to size me up…?

W: I told my boss about you – that you were a highly qualified and talented Engineer – an M. Tech. from an IIT – and that you were frustrated in the army doing mundane jobs.

H: Frustrated…? Who told you that I was frustrated in the army…?

W: Didn’t you tell me how humiliated you felt when you were told to stand all day and supervise the placing of flower pots in the officers’ mess garden? And – don’t they make you run the canteen? And – aren’t you fed up doing all sorts of odd jobs in the unit? Are these ‘run-of-the-mill’ jobs worthy of an M. Tech. from an IIT…? A brilliant guy like you is just wasting his time and withering away his life in the army – and your talent is unappreciated and unrewarded.

H: But what can I do?

W: You come with me for my office party on Saturday and meet the ‘Head Honcho’. Maybe he has something in mind for you. They may even make you an offer.



Let me give you 3 apocryphal endings to this story.


Like a dutiful “fauji wife” – skipped her office party – and accompanied her army husband H to the ‘Raising Day’ Party.

Her gesture was much appreciated by her husband H

With her poise and polish – succeeded in impressing the top brass and their wives – and the CO was delighted with H.

In W’s office – her boss was furious with W for being absent from the office party –  which – for her boss – was a most important event.

The ‘Head Honcho’ expressed his disappointment at not meeting W.

Though the boss did not fire her from her job – was sidelined for the lucrative and coveted Singapore assignment – and soon – W was passed over for promotion.

Frustrated at being marginalized – quit her job and took up a new one – but now as far as her career was concerned – W decided to play “second-fiddle” to her husband’s army career – and she put in all her best efforts as a typical ambitious “fauji wife” to boost her husband’s career.

When her husband H was posted out of Delhi to a new station in a small town – W quit her job – and she gave up her career to become a full-time ‘homemaker’.

now accompanies her husband wherever he is posted.

As an ideal “fauji wife” – is playing a great role in bolstering and promoting her husband’s army career by her stellar participation in AWWA, Ladies Clubs and other social activities.

H and W live happily ever after.


did not attend the ‘Raising Day’ Party.

H accompanied his wife W to her office event at the Taj.

The CO was livid at H – for his “unofficerlike” conduct of being wilfully absent from the ‘Raising Day’ Party (an official social function).

H was admonished by his CO who vowed to finish him off and ruin his career.

At the corporate office party – W introduced her husband to the ‘Head Honcho’.

Everyone was impressed by H.

There was a sudden announcement – W was promoted and she given the coveted Singapore assignment.

And then – there was even more surprise – the ‘Head Honcho’ offered a very lucrative position – also in Singapore – so that W and H could live together.

W would be head of marketing – and H would be head of technology.

H quit the army (helped by the adverse ACR his CO had given him).

H took up the job offer – and joined W in Singapore.

W and H live happily ever after.

ENDING 3 (Suggested by a reader – a fellow “fauji” officer)

W goes for her office party – and H goes for his ‘Raising Day’ Party. 

W’s civilian boss understands the circumstances in which W’s husband Hcould not attend the crucial office party. 

But – H’s CO gets furious because H’s wife W did not attend the unit’s raising day party

H’s CO duly spoils H’s ACR (Annual Confidential Report) – and – to teach Ha lesson – H’s CO gets H posted out to an insignificant appointment in a hardship non-family station in the field.

W moves to a house in a civilian area in the city – and with her husband Haway – W is having a tough time as she struggles all alone to manage her home, the kids’ schools and her career in the office.

After some time – H gets frustrated at having to live all alone without his wife and children.

H also knows that his career prospects in the army are now quite bleak – due to the adverse ACR.

So – H wants to leave the army – but his request is turned down – and H is told to wait for a few years till he is finally superseded for promotion.

So both H and W live miserably ever after.

Dear Reader: Tell us – What do you think happened?

Ending 1 or Ending 2 or Ending 3 – which one do you think is more likely?

Most of my “fauji” friends think that Ending 3 is most likely.

Which ending do you think is most likely?



I once heard a senior officer say that – if a girl marries a military officer – she has only two choices  Homemaker or Teacher.

Yes – a “fauji” wife can either be a Homemaker or a Teacher.

A traditional “fauji” wife carries the identity of husband – and her status depends on his rank.

A modern working woman pursues her own career – she has her own distinct identity – and she is no longer content to be her husband’s arm-candy.

I told you the story of the girl right at the beginning – the girl who turned down the marriage proposal from the army officer because she wanted to pursue her own career ambitions abroad – which would not have been possible had she become a “fauji” wife.

So – we all now know the answer to the moot question:

Should a Career Woman Marry an Army Officer…?

In my opinion – the Answer is a resounding “NO”

Do you agree?

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

1. This playlet is a spoof, 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. 
2. This story is a work of fiction, not a substitute for self-help advice, so please do your own due diligence in your own life, relationships, marriage and career.
3. 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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

This is a revised version of my story THE NEW AGE FAUJI WIFE first Posted Online by me on 05 June 2013 by me Vikram Karve at 6/05/2013 04:58:00 PM in my blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal – url link to My Original Post:…  and later at urls:… and…

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at

8/12/2015 03:15:00 PM

Story of a Possessive Husband, his Unfaithful Wife and her Shrewd Lover – “Love” Triangle – QED

August 9, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: “LOVE” TRIANGLE – Story of a Possessive Husband, an Unfaithful Wife and her Shrewd Lover.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

Story of a Possessive Husband, an Unfaithful Wife and her Shrewd Lover 
Adult Short Fiction – A Love Story

LOVE TRIANGLE – Short Story by Vikram Karve

“Elope? You want us to elope?” I ask.

“Yes. That’s why I have got my bag with me,” she says.

“But where do you want to go?”

“Take me to your place. I will stay with you.”

“How can you stay with me? You are married to someone else.”

“I don’t care. I cannot live with my husband any longer. I am moving in with you.”

“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.”

“But you have told your parents about me – haven’t you?”


“And your parents have agreed …”

“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’…”

“What are you saying? ‘Living in sin’…? ‘Sin’…? That’s funny. If we have a love affair in secret it is okay. But if we live openly together it becomes sin.”

“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.”

“He refused point blank. My husband told me that he will never give me a divorce.”

“You asked him?”



“This morning. Before he left for Mumbai.”


“He is catching the afternoon flight to Singapore.”

“Singapore? You never told me that your husband was going to Singapore.”

“I did not 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.” 

“Oh? So – he will be moving to Singapore.”

“Not he alone – we 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.”

“But what about your job?”

“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.”

“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.”

“So you have chickened out?”


“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.”

“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.”

“Nothing is going to work out. Do you know what he said when I asked him for a divorce this morning?”

“What happened?”

“He blew up into a terrible rage. He told me that I would get divorce over his dead body. And then …”

“And then?”

“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, he tries to …” – she starts crying, and then, she sobs, and she says – “… 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.”

“Please. Don’t cry. Let’s go to a doctor first.”

“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.”

“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 can stay with you?”

“Till the evening. Then you can go and live with your folks for a few days. Meanwhile we will think of something.”

“Folks? I have no folks, no family – I am a bloody orphan.”

“Don’t say that. I know that your parents are divorced. But you are not an orphan.”

“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 … 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. Those days were terrible. I just hate him. I am still so scared of him. It is to escape from him that I got so 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 – I am telling you for the last time – we have to elope today – if you ditch me I will commit suicide.”

“Don’t say that. Something will work out. We will find some solution to the problem.”

“Solution…? There is no solution to my problem. My husband won’t give me a divorce. You won’t take me into your home till I am divorced. For me – it is a dead end.”

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.

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 …”

“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, stunned.

“Yes,” she says, looking at the TV – her face expressionless.

Then – she lovingly takes my hand in hers – and she says to me: “It looks like the knotty problem has untangled itself – yes – ‘Love Triangle’ solved – QED.”

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.

Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

This is a Revised Version of My Story First Posted by me Vikram Karve in my blog at 5/14/2013 10:45:00 AM at url:…  and re-posted at urls:…  and…  and… 

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at

8/09/2015 12:47:00 PM

Compatibility Issues in Arranged Marriage – Does Your Spouse “LIKE” You

August 6, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: DOES YOUR WIFE “LIKE” YOU.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

(or – Does Your Husband “Like” You ?)
Incoherent Gobbledygook of a Veteran on Mystery of Marriage
A Spoof


In a “Love Marriage” – the question “Does your spouse like you…?” – is irrelevant.

In a love marriage – the husband and wife marry because they are in love.

And – the very fact that they are in “love” – means that the husband and wife “like” each other – “ipso facto” – because – if you do not “like” a person – how can you fall in “love” with that person?

So – in a “Love Marriage” – it is obvious that the husband and wife like each other.

However – in “Arranged Marriages” – the situation is entirely different.

When I was in the Navy – I saw many marriages where the wife did not seem to “like” the husband – or vice versa.

Of course – these were all “arranged marriages”.

Why go further – even in my case – after more than 33 years of marriage – I still cannot accurately fathom whether my wife actually “likes” me – though – over the years – I seem to have developed a liking for her.

There can be countless reasons why your spouse may not “like” you.

Every husband and wife may have their own unique reasons why they do not like their partner.

However – recently – I heard a phrase which encapsulates all these myriad reasons in a nutshell – “compatibility issues”.


Let me tell you how I heard of this term – “compatibility issues”.

A few years ago – I attended the wedding of a “Techie” Boy – and “IT Nerd”.

Last week – while strolling on Main Street – I suddenly ran into him.

The “Techie” boy was with his wife.

He introduced me to his wife.

His wife gave me a courteous smile – and said that she was glad to meet me.

She behaved as if this was the first time she was seeing me.

I was surprised – since I had attended their marriage just a few years ago – and generally – no one forgets my face – thanks to my handsome beard – and my rather “abrasive personality”.

“Don’t you remember me?” I asked the young lady.

“No – I don’t think we have met before,” she said to me.

“Well – I attended your wedding reception…” I said.

“How is that possible? We had a very private marriage ceremony…” she said.

I noticed a strange expression on my “Techie” friend’s face – as if he was non-verbally telling me not to ask these questions – so I did not pursue the conversation further – and – instead – I suggested that we have some rolls, sandwiches and cold coffee at one of my favourite places just opposite the road.

Once inside the eatery – when the wife was seated – and we were standing near the self-service counter – the young “Techie” told me that this lady was his second wife – he had divorced his first wife (whose wedding I had attended 3 years ago) – and he got remarried to this woman (his second wife) just one month ago.

“Oh – I am sorry – but – what happened – why did your first marriage breakup so quickly – you got divorced within 3 years of your wedding…?” I asked.

“Actually – we got divorced within 2 years – but the marriage had broken down much earlier – within a year…” he said.

“What happened…? What was the reason for your divorce…?” I asked.

“Compatibility Issues,” he said.

What a simple all-encompassing expression for breakup of a marital relationship – “compatibility issues”.

Call it a coincidence – but the very next morning – I read on ‘Page 3’ of a tabloid that a small-time celebrity had said that her marriage broke up due to “compatibility issues”.

I laughed to myself – if “compatibility” had been an “issue” – my wife and I would have been divorced at least a thousand times by now.

But – jokes apart – I seem to have digressed from the moot question:

Does your spouse “like” you…?

As I have said – there can be umpteen reasons why a wife does not like her husband – or vice versa – there may be even more reasons why a husband does like his wife.


In literature – many stories, novels and plays have been written on this theme.

One notable story I remember on this theme of a wife who does not like her husband is THE WREATH by Luigi Pirandello

I read the English translation of this story in the short fiction anthology GREAT SHORT STORIES OF THE WORLD published by Reader’s Digest.

In this story – a young woman who is 22 years old is married to a 40 year old man – the husband is 18 years older than the wife.

The youthful wife does not like her middle-aged husband.

And – why does she not “like” her husband – who is a kindhearted doctor…?

When the woman was an 18 year old girl – she had fallen in love with a boy.

But – sadly – the boy suddenly died due to typhus.

The same doctor had been called to treat the boy and was by the boy’s bedside when he died.

Stricken by grief – the girl almost lost her mind – and became a recluse.

She refused to get married – and declined many good matrimonial offers.

Sometime later – the doctor proposed to her – and – surprisingly – the girl accepted.

Everyone else was surprised too – since the doctor was 18 years older than the girl.

Soon – the doctor realized that his young wife did not like him.

The doctor loved his young wife – but she did not like him.

In her heart – she still yearned for her first love – the young boy – her dead lover – and she secretly placed a wreath at his grave on every anniversary of his death.

One day – the doctor accidentally discovered this.

What happened next – for that – you will have to read the story.

But – the moot question is:

Why did the young wife not “like” her husband…?

Was it because of the age difference – because her husband was much older than her…?

Was it because of her love affair with the boy – her first lover – who she was unable to forget – although he was dead…?

Or – to use my newly learnt clichéd phrase – was it due to “compatibility issues”…?


In conclusion – Dear Friends – if you are “enduring” an arranged marriage – and if you feel that your spouse does not “like” you – just put it down to “compatibility issues” – and do not bother too much about it – and get on with your “happy” married life…

If you want to enjoy your “Arranged Marriage” – don’t delve too much…

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

1. This is a spoof, light-hearted fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
2. 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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.


“Lovey Dovey” Couple in Uniform

August 4, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: Humor in Uniform – PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION (PDA).

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

Story of the “Lovey Dovey” Couple 
A Spoof


My first unforgettable memory of Public Display of Affection (PDA) was almost 40 years ago – in the late 1970’s – during my early days in the Navy.

There was a young newly married couple who just could not take their hands off each other.

A Naval Officer is not permitted to get married before the age of 25.

But in this case – the Navy had made an exception.

In a rare gesture – the Navy had shown “compassion” for “passion”.

It was a whirlwind romance – and parental opposition had necessitated a quick “hush-hush” wedding – and the Navy was presented with a fait accompli.

The young Sub Lieutenant bluntly stated that he was prepared to quit the Navy for the sake of his “ladylove”.

So – permission was granted as an exceptional case – and the young couple was allowed to stay in the Wardroom (Officers Mess).

They were allotted a cabin in the old barrack where married officers awaiting allocation of proper married quarters lived temporarily.

The newly married husband and wife were passionately in love.

Their fervent love was visible to one and all – because the handsome husband – and his beautiful wife – demonstrated their obsessive affection for each other quite explicitly in public in a most uninhibited manner.

Dear Reader – remember this was the India of the 1970’s – and this brazenPublic Display of Affection (PDA) was happening in a remote cantonment – in full view of sailors and their families – who were mostly from rural areas – and had rather conservative values.

Now – in the orthodox and conformist environment of a cantonment – an officer and his wife indulging in such titillating physical Public Display Of Affection (PDA) was viewed as scandalous conduct.

The officer was warned to mend his ways.

The wife was “counselled” by ladies.

But there was no effect.

In fact – the “advice” seemed to have the opposite effect.

The young lovey-dovey couple continued their amorous PDA with even greater ardour and passion – which seemed to be attaining new heights.

One evening they were observed kissing and “making out” in the dark corners of the base cinema hall – with their hands all over each other – when the lights suddenly came on.

Next morning – the officer was read the riot act – and threatened with disciplinary action if he did not mend his ways.

“We will throw the book at you…” he was warned.

“We will charge you with Section 53 (indecent behaviour) and Section 54 (conduct unbecoming the character of an officer) of the Navy Act…” they threatened him.

But despite all this – there was no salutary effect of the officer and his wife – who continued their brazen PDA with increasing passion.

Soon everyone turned a blind eye to the PDA – because all realized that the officer and his wife were madly in love with each other.

The officer completed his training a few months later – and was transferred to a ship based at Mumbai.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief – in a cosmopolitan place like Mumbai – PDA was no big deal – even the Navy in Mumbai had a progressive culture as compared to other places.


I saw the officer three years later at an official function.

He looked like a ghost of his earlier self – as if he had gone through a serious bout of illness.

When I commented on his emaciated appearance – someone said to me: “Don’t you know what a terrible tragedy the poor chap has gone through? He has been through a most acrimonious and nasty divorce – and the distressing marital discord and bitter divorce has taken a big toll on his health.”

“Divorce…?” I was stunned.

I could never imagine that such a lovey-dovey couple who publicly demonstrated their intense love for each other would ever get divorced.

How could a husband and wife who were so passionately in love with each other get divorced?

It did not make sense.

The couple had been so much in love – that they did not hesitate to publicly display their affection for each other despite societal disapproval – how could they get divorced?


Twenty years later – I once again met the officer – this time at an airport.

He told me that he had quit the Navy – and that had taken up a job in the industry.

There was a lady standing next to him along with two children.

He introduced his wife and children.

So – he had got remarried.

Looking at his kids – I estimated that he must have got remarried around 10 years ago.

I remembered the officer and his first wife – the lovey-dovey couple – and their passionate, unrestrained and uninhibited Public Display of Affection (PDA).

But – now – there appeared to be a sea change in his demeanor with his new wife.

There was absolutely no Public Display of Affection (PDA) between him and his new wife.

In fact – from the way they were conducting themselves in public – it did not even appear that they were husband and wife.

What an irony?

The “lovey-dovey” marriage with PDA had broken up within one year.

And – the “loveless” marriage without PDA had lasted for more than 10 years – and it looked like this marriage would last forever.

I still cannot fathom the paradox.

A relationship with “100% PDA” is fragile.

But – a relationship with “Zero PDA” is durable.

Such are the mysteries of marriage, romance, love and relationships.

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

1. This story is a spoof, 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.
2. 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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (All Rights Reserved)
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Revised Version of My Story PDA – PUBLIC DISPLAY OF AFFECTION posted online by me Vikram Karve earlier in this blog on 21 Jan 2015 at url:…

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at 8/04/2015 10:10:00 PM

“Perfect” Husband – a story

August 3, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: THE PERFECT HUSBAND – Short Fiction Story.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

Short Fiction Story 

Pooja walked out of her marriage because she felt that her husband was a boring and dull man.

One morning – after her husband had left for work – Pooja packed her bags – called a Pune Mumbai Cab – sat in the taxi – and she went straight to her brother-in-law’s house in Mumbai.

Pooja loved her brother-in-law.

He was the man of her dreams.

He was a “perfect husband”.

Yes – for Pooja – her brother-in-law was her “role model” husband.

Actually – for Pooja – he was a double brother-in-law – he was her husband’s elder brother – and he was also Pooja’s sister’s husband.

It was a case of two sisters getting married to two brothers.

After seeing her elder sister married so happily to such a wonderful husband – Pooja had readily agreed to marry his younger brother when her sister had brought the proposal.

And what a big mistake she had made!

How could two brothers be so different?

Pooja’s husband turned out to be a most dull, dreary and uninspiring person – in short – he was a big bore.

In contrast – her brother-in-law was so much fun – he was the type of husband Pooja had always wanted – a fun-loving debonair gentleman.

Pooja’s sister was pleasantly surprised when her younger sister suddenly landed up at her place unannounced.  

But – when Pooja told her that she had walked out on her husband forever because she found him boring – her sister got worried – so she rang up Pooja’s husband – and told him that Pooja had come over to her place in Mumbai.

Pooja’s husband did not betray any emotion. 

He just told Pooja’s sister that it was okay – and that Pooja could come back to Pune whenever she wanted.

Pooja’s sister felt a bit uneasy and hoped all was well – though she knew that Pooja’s husband was a quiet reticent introvert.

But – still – Pooja’s sister sensed that something was wrong.

Pooja’s sister was wondering what to do – maybe she could ask her husband to talk to Pooja’s husband – after all – they were brothers – and her husband was the elder brother.

Meanwhile – knowing Pooja’s temperament – it would be best to remain silent for some time. 

So – they – Pooja and her elder sister – just sat and watched a movie on TV.

In the evening – Pooja’s brother-in-law arrived home from work.

He seemed delighted to see Pooja.

‘What a surprise?” he said to Pooja.

Then – he turned to his wife – Pooja’s sister – and he said, “I have got the cruise tickets.”

He took out a colourful folder from his briefcase – and he gave it to Pooja’s sister, “Everything is in there – the tickets, the programme, all details about the cruise ship.”

“Wow. Are you two going on a cruise ship?” Pooja said.

“Yes, this time we thought that we will take a different type of vacation,” Pooja’s brother-in-law said.

“How lucky you are,” Pooja said wistfully to her sister, “I haven’t had a single vacation since marriage – my husband doesn’t even take me to Mahableshwar or Goa. It is so boring sitting at home. He doesn’t want to go anywhere – not even to a movie.”

“Hey, Pooja – why don’t you come with us?” Pooja’s brother-in-law said.

“On a cruise ship…?” Pooja asked, in disbelief.

“We will have to ask her husband…” Pooja’s sister said.

“I will tell him …” Pooja’s brother-in-law said to his wife.

“But how can we take her? You said the cruise was fully booked,” Pooja’s sister said to her husband.

“I will try and manage something,” Pooja’s brother-in-law said.

Then he turned to Pooja – and he said, “You pack your bags for a fantastic holiday.”

“Thank you so much. I wish I had a husband like you,” Pooja said to her brother-in-law.

“Oh, come on Pooja – your husband is a very nice chap – my brother is a bit serious type – but let me tell you that he is very good guy,” Pooja’s brother-in-law said.

And so – Pooja went for a pleasure voyage on the magnificent cruise liner.

It was the best time of her life – the fun – the food – the entertainment – this was the kind of life she had always wanted to live.

Her sister and brother-in-law had a deluxe ocean view stateroom on the upper deck.

Because of the last minute booking – for Pooja – they could only manage a single bed cabin – deep down below on a lower deck.

Her cabin was not as luxurious as the stateroom – but Pooja was happy – she spent the whole day enjoying herself on the upper decks – swimming, sunbathing, playing games – then wining and dining – savouring exotic wines – and relishing delicious food – dancing at the nightclub – and then trying her luck in the casino – it was like a dream come true.

For Pooja – these 20 days had been the happiest days of her life – the 3 week long luxury cruise on the sea – the shore excursions – and sightseeing visits to exotic places.

On the last evening of the cruise – there was a big entertainment event – it was truly awesome – the spectacular cabaret – the groovy dancing – the bubbly champagne flowing freely – the mind-boggling array of fabulous delicacies  – Pooja had never seen anything like it before.

It was almost midnight – and Pooja was feeling high.

All the champagne drinking and dancing had put Pooja in high spirits.

Pooja felt a bit dizzy so she sat down on their table.

Her sister and brother-in-law were not there – they must be enjoying themselves somewhere – there were so many events going on the gigantic luxury cruise ship.

Pooja sipped more champagne – and as she drank more and more – she began to feel woozy.

Her head felt giddy – her stomach felt queasy – and Pooja felt as if she was going to vomit.

Pooja became anxious – she was terrified that she would make a fool of herself by throwing up here in front of everyone.

So – Pooja got up and started walking unsteadily towards the alleyway.

She felt there were two persons within her – as result of the baleful double personality that comes into being through drunkenness. 

The first persona acted as if without any brain at all – in a mechanical, vacant manner – and the second persona observed the first quite lucidly – but seemed entirely powerless to do anything.

In the alleyway – Pooja yanked open a door.

Though it was dark – Pooja could hazily make out that it was some sort of crew cabin. 

Hopefully – there would be a toilet where she could vomit out and throw up – and then freshen up.

In the darkness – Pooja searched for the light switch – and her hands found it near the door.

She flicked the switch – and the lights came on.

The astounding scene that Pooja saw instantly shook her out of her drunkenness – and shocked her so much – that she stood dumbfounded and dazed – totally stunned into a state of disbelief.

There was a woman. 

She was lying naked on the bunk. 

Garments of her dress were scattered all over the floor.

And there was a man.

He was half-clothed – his head buried in the naked woman’s hair – his arms around her – and the man and woman were in the throes of passion.

The man was her brother-in-law.

The woman was the cabaret dancer she had seen performing on stage in the evening.

Disturbed by the sudden switching on of the lights – the naked woman looked up at Pooja – and she shouted at Pooja: “Who the hell are you? Don’t you have any bloody manners? How dare you barge in like this? Don’t you know that you must knock before opening a door? Now shut the light and get out. And don’t forget to close the door.”

Pooja felt sick – very sick.

She could not believe what she saw. 

Dumbstruck – Pooja looked at the sordid scene before her.

Pooja felt awful.

Her brother-in-law – the man of her dreams – her role model – her ideal as a perfect husband – his image came crashing down – the whole thing was disgusting and nauseating.

Pooja’s head started to spin – her stomach started to churn – and she threw up – retching out her insides – and then she collapsed in a heap – wallowing in her own filthy vomit – and then – Pooja passed out, unconscious.

Next morning – they disembarked – and caught the evening flight to Mumbai.

It was early morning by the time they reached Mumbai – and almost immediately – Pooja caught a taxi to Pune – she was desperate to meet her husband.

By the time Pooja reached her home in Pune – it was afternoon.

Pooja tried to open the door-lock with her key – but the her key would not fit – it seemed that her husband had changed the lock on the door of their house.

Pooja knocked at her neighbour’s door.

Pooja’s neighbour – an old man – who was also the landlord – opened the door.

The old man seemed surprised to see Pooja – and he said to her, “What are you doing here? I thought you had gone abroad with your husband…” 

“Abroad…?” Pooja asked – stunned.

“Your husband said that you both were migrating abroad – and you had gone ahead to Mumbai to your sister’s place to make preparations – and he would be picking you up on his way to Mumbai airport…”

“When did he say all this…?”

“Why are you asking me all this? Don’t you know what your own husband does? Must be around 20 days ago – just after you left for Mumbai. It is surprising that you are asking me all this…”

“What about our luggage – the furniture – our belongings…?”

“What luggage…? He took some bags with him – the rest of the stuff – and the furniture – he sold off…”

“Sold off…?”

“Yes – the second-hand dealer came and took everything – and – of course – your husband was kind enough to give me 3 months rent for not giving me notice – though – strictly – I could have demanded only one month’s rent… ” the old man said.

“Are you saying that he has vacated the apartment…?”

“Of course he vacated the house – he said that he was going abroad for a long time – maybe permanently…”

“Permanently…?” Pooja mumbled mechanically – and her brain started to go blank – and she felt like a zombie.

Pooja does not clearly remember what she did for the next few hours.

Apparently – she was found wandering in a dazed state on the streets of Pune – and some good samaritan called the police – who tracked down her sister from her number in Pooja’s mobile phone.

Later – it became clear that Pooja’s husband had slam-dunked her – nice and proper.

Pooja’s husband had made all the preparations – kept a job offer open abroad – got all paperwork done and documents ready – closed the bank accounts – done everything discreetly – keeping Pooja totally in the dark – and – then – Pooja’s sudden going away without informing him – was the “tipping point” – and – he quit his job in Pune – and he flew away forever – leaving Pooja high and dry.

Yes – Pooja’s husband has truly left Pooja “high and dry”.

Her brother-in-law does not want her in his house any more – after that sordid episode on the cruise ship where Pooja had caught him “in flagrante delicto” with the cabaret dancer.

Pooja’s sister has located Pooja’s husband – but she has not told Pooja – because Pooja’s husband has made it clear that he is not coming back – and he is not interested in Pooja any longer – and – at present – Pooja is in no mental state to bear this tragic news – since she has still not recovered from shock – and is under treatment at an institution – and – the doctors say – that Pooja is in no condition to bear any more distressing news or shocks – which may drive her crazy.

So – it turned out that – Pooja’s “boring” husband may have been dull – but he was not dumb at all…

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (All Rights Reserved)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

I had written this story called ROLE MODEL HUSBAND almost 2 years ago in September 2013 and posted it online in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal Blog at urls…  and…  and… 
This story had a happy ending which seemed a bit contrived. So I re-wrote this story with a new ending and posting it online again with a new title THE PERFECT HUSBAND

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at 7/31/2015 05:05:00 PM


July 6, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: THE FEMINIST.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

Short Fiction
A Love Story

THE FEMINIST” – Love Story by Vikram Karve

“Hey – will you please pick me up from ‘XXX’ Bookstore on your way back from office…?” my wife said over the phone.

“Okay – but I can come around 6 o’clock…” I said.

“No hurry – I am going for a book launch – it starts at 5:30 – it will go on till 6:30 at least…” she said.

I reached the bookstore around 6:15 in the evening.

There was quite a crowd for the book launch.

At the entrance of the bookstore – there was a big poster of the book being launched.

The title of the book was: GENDER EQUALITY IN MARRIAGE.

The moment I saw the photo of the author – my heart skipped a beat.

It was the ‘Feminist’.

I walked to the book-launch area – and I quietly sat down on a vacant chair in the last row.

The ‘Feminist’ was speaking about her book – and as I expected – she was delivering a diatribe against men in general and the patriarchal system in particular.

I could see my wife in the first row – listening attentively – lapping up every word.

After finishing her tirade against the masculine gender – the ‘Feminist’ began waxing eloquent about marital abuse and domestic violence – and she exhorted women not to tolerate any dominating behaviour from their husbands – “there was no need for women to suffer an abusive marriage” she emphasized – and then she explained various legal remedies available to women who suffer abuse at the hands of their husbands.

At the end of her speech – after concluding her bitter rant against all men in general and husbands in particular – the ‘Feminist’ looked in my direction – and she gave me a smile of recognition.

Then – after her book was launched by a ‘VIP’ – the ‘Feminist’ was whisked away by the organizers to autograph copies of her book.

I walked to my wife – and I said to her: “Come on – let’s go.”

“How can we go now?” my wife protested.

“Why? The book launch is over?” I said.

“I want an autographed copy of her book…” my wife said.

“You want to buy this useless book…?”

“How can you call this book useless…?”

“Anyway – I just heard her bigoted views – I don’t want you to read such inflammatory books…?”


“Yes – such provocative books will only spoil our marriage…”

“Now I know – you are one of those ‘MCP’ husbands she was talking about…”

“What nonsense…”

“Till now you have managed to subjugate me – but now – I will read what is written in the book – and I will teach you a lesson…” my wife said.

My wife joined the queue to get an autographed copy of the book.

I saw that the publishers had organized ‘high tea’ in the rear section of the bookstore where the book launch had taken place – so I walked there and poured myself a cup of tea – then I sat down on a table enjoying my tea.

After a few minutes – my wife came with a copy of the book in her hands – she was ecstatic as she showed me the autograph of the ‘Feminist’ – who had written my wife’s name with a message: “Wish you a ‘gender equal’ marriage”.

“See – she has already started corrupting you with her prejudiced views – even before you read the book,” I said to me wife.

“Hi Arun – may I join you,” a feminine voice said from above.

I recognized the voice at once – and I felt a tremor of discomfort.

I looked up at the ‘Feminist’ and said, “Oh – Hi Rita – of course – please join us.”

The ‘Feminist’ (Rita) pulled a chair and sat down to my left – with my wife to her left – opposite me.

I cannot describe the expression on my wife’s face – to put it mildly – she looked ‘amazed’.

The ‘Feminist’ looked at me and said: “So – Arun – ‘long time no see’ – I was quite surprised to see you here – sitting in the last row – listening to my talk…”

“Actually – I came to pick up my wife – she had come for your book launch…” I said.

“Oh – yes…” the ‘Feminist’ said looking at my wife.

Then – the ‘Feminist’ looked at me and said: “Arun – won’t you introduce your wife to me…?”

I introduced them.

My wife smiled at the ‘Feminist’ and asked her: “You know my husband…?”

“Of course I know him – we were classmates in college…” the ‘Feminist’ said.

“Really…?” my wife said, surprised.

“Of course – Arun and I had a real good time together in college – we were the best of friends – inseparable buddies – in fact – I even proposed to him…” the ‘Feminist’ said to my wife.

“You proposed marriage to Arun…?” my flabbergasted wife asked the ‘Feminist’.

“Of course – I wanted to marry Arun – but he turned down my marriage proposal – didn’t Arun tell you about me…?” the ‘Feminist’ said to my wife.

Suddenly – a man appeared – looked at the ‘Feminist’ – and gestured towards his watch.

“Oh – I have to go for a TV interview…” the ‘Feminist’ said.

The ‘Feminist’ got up from her seat – looked at my wife – and smiled: “It was so nice meeting you – do watch my interview at 8 about my book on TV…” the ‘Feminist’ said to my wife, mentioning a news channel.

Then – the ‘Feminist’ looked at me and said: “Arun – it was great meeting you after so many years…”

I smiled at her and said: “Yes – all the best…”

After the ‘Feminist’ had walked away – my wife asked me: “You didn’t even ask her for her mobile number…”

“Why should I ask her for her mobile number…?” I said.

“Don’t you want to rekindle your ‘old flame’ – your first love…?” my wife teased.

“You shut up – it was nothing like that – we were just classmates…”

“Oh – but she proposed to you – she wanted to marry you – and the way she was looking at you – it is clear that she is still in love with you…”

“But – I was never in love with her…”


“Because she is a ‘masculine’ woman…” I said.

“What nonsense – she looks quite ‘feminine’ to me – in fact – she is a very beautiful woman…” my wife said.

“I was not talking about her looks – it is about her strong views…” I said.

I wanted to end this conversation – so I got up from my chair – and said to my wife: “Let’s go home…”

In the car – my wife started off again about the ‘Feminist’.

“Why didn’t you marry her…?” my wife asked me.

“Because I was scared of her…”

“Scared?  You are twice her size…”

“I was not scared of her physically – I was scared of her views…”


“She is a man-hater…”

“Oh – she does not like men – surprising – she does not look ‘that type’…”

“What do you mean by ‘that type’…?”

“You know – ‘that type’ – there were a few girls in our college hostel – they did not like boys – they preferred… – you know what I mean – ‘that type’…?

“No – No – No – I did not mean it that way – she is not ‘that type’ – tell me – if she was ‘that type’ – would she have proposed marriage to me…?”

“Oh yes – you are right – that means she likes men…”

“On the contrary – she hates men…”

“But – she liked you…”

“She may have personally liked me – but in general – she is a ‘feminist’ – in fact – she is a ‘misandrist’ who is strongly prejudiced against men – and I did not want a wife who hates men…”

“I hate you…” my wife said.

Luckily – we reached home – and I was happy to end this rather irksome conversation.

Later – I saw that my wife was glued to the TV watching the ‘Feminist’ spew venom against the masculine gender in general – with a special diatribe against husbands in particular – as she discussed various aspects of her book.

At night – in bed – I observed my wife avidly reading her autographed copy of the book on ‘Gender Equality in Marriage’ written by the ‘Feminist’.

From the next morning onwards – my wife started asserting herself – putting into practice some the principles written in the Feminist’s book.

From time to time – my wife would watch the ‘Feminist’ on TV debates – and after every such debate – my wife would become more aggressive – demanding ‘gender equality’ in marriage – and the upshot was that I was soon reduced to being a “homemaker” (in addition to being the “breadwinner”).

A few weeks later – one evening – while we were shopping in a posh locality – my wife suddenly said: “Look Look – look there…”

I looked in the direction my wife was pointing.

Across the road – I saw the ‘Feminist’ – she had got out of a car and was walking towards a building – and then – she entered the building.

“She probably lives here – let’s go and meet her…” my wife said excitedly.

“Are you crazy…? We can’t just barge in like that…” I protested.

“Of course you can – after all – you were her first love…” my wife said.

“Please stop it – I don’t want to meet her – as it is she has been a bad influence on you…” I said.

“Bad influence…?”

“Yes – just by reading her book – you have made my life hell. Just imagine what will happen if you actually start meeting her…? She has already ‘liberated’ you enough – I don’t want her to ‘liberate’ you any further. That is why I do not want you to meet her – she is a bad influence and will corrupt you totally…” I said.

“I am going…” my wife said – and she crossed the road – and walked towards the building.

I had no choice but to follow her.

My wife was looking at the board in the foyer.

Suddenly – she located the Feminist’s name and exclaimed: “Ah – there – ‘Rita ….’ – 3rd Floor – see – the flat is her name – looks like she did not get married…”

We went up by the lift – and rang the doorbell.

The door did not open for some time.

“Let’s go – no one is opening the door…” I said.

In response – my wife pressed the doorbell for a long time.

“Who is it…?” a male voice said from inside.

“Rita’s friend…” my wife said.

The door opened.

A man was standing in the door.

From the stink of whisky from his breath and body – and from his disheveled appearance – I realized that he was drunk.

“Let’s go…” I said to my wife.

But – my wife asked the man, “We have come to meet Rita – she lives here – doesn’t she…?”

The man said: “Yes – Rita lives here – I am Rita’s husband – but who are you…?”

I told the man my name.

The drunken man thought for a moment – and then exclaimed loudly: “Oh – so you are her lover boy – her college sweetheart – and you have started seeing her again – haven’t you? Reviving your ‘old flame’ – eh…?”

I was rendered speechless.

My wife gave me a deadly look.

I recovered my wits – and I said to the man: “That is not true – we were just classmates.”

“Well – I am not too sure – but – anyway – come in – let’s see what Rita has to say…” the man said.

Then – the man staggered drunkenly towards the bedroom shouting: “Rita…Rita – look who has come to see you…?”

We – my wife and I – stood in the doorway.

The drunken man went inside the bedroom.

And when he emerged – I saw that he was dragging Rita roughly by the arm.

I was shocked to see Rita.

Her face was swollen up and bruised – her lip was cut and bleeding – it was evident that Rita had been badly beaten up and brutally battered by her husband.

Her body – her clothes – had all the tell-tale signs of violent physical abuse.

“I gave her a nice thrashing just now…” the Rita’s husband boasted, “do you know why…? Do you know why…?”

And then – suddenly – Rita’s husband started slapping Rita on the face…

“You stop it – or I will call the police…” I shouted.

Then – I walked to the Rita’s husband – drew myself up to my full height – and said to him in a loud voice: “You leave her and go inside your bedroom – otherwise I will thrash the hell out of you and hand you over to the police…”

Sensing that I intended to carry out my threat – and realizing that in this situation – discretion was better than “valour” – the man let go of Rita’s arm – and walked away into the bedroom.

“Let’s take her to a doctor…” I said to my wife.

“No – No…” Rita protested, “I don’t want to go to a doctor – I will manage myself – you please go…”

“You look after her…” I said to my wife, “I will call the police…”

“Call the police…? Are you crazy…?” Rita shouted at me.

“Why…?” I asked.

“If you call the police – the whole world will come to know. Do you want me to make me a laughing-stock in society…? Rita said, with tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you…?” I said.

“Please – Please – Please just leave me alone and go away – this is my personal matter – and I do not want you meddling in my personal affairs – I do not want you to make matters worse – please – I beg you – please leave me alone and go away…” Rita desperately pleaded to me.

“But…? How can I leave you like this…?” I said.

“Don’t worry – these things keep happening – I have got used to it – everything will be okay in the morning – he will make up to me and things will be fine – you don’t worry – everything will be fine – but you please go – you please don’t make things worse for me – please leave me alone and go…” Rita beseeched me.

“I still feel…” I said.

“Arun – you promise me one thing…” Rita said.


“Promise me that you will not tell anyone about this – if the world comes to know – my reputation will be ruined – please – Arun – promise me – promise me that you will not tell anyone…” Rita said to me – her voice full of anxiety.

“I promise…” I said to Rita.

And then – with great reluctance – we left her house.

Later – at night – when we were in bed – my wife said to me: “You should have married Rita – then all this would not have happened.”

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (All Rights Reserved)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Posted by Vikram Karve at 7/06/2015 03:43:00 PM


May 19, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DIVORCED MAN – A Lose Lose Situation.


Link to my post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:… 

I wrote this story 9 years ago, in the year 2007, and first posted it online on my creative writing blog in 2008 – here is the link:…

This Story also features in my book COCKTAIL – my anthology of short stories about relationships published in 2011.

Read on ->

A Long Short Story in Seven Parts 
Short Fiction 


I am sure you have heard the term “win-win” situation.

But have you heard of “lose-lose” situation.

Here is one of my fiction short stories which depicts a lose-lose situation.

Or does it?

Does the story convey the message I wanted to convey?

I really don’t know. 

You tell me the message you got from this story.

Dear Reader, do tell me your views.

Can such lose-lose situations be avoided?

Read on. 

Take your time.

It is a longish story – so if you want, you can read it in parts too. 

Recently I heard in the news that they are trying to make divorce easier. 

Is it really a good idea to make divorce easy and encourage it?

Everyone sympathises with the woman in a divorce.

But what about the man – and the children – does anybody care about them?

Do enjoy the story.

I look forward to your comments and feedback.

(Fiction Short Story by Vikram Karve) 


“I’m going,” the man says.
“Don’t go. Please don’t go,” the woman says.
“Don’t go? What do you mean don’t go? You know I have to go.”
“You don’t have to go. You know you don’t have to go. Please. Please. Please don’t go. I beg you. Please don’t go!”
“Come on, Hema, be reasonable, and try to understand. You know I have to go. I promised him I would be there for his school’s Annual Day…”
“No, Ashok, No. You don’t go. His mother can go. He is staying with her, isn’t it? Let her look after him…”
“And I am his father!” the man says firmly, “I promised Varun I’ll be there and I have to be there!”
“You don’t love me! You still love them!”
“You know how much I love you, Hema,” the man says taking the woman in his arms, “But I love my son too. I have to go. Please don’t make it difficult for me…”
Tears begin to well up in the man’s eyes. The woman snuggles her face against his neck and grips him tightly.
“I’m scared,” she sobs.
“Scared? Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s the first time you are going to her after you two split…”
“Please, Hema. I am not going to her. I’m going to meet my son, for his school’s annual day, because Varun rang me up and made me promise that I would be there to see his performance on stage. I’ll meet Varun, attend the PTA meeting, I’ll talk to his teacher, see the concert and come straight back to you. I won’t even talk to Pooja, I promise,” the man called Ashok says to the woman nestling in his arms, “Don’t worry, Hema. You know it’s all over between Pooja and me, isn’t it? Maybe she won’t even come to the PTA meeting if she knows I’m coming, and even if she’s there I’m sure she too will avoid me as far as possible.”
The woman takes his hand, gently places it on her stomach, and whispers in the man’s ears, “Soon we will have our own son.”
“Yes,” the man says lovingly, caressing her stomach tenderly with his soft hand, “a son, and a daughter, whatever you want.”
They disentangle, then he holds her once more, pushes his face into her warm mouth, kisses her lovingly, and says, “Don’t worry, I’m all yours, and I promise I’ll be right back as fast as possible.”
A few moments later, the man sits in his car, wipes his face fresh with a cologne-scented tissue, starts the car, and drives off.
“My Daddy has come, my Daddy has come,” a boy shouts gleefully to his friends and rushes towards his father as he enters the school gate.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” the boy says delightedly and jumps into his father’s arms.
“Hey, Varun, you look so good in your school uniform,” the man says picking up and lovingly kissing his son on the cheek. Seeing his son’s genuine happiness and rapturous delight, the man feels glad that he has come. He warmly hugs his son and then gently sets him down.
“Come fast, Daddy,” the boy tugs at his father’s sleeve, “everyone is sitting in the class.”
“Mummy’s come?” the man asks cautiously.
“Yes, Yes, Daddy,” the boy says gleefully, “She’s sitting in the class, waiting for you.”
They, father and son, walk to the classroom, and at the door the man pauses, looks around, sees the mother of his son sitting alone on a bench on the other side of the classroom, so he begins to sit at the bench nearest to the door.
“No, No, Daddy, not here. Mummies and Daddies have to sit together,” the boy says doggedly, and pulls the man towards the woman, who is the boy’s mother.
As he walks towards her, the man looks at the woman, on paper still his wife. As he approaches, she looks up at him and gives him a smile of forced geniality. 
The boy rushes to his mother and exclaims exultantly, “See Mummy, Daddy has come; I told you he will come!”
The man and the woman contrive courteous smiles and exchange a few amiable words for the sake of their son, and for public show. It’s the first time the man, the woman, and their son are together as a family since they split a few months ago.
“Come on Mummy, make place for Daddy,” the boy says prodding his mother, and nudging his father onto the bench, and squeezing himself in between. The school double-bench is small, meant for two children, and for the three of them it’s a tight fit. His wife stares ahead, as he looks askance at her, over the head of their son, their common blood, who has connected them forever, whether they like it or not.
The man looks around the classroom. Happiest are the children whose both parents have come. Then there are those kids whose only one parent, mostly the mother, has come. And sitting lonely and forlorn, in the last row, are those unfortunate children for whom no one has come, no mother, no father, no one. It’s a pity, really sad. Parents matter a lot especially in boarding school, and the man feels sorry for the lonesome unlucky children.
The Class-Teacher, an elegant woman, probably in her thirties, briskly walks in, and instinctively everyone rises.
“Please be seated,” she says, and seats herself on the chair behind a table on the podium facing the class. The Class-Teacher explains the procedure for the PTA meeting – she’ll call out, one by one, in order of merit, the students’ names, who’ll collect their first term report card, show it to their parents, and then run off to the concert hall, while the parents discuss their child’s progress with the teacher, one by one.
“Varun Vaidya!” the teacher calls out the first name, and Varun squeezes out between his father’s legs and runs towards the teacher, the man is overwhelmed with pride as he realizes that his son has stood first in his class.
He swells with affection when Varun, his son, gleefully gives the report card to him, and as he opens it, he can sense the sensuous proximity of his wife’s body and smell the enchanting fragrance of her fruity perfume, as she unwittingly comes close to eagerly look at the report card, and he quivers with the spark of intimacy and feels the beginnings of the familiar stirrings within him. 
Ashok realizes that their physical proximity, the intimacy, the touch of skin, has rekindled amorous memories and roused dormant desires in Pooja too, for she suddenly draws away from him and blushes in embarrassment. He wonders how people can suddenly cease to love a person they have once passionately loved so much and still desire.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya,” the teacher’s mellifluous voice jerks him from his reverie. He looks up at the charming young lady who has walked up to their desk and is lovingly ruffling Varun’s hair.
“Good Morning, Ma’am,” he says.
“Call me Nalini,” she says with a lovely smile, “Varun is really intelligent.”
“Like my Daddy– do you know he’s from IIT?”  The boy proudly tells his teacher.
“And your Mummy?” the teacher playfully asks the boy.
“She is also a genius. But only in computers – she is an IT pro, you know. But my daddy is real good, he knows everything,” the boy says, and the teacher laughs, turns to Varun and says, “You go run along to the hall and get ready for the concert.”
“I’m Muriel. Muriel the goat!” says Varun animatedly, and runs away.
“We are enacting a skit from George Orwell’s Animal Farm,” Varun’s teacher says, “You are very fortunate Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. Varun is a very gifted child. He comes first in class and is so talented in extracurricular activities and good in sports too. You must be really proud of him.”
“Oh yes, we are really proud of him,” the man says, and notices that the attractive teacher looks into his eyes for that moment longer than polite courtesy. He averts his eyes towards his wife and her disdainful expression tells him that his wife has observed this too.
He feels his cell-phone silently vibrating in his pocket, excuses himself, and goes out of the classroom into the corridor outside.
“Yes, Hema,” he says softly into his mobile.
“Is it over?”
“We’ve got the report card. There’s a concert now.”
“Concert? The PTA is over, isn’t it? You come back now. There is no need to go to the concert.”
“Please, Hema. I have to go to the school concert. Varun is acting – playing an important part – I promised him I would be there to cheer him.”
“Promised him? What about the promise you made to me – that you would be back as soon as possible and then we’d go to the disc.”
“Of course we’re going out this evening. I’ll start straight after the concert and be with you in the afternoon, latest by four, for tea.”
“I’ll get your favourite pineapple pastries and patties from Gaylord.”
“You do that. And spend some time on Fashion Street and browsing books…” the man sees his wife come out of the classroom and walk towards him, so he hurriedly says, “Bye Hema, I’ve got to go now.”
“You be here by four, promise…”
“Of course, darling. I Promise,” he says and disconnects.
“The bank manager…” he tries to explain the call to his wife, but she isn’t interested and says, “The Headmaster wants to meet us.”
“Headmaster? Meet us? Why?”
“How should I know?” his wife Pooja says coldly.
Soon they are sitting in the regal office front of the distinguished looking Headmaster who welcomes them, “Your son has settled down very well in his first term, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. In fact, Varun is our youngest boarder in the hostel. He’s brilliant in academics, proficient in all activities, sports, outdoors – a good all-rounder. ”
They nod, and the father’s chest swells with pride.
“Pardon me for being personal,” the Headmaster says, “I was wondering why you have sent such a young boy to boarding school? Especially when you live nearby in the same city.”
“I have shifted to Mumbai now.” Ashok says.
“Oh, I see. And you too, ma’am?”
“No,” Pooja answers, “I still live in Pune.”
“Aundh, isn’t it? The same address you’ve given us in the admission form?” the Headmaster says glancing at a paper in front of him.
“Yes. I stay in Aundh.”
“We’ve got a school bus coming from Aundh. If you want your son can be a day-scholar…”
“Thank you, Sir, but I have kept him in boarding as I work night shifts.”
“Night Shifts?”

“I work in ITES?”
“Information Technology Enabled Services.”
“She works in a call centre,” Ashok interjects.
“I’m in a senior position in a BPO,” she retorts haughtily.
“Oh! That’s good,” the Headmaster says, and looks at both of them as if signalling the end of the interview.
“Sir…” Ashok hesitates.
“Yes? Please feel free Mr. Vaidya,” the Headmaster says.
“Sir, I thought I must tell you, we are separated.”
“How much does the boy know?” the Headmaster asks Pooja.
“He knows. We try to be honest with him. We’ve just told him that since his father is in Mumbai and since I’ve to work night shifts, boarding school is the best for him,” Pooja says.
The Headmaster ponders and then says, “It may seem presumptuous of me to give you unsolicited advice, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya, but why don’t you try and patch up? At least for your boy’s sake, he’s so young and loving. At such a tender age children must continue to feel they are a part of a family. They need to feel loved, to belong and to be valued. I know how much your son loves you both. He’s so proud of his parents.”
“We’ll try,” Ashok says, and looks at his wife.

The Headmaster is telling them to  patch up and come back together – for Varun’s sake.

Ashok knows it is out of the question. 

Their relationship had become so suffocating, so demoralized by distrust, that it was better to break up than try to patch up. 

And now, in his life, there is Hema …
“We’ll try and work it out,” he hears his wife’s voice.
“I am sure you will – for your son’s sake. Thank you for coming, Mr. and Mrs. Vaidya. I’m sure you’ll love to see your son’s acting skills in the concert,” the Headmaster says and rises, indicating that the interview is over.
Later, sitting in the auditorium, they watch their son enact the role of Muriel, the know-it-all Goat, in a scene adapted from Animal Farm, and Ashok’s heart swells with pride as he watches his son smartly enunciate the seven commandments with perfect diction.
After the concert, they stand outside, waiting for Varun, to take off his make-up and costume and join them. Ashok looks at his watch. It’s almost one, and he wonders whether he should stay for the parents’ lunch, or leave for Mumbai to make it on time by four after the three hour drive.
“You look as if you’re in a hurry,” his wife says.
“I’ve an appointment at four. He called up in the morning, remember, the bank manager…” he lies.
“Nariman Point.”
“Then why don’t you go now? You’ll barely make it.”
“I’m waiting for Varun.”
“Doesn’t matter. You go. I’ll tell him.”
He tries to control the anger rising within him and says firmly, “Listen, Pooja. Don’t try to eradicate me from your lives, at least from my son’s life.”
“I wish I could! Please Ashok, leave us alone. I didn’t ask you to come all the way from Mumbai today – I would have handled the PTA alone.”
“Varun rang me up. Made me promise I’d be here. I’m glad I came. He’s so happy, especially so delighted that I came to see him in the concert.”
“I’ll tell him not to disturb you in future.”
“No you don’t,” Ashok said firmly, “Varun is my son as much as yours.”
They stand in silence, a grotesque silence, and then he says, “I didn’t come only for Varun. I came to see you too!”
“See me?” the woman’s face is filled with ridicule, contempt and astonishment at the same time.
Suddenly they see Varun prancing in delight towards them and they put on smiles on their faces.
“You liked the concert?” he asks breathless.
“I loved your part. You were too good – isn’t it Mummy?” the man says.
“Yes. Varun is the best,” the woman says bending down and kissing her son on the cheek. Then she says, “Varun, Daddy has to go now. He has important work in Mumbai.”
“No,” protests Varun, and looks at his father and says, “No! No! No! First, we’ll all have lunch. And then the school fete.”
“School Fete?” they say in unison, and then the man says, “You didn’t tell me!”
“Surprise! Surprise! But Mummy, Daddy, we all have to go to the fete and enjoy.”
So they have lunch and go to the sports ground for the school fete – merry-go-round, roller-coaster, hoopla, games of skill and eats – they enjoy themselves thoroughly. Time flies. To the outside observer they seem to be the happiest family.
On the Giant Wheel Ashok and Pooja instinctively sit on different seats. Suddenly Ashok notices that his son looks hesitant, wary, confused, undecided as to which parent he should go to, sensing that he couldn’t choose one without displeasing the other. So Ashok quickly gets up and sits next to Pooja, and a visibly delighted Varun runs and jumps in between them.
As he gets off the giant wheel, Ashok notices his mobile ringing. He detaches himself from his son, looks at the caller id and speaks, “Yes. Hema.”
“What ‘Yes Hema’. Why aren’t you picking up the phone? Where are you? Have you crossed Chembur? I’ve been calling for the last five minutes – just see the missed calls.”
“I was on the Giant Wheel.”
“Giant Wheel?”
“We are at the school fete.”
“School Fete? You are still in Pune? You told me you’d be here by four!”
“I couldn’t help it. Varun was adamant. He didn’t let me go.”
“She’s there with you?”
“She…! You Stupid … She…! Your ex-wife. Is she there with you?”
“You simpleton, can’t you see? She’s trying to get you back through your son!” Hema pauses, takes a breath, and pleads, “Ashok, you do one thing, just say good-bye to them and come back straight to me. Please. Please. Please. Don’t be with her. Please. Please…”
“Okay,” the man says and cuts off the cell-phone. Then he switches off his mobile.
“Daddy, Daddy, who was that?” the boy asks.
“Someone from the office,” the man says. He thinks for a moment, looks at his son, bends down and says, “Listen, Varun. I’ve got to get back to the office fast. Mummy will stay with you – be a good boy.”
“No, No, No! It’s only three o’clock . We can stay out till eight…” The boy sees his housemaster nearby and runs to him, “Sir, Sir, My Daddy has come all the way from Mumbai. Please can he take me out for dinner?”
“Of course you can go, Varun,” the kindly housemaster says to the boy, then looks at Ashok and says, “It’s the first time you’ve come, isn’t it? Okay, we’ll give Varun a night-out. Why don’t you take him home and drop him back tomorrow evening by six? Tomorrow is declared a holiday anyway!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” shouts an ecstatic Varun is delirious delight, “Let’s go to the dormitory, collect my stuff, and go out. I want to see a Movie, and then we’ll all go home.”

So they, father, mother, and son, see a movie at the multiplex, then have a good time strolling and snacking on Main Street, and by the time they reach their home in Aundh it’s already seven in the evening.
Ashok stops his car below his erstwhile home in Aundh, where Pooja lives all by herself now.
“Okay, Varun, come give me a kiss and be a good boy.”
“No, Daddy, you’re not going from below. Let’s go up and have dinner. And then we’ll all sleep together and you go tomorrow morning.”
“Please, Varun, I have to go now,” the man says.
The boy looks at him, distraught, and the man gives a beseeching look to the woman, who smiles and says, “Okay. Come up and have a drink. You can take your books too – I’ve packed them for you.”
“Yea!” the boy exclaims in glee.
His wife’s invitation, the warming of her emotions, confuses and frightens him. He thinks of Hema waiting for him in Mumbai, what state she’d be in, frantically trying to reach him on his switched off cell-phone, feels a ominous sense of foreboding and tremors of trepidation. He is apprehensive, at the same time curious, and his son tugs at his shirt, so he goes up with them.
“I’ll freshen up and come,” the woman says to the man, “Make a drink for yourself – everything is in the same place.”
Varun, back home after three months, rushes into his room to see his things.
He opens the sideboard. The whiskey bottle is still there, exactly in the same place, but he notices the bottle is half empty. It was almost full when he had left – maybe she’s started having an occasional drink!
He sets everything on the dining table, and when she comes out, he picks up the whiskey bottle and asks her, “Shall I make you drink?”
“Me? Whiskey? You know I don’t touch alcohol, don’t you?” she says aghast.
“Sorry. Just asked…”
“You want soda? I’ll ring up the store to send it up.”
“I’ll have it with water.”
“Okay. Help yourself. I’ll quickly make you your favorite onion pakoras and fry some papads.”
He looks warmly at her, with nostalgia, and she looks back at him in the same way and goes into the kitchen.
Varun comes running out and soon he sits on the sofa, sipping his drink, cuddling his son sitting beside him, and they, father and son, watch TV together, and soon his son’s mother brings out the delicious snacks and they, the full family, all sit together and have a good time.
Her cell-phone rings, she takes it out of her purse, looks at the screen, excuses herself, goes into her bedroom, closes the door, takes the call, and says, “Hi, Pramod.”
“What the hell is going on out there…?” Pramod’s angry voice booms through the wireless airways all the way from Delhi.
“Please Pramod, speak softly. There is someone here.”
“I know he is there,” Pramod shouts, “What’s wrong with you? I leave you alone for a few days and you invite him into your home.”
“Listen, Pramod, don’t get angry. Try to understand. He came for Varun’s Annual Day.”
“But what is he doing there in your house right now so late at night?”
“He’s come to drop Varun.”
“Drop Varun?”
“He’d taken him out from school for a movie…”
“Why did you let him?”
“What do you mean ‘Why did you let him?’ – Ashok is Varun’s father.”
“You shouldn’t have called him to Pune…”
“I didn’t call him – Varun rang him up and told him to be there for his School’s Annual Day.”
“Anyway, get rid of him fast. I told you that you two are supposed to stay separate for at least six months.”
“Please Pramod. We are living separately. He’s just dropped in on a visit – we are not cohabiting or anything.”
“Just stay away from him – he could cause trouble!”
“Trouble? What are you saying, Pramod? He’s just come to drop Varun.”
“Pooja, can’t you see? He’s using your son to get you back. He’s a nasty chap – he may even withdraw his mutual consent and then we’ll be back at square one.”
“Pramod, don’t imagine things. And please Pramod, we had our differences, but Ashok was never a nasty person. Just get the papers ready and I’ll get him to sign on the dotted line,” she pauses for a moment and asks angrily, “And tell me Pramod, who told you Ashok is here?”
“That doesn’t matter. Now you are mine. I have to look after you, your welfare.”
“Look after my welfare? You’re keeping tabs on me, Pramod?” Pooja says irately.
“Now, you listen to me Pooja. Just throw him out right now. He has no right to trespass…” Pramod orders her.
“Trespass? Pramod, remember this is his house too – in fact the house is still on his name.”
“Don’t argue!” Pramod commands peremptorily, “Just do what I say!”
A flood of fury rises inside Pooja and she snaps angrily, “You know why I split up with Ashok, don’t you? Because I felt suffocated in that relationship. And now you are doing the same thing!”
Tears well up in her eyes, trickle down her cheeks, her throat chokes, she breaks down and she begins to sob.
“I’m sorry, Pooja. Please don’t cry,” Pramod pleads, “You know how much I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’ll cut short my trip and be with you in Pune tomorrow evening.”
“It’s okay, finish your work first and then come.”
“Give Varun my love.”
“Okay, take care.”
“You also take care,” Pramod says and disconnects.
She stares into the darkness, at the sky, the stars in the distance and tries to compose herself.
In a while, Pooja comes into the drawing room. Ashok looks at her face. After her tears, her eyes shine in the bright light; the moisture from her unwiped tears solidified on her cheeks like dry glass.
“I’ll make us some dinner,” she says to him, “Let’s eat together.”
Totally taken aback, confused and startled, Ashok looks at his wife and says, “Thanks. But I’ve got to go.”
“Stay, Daddy! Please Stay,” pleads Varun.
“Daddy is staying for dinner,” Pooja says with mock firmness, and then looking at Ashok says, “Please. Stay. Have dinner with us. By the time you get back your cafeteria would have closed. You still stay in the bachelor’s hostel don’t you?”
“Yes,” he lies, “But I’ll be moving into flat soon.”
“That’s good. Where?”
“Churchgate. Near the office,” he says. Now that is not entirely untrue. Hema, with whom he has moved in, does indeed live near Churchgate!
“Churchgate! Wow! That’s really good for you. Food, Books, Films, Theatre, Art, Walks on Marine Drive – everything you like is nearby,” she says, “And Hey, now that you’re moving into a flat please take all your books. I’ve packed them up and kept them in the study.”
“Come Daddy, I’ll show you,” Varun jumps and pulls him into the study.
He looks around his former study and sees his books packed in cardboard boxes on the floor. The room has changed; except for his books there is nothing of him left in it.
He opens the wardrobe. There are some men’s clothes and a pair of shoes he has not seen before.
He is tempted to ask his son, but doesn’t ask. Varun has also come home after a three month spell, his first stint at boarding school.
He takes a towel, closes the cupboard, and goes into the bathroom to freshen up. The moment he comes out his son excitedly says, “Come Daddy, let’s help Mummy with the cooking.”
So they go to the kitchen and cook together – like they sometimes did in happier times.
Later they sit in their usual places at the small round dining table for dinner. It is the first time he, his wife and their son eat a meal together as a family since they had split three months ago. It is a happy meal, with much banter, primarily due the sheer joyfulness of their son, who is so happy that they are all together after a hiatus.
Then they sit together on the sofa, father, son, and mother, and watch her favorite soap on TV. Ashok notices how happy, natural and relaxed they all are. It is almost as if they have resumed living their old life once again. 
Suddenly, Ashok remembers Hema, waiting for him in Mumbai, and says, “I’ve got to go”
“Stay here Daddy, please,” his son implores, tugging at his shirt.
“It’s late. Let Daddy go,” Pooja says to Varun, “Daddy will come to meet you in school soon.”
“He can’t. Parents are not allowed till the next term break. Please Mummy, let us all sleep here and tomorrow we can all go away,” Varun says emphatically to his mother, and pulls his father towards the bedroom, “Come Daddy, let’s all sleep in Mummy’s bed like before.”
“No, Varun, I have to go,” Ashok says with a lump in his throat, disentangles his hands, bends down, and kisses his son, “Varun, be a good boy. I’ll be back to see you soon.”
At the door he turns around and looks at Pooja, his ex-wife, and says, “Bye. Thanks. Take Care.”
“It’s good you came to see your son,” she remarks.
“I didn’t come only for the child,” he says overwhelmed by emotion, “I came to see you too.”
He sees tears start in her eyes, so he quickly turns and walks out of the door.

The clock on Rajabai Tower is striking midnight as he parks his car below Hema’s flat. The lights are still on. He runs up the steps to the house and opens the door with his latchkey.
Hema is sitting on the sofa watching TV. She switches of the TV, rushes towards him and passionately kisses him. He kisses her back and recognizes the intoxicating sweet aroma of rum on her breath.
“You’ve been drinking. It’s not good for you,” he says.
“Promise me you will never go to there again,” she cries inconsolably, holding him tightly.
“Please, Hema. Try to understand. I don’t want to be eradicated from my son’s life.”
“No, Ashok. You promise me right now. You’ll never go there again. I don’t want you to ever meet them again.”
“But why?”
“I am in constant fear that you will leave me and go back to them. I’ve been dumped once and I don’t want to be ditched again, to be left high and dry,” 

Hema starts to weep, “I’m scared Ashok. I am really very frightened to be all alone, again!”
“Okay, Hema,” Ashok says gathering her in his arms, “I promise. I promise I’ll never go there again.”
“Kiss me,” Hema says.
He kisses her warm mouth, tastes the salty remains of her tears, which trickle down her cheeks onto her lips.
“Come,” she says, “it’s late. Let’s sleep.”
Ashok doesn’t have a dreamless sleep – he sees a dream – a dream he will never forget. 

He is drowning, struggling in the menacing dark fiery turbulent sea.

To his left – in the distance he sees Varun, his son, standing on a ship beckoning him desperately – and to his right – far away, standing on a desolate rock jutting out into the sea he sees Hema, his newfound love, waving, gesturing and calling him frantically.

Floods of conflicting emotions overwhelm him. 

In his dream – Ashok looks at his Varun – then he looks at Hema – and he finds himself imprisoned between the two.

His strength collapses, his spirit yields, and slowly he drowns, helplessly watching the terrifying angry black sea swallow him up and suck his body deep within into the Davy Jones’s Locker.
Jolted awake by the strange scary nightmare, Ashok breaks into cold sweat with a terrible fear. 

Ashok cannot sleep. 

He starts to think of his innocent adorable son Varun, imagining him sleeping soundly in his bed in Pune. 

The father in him agonizingly yearns and excruciatingly pines for his son, the pain in his heart becomes unbearable, and he wishes he could go right now, at this very moment, lovingly take his son in his arms and kiss his son goodnight, like he used to do.

He clearly recalls Varun’s words when he heard that his parents were going to split up and divorce.

Varun had said: “I don’t like it…” – and then the small boy began to cry.

He remembers the phone call Pooja did not want to take in his presence – maybe there is a new man in Pooja’s life. 

Pooja hasn’t told him anything about her new boyfriend – but then Ashok hasn’t told Pooja about Hema either.

And suppose Pooja remarries – then that guy would become Varun’s stepfather.

“Step-father…!” he shudders. 


If Pooja remarries he will get Varun to stay here with him.

Then he looks at his newfound love Hema, sleeping calmly beside him, and the beautiful serene expression on her pristine face. He gently places his hand on her forehead and lovingly caresses her hair. She warmly snuggles up to him, turns, puts her hand over his chest, and with a heightened sense of security continues her tranquil blissful sleep.

Will Hema accept Varun? 

No way! 

He remembers her tantrums in the morning, her insecurities – Hema is fearful that the “baggage” of his past, the “debris” of his broken marriage, will destroy their new relationship. 

A flood of emotion overwhelms him as he thinks about Hema. 

Poor thing. 

She’s just recovered from a terrible break up, and is holding on to him so tight – apprehensive, anxious, insecure…

Torn between his past and future – between the conflicting forces of his love for son and his love for the woman beside him – Ashok feels helpless and scared.

Ashok knows he has lost Pooja, his wife, forever.

Now he does not want to lose both his son Varun and his newfound love Hema.

Varun and Hema are the only two things he has in this world.

Ashok does wants both of them.

And he knows can’t have both of them together.

His life is a mess. 

Maybe he is responsible.

If only he had tried harder?

If only he had stayed on with Pooja in that suffocating relationship?

If only they had made more efforts to save their marriage, just for Varun’s sake.

If only he had…?

If only…? 

If only…?

It is of no use. 

One cannot go back in time and undo what has been done.

The more he thinks about it, the more helpless and hapless he feels, and soon his mind, his brain, starts spinning like a whirlwind.

In the whirlwind he sees all of them, Varun, Pooja and a new unknown face, Hema and himself, all of them being tossed around in disarray.

There is nothing Ashok can do about it – so he breaks down and begins to cry.

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
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© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.

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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.
Copyright © Vikram Karve (All Rights Reserved)

Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

I wrote this story 9 years ago, in the year 2007, and first posted it online on my creative writing blog in 2008 – and reposted the story a few times on popular demand – here are the links:………

Link to my original posts in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:……

This Story also features in my book COCKTAIL – my anthology of short stories about relationships published in 2011.


April 29, 2015

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: SPDP – A DELICIOUS ROMANCE.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal:…

Short Fiction – A Foodie Love Story

From my Creative Writing Archives:
I started writing this story 10 years ago – in the year 2006 I think after a delicious SPDP at to my favourite Vaishali Restaurant in Pune – but I left the story incomplete. 

I wonder why I did not complete this story – but then that happens to many of my stories. 

Then, after a gap of three years, in the year 2009, I completed the story.

I am posting this delicious foodie romance once more for you to read.

Do tell me if you like this delicious love story…

SPDP – LIP SMACKING ROMANCE – Delicious Love Story By Vikram Karve 


That’s right – SPDP…!
You know what SPDP is – don’t you…?
You don’t? 

Don’t tell me you don’t know what SPDP is…!

I’m sorry.

Maybe you are not a Punekar.

And if you do live in Pune and you still don’t even know what SPDP is, then it’s a pity…a real pity…!
SPDP – Sev Potato Dahi Puri – that’s what the acronym SPDP stands for.

Why ‘Potato’…?

Why not ‘Batata’…?

Well, I do not know – you’ll have to ask the guys at Vaishali.
Now don’t tell me you don’t know what Vaishali is…?

That’s being real daft and clueless, isn’t it…?

Well, Vaishali is the landmark restaurant on Fergusson College Road which serves the best and tastiest SPDP in the world – no doubt about it…!
And talking about taste, do you know how many basic tastes there are…?
“Four…!” you will rattle out.

And you will proudly tell me as if you were a know-it-all: “Sweet, Sour, Salty, Bitter.”
Well, my dear reader, you are wrong…

There are five primary tastes – Sweet, Sour, Salt, Bitter, and Umami.

You have never heard of it…?

Well I can tell you one thing: “Besides being a lost case, you are no ardent foodie for sure…!”
Umami is the unique tingling ‘savouriness’ or ‘deliciousness’ of Oriental Cuisines.

Well let’s forget all that mumbo-jumbo. 

If you really want to know what Umami is, just go down to Vaishali, order an SPDP, gently put a portion in your mouth.

Then close your eyes, roll the delectable SPDP till it dissolves on your tongue.

You will experience the taste of Umami.
Now talking of rolling the SPDP on your tongue – have you noticed that as you roll your food on your tongue its taste changes and flavour varies as the food interacts with different regions of your tongue…?

Does food taste different as you roll it on your tongue at different places?

The ‘Tongue Map’ – have you ever heard of it…?
You haven’t…?

Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the Tongue Map…?

Hey, you are a real dumbo, aren’t you…?

Then try this yummy scrummy mouth-watering experiment.

Take some spicy chatpatta stuff, like Bhel, Chaat, or SPDP, and put some on your tongue.

Never heard of these things…?

I knew it.

But not to worry, it doesn’t matter. 


It’s okay. 

It just doesn’t matter…!

You can discover the taste of Umami.

You can do this eating experiment with Chopsuey – yes, yes, the usual American Chopsuey you get at these ubiquitous Chinese eateries proliferating like hobgoblins all over the place.

Close your eyes.

Yes, you must close your eyes to heighten your awareness, your mindfulness.

Now focus inwards to accentuate your gustatory, kinaesthetic and olfactory sensations, and gently press the rich juicy scrumptious Chopsuey against your palate with the tip of your tongue.

It tastes heavenly doesn’t it…?

That’s Umami…yes… the taste you are experiencing is called UMAMI…!
Now slowly roll the chopsuey backwards to the right side of your tongue and notice how its sweetness enhances.

Then move the chopsuey towards the back of your tongue and relish the tangy sweetish-sourness, the inimitable sweet and sour flavour.

Then roll it to the left, towards the back of your tongue, and experience a tinge of delicious subtle bitter flavour.

And as you move the delectable melange forward on your tongue, towards the left side of your tongue, soak up the tingling vitalizing scrummy saltiness, till you once again experience the intense lip-smacking luscious flavoursome savouriness of Umami.
That’s exactly what I am doing here right now, sitting on a lovely rainy evening at my favourite table in Vaishali restaurant on Fergusson College road in Pune.

Dissolving exquisite tingling mouth-watering portions of SPDP on my tongue, my eyes closed, senses focussed inwards, luxuriating in sheer epicurean bliss, trancelike ecstasy, epiphany…

Suddenly, unwittingly, on the spur of the moment, I open my eyes, and I am totally astonished, shocked out of my wits, baffled and dazed, to see her standing at the entrance.

Yes, it is her.
Instantaneously, I avert my eyes, try to hide myself in the SPDP in front of me, wishing, hoping against hope, hoping that it is not her, and slowly, furtively, with tremors of trepidation, I glance, through the corner of my eyes, a fleeting look, and my hopes are dashed, my worst fears come true, it is indeed her, no doubt about it.

And the delicious zesty SPDP turns tasteless in my mouth, like cud, and I wish the ground beneath me opens up and swallows me in. 
I wish she doesn’t see me, so I look away, try to hide.

I do not want to meet her.

Tell me, which loser wants to meet a winner?

Have you ever seen a failure attending a reunion? And enjoying it?

At this stage of my life, I avoid people who are more successful than me.

Is it not true?

The company of those who are less accomplished than you is always more comforting, at least for losers and “failures” like me.
Suddenly I sense she is near me.

Hesitantly, I look up.

We look at each other.

Priyamvada has blossomed. 

She looks exquisite, even more beautiful than before – radiant, slick, chic, booming with confidence – she is all the things that I am not.
“Hi, Praveen,” she says excitedly, “what a surprise…!”
“Yes,” I say nonchalantly.
“Hey, what’s the matter?  Are you not happy to see me…? Won’t you ask me to sit down…?” she says.
“Of course I am happy to see you. I’m sorry, but I was lost in my thoughts. Please do sit down and join me,” I say.
“Wow…! Having SPDP…? I too will have an SPDP,” she says cheerfully the moment she sits down opposite me.
“You like SPDP…?”
“I love it. SPDP in Vaishali – it brings back nostalgic memories too…!”
“Nostalgic memories…?”
“Vilas saw me for the first time right here – while I was having SPDP with my college gang.”
“He fell in love with me – love at first sight.”
“So he told his parents.”
“That he wanted to get married to me.”
“He told his parents that if at all he ever got married it would be to me and he will not marry anyone else.”

“His parents were delighted as he had been rejecting marriage proposals for years, avoiding marriage on some pretext or the other. So they found out about me from my college and landed up at my place to ask for my hand in marriage.”
“And you jumped…?”
“Yes, you jumped with joy at the golden opportunity. And you dumped me without a thought and you got married to a man twice your age…!”
“Twice my age…? What nonsense. Vilas wasn’t twice my age, he was just 30.”
“And you…? You were just a teenager then. Bloody cradle-snatcher…!”
“I wasn’t a teenager. I was 20.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Praveen. Tell me, why are you still so bitter even today…? Just forget it…!”
“Forget it…? How can I forget it? You broke my heart.”
“Broke you heart…? I broke your heart…?”
“I was in love with you. We were in love with each other.”
“Love…? Come on, Praveen. It was just infatuation – one sided inchoate infatuation.”
“One sided infatuation…? I am sorry to hear that. I am really sorry to hear that. And then it was not only that. You made me the laughing stock of society. Not only me, my whole family…!”
“What do you mean?”
“You have the audacity to ask me ‘What do I mean’? You know what I mean!” I say.
“What?” she asks.
“You know how it was then. A boy rejecting a girl is okay, but a girl rejecting a boy? That too in Madiwale Colony – you can’t even imagine the unimaginable agony I suffered. I became the laughing stock of town – not me alone, our whole family had to suffer the embarrassment. I couldn’t even walk the streets peacefully without sensing those unspoken taunts and unseen jeers. It was terrible – really cruel of you…” I say.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. But I never wanted to marry you,” she says.
“Then why did you say ‘yes’?” I ask.
“I don’t know. My parents were in a hurry. They showed me your photograph – it was all so confusing,” she says taking a sip of water, “Please let’s talk something else.”
“No. I want to know why you ditched me for that richie-rich IT Czar tycoon. Was it just the money? Or was it the lure of a luxurious life in America?”

“See, you cannot accuse me of ditching you – we were not formally engaged – I had just informally said ‘yes – I like you’ to my parents – and then Vilas proposed to me…”

“And it was his money, and he being an NRI from America, that settled the issue, and you dumped me.”
“No. It’s not that. You were too mediocre,” she says.
“Mediocre…? I had passed out from an IIT…!” I protest.
“So what…? Remember when I asked you what your plans were…and do you know what you said…? The way you told me your philosophy of life…” she says.
“Philosophy of life…? I think I just said that I never plan anything, that I just flow along, and take life as it comes…” I say.
Priyamvada looks at me and says: “Oh yes, just flow along. No ambitions. No aspirations. No dreams. No desire to achieve anything in life. Well I always wanted to get out of the middle class, have success, prosperity, see the world, enjoy the good things in life, and not spend my entire life going nowhere with an apathetic husband like you with no plans in life, listening to sermons on thrift and frugality.” 

Priyamvada pauses for a moment – and then she continues speaking, “I am so sorry – but in life one has to be rational – isn’t it…? One has to have plans in life.”
“Oh, yes. Plans in life…!” I say caustically, “And looking at you it’s evident that all your plans seem to have worked pretty well…”
I stop speaking at once, for seeing the sudden transformation in the expression on her face I instantly know that I have said something terribly wrong. 

She does not want me to see the tears well up in her eyes.

So she looks down into her plate and she tries to eat.

For some time there is silence. 

Grotesque silence. 

Then she looks up and says, “My plans did not work out.”

“What…???” I look at her dumbstruck.

“I have left him. Vilas and me are divorced. I have come back to India for good. I was wrong. I did not belong there. I realized I still belong here,” Priyamvada says.

She pauses for a moment.

Priyamvada composes herself, and then she says, “And this SPDP is no coincidence – I contrived the coincidence. I knew you would be here in Vaishali at six in the evening after spending your Sunday afternoon reading in the library.”

“What? You came here to meet me? Why?” I ask.

“Praveen, I want to ask you something,” she says.

“I know what you want to ask me – and my answer is YES,” I say looking deep into her eyes.

Priyamvada looks lovingly at me, and she says, “Thank you.” 

“I knew you would come back to me. I was waiting for you to come back,” I say.

I pop some SPDP in my mouth.

I let it disintegrate on my tongue and savour the delicious zesty Umami taste – the SPDP tastes delicious and I relish the lipsmacking dish like I have never relished it before.

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
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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.

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This story written by me Vikram Karve in 2006 and 2009 and earlier posted by me online in my blogs at urls:…  and…

Now re-Posted by Vikram Karve at

4/29/2015 01:40:00 PM

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