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

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: 
http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201…

“LOVE” TRIANGLE
Story of a Possessive Husband, an Unfaithful Wife and her Shrewd Lover 
Adult Short Fiction – A Love Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

“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?”

“Yes.”

“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?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning. Before he left for Mumbai.”

“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?”

“No.”

“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.”

VIKRAM KARVE
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.

Disclaimer:
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: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201…  and re-posted at urls: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201…  and http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201…  and  http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201… 

Now Re-Posted by Vikram Karve at 

karvediat.blogspot.in

8/09/2015 12:47:00 PM

Short Fiction Story – THE INTENSIVIST – Irony of Life or Quirk of Fate?

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: THE INTENSIVIST.

Link to my original post in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal: 
http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201…

THE INTENSIVIST
A Short Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

The doorbell rang.

It was my friend – the ‘intensivist’.

Now – I am sure you know that an ‘intensivist’ is a doctor who specializes in the care of critically ill patients – usually in an Intensive Care Unit (ICU).

My intensivist doctor friend was in-charge of the ICU of the best hospital in town.

“I need a drink,” my friend, the intensivist, said.

I poured him a drink – and I asked him, “everything okay?”

“A strange thing happened today,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“Last week – around 6 days ago – two critically ill patients were admitted to the ICU – they were both put on ventilator – I will not bore you with details of their illness – but both of them had exactly the same symptoms – and both were in very bad shape – on the verge of death,” he said.

“Old…?”

“Yes – old men – both more than 80 years old…”

“The first patient had a continuous stream of visitors – relatives – friends – well-wishers – there was always a minimum of 3 people waiting on him round the clock – sometimes even more – he seemed to be very popular and loved by so many…”

“Really…?”

“His entire family – his children – his grandchildren – he even had a great-granddaughter – they were constantly by his side in the hospital – he loved them all so much – whenever I looked at him – I could see that he had a great desire to live – in fact – when I spoke to him when he was slightly better – he asked me for a quick discharge from hospital – because he wanted to go home to his family – yes – I could see that he desperately wanted to live – and the huge number of people who visited him – all  his well-wishers – they all wanted him to get better and live a long life…”

 And what about the second patient…?”

“I was about to tell you that – the second patient had no visitors – not a single person came to visit him in hospital for all these 7 days…”

“Not even a single visitor – how is that possible – does he not have any relatives, friends…?”

“He is a widower – and both his children are settled abroad in America…”

“He has no relatives over here…?”

“Apparently not – most of his folks seem to be dead – and the younger relatives are all settled abroad – well – he was living in one of those high-falutin old age homes…”

“That’s sad…”

“Yes – he was very lonely and depressed – he once spoke to me – and he told me that he wanted to die – that he did not want to live anymore…”

“What happened…? Did he die…?”

“No – he became better – and today we sent him out of the ICU into the general ward – it seems he may be discharged in a few days…”

“And the other patient – the old man with lots of visitors – what happened to him…?”

“He died this morning…”

“That’s sad – all his well-wishers must have been distressed…”

“Yes – there was a pall of gloom when we declared him dead – terrible scenes of sadness as his heartbroken family was overcome with sorrow – everyone was crying – grief-stricken, inconsolable…”

I saw tears well up in the eyes of my intensivist friend – so I said, “Come on – you are a doctor – you shouldn’t get so emotional…”

My intensivist friend looked at me and said, “It’s a strange irony, isn’t it…?”

“What…?”

“The man who wanted to live – he died. And the man who wanted to die – he survived – and he will continue to live the lonely unhappy life that he does not want to live…”

VIKRAM KARVE
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.

Disclaimer:
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 

blogspot.in

4/20/2015 11:58:00 AM

ARE NRI CHILDREN ASSETS or LIABILITIES?

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: NRI CHILDREN – ASSET or LIABILITY?.

Link to my original post in my academic and creative writing journal: 
http://karvediat.blogspot.in/201… 

NRI CHILDREN – ASSET or LIABILITY?
Short Fiction – An Apocryphal Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

My peer group comprises my classmates from school and college, my ex-navy and ex “fauji” military veteran buddies, and my friends, all in their late 50’s or early 60’s.

Whenever we meet, I realize that one notable fact pertaining to my peer group is that almost everyone has NRI children.

[I use the term NRI (Non Resident Indian) quite generically for all Persons of Indian Origin (PIO) settled abroad, including those who have adopted citizenships of their host countries]

At one such gathering, I met a friend – my school classmate.

She was an “NRI Mother” – or to put it correctly – she was the “mother of an NRI daughter”.

Her only child, a 27 year old married daughter, had settled down abroad in America with her husband.

“Nice to see you after a long time,” I said to my friend.

“Yes – I was abroad for almost one year – in the US,” she said.

“America? Wow!” I said.

“Last year, my daughter got pregnant – so she called me to America to look after her during her pregnancy days – and then, after her delivery, she wanted me to stay and look after the baby – so I stayed on there in the US for almost 6 months,” she said.

“Isn’t it our tradition that daughters come home, to their mother’s place, for their first delivery? Your daughter could have come here to Pune for her delivery,” I said.

“Are you crazy or something?” she asked.

“Why?”

“My daughter wanted her child to get US citizenship by birth. If the baby is born here in India, how will the baby get American citizenship?”

“Oh!” I said, “So you stayed there in America for 6 months after her delivery, did all the baby care, and then came back,” I said.

“Yes – but my daughter called me again for child-care “nanny” duties, till her baby was old enough for day-care, since she wanted to get back to work – it was important for her career that she started working as quickly as possible,” she said.

“So you went to America again?”

“Yes – for 6 months – till the baby was almost one year old,” she said.

“Oh – but now it is finally all over – and you’ll be staying here in Pune now…” I said.

“No – I am going again…” she said.

“You are going again to America…? Why…?”

“My daughter’s job is very hectic – so she wants me to do “nanny” duties and look after her child.”

“But your daughter’s child must be around one year old now – can’t the child be kept in a day-care centre?”

“I don’t know,” my friend said, “but my daughter insisted that I come because she wants her child to be looked after properly by me – so that the child imbibes our culture.”

“Culture…?” I said, astonished – and as I recovered my wits – I noticed that an old lady had walked over and joined us.

I knew the old lady – she was my friend’s mother.

I knew the old lady’s husband (my friend’s father) too.

My friend – their daughter – was their only child.

The old couple lived in a beautiful bungalow in the Lonavala – a picturesque hill station near Pune – and I had once visited them over there a few years ago.

I did not see the old lady’s husband around, so I asked the old lady, “How is uncle?”

“You don’t know…?” the old lady asked me.

“What…?”

“My husband died 3 months ago…” the old lady said.

“Oh – I am very sorry…”

“It’s okay – he was 84 years old – but he was absolutely fit till the last day. Though I miss him very much, one consolation is that he died when he was fit and healthy…” she said.

I did not say anything.

The old lady looked at me, and she said to me, “And by the way – I have shifted to an old age home…”

“Old Age Home…?” I asked, shocked.

“What to do…? I cannot live in that huge secluded bungalow all alone…” the old lady said.

“But why go to an old age home…? Why don’t you live with your daughter in Pune…?” I asked.

“Of course I would like to live with my daughter,” the old lady said, “given a choice, I certainly would not like to live in an old age home – but do I have a choice…?”

I did not say anything – I just kept looking at the old lady, not knowing what to say.

Seeing the confused look on my face, the old lady said, “Didn’t my daughter tell you? Her daughter, my granddaughter, has called her to America for babysitting and nanny duties – she will be away in America for 6 months – and then she may have to go back to America again and again – for the next delivery – and babysitting and nanny duties for the next child – so who is going to look after me here? I am 80 now – so it is better for me to live in an old age home…”

I looked at my friend, and wondered at her predicament.

On one side stood her recently widowed mother, pleading not to be sent to the old age home.

On the other side stood her daughter, beseeching her to come to America to take care of her baby.

She had a duty to look after her old widowed mother.

But she felt the strong pull of motherhood towards her daughter.

She was torn between her loyalty to her mother and her love for her daughter.

And in her case – her motherly love for the daughter had prevailed over her filial duty towards the mother.


EPILOGUE

Persons of my generation, in their 50’s and 60’s, who are parents of “NRI Children”, are in a Catch-22 situation.

They are expected to look after their parents, who may be in their 70’s and 80’s.

But their “NRI Children” also have “expectations” from them – especially from their mothers – during childbirth for “midwife” duties, and later, for baby care and surrogate parenting “nanny” duties.

That is why I often wonder:

Are “NRI Children” an asset or a liability?

VIKRAM KARVE
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.

Disclaimer:
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)

Posted by Vikram Karve at 1/03/2015 03:35:00 PM

A Naval Yarn – A FLEET AUXILIARY CALLED SEMAPHORE SIGNAL – A Naval Yarn from THE TALES OF MY HALCYON NAVY DAYS – FLEET AUXILIARIES AND SEMAPHORE SIGNALLING

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: A FLEET AUXILIARY CALLED SEMAPHORE SIGNAL – A Naval Yarn from THE TALES OF MY HALCYON NAVY DAYS – FLEET AUXILIARIES AND SEMAPHORE SIGNALLING.

Click the link above to read the original story in my creative writing journal

The Story is also given below for you to read and for your convenience:

A FLEET AUXILIARY CALLED SEMAPHORE SIGNAL – A Naval Yarn from THE TALES OF MY HALCYON NAVY DAYS – FLEET AUXILIARIES AND SEMAPHORE SIGNALLING

DELIGHTFUL MEMORIES OF MY HALCYON NAVY DAYS

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Whenever you have the blues, and you feel melancholic and depressed, there is a guaranteed way to lift your spirits, enliven you and cheer you up.

Just hark back into the past, down the timeline of your life, reminisce about your halcyon days and recall a happy incident, an amusing event, a hilarious anecdote, a comical side-splitting experience – think about that funny episode, relive the jovial experience in your mind, and sure enough, instantly, there will be a smile on your lips and cheer in your heart, and you will be filled with happy vibes and you will feel bright and breezy.

Now that I have “retired” into oblivion, this is exactly what I do, whenever I feel glum and gloomy.

I close my eyes and, in my mind’s eye, I mentally go back in time, almost 35 years back in time, to the late 1970s, and reminisce about my halcyon navy days, the happiest days of my life, and let delightful memories of those glorious navy days perambulate in my brain.

This morning, as I delved into my halcyon navy days, floating over my time line, I suddenly remembered that unforgettable episode about the “Fleet Auxiliary” who I had nicknamed “Semaphore Signal”.

Let me tell you about it. Do tell me if you enjoyed reading the story, and I shall spin some more yarns for you.

I enjoy spinning yarns, some true, spiced up with lots of salt and pepper, and some apocryphal.

Like I said, I am going to spin a few naval yarns for you.

Now, Dear Reader, you’ve got to remember one thing. 35 years ago it was an all-male navy, where bawdy jokes, ribaldry and profane language was the order of the day, and concepts like gender-sensitivity were unheard of. So let me reminisce and spin a few yarns for you to enjoy, no offence meant to anybody – I just want to make you laugh and drive away your blues, and mine too. I am sure you have a good sense of humour and you will enjoy these yarns with a pinch of salt.

 

 

DELIGHTFUL MEMORIES OF MY HALCYON NAVY DAYS – Part 1

A FLEET AUXILIARY CALLED SEMAPHORE SIGNAL

A Naval Yarn

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Disclaimer: Please read this apocryphal short story only if you have a sense of humour. This is a spoof, pure fiction, a fantasy, a figment of imagination. So first convince yourself that you have a sense of humour and only then read the yarn, take it with a pinch of salt, and have a laugh. And yes, this story is for adults only, so if you are a kid please skip this post and go onto something academic in nature …

“FLEET AUXILIARIES”

We had returned to port after a long sailing and in the evening I decided to visit my course-mate Horny on his ship which was parked just ahead of us. Unlike mine, his was a small ship, and the atmosphere was totally informal, with just a Snotty and a sailor leisurely manning the gangway.

I identified myself, told them who I wanted to meet and started walking inside when the Snotty said, “Sir, just a moment, he is busy right now, someone is there with him in his cabin.”

“Busy? Okay. I’ll come later. Just tell him I had come,” I said, and started to walk away.

“Sir, why don’t you speak to him?” the Snotty said and dialled Horny in his cabin and held out the phone to me.

“Hey, don’t go,” Horny said, “just come down to my cabin.”

Horny was waiting for me outside his cabin, and I could see that he was genuinely happy to see me.

“So nice to see you after so many days. Come inside,” he said, opening the door of his cabin.

I was taken aback by what I saw in his cabin.

A woman was lying on his bunk.

On the side-table there was a bottle of my favourite Premium Scotch Whisky.

I was not surprised at seeing the girl – Horny was a known Casanova famous for his peccadilloes.

What surprised me was the bottle of whisky, for Horny was a strict teetotaller.  

Horny introduced me.

The girl made no effort to get up.

She continued to lie down on the bunk in her supine position and smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Then Horny pointed outside and said to me, “Why don’t you sit in the wardroom for some time? We’ll finish off our business and join you in a few minutes. The bar, the fridge, everything is open, so just help yourself to a drink and whatever you want.”

It was just six in the evening, so I poured myself a beer, switched on the TV and relaxed in the wardroom waiting for Horny and his consort.

I was two beers down by the time Horny joined me in the wardroom.

“Girlfriend?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, “She’s just a fleet auxiliary.”

(Let me digress a bit and tell you the difference between a Fleet Auxiliary and a “Fleet Auxiliary”– the former Fleet Auxiliary is a support ship, like an oil tanker, a supply vessel, a depot ship, or a hospital ship, which supports the main fleet, whereas the latter “Fleet Auxiliary” is a moniker, a nickname given to a girl who “supports” the men who man the fleet by having a good time with them and help them quench their carnal passions. It is a no strings attached relationship. Of course, there may have been be a bit of “barter” sometimes where she gets to drink the best booze and gets some gifts like an expensive perfume or some exquisite Swiss chocolates. Let me tell you that in those golden days of the license, quota, permit raj, prized and coveted foreign goodies were was not available in the domestic market and we got them duty-free on board, and a naval officer was quite high up on the social ladder. Regrettably, the advent of liberalisation and globalisation changed everything, and nowadays, a naval officer is no longer the crème de la crèmeof society anymore, because today, money determines your status, and businessmen are the new role models. And as far as “fleet auxiliaries” are concerned, it looks like they have disappeared from the fleet and found greener pastures, because when I asked a young Sub about it a few days ago, he seemed totally clueless).

“Oh. A new Fleet Auxiliary? But she looks quite a Plain Jane,” I remarked.

“Never a judge a chick by her looks,” Horny said, “I can tell you from my own experience. Most of those gorgeous chic beauties who look like sex bombs turn out to be damp squibs, but these prosaic looking Plain-Jane types are terrific. Like this one. She’s real great. Just three drinks and she’s ready for action.”

“Three drinks?” I asked.

“Yes, just three large pegs of neat whisky and she is all primed up – ready for action.”

“Really?” I said, incredulous.

“The first drink, she lies horizontal. The second one, she puts her legs up by 45 degrees. And the moment she has her third drink, her legs go straight up to vertical position and she is ready for action.”

“Like a Semaphore Signal,” I said.

“Semaphore Signal? You mean the flags?”

“No. No. Not Naval Semaphore Signalling. I am talking about Railway Semaphore Signalling,” I said.

“Railway Semaphore Signalling?” he asked, confused.

“Yes. Railway Semaphore Signalling. To be precise your passionate “fleet auxiliary” can be described as a three position Multiple Aspect Upper Quadrant (or MAUQ) Semaphore Signal.”

“Hey, stop the mumbo jumbo and explain to me in simple language,” Horny said.

Now, I am no great raconteur, so I picked up a pencil and piece a paper, drew some pictures and explained the salient aspects of Semaphore Signalling. If you want to know what I told Horny, have a look at the picture below.

                Multiple Aspect Upper Quadrant (MAUQ) Semaphore Signalling

The images above are from the Indian Railways Fan Club (IRFCA) Website Post on Signalling Systems.  Indian Railways Fan Club (IRFCA) is a hobby group for discussing all aspects of railways in India. You you may read the post on semaphore signals by clicking the url link http://www.irfca.org/faq/faq-signal2.html

Let’s look at the red coloured signal first.

The arm at horizontal position means “stop”, inclined upwards at 45 degrees means “caution” and the arm in the vertical position means “all clear” and the train can proceed.

Now look at the yellow coloured semaphore signal.

I think, that in the context of this story, the yellow coloured signal seems more apt – STOP, ATTENTION, PROCEED.

Now just imagine that the legs of the girl (our “fleet auxiliary”) in place of the arm of the signal.

First Drink – Legs Horizontal – STOP.

Second Drink – Legs inclined upwards by 45 degrees – ATTENTION

Third Drink – Legs Vertical – PROCEED

On hearing my explanation, Horny burst out laughing and we both laughed for a long time.

We were still laughing when “Semaphore Signal” joined us in the wardroom. She had freshened up. We talked. I liked her. Though she was quite chubby and ordinary looking, she had a very friendly smile and she exuded a sort of affable charm.

Life moved on, Horny moved on, I moved on, and, of course, the “fleet auxiliary” called “Semaphore Signal” moved on, though I did see her a few times circulating around in the fleet.

Many years passed, and I had forgotten all about this episode when I unexpectedly ran into “Semaphore Signal” while browsing in a bookstore.

I recognized her at once.

She was the very same “fleet auxiliary” I had nicknamed “Semaphore Signal”.

Now, so many years later, she had turned a bit plump, but otherwise she looked the same chubby girl with a sincere, friendly smile which radiated the same charming warmth.

I smiled at her.

She did not smile back.

In fact, she totally ignored me, showing absolutely no trace of recognition, and then she turned and walked towards the exit of the bookstore.

She walked out of the bookstore and stood in the foyer.

I followed her with my eyes and positioned myself so that I could clearly see her.

She took out her mobile phone from her purse, dialled a number, held the cell-phone near her ear and spoke briefly.

Then she walked into the food court of the mall and sat down on a vacant table.

I kept down the book I was browsing, walked out of the bookstore, into the spacious food court and sat down on a table from where I could see her clearly.

She knew that I was stalking her but she avoided looking directly in my direction.   

Suddenly a small girl came running and ran into her arms. The girl was followed by a man who smiled at her and sat down opposite her.

They were talking, maybe deciding what to eat – mother, father and daughter – a happy family.

I noticed that “Semaphore Signal” exuded the bliss of domesticity.

I felt happy for her – a “fleet auxiliary” so happily settled down in family life.

It was time for me to leave.

I got up, looked at her for the last time and started to turn.

“Semaphore Signal” looked in my direction, gave me a fleeting glance, a brief smile of recognition, and then she looked down at her daughter and started talking to her.

As I walked away after the encounter I felt happy for “Semaphore Signal”.  She was one of the fortunate “fleet auxiliaries” who had put her past behind, moved on into a new world and settled down into a happy married life – the bliss of domesticity.

Others were not so lucky.

Some could not move on in life and persisted with their ways till age overcame them and the only future the could look forward to was to live a life of a lonely spinster, an old maid, with only reminisces to think about. 

A few managed to “trap” a gullible naval officer into marriage, but many such marriages ended in disaster, since they remained in the same environment and did not escape to a new world. Much as they tried, they could not prevent the shadow of their past life from haunting their present lives.

I don’t know why, but whenever I see a woman drinking I remember “Semaphore Signal” and a smile comes to my lips.

I really don’t know if there is a connection between alcohol and promiscuity, but then as my friend Romeo would boast: “Give me a woman who drinks and I can get her into bed” – and he proved it.

But that is another story, one more yarn I will spin some day. 

Dear Reader: Please give me some feedback. Tell me, did you like this yarn? Do you think I should compile my naval yarns into a book? In today’s world where “Campus Romances” are in vogue, will anyone read such a book on memoirs of my halcyon navy days? Do tell me, for I have many yarns to spin and stories to tell.

By the way, the Railways have replaced Semaphore Signals with Electric Light Signals and I don’t think you will see a traditional Semaphore Signal anymore. Doesn’t matter. The next time you see a railway signal, or a traffic signal, and as you watch it changing colour, do remember this story and have a laugh.

Keep Laughing and have a Happy Day.

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2012

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

Did you like reading this story? 
I am sure you will like all the 27 stories in my recently published book of short stories COCKTAIL
To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:
http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme
http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm
http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html
COCKTAIL ebook
If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the links below:
AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6
SMASHWORDS
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

Foodie Book:  Appetite for a Stroll
http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer and blogger. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a large number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals and magazines for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse – his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Vikram Karve Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm
Email: vikramwamankarve@gmail.com

 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

Posted by Vikram Karve

IT IS NO LONGER THE RUM BUM LASH NAVY – STEALING AFFECTIONS – A Naval Yarn

Click the link below to read the original post in my creative writing journal blog

Also posted below for your convenience

http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2012/10/stealing-affections.html

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: STEALING AFFECTIONS.

STEALING AFFECTIONS

Short Fiction Story

A Naval Yarn

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Disclaimer: Please read this short story only if you have a sense of humour. This is a spoof, pure fiction, a figment of imagination. So first convince yourself that you have a sense of humour and only then read the yarn and have a laugh.

STEALING AFFECTIONS

Short Fiction – A Naval Yarn

By

VIKRAM KARVE

 

 

It was an abrupt end to a promising career.

In the morning he was forced to put in his papers.

In the afternoon there was a brief farewell party – a drab Pre-Lunch Drinks (PLD) in the Wardroom.

The usual boisterous bonhomie was conspicuous by its absence and there was an air of awkwardness in the Wardroom.

The farewell PLD for Horny was a mere formality to be got over with.

The party was muted low-key affair without the customary boisterous elbow-bending.

Everyone reluctantly sipped their beer in hushed silence hoping that time would move fast.

But time did not move quickly and they all endured the agonizing moments as time crawled slowly while they all waited for the uncomfortable proceedings to end.

No one forced “down the hatch” drinks and “bottoms up” beers on the departing guest.

There were no “jolly-good-fellow” hoists and there were no long winded farewell speeches – just one-line perfunctory speeches for the sake of formality.

Typically, a PLD was a jolly affair full of joie de vivre and the cheer and beer flowed freely. The happy high-spirited copious beer-drinking continued for hours together, till evening, and on occasions the boisterous revelry turned into a full-fledged drunken orgy late into the night.

But this PLD finished off within an hour and everyone heaved a sigh of relief that the embarrassment was over.

They all shook hands with Horny, wished him good-luck in the civvy-street, and they all went home, or to their cabins, to hit the sack and enjoy what was left of the make-and-mend Wednesday.

Only Snotty stayed back and helped Horny pack his bags. Then he sent a sailor to get a taxi and when the taxi arrived alongside the ship at the jetty, Snotty picked up Horny’s bags and accompanied him to the gangway.

A sailor picked up Horny’s bags and put them into the boot of the taxi.

Horny stood at the gangway, expressionless. He did not betray his emotions but kept gazing in a vacant manner at the taxi. Then he turned around and smiled at Snotty and the gangway duty staff.

Then, Horny lifted himself to his full height, stood ramrod straight with chest out. He saluted for the last time, swallowed the anchor, and marched ashore across the gangway into the civvy-street forever.

Snotty felt sad to see Horny go away. Horny had been his mentor and Snotty admired him as a role model in the art of seamanship. Though Horny was his boss, he had always treated Snotty like a younger brother, with benevolence and patience. Horny was firm yet compassionate, revered by the men he commanded. Horny ran a happy department and Snotty had learnt so much from him. He had really liked Horny and was sorry that such a promising career had been so cruelly and so unjustly abruptly cut short.  

Snotty went down to the wardroom and sat down for lunch at the Dining Table. In order to enjoy good food one has to be in the right mood and that is why the delicious food which looked so good on the table turned tasteless in Snotty’s mouth.

“What’s wrong, Snotty?” asked the in-living PMC, who was nicknamed Sea Dog. He was sitting at the head of the table.

“Nothing, Sir. It’s about Horny.”

“What about Horny? I know he was your boss. Sad to see him go?”

“Yes, Sir. He was such a nice guy, Sir, and so good at his job.”

“I know. I was his training officer on the cadet ship. Horny was an outstanding cadet and a superb officer. He would have reached the very top but for this…”

“It’s totally unfair, Sir, and a very harsh punishment – an abrupt end to a promising career just because of one small indiscretion.” 

“One small indiscretion? You call it one small indiscretion? You know what he did, don’t you?”

“Well, he was having an affair with Salty’s wife, that’s all.”

“That’s all? You know how serious the matter is?”

“Sir, if two people want to have consensual sex, what’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? You are asking me what’s the problem? Well, my dear friend, let me explain. Horny was married and so was Salty. And Horny was having an illicit relationship with Salty’s wife. It’s called adultery. Do you understand?”

“Sir, it is a personal matter between them, and their wives. What has it got to do with our job? Why has Horny been sacked?”

“That may be in the civvy street, but here we follow a code of conduct. Stealing the affection of a brother officer’s wife is strictly taboo. If you are feeling so damn frustrated, you can go and sow your wild oats outside, but you don’t steal the affections of a brother officer’s wife. ”

“Stealing affections of a brother officer’s wife?”

“Yes. Stealing the affections of a brother officer’s wife is just not allowed. It is considered an act of moral turpitude, conduct unbecoming of an officer, prejudicial to good order and discipline. That is why Horny was thrown out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.”

“Sir, I have a small doubt?”

“What doubt?”

“You can’t steal the affection of a brother officer’s wife because it is an act of moral turpitude?”

“That’s right. It is immoral to steal the affections of your brother officer’s wife.”

“You can’t steal the affection of a brother officer because it is illegal. That is what they told us at the academy.”

“Of course it is illegal. Buggery is unlawful. The days of the Rum Bum and Lash Navy are long since over.”

“Sir, then please tell me one thing – you can’t steal the affections of a brother officer’s wife because it is immoral. You can’t steal the affection of a brother officer because it is unlawful. Then why is it permitted to steal the affection of your sister officer?”

“Stealing the affections of a sister officer? What are you talking about?”

“Sir, nowadays we have lady officers in the Navy.”

“So?”

“If male officers are like our brothers, then the women officers are like our sisters, aren’t they?”

“That’s right – lady officers are indeed your sister officers. And that is how you must treat them.”

“If you steal the affections of your sister, does that not amount to incest?”

“Incest? What are you trying to say?”

“Sir, tell me, are you allowed to marry your sister?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are male officers being permitted to marry female officers? Brother Officers are stealing the affections of Sister Officers and even marrying them. Isn’t it funny, Sir? Today she is your sister officer and tomorrow she becomes your wife?”

“What’s your point?”

“It is all very confusing to me, Sir.”

“Confusing? What?”

“You can steal the affection of your sister officer, you can even marry your sister officer – that is allowed – sister officers can steal the affections of their brother officers and even marry them – that is permitted – then why make such a big hullabaloo if you steal the affections of a brother officer’s wife?”

“Very interesting question. I think I’ll have to ask my wife to answer that.”

“Your wife? I thought you were a bachelor, Sir.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you are in-living, Sir.”

“Well, my wife is posted elsewhere. And you’ll be interested to know that she is, in your parlance, a ‘sister officer’ – yes, Dear Snotty, I am guilty of stealing the affection of a sister officer!”

 

 

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2012

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

Did you like this story?

I am sure you will like the 27 short stories from my recently published anthology of Short Fiction COCKTAIL
To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:
http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme
http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm
http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html

COCKTAIL ebook

If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the links below:
AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6
SMASHWORDS
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

Foodie Book:  Appetite for a Stroll
If your are a Foodie you will like my book of Food Adventures APPETITE FOR A STROLL. Do order a copy from FLIPKART:
http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer and blogger. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and an anthology of short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional  and academic research papers in journals and edited in-house journals and magazines for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing and blogging. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse – his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Vikram Karve Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

      

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Posted by Vikram Karve

 

A Naval Yarn – STEALING AFFECTIONS – Fiction Short Story

Click the link below and read the Short Fiction Story – STEALING AFFECTIONS – A Naval Yarn on my creative writing journal blog

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: STEALING AFFECTIONS.

Click the link above and read the Short Fiction Story – STEALING AFFECTIONS – A Naval Yarn on my creative writing journal blog

MY BLOG – Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve.

Click the link above and read my blog

A Lazy Mumbai Story – THE MEANING OF FREEDOM

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: THE MEANING OF FREEDOM.

Click the link above and read the story in my creative writing journal

 

EMOTIONAL EFFECT OF DIVORCE ON CHILDREN – RUNNING AWAY – a Short Story by Vikram Karve

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: RUNNING AWAY.

Click the link above to read the original post in my creative writing journal

Also posted below for your convenience

RUNNING AWAY

Short Fiction Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

“Hello Sir,” she said.

In the suddenness of the moment, I did not recognize her.

But then she gave me her vivacious smile, her eyes danced, and I knew who she was.

She had been one of my brightest students – but then that was quite some time ago.

“Of course I recognize you,” I said, “How can I ever forget one of my best students? But it was so unexpected that I was confused for a moment; and you’ve grown up so much, and I too am getting old, you know.”

“No, Sir, you still look handsome, and as young as ever. I’m sure all the girls still have a crush on you, like we did!” she said naughtily.

I almost blushed, so to change the subject, I asked her, “What you doing here at the airport?”

“I’m going to New York,” she said, “my flight is delayed so I am just killing time.”

“My flight to Singapore is delayed too,” I said.

“Singapore?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m going for a conference,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

For some moments no one spoke.

To break the silence, I said, “Let’s go to the coffee shop. We can sit and talk over there till our flights are announced.”

As we walked to the airport coffee shop, I thought of the girl walking beside me.

She had abruptly left our school three years ago, after completing her 9^th Standard.

When we teachers expressed our surprise, the Principal of our school told us that her parents wanted to shift her to an elite boarding school, faraway in the hills.

We told the Principal that she was a brilliant scholar, one of our best students, who had the potential to top the 10^th Board Exams, and she would surely bring laurels to our school by adorning the merit list. We also argued that, even from her point of view, it was not prudent to change her school and shift her just one year before the matriculation board examination.

The Principal told us that he had discussed all this with her parents, but they were adamant.

So, the bright young girl left our school and went away to the boarding school, and I did not see her, or hear of her, after that.

“Sir, do you know why I had to suddenly leave school?” she asked, as we sat down for coffee.

“No,” I said, “we were quite surprised.”

“My parents were getting divorced and they did not want me around, so they sent me away to the boarding school,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “that’s sad.”

“Yes,” she said, “it was really sad. I did not like it at all.”

Though I had met her parents once or twice perfunctorily at school functions, I did not know her parents that well. In fact, I did remember most of my students, but I hardly remembered their parents.

I sipped my coffee and did not say anything, waiting for her to speak.

“I just don’t know why they split,” she said, “we seemed to be such a happy family together.”

“They must have had their reasons,” I said.

“Well, I think I know at least one reason now,” she said.

I just looked at her, waiting for her to continue speaking.

“The moment the divorce was through, my dad got married to a woman half his age.”

“Half his age?” I asked, quite incredulous.

“Yes. The female was his student.”

“Student?”

“You know that my father is a Professor, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“She was doing her Ph. D. under him. The wily female snatched him away from us. And it was his fault too – a married man with a family getting involved with woman so much younger than him.  It was terrible – a teacher and a student shamelessly getting married to each other. Just imagine how embarrassing it must have been for me and my mother.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to show empathy.

“And do you know what my mother does?”

“What?”

“Three months later, she too gets remarried to a jerk from her office,” she said, “I hate him – he’s such a crafty smooth-talking fake.”

She paused for a moment and said, “And can you imagine his audacity?”

“Audacity?”

“One day he politely told me that ‘they’ wanted more privacy so could I please go and stay with my own Dad for a while?”

“Don’t tell me…!”

“Yes. And you won’t believe this – my mother just kept quiet and said nothing.”

“So?”

“So I packed my bags and went over to my father’s place, but it was even worse over there.”

“Even worse?”

“Though she did not say so in so many words, my ‘step-mother’ made it quite clear that I was not very welcome – the vibes, you know those negative vibes – I could feel them every moment.”

“That’s sad.”

“So I spent the next two years of junior college, my 11^th and 12^th, shuttling between the two places like an unwanted badminton shuttle-cock,” she said, “then I made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I told them I wanted to go abroad to America for my studies and wanted them to fund it,” she said.

She paused for a moment, had a sip of coffee, and then she said, “you know, all of them were so delighted to hear this. My Dad used his academic connections and went out of the way to get me admission to the best university, and everyone, my Mom, and even my so-called ‘step parents’, are all chipping in to finance my education abroad for as long as I want to study. They all are so happy to get me out of the way.”

“Oh, so that’s why you are going to the States?”

“Yes. I am running away. To a new life,” she said.

Suddenly, her flight was announced, and she got up to leave.

“Thanks for the coffee, Sir,” she said, “it was so nice meeting you.”

“I am sure we will meet again when you come back,” I said.

“I am not coming back, Sir. There is nothing left here for me to come back to. I am leaving behind the baggage of my past over here and I am moving on to begin a new life over there – and I am not going to look back,” she said.

“All the Best. Take Care,” I said.

“You too, Sir, Take Care,” she said, and walked away.

She did not look back.

 

VIKRAM KARVE 

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2012
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Did you like this story?
I am sure you will like the 27 fiction short stories from my recently published anthology of Short Fiction COCKTAIL 
To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:
http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme
http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm
http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html

COCKTAIL ebook
If you prefer reading ebooks on Kindle or your ebook reader, please order Cocktail E-book by clicking the links below:
AMAZON
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005MGERZ6
SMASHWORDS
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87925

Foodie Book:  Appetite for a Stroll
If your are a Foodie you will like my book of Food Adventures APPETITE FOR A STROLL. Do order a copy from FLIPKART:
http://www.flipkart.com/appetite-stroll-vikram-karve/8190690094-gw23f9mr2o

About Vikram KarveA creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram Karve has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse – his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
Professional Profile Vikram Karve: http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Vikram Karve Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/vikramkarve
Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog: http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com/blog/posts.htm
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

From Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve Short Fiction Story ZAN ZAR ZAMEEN

Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: ZAN ZAR ZAMEEN.

Click the link to read the original story in my creative writing journal

Also posted below for convenience

ZAN ZAR ZAMEEN

This post has been published by me as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by WriteupCafe.com. Join us at our official website and facebook page.
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ZAN ZAR ZAMEEN

Short Fiction – A Murder Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Har qatl di e jar zan zar zameen

(The motive for every murder is because of woman, money or land)

“A man dies in suspicious circumstances. You arrest another man for his murder.  Then the murder-suspect dies in the lock-up. And you close the case,” Rita says.

“That’s what happened,” I say.

“Well, the higher-ups are not happy with your closure report,” she says matter-of-factly, “they feel you should have delved more deeply, investigated the case a bit more thoroughly.”

“It is an open and shut case. What is there left to investigate? And, Rita, you were there yourself when all this happened.”

“I know. But the guys who died were top officers – influential men. The powers-that-be are concerned. The boss wants me to go over the case once more with you before he approves the closure report.”

I say nothing, remain silent.

“Sir, I know I am one batch junior to you and that you have independent charge, so if you feel …”

“No. No. It’s not that…” I say hurriedly, “it’s okay. I have no problem. After all you are head of the crime branch in headquarters.”

“And I am tipped to take over from you.”

“You? You’re going to take over from me? Where am I going?”

“Don’t you know? Well, I am not supposed to tell you, but once this is all over, most likely you’re heading for a coveted foreign assignment.”

“I’m going abroad?”

“That’s what the boss told me, in strictest confidence,” Rita says, “he told me to discuss the case with you and satisfy myself and the moment I submitted my report, he would close this pending case and relieve you so that you can hand over your duties to me and fly off across the seas.”

“Thanks for the good news. Let’s get this over with fast. Tell me, how should we go about it?”

“Sir, just tell me what happened. I’ll take your word for it.”

“The murder happened on Barren Island. As the name indicates, it is indeed a  desolate uninhabited island. There’s nothing over there. Except the volcano – that’s what these guys had ostensibly come to see. There is the barren island, the volcano, the springs, the lovely beach and the site office-cum-guesthouse which we activate for such VIP visits – bloody work-cum-pleasure trips, having a good time under the pretext of work.”

“Your report says that there were only six people on Barren Island on that fateful night.”

“That’s right – you know it.  Joshi, the chief scientist who was murdered was in Room No. 1 and his deputy Sharma, the murderer, was next door in Room No. 2. You, the liaison officer, were in Room no. 3. The technocrat couple Mr. and Mrs. Krishnan were in Room No. 4. And I, the camp in-charge, was in Room No. 5 – that’s all.”

“No one else? Guest House Staff? Cooks? Security staff? Boat crew?”

“I sent them back to Port Blair and told them to come in the morning. We wanted some privacy, a cosy party all by ourselves on the beach. Besides I wanted the staff to enjoy their New Year’s Eve with their families. Come on, Rita, you know all that. You were there yourself.”

“Just checking,” she says, “and when did you all turn in?”

“Well, the Krishnan’s were the first to go to bed, immediately after midnight – they were quite drunk, both of them. And then you left, saying you were tired and wanted to get up early in the morning.”

“And then?”

“We drank for an hour or so – and I was feeling quite high, so I came back to the guest house and went to sleep – but the two scientists kept on drinking – in fact, when I asked them to come with me, I remember them saying that they wanted to lie down on the beach and drink till sunrise.”

“And next morning, Joshi’s body is found floating in the sea.”

“Yes. The body had strangulation marks around the neck.”  

“So you carry out an investigation and arrest Sharma on charges of murder.”

“I had a post mortem done in Port Blair. The time of death was around 3 AM.”

“So?”

“You were in your room, the Krishnan’s were in their room, I was in my room – only Sharma was with Joshi on the beach. Sharma had no alibi. Among all of us, Sharma was the only one without an alibi.”

“Did you ask him where he was? Did you try and interrogate him? Did you try and get a confession?”

“Sharma just kept mum like a zombie. He did not answer anything – he refused to give a statement. That’s why I …”

“That’s why you gave him Sodium Pentothal. Sir, you know you can’t do this on your own – you have to take the court’s permission.”

“A wee bit of truth serum never hurt anyone…”

“But he died.”

“I didn’t know Sharma would react this way. I thought he was a tough cookie. I’d watched him trek, swim, climb the steep slope of the volcano. You should have seen the way he was drinking and eating at the party,” I say, “and I wanted to get to the bottom of this case – I wanted to find out the motive behind the murder.”

“Motive? Your Zan Zar Zameen theory, Sir?” Rita asked with a grimace on her face.

“It was a case of Zan – a woman.”

“Zan?” Rita says, looking quite astonished.

“Yes. I got a lead. Don’t ask me how?”

“Your batch-mate, in Delhi…”

“Maybe. But that is not important. What is important is that Joshi was Sharma’s direct boss and that Sharma was having a affair with Joshi’s wife.”

“So he murdered him? But why?”

“That’s what I was trying to find out with a bit of truth serum but the bugger collapsed and died.”

“Well I don’t know about the motive but I can say with surety that Sharma did not kill Joshi.”

“Then who murdered Joshi?”

“I don’t know,” Rita says, “you said that you arrested Sharma because he was the only one without an alibi. But actually Sharma had a cast iron alibi.”

“What?”

“Let’s go through it once again,” Rita says looking into my eyes, “the Krishnan’s leave the party just after midnight, I leave shortly afterwards – I remember the exact time – I clearly remember looking at my watch and the wall clock – I reached my room at 12:30. Tell me, do you remember the exact time you left the beach and returned to your room?”

“I told you I was quite high and don’t remember exactly. We drank for an hour or so. So maybe I came back to my room at around 1 o’clock or maybe 1:30 or at the most 2.”

“You are wrong. Sharma came back at 1 o’clock, not you.”

“What?”

“I told you that Sharma had a cast iron alibi. Sharma came to my room at 1 o’clock. He was with me in my room the whole night. In bed. Making love to me. Then he went to his room at 5 in the morning, just as the sun was rising, before everyone got up, and the boat ferrying the staff came at 6 o’clock, and they discovered Joshi’s dead body floating in the sea, ” Rita says.

Then she looks at me and asks me, “do you understand what I am saying?”

“You are implying that I murdered Joshi,” I say, my heartbeat rising.

Rita does not say anything, but she looks at me with a strange expression, a look of scorn combined with pity.

I look at Rita and say, “But tell me, why should I murder Joshi, what is my motive?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, “but now the onus is on you to prove your innocence.”

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2012

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for almost 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse – his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
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