Happily Unmarried

___________

___________

HAPPILY SINGLE

_________

Is being “happily single” better than being “miserably married”…?

Earlier – the moment your entered your 20’s – there was pressure on you to get married.

Remaining single was looked down upon in Indian society.

Today – it is quite okay to remain single and there are many boys and girls who prefer to remain single – like the girl in story below.

_________

More than 4 years ago – in December 2019 – I met a girl.

I had met her last around 10 years earlier in the year 2009 when she was studying for her Master’s Degree (M.Sc.)

I was happy to learn that she was doing so well in life – she had gone abroad for her Ph.D. – and she was now working as a Research Scientist in a prestigious institution in that country – where she intended living permanently.

She had come to India on her Christmas Vacations to visit her parents and was going back soon.

The girl was around 30 years old – and her mother was worried that her daughter is still unmarried and refuses to “see” boys for marriage.

The mother said that even if her daughter wanted to marry a colleague at work – a “foreigner” – it was okay with them – but she must get married as she was already 30 years old.

The girl said that she was perfectly happy being single – she wanted to focus on her career – and she had no intention of getting married.

__________

The girl said:

“For me – I prefer to be alone and unencumbered – I am happy being single rather than go through the rigmarole of marriage…”

_________

More than 4 years have passed since – and the girl is still “happily single” – and she may remain so forever.

_________

There seem to be an increasing number of youngsters who want to remain single by choice.

This reminds me of a story I wrote a few years ago about one of my girlfriends…

_________

MY “HAPPILY SINGLE” GIRLFRIEND

Love Story By Vikram Karve

_________

Auckland, New Zealand – circa 2016

_________

PART 1

_________

DINNER DATE

_________

DATE WITH MY “GIRLFRIEND”

(AT A PUB IN AUCKLAND – NEW ZEALAND)

_________

“Why can’t people understand that I don’t want to get married…” my “girlfriend” says.

“What happened…?” I ask her.

“It’s my mother again. Now – she has found a “Boy” for me over here…” she says.

“Here…? In New Zealand…?” I ask her.

“Yes – last year – when I was on vacation in India – I escaped seeing “Boys” saying that I had decided to settle down permanently in New Zealand – and – I was unwilling to relocate from Auckland – so now – they have found a “Boy” for me out here…” she says.

“Oh – your mother has found a “Boy” for you over here in New Zealand…?” I say.

“I just don’t understand why my parents are so desperate to get me married…” she says.

“You are 30 now – you are already past what is considered “marriageable age” in India…” I say.

“But – I don’t want to get married – so – how does my age matter…? What difference does it make whether I am past “marriageable age” or not – when I want to remain “single” all my life…?” she says.

“Are you sure you want to remain “single” forever…? Maybe – you will feel like getting married sometime…” I say to her.

“No – I have made up my mind – I will never get married – I told my mother very clearly not to worry about my marriage – but – she keeps pestering me…” she says, with irritation in her voice.

“Well – in India – parents feel it is their duty to get their daughters married…” I say.

“That was okay in the past – when girls were not financially independent – but today – things are different – in fact – I am sure I earn much more than most “Boys” of my age…” she says.

“I don’t think your parents feel that way. Maybe your parents feel that now that you are 30 years old – it is high time that you should “settle down” in life…” I say.

“But – I have already settled down in life – haven’t I…? I have a good job with excellent career prospects – I have my own house in the best inner city suburb of Auckland – I have my own car – I have everything I need…” she says.

“That may be so – but – probably – your parents feel that you need a husband – and – getting married will complete your life…” I say.

“Well – I feel “complete” already – so – there is no place for anyone else in my life – I don’t need anyone – I have got everything…” she says.

“Everything…? Are you sure you have everything in life…? What about…?” I hesitate – when she interrupts me.

_________

She interrupts me – and she says to me:

“Please – let’s not discuss that – but – let me tell you that I can easily get enough of sex – to satisfy my needs – whenever I want to…”

“I meant “companionship”…” I say.

“I get plenty of “companionship” at work – in fact – a bit too much – you know the job I do – I have to spend the whole day interacting by people – colleagues, customers, clients – I get so fed up that I just want to be alone at home to enjoy my “self-time”…” she says.

“I meant “friendship” – friends…” I say.

“Friends…? You are there – aren’t you…? You are my “BFF” – aren’t you…? Whenever I want to relax over a drink – or – if I feel like going on a drive – or – if I want to get something off my chest – I call you – and you come to me immediately – like you have come now…” she says to me.

“Yes – I am always there for you – but – don’t you want to have more friends…?” I say.

“Actually – out here in Auckland – one doesn’t need many friends – I like the social culture out here in New Zealand – where they respect your privacy…” she says.

“Tell me. You never had any friends out here…? Even when you were studying at the University…?” I say.

“Of course I did. But – those days were different. Now – I like my solitude…” she says.

“Yes – I have seen that. Nowadays – you like to be alone in your spare time…” I say.

“In fact – now – you are my only friend. I like you because you are the only one who doesn’t indulge in “matchmaking” and try to get me married off. Sadly – most Indian “expats” out here are doing “matchmaking” all the time – they keep hounding me to get married – they keep searching for suitable “matches” – finding all sorts of “Boys” for me…” she says.

“Well – you can’t blame them – can you…? They may have travelled a long distance from India – migrated – and settled down over here in New Zealand – but – their mindset hasn’t changed. They may be physically here – in a modern country – but culturally – in their minds – they still carry old-fashioned Indian values. That’s why they feel – that it is unusual – for a girl to remain unmarried – once she crosses 30 years of age…” I say to her.

“Well – I am “happy and single” – I am living my life to the fullest – I live on my own terms – and I don’t want anyone worrying about my marriage – not even my parents – and certainly not these Indian “expats” out here…” she says.

“Don’t pay too much attention to them – but – remember – that – like your parents – their intentions are good…” I say to her.

“Well – I don’t care about their intentions – but – they hassle me with all their “matrimonial talk” and comments about my living a single life – that’s why I have dumped everyone – except you – because you are the only one who accepts me as I am. Yes – you are the only one that I consider as my true friend – because you don’t have any “good intentions” to end my “spinstership” and get me married off…” she says.

“Hey – your glass is empty – should I get you some more beer…?” I say to her.

“No – I’ll go home now…” she says.

“Why so early…? It’s Friday night – and it’s only 7 o’clock…” I say.

“I have to go home. But – you wait here…” she says.

“Me…? Wait here…? Why should I wait here all alone…?” I say, perplexed at her behaviour.

She smiles at me.

“Because I want you to speak to the “Boy” – and – you will tell him that I don’t want to get married…” she says.

“What…? You want me to speak to the “Boy”…?” I say, confused.

“Don’t you remember what I told you…? My parents have found a “Boy” for me over here…” she says.

“Oh yes – you told me – but – I almost forgot. So – your parents have found a “Boy” for you over here in New Zealand. Who is the “Boy”…?” I say.

“You will see the “Boy” in a few minutes…” she says.

“What…? Is he coming here to meet you…?” I ask her, surprised.

“Yes – I have called him here in this pub at 8 o’clock – for dinner. But now – he can have the “dinner date” with you – instead of me…” she says.

“You want me to have a “dinner date” with him…? You want me to substitute for you…?” I say, taken aback.

“Yes – you will tell him that I am not interested in getting married…” she says.

“Who is the guy…? Does he live here in Auckland…? Maybe I know him…” I say.

“No. You don’t know him. He was working in Christchurch. He took up a job in Auckland only last week. I don’t know what my parents told his parents – and what high hopes they raised in him – because – from the way he talked to me on phone – it seems that he is taking things for granted. I only hope he hasn’t relocated to Auckland in anticipation of getting married to me – because – if he has fancy ideas about getting married to me – he is going to get the shock of his life – when you tell him – that I am not interested in marriage…” she says.

“Oh – so that is why you called me here – to do your dirty work. You want me to meet the “Boy” and tell him the bad news that you are not interested in marriage…” I say, feeling peeved.

“Yes. That’s what good friends are for – aren’t they…?” she says, matter-of-factly.

“But – I don’t even know him…!!!” I say, flabbergasted.

“Here – I am sending you his picture and name on your mobile phone…” she says.

__________

The moment I receive the picture of the “Boy” on my smartphone – I look at it – and I see that he is quite a smart guy.

Suddenly – my “girlfriend” says to me:

“Okay – I’ll go now – you enjoy your “dinner-date” with the “Boy” – and – you please call me up in the morning and tell me what happened…”

She gives me a cute beseeching smile.

“Okay. Bye. Take Care…” I say to her.

“Bye…” she said to me.

Then – my “girlfriend” kisses me on the cheek – and – she walks towards door of the pub.

________

PART 2

_______

NEXT DAY – MORNING

_______

AT MY HOME IN AUCKLAND

________

Next morning – I call my “girlfriend” – and – I tell her that the “mission” had been accomplished.

“What happened…?” my “girlfriend” asks me.

“I told the “Boy” that you were not interested in marriage – I told him that you wanted to remain “single” all your life…” I say to her.

“So…? What was his reaction…?” she asks me.

“He looked crestfallen…” I say.

“Really…?” she exclaims.

“And – do you know what he asked me…?” I says.

“What di he ask you…?” she says.

“He asked me whether you were a “Lesbian”…” I say.

“Oh My God…!!! So – what did you say…?” she says, in a excited tone.

“I kept quiet. I let him draw his own conclusions. Maybe – it will be a “consolation” to him – if he feels that the reason why you “rejected” him is because you are a “lesbian”…” I say.

“You are a terribly wicked fellow…” my “girlfriend” says to me, naughtily.

“You owe me a treat…” I say to her.

“Of course I’ll give you a treat – wherever you want. You call me in the evening – and you tell me the place and time – and – I’ll be there…” she says.

“Let’s go to Dos Amigos – the Mexican Restaurant in Mission Bay…” I say to her, “You be there at 7 PM…”

“Okay – I will be there. You can tell me in detail about the what happened on your “dinner-date” with the “Boy”. Then – after dinner – we’ll have a stroll on Mission Bay Beach – I’ll call up my mother and tell her that I didn’t like the “Boy”…” my “girlfriend” says to me.

“Sure…” I say to her, “You want me to be around to prompt you in case your mother asks any uncomfortable questions – isn’t it…?”

“You know me so well – you are truly my “BFF” – my “Best Friend Forever” …” my “girlfriend” says to me, in a loving voice.

“See you in the evening. Bye – Take Care…” I say to my “girlfriend” – and I disconnect the phone.

__________

PART 3

__________

INTROSPECTION

__________

After the conversation with my “girlfriend”– I sit quietly – deep in thought.

After some time – I call up my mother in India – and – I say to my mother:

“Mother – you can start looking for a suitable bride for me…”

I can sense that my mother seems surprised to hear me say this.

“Bride…? You want me to search for a bride for you…? What happened to that “girl” over there in Auckland…? The girl you are dating – your “girlfriend” – you said that you wanted to marry her. Weren’t you supposed to meet her last evening…?” my mother says.

“Yes. I met her last evening…” I say to my mother.

“What happened…? Did you talk about marriage…? Did you propose to her…?” my mother asks me.

“We talked about marriage – but – I didn’t propose to her…” I say.

“Why…? What happened…? Did you have a fight…? Is there some problem with her…? Did you break up with her…?” my mother asks me.

“No – No – Mother – nothing like that at all – we are still good friends – but – she doesn’t want to get married – that’s all…” I say.

“She doesn’t want to get married to you…? Why…? Why doesn’t she want to get married to you…?” my mother asks me.

“It’s not me. She doesn’t want to get married to anyone – she prefers to remain “single” – that’s all…” I say.

“She wants to remain unmarried…? She wants to remain “single” all her life…? Strange girl…!!!” my mother says.

“Mother – you forget about her. I am coming to India for a month during my Christmas Vacations. Please have some good “girls” lined up for me to “see”. I want to get married to some nice “back home type” girl…” I say to my mother.

“Don’t worry – you will get the best of girls to select from. You are a “prime catch” in the “marriage market” – you are a “most eligible bachelor”. And that too – you are so smart and handsome. And – you are so well settled in New Zealand – excellent job, your own house, plenty of money – there will be so many good girls dying for the opportunity to go to Auckland and settle down in that lovely place…” my mother says to me.

________

PART 4

________

AFTERWORD

________

Well – my “girlfriend” – who wanted to remain “happily single” – maybe she had “Gamophobia” 

(Fear of Marriage)

________

She was “single” – but – she was not “sorry”.

Yes – “Single But Not Sorry”.

_________

But – as far as I was concerned – I surely had “Anuptaphobia” 

(Fear of Staying Single)

__________

Yes – I certainly did not want to remain a “chronic bachelor” for my entire life.

________

PART 5

________

EPILOGUE

________

GAMOPHOBIA versus ANUPTAPHOBIA

________

Some persons are afraid of getting married.

They have Gamophobia – the fear of marriage – the fear of getting married.

So – they avoid getting married on some pretext or the other.

________

On the other hand – some persons are apprehensive that they will never get married.

They have Anuptaphobia – the fear of staying single – the fear of remaining unmarried for their entire lives.

So – they are desperate to get married.

________

Gamophobic persons may remain “happily unmarried” for their entire lives.

A person with gamophobia may prefer to be “happily single” rather than being “miserably married”.

_________

On the other hand – in their frantic desperation to get married – persons with anuptaphobia may land up getting married to the wrong person – since – in their desperate hurry to get married – they may choose partners on a whim – and quickly marry in haste – without considering the consequences.

Well – I have seen both types of persons – some having gamophobia – and a few having anuptaphobia – and – if you look around – you will see both types too.

_________

Hey – Dear Reader:

What about you…?

Have you come across persons with gamophobia or anuptaphobia…?

_______

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:

1. This blog post is a fictional spoof, satire, pure fiction, just for fun and humor, no offence is meant to anyone, so take it with a pinch of salt and have a laugh.
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.
3. E&OE

Copyright Notice:

No part of this Blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Blog Author Vikram Karve who holds the copyright.

Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)

Link to my source blog posts in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: http://karvediat.blogspot.com/2016/12/gamophobia-fear-of-marriage.html and http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2017/02/dinner-date-in-auckland.html and in my writing blog at urls: https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/11/01/happily-single-vs-miserably-married-story/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2020/10/21/my-happily-single-girlfriend-3/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/06/21/gamophobia-vs-anuptaphobia/ and https://vikramkarve.medium.com/happily-single-71cdf5c57ee3 and https://karve.wordpress.com/2023/06/05/happily-single-2/ etc.

This is an updated and abridged repost of my story GAMOPHOBIA written by me Vikram Karve around 8 years ago in December 2016 and posted by me online in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve Blog on Friday, December 2, 2016 and revised/reposted on February 3, 2017 and later in my writing blog and other blogs too at a number of urls including recently at url (source blog post for this post): https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/01/22/is-happily-single-better-than-miserably-married/ 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

__________

Romance on the Deccan Queen

_________

_________

PREFACE

__________

One thing good about the Navy – at least during my long career in the Navy – particularly in earlier times – was that you spent a large part of your Navy Life in Mumbai (earlier called Bombay) – which was the main Naval Base those days – in fact – the Western Fleet – based at Mumbai – was known as the “sword arm” of the Navy.

During my many tenures at Mumbai – afloat – on frontline Warships based at Mumbai – and ashore – in premier “Stone Frigates” (Naval Shore Establishments) – from the 1970’s – to the mid 2000’s – I would travel frequently by the Deccan Queen – between my workplace Mumbai – and my hometown Pune.

It was an entertaining 3 hour journey – especially as I loved to observe my co-passengers – yes – there were so many interesting characters and situations on these train journeys.

This story was conceived and written around 22 years ago – in the year 2002 – on one such Mumbai-Pune journey on the Deccan Queen.

This romance story is narrated by a small girl – just 12 years old.

I have updated, abridged and edited the story for easy reading on the digital screen – especially on smartphones.

Do tell me if you like the story…

__________

ROMANCE ON THE DECCAN QUEEN 

Love Story By VIKRAM KARVE

__________

On the Mumbai Pune Deccan Queen

The 11^th of December 2002 

__________

Have you ever seen a handsome strapping young man reading a Mills & Boon Romance…?

And that too so blatantly in front of so many people in a crowded railway compartment…?

I did.

On the Deccan Queen.

Yes – on the Deccan Queen – my favourite train that takes you from Mumbai to Pune every evening.

And back from Pune to Mumbai in the morning.

Let me tell you about it.

But first – I will tell you about myself.

My name is Priya.

I am 12 years old and I am a pretty girl.

I love train journeys and I have travelled a lot – especially on the Mumbai Pune route.

But – this was the first time I was travelling alone.

So my loving father was very very anxious and worried.

My father was anxious because he dotes on me.

Yes – my father dotes on me since I am the only thing he has in this world.

My father had come to see me off at Mumbai’s magnificent CST Railway Terminus.

__________

As the departure time of the Deccan Queen approached – my father seemed uneasy – and – he kept on saying the same things again and again:

“Priya – take care.

Don’t get down at any station.

It’s only a three-hour journey.

She will come to pick you up at Pune.

I have told her your coach and seat number.

And – I have told this ‘Uncle’ here to look after you…”

__________

‘Uncle’ was a young man on the seat next to mine.

He was very handsome, well-groomed, smartly dressed in a light blue T-shirt and trendy Jeans.

I guessed he must have been around 25 years old.

Maybe slightly older – but certainly not 30…!!!

He had a smart elegant beard.

It was a proper well-kept full-grown beard – not the repulsive dirty-looking horrible two-day designer stubble young men sport nowadays.

These young lotharios think that the filthy hideous stubble on their face looks fashionable.

But let me tell you that it looks sick and makes me feel like puking.

But this guy had a gorgeous beard – it suited his face perfectly and made him look very handsome and manly.

“Don’t you worry, Sir…” the young man said to my father, “she will be delivered safe and sound…”

_________

The young man gave me a friendly smile.

I liked him and felt happy to have him as a companion.

And of course – I had the window seat – in case he turned out to be a bore.

_________

Now my anxious father was talking to the train-conductor – probably telling him the same things – to look after me and all that.

I felt embarrassed – but I did not say anything – because I knew my father loved me very much and genuinely cared for me.

After all – as I told you – we have no one else in this world except each other.

I have him – and – he has me.

I felt worried about my father too.

That’s why when he kissed me on the cheek just before the train started – I whispered in his ear:

“Papa – don’t drink too much…”

_________

I knew how much he hated to be lonely.

And now – I wouldn’t be there to look after him – to take care of him – to “mother” him…!!!

The train moved.

I looked at my watch.

5:10 PM.

Ten minutes past five.

Right on the dot.

Soon – the mighty Deccan Queen was speeding towards Pune.

We would be there by dinner-time.

I looked at ‘uncle’ – just a sideways glance.

But – he did not notice me – as he had already buried himself in the pages of the Mumbai Mid-Day newspaper.

I took out my iPod from my bag – adjusted the earphones in my ears and looked at him again.

He was still buried in his newspaper – totally oblivious of the world around him.

I pressed my earphones tighter and tried to hear the music from my iPod – pretended to ignore him – made pretence of trying to look out of the tinted-glass window of the air-conditioned chair car.

But my eyes kept wandering – trying to steal a glance at him when I thought he would not notice – but secretly hoping he would notice me and say something – and talk to me.

But – he remained glued to his newspaper as if I just did not exist…!!!

How mean and snobbish…!!!

It seemed he had no manners…!!!

I hated him and decided to ignore him.

__________

After some time the young man next to me folded his newspaper and kept it in the rack in front of him.

Then he pulled out his bag from below his seat – opened the zip – and he took out a book from his bag – and kept the book on his knees in front of him.

It was a ‘Mills & Boon’ romance…!!!

I smiled to myself.

This young man seemed to be quite an interesting character.

Young men in their 20’s don’t read ‘Mills & Boon’.

Or – do they…?

You tell me.

__________

Anyway – he opened the Mills & Boon and started reading intently.

I know it is bad manners to disturb someone who is reading – but I was so curious to know more about him that I just could not resist.

I shut the iPod – pulled earphones out of my ears – and I said to the young man:

“Hello, Uncle.

I’m Priya…”

________

The young man looked at me and smiled.

“Oh yes…! I know…” he said to me, “Priya. Age 12…”

“How do you know all this…?” I asked, surprised.

“I read the reservation chart…” he said.

“No. No. Papa must have told you my name…” I said.

“Yes – he did tell me your name – but he did not tell me your age, young lady…” he smiled mischievously, and said to me, “Whenever I begin a train journey I always find out who my fellow-passengers are.”

“Are you a detective or something…?” I asked him, curious.

“No, No…!!!” he said smiling, “I’m a Shippie. A Chief Officer in the Merchant Navy…”

__________

He held out his hand and said to me:

“Girish Joshi – my name is Girish Joshi.

And – don’t call me “Uncle”.

Call me Girish – just Girish…”

_________

We shook hands.

His grip was firm and strong.

Robust.

Reassuring.

Redoubtable.

Just like he looked.

The Mills & Boon paperback fell off.

He picked it up and put it back on his knees.

It really seemed funny – a solid “macho man” like him reading a mushy Mills and Boon romance.

_________

“Have you been to Pune before…?” he asked me.

“Oh yes…” I said, “We lived in Pune before we came to Mumbai…”

“Then you can help me out…” he said. “Do you know a place called Vaishali…? It is a famous restaurant, I think.”

“You don’t know Vaishali…?” I asked him, surprised.

“No…” he said. “It’s the first time I’m going to Pune. But she told me it was a famous place and I would find it easily. That’s what she told me…!!!”

“She…?” I asked him, curious.

“The person I have an appointment with. 10 o’clock tomorrow morning. She promised she would be there…” he said.

“At Vaishali…?” I asked him.

“Yes…” he said, “She told me that the Dosa at Vaishali is even better than the one at Shompen.”

“Shompen…?” I said, clueless.

“It’s the best restaurant in Port Blair. That’s where we met for the first time…” he said.

“Port Blair…!!! That’s where you met her – is it…?” I asked.

This was getting very interesting.

“Yes. Last Year. We were sailing from Singapore to Mumbai – and – on the way – we had to dock at Port Blair – for some emergency repairs. It was just a short stay of four days…” he said to me.

_________

I love to talk to someone who loves to talk.

And this was like a fairy tale.

It was getting exciting and I wanted to ask him so many things.

Who was “SHE”…?

What was her name…?

Was it love at first sight…?

What happened…?

And what was the mystery of the Mills & Boon on his lap…?

But before I could speak – he suddenly said to me:

“Hey…!!!

Why am I telling you all this…?

It’s supposed to be secret…”

________

On hearing his words – I smiled at him.

“It’s okay…” I said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Now you tell me about yourself, Priya. Why are you going to Pune…?” he asked me.

“To see my new mother…” I blurted out – without thinking.

________

And then – like a stupid fool – I told him everything.

________

I knew I was making a mistake – but he was so easy to talk to that my words just came tumbling out.

I told him about my mother’s sudden death – my father sinking into depression – his drinking problem – everyone advising him to remarry – his refusal – just for my sake.

And then – this marriage proposal comes along – and my father insists that I should meet my would-be stepmother first – and he will get married to her only if we two like each other.

Everything – I told him everything – and it made me feel good.

_________

“You mean your father hasn’t even met her…?” Girish asked me.

“No. He hasn’t – we haven’t even seen her. Papa has only spoken to her on the phone. Some relatives and friends of Papa are arranging the whole thing…” I said, “Papa is worried about me. He loves me so much. He wants me to like her first…”

I could not speak any longer.

Tears had welled up in my eyes.

For some time there was silence.

I felt very embarrassed at having told everything to a complete stranger.

But strangely – after telling him everything – I felt good.

I wiped my tears and nose with my handkerchief and I said to him:

“I am sorry, Uncle…”

________

He gave me a look of mock anger.

“…“Uncle”…? You are calling me “Uncle” again…? Hey come on. I’m not that old. Call me Girish. I told you – didn’t I…? And don’t worry. Everything will work out…” he said.

“For you too…” I said, with a genuine smile.

“I hope so…” he said, “I am making it to this appointment with great difficulty – I made it almost by a hair’s breadth. I signed off my ship in Perth yesterday evening and managed to reach Mumbai just a few hours ago. And here I am on this train to Pune. She told me if I didn’t keep my appointment at Vaishali with her tomorrow – she would go ahead and marry someone else.”

“So romantic…” I said. “Just like in the movie…”

“An Affair to Remember…?” he said.

“No. Some Hindi Movie – Bheegi Raat or something – I don’t remember the exact name…” I said – and then – I asked him, “You must be dying to meet her – isn’t it…?”

“Of course I’m dying to meet her…” he said, “It’s been one year since we said goodbye to each other at Port Blair. While parting we promised each other that we would meet tomorrow – on the 12^th of December this year at 10 a.m. at Vaishali restaurant in Pune…”

“Why the 12^th of December…?” I asked him.

“We met for the first time on the 12^th of December last year. And yes – it’s her birthday too. Quite a coincidence – isn’t it…?” he said.

“But you must have kept in touch – emailed – surely spoken on the phone…?” I said.

“No. She didn’t give me her address. I searched for her on the net – on the networking sites too. No luck. She was in Port Blair on a holiday. And me…? Well I have been sailing since. She said that if I really loved her – I would come…” he said.

He paused – he picked up the Mills & Boon romance book from his lap – and he spoke to me.

“The only thing she gave me was this book…” he said with a wistful look.

“Can I see it…?” I asked.

“No. You are too small for Mills & Boon…” he said.

He kept the book in the plastic book-rack in front of his seat.

_________

Then – he turned to me –  and he said to me:

“Hey, Priya.

Why don’t you come to Vaishali tomorrow at 10 in the morning…?

We’ll celebrate her birthday together and have some yummy snacks.

And then – I’ll propose to her.

If she agrees – we will all go to some other place to celebrate and have a hearty Lunch…”

_______

“But – you haven’t even told me her name…” I said to him.

_______

He looked at me and said:

“You’ll find out tomorrow – when you meet her.

And – suppose she doesn’t come – I’ll be heartbroken.

Then – you can console me.

But I am sure she will be there at Vaishali waiting for me.

She promised.

Whatever her decision – she said she won’t ditch me.

She’ll definitely be there for our rendezvous…”

___________

I looked out of the tinted-glass window.

The sun was about to set.

Outside it was getting dark.

Inside it was cold.

_________

The Deccan Queen slowed down.

It was Karjat – the station in the foothills – just before the mighty Sahyadri Mountains.

_________

I turned to Girish and said to him:

“Let’s get down.

You get yummy Batata Wadas here at Karjat…”

_________

He looked at me and spoke.

“Your father said not to let you get down…” he said.

“Please…?” I pleaded.

“Okay…” he said.

_________

We strolled on the platform eating the delicious batata-wadas with the lip-smacking chutney.

Suddenly – Girish spoke.

“I’m nervous. I hope everything works out well…” he said.

“Me too…” I said, “Papa needs someone. But he’s so worried for me – I wonder whether I’ll like my new mother or not. And she too must like me.”

“Of course, she will like you. You will like each other. I’m sure things will be fine. Everything will work out for the better, for you, and also for me. Why don’t you bring her also to Vaishali tomorrow morning along with you…? And we will all celebrate together…!” he said.

“I’ll try…” I said.

“You must…” he said.

“Okay. If I like her – I’ll bring her with me…” I said to him.

“But you must come…” he said.

“Of course I will come…” I said, “Like a kabab-me-haddi.”

_________

We laughed and got inside the train.

Pushed by three “Banker” Engines – the Deccan Queen began its climb up the steep Western Ghats.

_________

I was enjoying the beautiful view from the window.

Suddenly – there was an interruption.

“Hi, Girish…!” an excited voice spoke from above.

I looked up.

Another young bearded man.

But this was a boisterous type.

“Oh, Hi Sanjiv. What are you doing here…?” Girish said, getting up from his seat.

“I am going to Lonavala…” the man named Sanjiv answered.

“Lonavala…?” Girish asked him.

“I have bought a cottage in Lonavala. A sort of farmhouse. Why don’t you come and see it…?” Sanjiv said.

“No, No…” Girish said, “I have got an important appointment in Pune…”

“When…?” Sanjiv asked Girish.

“Tomorrow morning. At 10 o’clock in the morning…” Girish said.

“And where are you going to spend the night…?” Sanjiv asked Girish.

“I don’t know. Maybe some hotel or someplace…” Girish said.

_________

The man called Sanjiv said to Girish:

“Why don’t you spend the night with me in my bungalow in Lonavala…?

I’ve got a bottle of “Single Malt” and we have got so much to talk.

If you want – we can go out someplace.

I have got a car at my farmhouse.

Come on – let’s enjoy the evening together.

I’ll drop you in Pune first thing in the morning – well in time for your appointment.

It’s only an hour’s drive from Lonavala to Pune.

In any case – I have to go to Pune tomorrow to meet some relatives.

I’ll drop you in Pune wherever you want.

Don’t say NO…”

__________

On hearing this – Girish seemed a bit confused.

My Papa had told Girish to look after me during the journey till Pune.

So – maybe – that was why he seemed reluctant to get off at Lonavala.

__________

But Sanjiv kept insisting to Girish – trying to convince him to spend the night with him in Lonavala.

__________

I could sense that Girish wanted to go with his friend Sanjiv.

So – I said to Girish: 

“It’s okay.

You get off at Lonavala.

I’ll manage.

She is definitely coming to pick me up…”

________

On hearing my words – Sanjiv looked at me in a curious manner.

_________

So – Girish said to him:

“This is Priya – my co-passenger.

I promised her father that I would deliver her safely to Pune…”

_________

Sanjiv looked at me and smiled.

“Hi, young lady…” Sanjiv said, “Girish and I are batchmates and shipmates. We are meeting after a long time…”

_________

I knew that both of them were dying to talk to each other and have a good time.

_________

So – I said to Girish:

“You get down at Lonavala.

I promise – I’ll look after myself.

I have got my mobile with me – and – I have got her number also.

She is coming to pick me up at the station.

I’ll ring up my Papa the moment I reach Pune…”

__________

I insisted to Girish that I would be okay – and egged on by Sanjiv – a hesitant Girish got down at Lonavala – but not before we exchanged each other’s mobile numbers – and he requested the lady across the aisle to look after me.

__________

It was only after the train left Lonavala on its final leg to Pune – I noticed – that Girish had forgotten to take his ‘Mills and Boon’ romance paperback.

I took out the book from the rack and opened it.

On the first page was written in beautiful cursive handwriting:

____________

To My Dearest Girish,

In remembrance of the lovely time we had together in Port Blair.

Snehal

PS:

Remember – there is a thin line between pity and love.

____________

As I looked at the message – something started happening within me.

“Snehal”…?

Same Shenal…?

It couldn’t be…?

Or – could it be…?

“Snehal”

A loving person.

That’s what the name “Snehal” means.

Maybe – it was just a coincidence.

Isn’t “Snehal” a common name…?

There are many “Snehals” in Pune – so – she may not be the same “Snehal”.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

________

The Deccan Queen is rushing towards Pune.

There will be a “Snehal” waiting for me at Pune Railway Station.

A “Snehal” – who I am going to meet for the first time.

The “Snehal” – who my father wants to be my new mother.

And do you know – what is the first thing I am going to ask “Snehal” the moment I meet her…?

_________

I am going to ask her:

“Which is the best restaurant in Port Blair…?”

__________

And whatever her answer – I am going to take her to Vaishali Restaurant on Fergusson College Road – at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.

And – I am dying to see the expression on Snehal’s face – and Girish’s face too – when they see each other at the rendezvous.

__________

I will not return the Mills & Boon romance book to Girish.

I will keep it for myself.

I want to read it on my journey back from Pune to Mumbai by the Deccan Queen.

And then – I will tell my Papa everything about the delightful journey on the Deccan Queen.

____________

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) 

Link to my original post in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2016/09/romance-on-deccan-queen-love-story.html

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Revised Version of My Story Written by me 22 years ago in the year 2002 and earlier posted online in my blogs by me Vikram Karve at urls: http://travel.sulekha.com/romantic-journey-on-the-deccan-queen_travelogue_3779  and  http://creative.sulekha.com/mills-and-boon-on-the-deccan-queen_82018_blog  and  http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2011/12/merry-christmas.html  and  http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2012/05/one-evening-on-deccan-queen.html  and  https://karve.wordpress.com/2018/10/10/the-handsome-young-man-on-the-deccan-queen-who-was-reading-a-mills-boon-romance/and  http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2014/12/romance-on-deccan-queen.html and https://karve.wordpress.com/2020/11/23/do-young-men-read-mills-and-boon/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/06/01/romance-on-the-deccan-queen/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/03/26/romance-on-the-deccan-queen-2/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2023/01/04/romance-on-the-deccan-queen-love-story-2/ etc

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

_________

“fait accompli”

_________

_________

“FAIT ACCOMPLI”

Story By Vikram Karve

___________

Place:

A Corporate Office in Mumbai

___________

Dramatis Personae:

A Man

A Woman (His Ex-Wife)

Their Daughter (Pooja)

A Lady Office Colleague of the Man (Mala)

____________

A MAN – A WOMAN – AND – THEIR DAUGHTER

STORY BY VIKRAM KARVE

____________

The moment the man sees his “Ex-Wife” – he becomes furious – very angry indeed.

“What are you doing here…?” the man shouts at his “Ex-Wife”.

“I came to see you…” the man’s “Ex-Wife” says.

“Why have you come to see me…? I told you very clearly that I don’t want to see your face for the rest of my life…” the man says to his “Ex-Wife”.

“Even I don’t want to see your face. But – I desperately need your help…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Help…? You need my help…? What help…?” the man says.

“You will have to look after our daughter…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What…? You want me to look after Pooja…?” the man says.

“Yes. You will have to take care of our daughter Pooja from now on. I want her to live with you…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You want Pooja to live with me…?” the man says, surprised.

“Yes…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I just don’t understand. I still remember how viciously you fought the custody battle for Pooja. You called me a “dangerous” man – you said that our daughter’s life would be in danger if she lived with me – because I was a “violent brute” – and now – you want to leave our daughter with me…?” the man says.

“I made a mistake…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Your lawyer – he threatened me – that if I didn’t give up custody of our daughter – you would even file “domestic violence” and “dowry harassment” cases against me – and you would get me arrested…” the man says, angrily.

“I am sorry – he told me to do it…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You made all sorts of false allegations against me. You told them that I regularly beat up Pooja – you told them that Pooja won’t be safe with me…” the man says.

“Please don’t rake up the past. I said I am sorry for what happened…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“By peddling all sorts of lies – you managed to win custody of our daughter – and worse – you even managed to curtail my visiting rights by projecting me as an “evil influence” …” the man says.

“I told you – what I did was very wrong – I am sorry for whatever I did to you…!!!” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“And now – you want to hand over our daughter Pooja to me…?” the man says.

“Yes. I want you to take her with you and look after her…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“But why…? Why do you want Pooja to live with me…?” the man says.

“She is not safe in our house…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Pooja is not “safe” at your place…? What do you mean…?” the man says.

“My husband…” his “Ex-Wife” says, hesitantly.

“Your new husband…? What about him…?” the man says.

“I suspect that he indulges in “inappropriate behaviour” with her…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Inappropriate Behaviour…? What do you mean by “inappropriate behaviour”…?” the man says, confused.

“You know what I mean. Please don’t ask me anything…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“No. You will have to tell me exactly what “inappropriate behaviour” your husband is doing to Pooja. Does he…?” the man says.

“Please. Please. Please. I don’t want to speak on this disgusting topic – otherwise I will break down. You please take Pooja with you. I beg you…” his “Ex-Wife” says, in a beseeching voice.

“Bloody Pervert – Let’s go right now and report him to the police…” the man says, angrily.

“No. No. Please…” his “Ex-Wife” pleads.

“What do you mean “NO” – the filthy bugger is sexually abusing our daughter – he must be arrested and taught a lesson he won’t forget…” the man says, furious.

“I don’t have any proof…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What do you mean that you don’t have any proof…? You just said that he indulges in “inappropriate behaviour”…” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“I have not actually seen him…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You have never seen him doing anything wrong – like touching her inappropriately…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“No…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Then – how can you…?” the man says.

“I can see it in his eyes…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What do you mean…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“The way he looks at her – I can see the lechery in his eyes…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“So – you just suspect that he has evil intentions…?” the man says.

“I know he has bad intentions…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“How do you know he has lecherous intentions…? Did Pooja say anything…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife” says.

“No – she is too small to understand these things…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“So – are you just imagining all these things…?” the man says.

“No – my “motherly instinct” tells me that something is wrong…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Motherly instinct…? I really don’t know whether to believe you or not. Knowing your devious nature – I wonder whether you have some ulterior motive…” the man says.

“No. No. Please believe me. He is a filthy pervert. Our daughter Pooja is unsafe with him – it is unsafe for her to stay in our house…” his “Ex-Wife” says

“Well – when I saw him last – he certainly didn’t look like an obscene pervert – in fact – he looked like a suave gentleman – so refined and soft-spoken…” the man says.

“Yes – he looks like a polite gentleman – but – that’s from the outside – for the sake of society. From the inside – behind closed doors – he is a depraved disgusting sadist…” his “Ex-Wife” says – and she breaks into tears.

“Sadist…? Your new husband is a sadist…? Did he do anything to you…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“I don’t want to talk about it. You just take our daughter Pooja away from him…” his “Ex-Wife” says

“But – how can you continue living with such a sadistic pervert…? Why don’t you leave him…?” the man says.

“How many husbands can I leave…? My first husband turned out to be an alcoholic – I left him. Then – my second husband – you – you were a “wife-beater”…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“How dare you call me a “wife-beater”…? I beat you only once – and – you deserved it…” the man says.

“What do you mean “I deserved it”…?” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You committed adultery – you betrayed my trust – you were unfaithful, disloyal – you were cheating on me – and I caught you red-handed in bed with that filthy swine – who is now your husband…” the man says.

“You thrashed us badly – violence is not justified…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What did you expect me to do in the situation…? I cannot tolerate betrayal of trust – and – you betrayed my trust…” the man says.

“Even if I was wrong – you shouldn’t have beaten me so badly…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I lost control of myself…” the man says.

The man pauses for a moment.

He looks at the woman – his Ex-Wife.

_________

Then – the man says to his Ex-Wife:

“Tell me one thing.

How do you know that I won’t lose control of myself again…? 

At the custody hearing – you kept on saying that I am a “violent brute”.

If indeed I am a “violent brute” – why do you want to leave Pooja with me…?”

_________

The woman says to the man – her Ex-Husband:

“Pooja will be safe with you.

I know that you love her – you will care for her well – you will never harm her…”

_________

The man says to his Ex-Wife:

“I don’t know about that.

But – I can’t trust you.

You have a devious and vindictive nature.

My inner voice tells me that you have some ulterior motive…”

_________

After hearing these bitter words from her “Ex-Husband” – the woman pleads with her “Ex-Husband”.

_________

“Please – I beg you…” the woman says to her ex-husband.

“Tomorrow – you may say that I have kidnapped Pooja – and you will get me arrested…” the man says to his “Ex-Wife”.

“Please – I promise you…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Ha Ha – a “promise” – from a cheat like you…?” the man says, with a scornful look.

“I will give you whatever you want in writing – I will sign any paper you want…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Okay – we’ll see about that. But – before that – tell me how did you know that I would be here in Mumbai today…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“I know that you come to the Mumbai Head Office every month…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“But – how did you know that I will be here today…? Have you got a “spy” in my office…? Who told you…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“I promised her that I will not tell you…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Mala…?” the man asks her.

“Yes. Mala told me. In fact – our daughter Pooja is sitting in her office…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What…? You have brought Pooja here…?” the man asks, taken aback.

“Yes – I have brought her to your office along with her bags…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You packed her bags and brought her here…?” the man says, bewildered.

“You take Pooja with you to Delhi in the evening…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Are you crazy…?” the man says, perplexed.

“Mala said that she will manage the air ticket on the same flight…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I am not talking about the air ticket. What have you told Pooja…? I doubt she even knows that I am her father. She was so small when you took her away…” the man says to his “Ex-Wife”.

“I have told her about you…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You told Pooja that I am her father…?” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“No. I told her that you were an “Uncle” – I have shown her your picture – I have told her you are taking her on a holiday for a few days because I have to go abroad for a few days on work…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“She doesn’t even know me. She won’t come with me…” the man says.

“She will come with you. In fact – she is quite excited about the flight journey and all the things you are going to show her in Delhi…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You are a wily scheming woman – aren’t you…? And – what about your husband – that filthy lecherous pervert…?” the man says to his “Ex-Wife” says.

“He is away on tour…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Have you told him that you are sending Pooja with me…?” the man asks her.

“No. I have not told him anything…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“He knows you have custody. He may create trouble later…” the man says.

“He cannot do anything. She is my daughter – not his…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I am not very comfortable with all this…” the man says.

“I told you – I will sign whatever document you want – on “stamp paper” – anything you say…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I will talk to Mala – she is the legal advisor…” the man says.

“I have already told Mala – she is preparing the papers for us to sign – Mala said she will get all the formalities done…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What…? Mala never told me all this…” the man says.

“Please. Don’t say anything to Mala. She is just trying to help…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I am really angry with Mala. She has no business to interfere in my personal life…” the man says.

“She is just trying to help. Please try to understand…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“I still feel that you should leave your husband and live separately with Pooja. If you are short of money – I will try and help you out…” the man says to his “Ex-Wife”.

“I can’t leave him…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“Why can’t you leave him…? You divorced twice – do it once more. With your “talent” – I am sure you will easily find one more husband. Of course – with your luck – he may turn out to be even worse your previous husbands…” the man says.

“Please don’t be cruel…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“You will have to tell me why you can’t leave this bloody filthy sadistic pervert…” the man asks his “Ex-Wife”.

“I love him…” his “Ex-Wife” says.

“What…? You love him – that depraved sadist – the sick paedophile…” the man says.

“I can’t leave him. I don’t want to talk about him. You please take Pooja with you. Please – Pooja is your daughter – do you want something terrible to happen to her…? I beg you – please take Pooja with you…” the woman says beseechingly – and she breaks down totally and collapses into the chair.

“You go and sit in Mala’s office. You are a cunning woman. I am still not sure of your motives. Let me think the whole thing over…” the man says to his “Ex-Wife”.

The woman composes herself – and she looks at her “Ex-Husband” and speaks in a consolatory tone.

“Please don’t take out your anger on Mala – it was I who asked her for help…” the “Ex-Wife” says to her “Ex-Husband”.

_________

The man looks at his “Ex-Wife”.

“I need some time to think. You please go and sit in Mala’s office. I will come there and tell you my decision…” the man says to his Ex-Wife.

The woman – the man’s “Ex-Wife” – she leaves the man’s office.

_________

The man sits in a chair – he closes his eyes – and thinks about the whole thing.

15 minutes later – his decision made – he picks up the intercom and calls Mala.

Mala picks up the intercom at the other end – and speaks.

“Hello, Sir…” Mala says on the intercom.

The man speaks firmly to Mala on the intercom.

“Listen Mala – please tell her to take Pooja and go away – I cannot look after Pooja…” he says.

“Sir – your wife has already gone away…” Mala says to the man.

“She is not my wife…” the man says angrily.

“Sorry. I mean your “ex-wife” – she has already gone away…” Mala says.

“That’s good…” the man says.

“But – your daughter Pooja is here in my office…” Mala says.

“What…?” the man asks, surprised.

“Yes, Sir – your “ex-wife” – she left Pooja here with me – and she went away alone. She has even left Pooja’s bags here. She told me that you were taking her to Delhi with you. I have already booked Pooja’s ticket on your flight….” Mala says to the man.

“Who told you to do that…? I am not taking that girl with me…” the man says.

“Sir – your daughter is so cute – she is such a darling – I am bringing her to you – you will love her so much – I am sure you will take her along with you…” Mala says to the man.

__________

Three hours later – the small girl called Pooja – full of innocence – she sits with her father in the car.

And – the two of them – father and daughter – they travel to Mumbai Airport to catch the flight to Delhi.

__________

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)

Link to my original post in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2017/08/inappropriate-love.html

This Story is also posted in my writing blog at urls: https://karve.wordpress.com/2017/08/23/inappropriate-love-a-story/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2019/02/07/encounter-with-ex-wife/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2018/01/13/a-story-of-inappropriate-love/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2020/12/04/a-man-a-woman-and-their-daughter-2/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/03/21/man-woman-and-daughter/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/07/15/a-man-his-ex-wife-and-their-daughter/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/06/09/a-man-a-woman-and-their-daughter-3/ etc

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

______________

The grandmother

__________

__________

THE GRANDMOTHER

STORY By VIKRAM KARVE

____________

I recognized her at once.

She was my course-mate’s wife.

Her husband was my navy course-mate and he had been a dear friend.

______________

It was 7 o’clock in the morning.

She was standing with a little boy who was wearing school uniform.

The school-bus arrived.

She kissed the little boy on the cheek.

The small boy waved her goodbye and got into the school-bus.

The school-bus departed.

She turned around.

And — she saw me.

She recognized me.

She smiled at me — and walked towards me.

“Such a pleasant surprise to see you here…” she said to me, “it’s been so many years…”

I gave her a warm smile.

Then — I said to her:

“I have been watching you for 5 minutes.

But — you were so engrossed in the little boy that you didn’t even notice me…”

_________

On hearing my words — my course-mate’s wife smiled at me.

“He is my grandson…” she said.

“I thought as much…” I said.

“My grandson is the only thing I have got in my life…” she said.

“What about your daughter…?” I asked her.

“She is fine — but she is very busy with her work…” she said.

“Oh — so you are doing “nanny duties” in your daughter’s house…?” I said to her.

“What to do…? She lives all alone — and she has such a busy career — so I have to look after her son…” she said.

“You daughter lives all alone…? What about her husband…?” I asked her.

“My daughter is divorced…” she said, with a tinge of sadness.

“Oh — I am sorry to hear that. What happened…? Why did your daughter get divorced…?” I asked her.

“Compatibility Issues…!!!” she said.

“If “compatibility issues” was a reason to get divorced — all of us would have got divorced long back — especially you and Ajay…” I said, jokingly.

I instantly regretted my words.

It was cruel of me to talk of her deceased husband Ajay — my course-mate.

So — I apologized to her.

“I am very sorry…” I said to her

“It’s okay. Ajay passed away so many years ago. I have got over it long ago…” she said.

“Yes. 25 years. Ajay was a dear friend — and — of course — he was my course-mate since our academy days…” I said.

“My daughter was just 12 years old when Ajay died — now she is 37 — I brought her up on my own…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“I know — it must have been tough — but full credit must go to you…” I said.

“My daughter has done really well — she topped in her engineering course — and now — she is working for the best Software Company — and she is doing really well in her career…” she said.

“That’s really good…” I said.

“The only bad thing that happened is that her marriage broke up…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“But you are there for her…” I said.

“Yes — I am living with her for the last 9 years — ever since my grandson was born…” she said.

“Oh…” I said, “nine years is a long time…”

“I helped my daughter in her delivery — helped her look after the baby — and my daughter started going to work 3 months after her delivery — and I started looking after the baby — then — a couple of years later — my daughter and her husband broke up — and he left the house — and they decided to get divorced…” she said.

That’s sad…” I said.

“My daughter — she got divorced 6 years ago — and since then — she has immersed herself so much in her career — that she has absolutely no time — and I am looking after my grandson — doing everything — as if he was my own son…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“That’s really great of you…” I said to her.

__________

My course-mate’s wife looked at me for a moment.

Then — she said to me:

“I have been talking all about myself.

What about you…?

What are you doing here in Pune…?

And that too in our residential township…”

_________

After saying this — she looked at me — waiting for me to answer her questions.

_________

“Well — I retired from the Navy last year…” I said.

“Settled in Pune…?”

“No. I have gone back to my hometown — we have a huge ancestral home there…”

“Oh. So — visiting someone…?”

“Yes…” I said, “My uncle lives here — in “E” Building. You may know him — Mr. Joshi…”

“This is such a huge gated community — I don’t even know the people living in my own building. Out here — life is different as compared to Navy Townships — everyone keeps to themselves…” she said, “and I am so busy looking after my grandson — that I really don’t have any time for anyone else…”

“Let’s go and meet your daughter — the last time I saw her she was a small girl…” I said.

“She is not at home…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“Does she go to work so early…? I thought “IT Firms” open quite late — after 9 AM…” I said.

“My daughter has gone abroad for 3 months — to the US — for a project…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“Oh…” I said.

“She has to travel a lot for work…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“And you are there to look after her son…” I said.

“Yes — I told you — my entire life revolves around my grandson…” my course-mate’s wife said.

________

I spent a week in Pune.

During that week — I met my course-mate’s wife every day in the morning when I went for my morning walk — and — she invited me home a couple of times for tea and dinner too.

I saw that my course-mate’s wife was devoted to her grandson.

Her entire routine revolved around her grandson — dropping him on the school-bus — picking him up after school — taking him for various tuition and hobby “classes” — monitor him as the young boy played sports or had a swim — his meals — his studies — everything — she did more for her grandson than normal mothers do for their children.

My course-mate’s wife — she was constantly with her grandson — not leaving him alone even for a minute.

_________

Once — I said to her:

“You are getting too attached to your grandson.

Remember — he is not your son…”

_________

On hearing this — she got angry — and she said to me:

“Don’t say such things — he is more than a son — I love him much more than people love their own children — and he loves me too — even more than his own mother.

I told you that my grandson is the only thing I have got in my life.

My grandson is the light of my life…”

_________

It was true — her grandson loved her very much — he was indeed the “light” of her life.

________

10 YEARS LATER

________

I visited Pune ten years later to see the same uncle.

But this time — I went to visit him in the “Assisted Living” facility of an “old age home”.

My uncle was suffering from dementia — he had been afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease.

He was in bad shape.

I felt very depressed after meeting him.

As I was walking towards the main gate of the “old age home” — I saw my course-mate’s wife coming out of the reception office of the “old age home”.

Yes — it was her — my course-mate’s wife — who I had met 10 years ago — the woman who loved her grandson so much.

I smiled at her.

She smiled back.

“So — you’ve come to meet someone here…?” I asked her.

“I live here…” she said.

“You live in this “old age home”…?” I asked her, surprised.

“Yes…” she said to me — looking embarrassed.

Then — she said to me a sad voice:

“You were right.

I shouldn’t have got attached to my grandson so much…”

_________

And then — she broke down into tears.

_________

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:
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)

Link to my original post in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve:http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2018/05/the-grandmother.html

This story is also posted in my writing blogs at urls: https://karve.wordpress.com/2019/09/23/my-course-mates-wife/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/02/04/the-nanny-a-story/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/05/01/my-course-mates-wife-2/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/10/28/story-of-a-nanny/ and https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/05/03/my-course-mates-wife-3/ and https://vikramkarve.medium.com/story-my-course-mates-wife-a3d7fd4319d6 etc.

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

_______________

Story : Parenting

________

SHORT FICTION

________

________

PARENTING

Story By Vikram Karve

________

PART 1 

_______

She comes out of the College Principal’s Office – she goes to her best friend’s room – and – she tells her friend the exciting news.

“It’s a chance of a lifetime – don’t refuse…” her friend says.

“But – what about my daughter – I can’t take her with me…?” she says.

“Your daughter Nisha – she can stay at your husband’s place…” her friend says.

“My husband’s place…? Why should Nisha stay at my husband’s place…?” she says – taken aback by her friend’s suggestion.

“Where else can she stay for 6 months…? There is no place in the hostel – there is a huge waiting list – and – I don’t think she can manage living all alone in your flat – besides  – it may not be safe for a young girl to live all alone too – you know how the environment is nowadays…” her friend says, “I would have kept her with me – but I live in a huge joint family – you know my situation – so – I think keeping Nisha with your husband seems the only option…”

“But – will my husband look after her for six months…?” she says – looking skeptical.

“Why not…? He is her father…” her friend says.

“But – he doesn’t know anything about her – he hasn’t met Nisha for 5 years…” she says.

“That’s because you didn’t allow him to meet her – your husband has visitation rights – but you told him that you didn’t want him to meet your daughter…” her friend says, “I am surprised how he agreed…?”

“That’s because I gave up everything – no alimony – no maintenance – no child support – I didn’t take a single rupee from him – not even my share in the house – nothing – absolutely nothing – when I walked out – I took nothing from him – I just wanted my daughter for myself – that’s all…” she said.

“It must have been painful for him – for a father to be separated from his daughter who he loved so much…” her friend says, “anyway – forget about the past – you call him and ask him…”

“Right now…? You want me to call him right now…?” she says to her friend – feeling a bit uneasy.

“You told me that the Principal wants your consent by closing hours today – so – it is better you call your husband immediately and settle your daughter’s issue…” her friend says, “you have your husband’s number – don’t you…?”

“I don’t know…” she says.

“What…? You don’t know…? Don’t you ever call your husband…?” her friend says.

“I called him around 3 years ago regarding some banking issue – I haven’t spoken to him after that…” she says.

“Look in your contacts…” her friend says, “otherwise – we can find out from somewhere…”

She looks in her contact list on her smartphone – and – she finds her husband’s number.

“It’s there – should I call him now…?” she asks her friend.

“Yes – call him right now – if you want – I’ll leave you alone…” her friend says.

“No. No. I want you to stay here…” she says – and – she calls her husband.

She hears her husband’s voice on the phone.

“Is everything okay…?” her husband asks her – he is surprised that she has suddenly called him out of the blue – and that too – after 3 years.

“Yes – all is well – how are you…?” she asks her husband.

“I am fine…” her husband says, “is there anything I can do for you…?”

“Actually – yes – I called you because I wanted your help…” she says to her husband.

“You want my help…? How much…? I will transfer it today – is it the same account…?” her husband asks.

“No. No…” she interrupts her husband, “I don’t want your money – I want to you to look after Nisha…”

“You want me to look after Nisha…?” her husband says, surprised and a bit confused.

“Yes – can you keep her with you for 6 months…?” she says to her husband.

“Six Months…?” her husband says, flabbergasted.

Her husband is baffled – because – when they split – she didn’t want him to meet their daughter – she said that she didn’t want their daughter to come under his influence – he had meekly accepted – after “hints” and “subtle threats” were given to him by her lawyer – so – for 5 years – he had not met his daughter Nisha – and now – she wanted him to look after Nisha for 6 months – it is all very confusing to him.

His thoughts are interrupted by his wife’s voice.

“I have been selected for a “Faculty Exchange Program” – I am going to New Zealand to teach at a prestigious university over there for one semester – I can’t take Nisha with me – besides – she can’t miss her college for 6 months – so – I thought it was best if she could stay with you…” she says.

“Can’t you make some other arrangements…? Maybe – in a hostel – or – you can hire a full-time maid…” he says.

“There is no time for all that – there is no place in the hostel – and – I don’t want her living all alone in the flat – it’s not safe – Nisha is still a teenager – she’s just 19 – please let her stay with you – after all – you are her father…” she says.

“Okay…” he says, “let me ask Monika…”

“Monika…? Who is Monika…?” she asks – surprised.

“She has moved in with me – we are living together…” he says.

“A woman has moved in with you…? Living together…? I didn’t know all this…” she says in a scandalized tone.

“You haven’t spoken to me for 3 years – you are happy with your career and life – you have moved on in life – and you don’t seem to be interested in us getting back together – well – I have to move on in life too – isn’t it…?” he says.

She remains silent – trying to digest the fact that her husband is living with another woman.

Then – she remembers her urgency – she has to confirm her consent to the Principal before closing time today – she has a just few hours.

So – she pleads with her husband.

“About Nisha staying with you – please tell me as quickly as possible – I will wait for your call – I have to give my consent immediately – before closing hours today – and please say “Yes” and let Nisha stay with you for 6 months – this is a life changing career opportunity for me…” she says – with desperation in her voice, “if you want – I can come there and speak to Monika – there is very little time – I am in a hurry – I have to tell the Principal today itself…”

Her husband senses her desperation.

So – he decides to say “Yes”.

“Okay – yes – Nisha can stay with us for 6 months – you can give your consent right now to your College Principal…” he says.

“But – you were going to ask Monika…?” she says – a bit wary.

“I don’t want to disturb her at work – but – you don’t worry about all that – I’ll tell her in the evening – Nisha can stay with us…” he says.

“Thank you so much…” she says to her husband – she says – feeling relieved.

Then – she hears her husband’s voice on the phone.

“I hope Nisha has no issues staying over here…” he says.

“No. No. I will convince her – she has no choice – Nisha will stay with you – she is a good girl – she will behave herself – she will be no trouble at all…” she says.

“You go ahead and give your consent – and – let me know when you are going to New Zealand…” he says.

“Yes. Yes. I will go right now to the Principal and give my consent – I think I’ll have to leave next week – they said they would fast track the visa etc. – I will call you once my travel plans are finalized…” she says.

“Keep me updated…” he says.

“Yes – and – thank you so much…” she says.

“It’s okay – she is my daughter too…” he says.

__________

After the call is disconnected – she puts the smartphone on the table – and – she smiles at her friend.

“He agreed…” she says to her friend.

“I heard…” her friend says.

“There is a woman who has moved in with him – someone called Monika…” she says to her friend.

“I heard…” her friend says.

She gives her friend a surprised look and questions her.

“You knew that a woman has moved in with my husband…? And – you didn’t tell me…?” she says to her friend in an accusing tone.

“It was just rumors – and – I thought you would get upset…” her friend says, “forget about all that and think of your future – the “Faculty Exchange Program” in New Zealand will be a big boost for your career…”

“I’ll go to the Principal’s Office and give my consent…” she says.

“Aren’t you going to tell Nisha…?” her friend asks.

“I’ll tell her later…” she says.

“I think it’s better you tell her now before you give your consent – you never know how teenagers will react…” her friend says.

“Okay – I’ll speak to her at lunchtime…” she says.

“No. You better speak to Nisha right now. I will bring her from the classroom. You sit here and rehearse what you are going to say to her…” her friend says.

Ten minutes later – her friend arrives with Nisha.

“Congratulations…” her daughter Nisha says to her – and she hugs her lovingly.

“You told her about my selection for “Faculty Exchange Program” in New Zealand…?” she questions her friend.

“Yes – and – I told her about the other thing too…” her friend says.

“Don’t worry, Mamma – I will stay with Papa…” Nisha says to her.

She feels relieved.

She thought it would be so difficult to convince Nisha to stay at her father’s place – especially as he has a new partner now.

But – Nisha seems to have agreed so easily.

She wonders how her friend managed to convince Nisha so easily.

She feels grateful to her friend.

Then – she wishes she could have told her daughter herself.

While she is experiencing these conflicting emotions – she hears her friend’s voice.

“Come on – go to the Principal’s Office and give your consent – then – you will have to do the paperwork for your visa etc…” her friend says with urgency in her voice.

She goes to the Principal’s Office and gives her consent for the “Faculty Exchange Program” in New Zealand.

________

In the evening – her husband and his girlfriend Monika come to her flat.

She looks at her husband’s live-in partner Monika.

Monika looks ordinary – very ordinary – a podgy unpretentious looking homely woman – in short – she is a “Plain Jane”.

She feels disappointed – her husband could have chosen someone much better than this pedestrian woman.

The woman called Monika smiles at her – and speaks very politely.

She wonders if it is genuine or just fake courtesy.

Her thoughts are interrupted by her husband’s voice.

“Call Nisha…” he says, “I want to see her – and I want Nisha to meet Monika…”

“Yes…” she says to her husband – and she calls her daughter Nisha from inside.

She wonders how her daughter will react – meeting her father after five years – and – if Nisha will accept Monika – her father’s girlfriend.

Her daughter Nisha comes into the room and smiles at her father and his girlfriend Monika.

She observes that the three of them – her daughter – her husband – and her husband’s girlfriend – they are decorous to each other – cordial – but not very friendly.

A daughter meeting her father after five years – it may take some time for the ice to melt.

But it seems Nisha has accepted the situation.

They talk about Nisha’s college – her routine – and – her husband and Monika says that they will be most happy to have Nisha stay with them.

One week later – she is on her way to New Zealand – with Nisha settled in her husband’s house.

___________

PART 2

__________

SIX MONTHS LATER

__________

She arrives from New Zealand six months later – her flight arrived in the wee hours of the morning – she takes the Airport cab from Mumbai reaches Pune – she asks the driver to drive via her husband’s house – so – she can pick up her daughter Nisha and take her home.

___________

It’s 8 AM in the morning when she reaches her husband’s house.

Her husband, his girlfriend Monika and her daughter Nisha are having breakfast.

“Come on, Nisha – finish your breakfast quickly and go get your bag – the taxi is waiting outside…” she says to her daughter Nisha.

“I am not coming with you…” Nisha says.

“What do you mean “I am not coming with you”…? I had told you to pack your bags and be ready – and I will be picking you up in the morning on my way home…” she says to her daughter.

“I have decided to stay here…” Nisha says.

“You have decided to stay here…? What nonsense are you talking…?” she shouts at her daughter Nisha – then – she gives her husband a questioning look and asks him, “what is all this…?”

Before her husband can answer – her daughter Nisha interrupts.

“You don’t ask him…” her daughter Nisha says to her, “it is my decision to stay here…”

“When did you decide…? I have been talking to you every day from New Zealand – you never told me anything…” she says to her daughter.

“I knew you would be very busy focusing on your work – so – I didn’t want to upset you…” her daughter Nisha says.

“You can’t decide these things – I am your mother – you will have to come with me – get your things quickly – the taxi is waiting…” she says to her daughter – emphatically.

“I am not coming with you – I am staying here…” her daughter says – unequivocally.

“You have to come with me – you have no choice…” she shouts at her daughter.

“I am an adult now – you can’t dictate terms to me any longer – I will decide for myself – and – I have made my choice – I want to live with my father…” Nisha says.

“But why…?” she asks her daughter.

“I like it here – my father is such a nice person – and Monika is so friendly – she is not a control freak – like you…” Nisha says.

“Control Freak…? I love you so much – I have given you the best of everything – I look after you so well – and you are calling me a “control freak”…?” she says angrily to her daughter.

“You are so domineering – living with you – I felt suffocated. Here – with Papa and Monika – I feel free…” Nisha says.

___________

She trembles with anger on hearing her daughter’s words and raises her hand to slap her daughter – when she hears her husband’s voice.

“Cool down – you go home now and settle down – we will talk later…” her husband says.

“No – I am taking my daughter with me right now…” she says assertively.

But – her daughter Nisha is defiant.

“I am not coming with you – I told you I want to stay here – and we are getting late – I have to go to college – and – they have to go to work – to their offices – you please go…” her daughter Nisha says firmly – and she goes inside.

____________

She feels faint – the ground slipping below her feet – and – she senses her husband’s hand on her arm – supporting her.

“You go home and relax – we’ll sort this out later…” her husband says.

She observes his husband’s partner Monika looking into her coffee mug – sipping coffee – as if she hasn’t seen anything – or heard anything.

She feels shattered – defeated – hapless – overcome by a sense of despair – as her husband guides her out of the house towards the waiting taxi.

_______

PART 3

_______

A FEW HOURS LATER

_______

She and her best friend – they sit on a bench in a secluded place in the expansive university garden – and they have a discussion – about her daughter, her husband, her marriage.

“Nisha called me a “control freak”…” she says to her friend.

“It’s okay – you were too attached to her – you tried to monopolize her – let her be – she is at a difficult age – and she is an adult now…” her friend says.

“Monopolize…? I love her so much – I wanted her to do well in life – and – as a single parent – I had to be careful – so – I was a bit strict – that’s all…” she says.

“A child needs the love of both parents – you deprived her of that – I feel you hastily walked out of your marriage – you could have been less rigid…” her friend says.

“So – you are blaming me for everything – you are saying it is my fault that my marriage broke up…” she says – feeling hurt.

“Please try to understand me correctly – I am not saying it is your fault that you and your husband split up – but then – you could have been a bit accommodating – isn’t it…?” her friends says.

“I could have been “accommodating” …? What do you mean…?” she asks her friend.

“He told me you were too dominating – you always imposed your will on him – and – he said he felt suffocated in the marriage…” her friend says.

“My husband told you…? When did he tell you all this…?” she asks – irked.

“After you two split – I met him once at the airport – he seemed relieved that you had walked out on him…” her friend says.

“You met my husband behind my back…? And – you didn’t bother to tell me…?” she says – upset and extremely annoyed with her friend.

“Was there any point…? You are so headstrong…” her friend says.

“Headstrong…? How dare you call me headstrong…? Just because I am gracious to you – that doesn’t give you the license to say anything you want about me, make nasty comments and cast aspersions about my personal life…” she shouts angrily at her friend, “Who the hell do you think you are…? I will not tolerate such slander from lowlifes like you – do you understand…?”

Her friend seems taken aback and hurt by this outburst.

“I am sorry – I will not talk to you again…” her friend says – and – her friend gets up and walks away.

__________

She sits on the bench in the garden – all alone.

Her husband is gone – her daughter is gone – her best friend is gone.

She has no one now.

Never before has she felt so lonely – so alone.

__________

EPILOGUE

__________

While she sits in the park – feeling depressed and lonely – her friend calls up Monika.

“You did well…” she says to Monika, “Nisha seems very happy with you…”

“Yes…” Monika says, “how is her mother…?”

“She is fretting and fuming all alone – you don’t worry about her…” the friend says to Monika, “now that you have her daughter Nisha on your side – you can go ahead with your plans – I think he will agree…”

“Yes – I will try to convince him – thank you so much – everything is working out so nicely – he loves me so much – and – Nisha is such a friendly girl – she seems to have accepted me. You know – that’s what he was afraid of – what would be his daughter’s reaction if he got remarried…? So now that everything seems okay on that front – hopefully – it will be wedding bells soon…” Monika says.

“Don’t forget to invite me for your wedding…” the friend says.

“Of course – but – you listen – your friend – Nisha’s mother – she shouldn’t know that you and me knew each other – I think we need to keep our friendship under wraps for some time – at least till the wedding…” her friend says to Monika.

“You don’t worry about her – she has broken up with me – and – I am never going to speak to her again…” the friend says.

__________ 

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)

Link to my original post in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: http://karvediat.blogspot.com/2023/05/short-fiction-story-parenting.html

This story is also posted in my writing and medium blogs at URLs: https://karve.wordpress.com/2023/05/21/parenting/ and https://vikramkarve.medium.com/story-parenting-c3a499dcb569 etc.

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

____________

The Beautiful Banker

__________

__________

Romance Story

_________

THE BEAUTIFUL BANKER

Story By Vikram Karve

_________  

THE BEAUTIFUL BANKER

________

MUMBAI

________

“We’ve met before…” I said to her.

“No – I don’t think so…” she said.

“I have met you in your bank…” I said to her.

“In the Dadar Branch…?” she asked me.

“No – in the main branch – in Fort – you were the officer dealing with NRI accounts…” I said to her.

“That was many years ago…” she said.

“10 years ago – I was a Second Mate then – there was some dollar-rupee conversion issue with my salary…” I said, “I vividly remember seeing you – even talking to you…”

“Well – I really don’t remember meeting you – I wonder how you remember after so many years…” she said.

“Because you are so beautiful…” I said to her.

“What…?” she said, surprised.

“You look so exquisite – so attractive – large expressive doe-eyes, beautifully arched eyebrows, refined “chiselled” nose, delicate chin, full juicy lips – perfect beautiful face – and lush black hair flowing over your dainty ears and slender neck down over your elegant shoulders…”

“Please – Please – Please…!!!” she interrupted me.

“You look so gorgeous – even now…” I said, with genuine admiration.

“I am 33…” she said.

“I know – but – you look so young – so nubile – so beautiful – so virginal…” I said to her.

“Virginal…?” she interrupted me.

“I am sorry – maybe – I used a wrong word…” I said, contrite.

“On the contrary – you may be right. I am a virgin…” she said, “maybe that’s the reason I look “virginal” – as you put it – a “virginal beauty”…”

She gave me a naughty smile.

“I am really sorry…” I began to say, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s okay…” she interrupted me – then – she asked me, “I am sure you are not a virgin…”

“I am…” I said, sheepishly.

“I can’t believe it…” she said, looking surprised.

“Well – that belief about sailors having a girl in every port – it’s false – a myth – we are like any other normal person…” I said to her.

__________

We talked – about my navy life at sea – about her life as a banker.

She was easy to talk to – and my words came tumbling out.

_________

By the way – Dear Reader – I forgot to tell you the name of the “Beautiful Banker” I was talking to – her name was “Nisha”.

__________

“You haven’t asked me the obvious question…?” Nisha said to me

“What question…?” I asked her.

“You haven’t asked me why I haven’t got married till now…?” she said.

“Tell me…” I said to her.

“You tell me first – you are 30 – why haven’t you got married till now…?” she asked me.

“I had decided that I would marry only after I became a “Master” – a Captain…” I said to her.

“That’s good…” she said, “I like people who are focused on their careers…”

“So – the moment I cleared my Master’s Orals – I told my parents to look for girls…” I said to her.

“And – they found me…?” she said, with a smile.

“Actually – Monika – your sister-in-law – your brother’s wife – she suggested your name to my parents…” I said to her.

“My sister-in-law wants to get rid of me – she wants to get me out of this house as fast as possible…” Nisha said, with irritation in her voice.

“Why…? Your house is quite large – so spacious – so many rooms – a luxury – in a place like Mumbai…” I asked Nisha.

Nisha smiled at me.

“You tell me – which woman likes her husband’s sister living under the same roof…? And this Monika – she is so slimy…” Nisha said, cynically, “she wants me out – so – she can “rule” over my parents and “lord” over the house like a queen – in any case – she has got my brother under her thumb…”

I was listening with interest – but suddenly – Nisha stopped speaking.

She looked at me – giving me a confused look.

“Why am I telling you all this…? I am sorry. I think I spoke too much. After all – Monika is your childhood friend…” Nisha said.

“No. No. It’s okay – feel free to say whatever you want to say…” I said to Nisha.

Nisha paused – before speaking.

“My sister-in-law – Monika – was she your “girlfriend”…?” Nisha asked me.

“No. No. She was my classmate in school – just an acquaintance – we live in the same neighborhood in Pune – so – our parents know each other – that’s all. In any case – after school – I went off to sea as a “deck cadet” – so – I hardly know her much…” I said,

“Oh…” Nisha commented.

“Monika and your brother got married 3 years ago – isn’t it…? I remember my parents telling me – I was sailing at sea at that time…” I said.

“Had you come for the wedding – we would have met that time…” Nisha said to me.

“Yes – I would have met you if I had come for the wedding…” I said to her.

I was curious to know the reason why Nisha hadn’t got married – so – I decided to ask her.

“By the way – you haven’t told me why you haven’t got married…” I asked Nisha.

_________

“I don’t want to get married…” Nisha said, matter-of-factly, “let’s leave it at that – I am fed up of the nagging and continuous grilling by everyone:

“– you are 33 years old – well past marriageable age – do you want to die an old maid – blah blah blah…” 

__________

Nisha paused for a moment.

Then – she looked at me and spoke.

“I just don’t feel like getting married – that’s all…” Nisha said, emphatically.

_________

“I can understand…” I said to Nisha, “but – promise me one thing…”

“What…?” she said, looking curious.

“In case you change your mind – get married to me…” I said to Nisha.

“Are you really so besotted with me…?” she said, mischievously.

I looked at Nisha.

She was the woman I wanted to marry – beauty with brains – a gorgeous career woman – a “woman of substance” – as they say.

“Please marry me…” I beseeched her.

“Don’t make me feel awkward…” she said.

“Are you avoiding marriage because you want to focus on your career…? Your father said that you got the fastest promotions on merit and you are one of the youngest Chief Managers in your Bank…” I said to her, “I am ambitious too – I will get my command soon – and I will probably be the youngest Captain in our shipping company…”

“That’s good…” she said.

“You haven’t answered my question about marriage…” I said to her.

“I have decided not to marry – that’s all…” she said, “it has got nothing to do with my career – or any other factor. It is my personal decision – I don’t want to get married – period…”

“Okay – I respect your decision…” I said to her.

“Thank you so much…” she said, “I want to apologize to you…”

“Apologize…?” I said – taken aback.

“I am sorry for wasting your time – I had stopped seeing “boys” for marriage – but this time – my sister-in-law Monika – she directly fixed up things and created a “fait accompli” – I will never forgive her for this…” Nisha said, angrily.

“It was not a waste of time at all – I loved talking to you…” I said to Nisha.

“I loved talking to you too…” Nisha said, “You are a really nice person…”

“We can remain in touch – we can be friends…” I said to her.

“No…” she said, “I think it is best we move on in life – we go our separate ways – and – please don’t have any false hopes and wait for me – I am not going to get married – that’s final – so – you find a good girl and get married to her…”

“Okay…” I said to her, “should we go down…?”

“Yes …” she said.

“What should I tell your parents…?” I asked her.

“You don’t tell them anything – you just say goodbye and leave…” Nisha said.

“But – I will have to tell my parents when I reach home in the evening…” I said to Nisha, “do you want me to lie to them…? Do you want me to tell my parents that I didn’t like you – and that I want to “reject” the marriage proposal…? It may spoil relationships – and remember – your sister-in-law Monika is involved – she is the one who got the proposal…”

___________

Nisha looked at me pensively.

“No. No. You don’t have lie. The truth is that I don’t want to get married – so – the onus is on me. I will tell my parents the truth – once again – that – I don’t want to get married. I will tell them firmly to stop searching “boys” for me. My parents will speak to your parents and apologize…” Nisha said, “And – I need to tackle Monika too – so that she doesn’t step out of line again…”

___________

We went down to the living room where everyone was waiting for us.

“Thank you for the delicious lunch…” I said to Nisha’s mother, “I especially liked the Shrikhand…”

She smiled – and she asked me to have some tea.

Monika was looking at me inquisitively – with expectation in her eyes.

In these circumstances – I felt it was best to leave as early as possible – and let Nisha speak to her parents.

So – I told Nisha’s parents that I had to meet a friend in Churchgate.

Then – I said goodbye to everyone.

I smiled at Nisha – and – I left Nisha’s house.

__________

Time had passed fast since I left my home in Pune at 6:30 AM in the morning and taken an autorickshaw to the railway station.

I had come from Pune by the Deccan Queen in the morning – got off at Dadar around 10 AM – gone by Taxi to Nisha’s house nearby – talked to her parents – enjoyed a delicious lunch – then – spoken to Nisha alone in her bedroom upstairs.

The day had gone as planned – except for one disappointment – the marriage proposal with Nisha hadn’t worked out.

It was past 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I had almost three hours to kill.

I took a taxi to Churchgate – walked a bit on Marine Drive – browsed books on the pavement stalls between Churchgate and Flora Fountain – then walked briskly to VT – just in time to board the Deccan Queen – which departed at 5:10 PM – and soon – I was on my way back home to Pune.

______

10 YEARS LATER

______

MUMBAI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

______

10 years later – I unexpectedly ran into Nisha in the departure lounge at Mumbai International Airport.

“What a lovely surprise to see you…!” I said to Nisha.

“Where to…?” she asked me.

“On my way to join my ship – in Istanbul…” I said to her, “and you – where are going…?”

“To Singapore – for work…” she said.

“Shall we have a cup of coffee…?” I asked her.

“No…” she said, “I think I’ll start walking to the departure gate for my flight…”

“Okay…” I said to her.

For some time – we looked at each other in silence.

Then – Nisha spoke.

“You got married…?” she asked me.

“Yes…” I said.

“Children…?” she asked me.

“Two – a boy and a girl…” I said.

“A perfect family…” she said.

“Yes…” I said, “and you…?”

“Why do you even ask…?” she said to me, “I told you that I am going to remain happily single…”

“I want to say something…” I said to her.

“I know what you want to say – your eyes are already “saying” it…” she teased me.

She was right – Nisha looked so exquisite – so incredibly alluring – so captivating – that – I could not take my eyes off her – and – I stared at her lovely face – totally awestruck by her beauty.

“You still look so beautiful – just the same as I saw you for the first time – 10 years ago…” I said to Nisha, “I don’t have words to describe your beauty…”

“A “virginal” beauty…?” she said naughtily.

“Yes…” I said with a smile, “a “virginal” beauty…”

_______

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)

Link to my source post in my Blog Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: http://karvediat.blogspot.com/2021/11/romance-beautiful-banker.html

This story is also posted in my writing blogs and medium blog at url: https://karve.wordpress.com/2021/11/16/the-beautiful-banker/ and https://vikramkarve.medium.com/the-beautiful-banker-b047eca85db3 and https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/07/21/romance-the-beautiful-banker/ etc.

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

____________

IS DIVORCE A “LOSE LOSE” SITUATION – ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DIVORCED MAN – Short Fiction Story

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

IS DIVORCE A “LOSE LOSE” SITUATION – ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DIVORCED MAN – Short Fiction Story

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

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: 
http://creative.sulekha.com/a-da…

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

Read on ->

ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DIVORCED MAN
A Long Short Story in Seven Parts 
Short Fiction 
By
VIKRAM KARVE 


EPILOGUE – IS DIVORCE A “LOSE LOSE” SITUATION?

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.

ONE DAY IN THE LIFE OF A DIVORCED MAN
(Fiction Short Story by Vikram Karve) 


PART 1  –  DAYBREAK  

“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.
 
 
PART 2 – MORNING 
 
“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. 
 
 
PART 3 – AFTERNOON 
 
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?”
 
“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.”
 
“Divorced?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“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.
 
“Where?”
 
“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?”
 
“Who?”
 
“She…! You Stupid … She…! Your ex-wife. Is she there with you?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“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.”


PART 4 – EVENING
 
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.
 
 
PART 5 – LATE EVENING  
 
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. 
 
 
PART 6 – NIGHT 
 
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.


PART 7 – MIDNIGHT
 
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. 

No. 

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.

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)

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: 
http://creative.sulekha.com/a-da…
http://creative.sulekha.com/a-da…
http://creative.sulekha.com/my-f…

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

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

HOW TO IMPRESS GIRLS and BOYS – Impression Management for Long Term Relationships

Original Post written by Me Vikram Karve in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve : HOW TO IMPRESS PEOPLE

http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2015/03/how-to-impress-people.html.

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

IMPRESSION MANAGEMENT

HOW TO IMPRESS GIRLS and BOYS – Impression Management for Long Term Relationships

WORST IMPRESSION IS THE BEST IMPRESSION
Contrarian Wisdom
By
VIKRAM KARVE

Let me tell you an “apocryphal” story.

This happened 33 years ago – in March 1982 – in Pune.

A girl came to see a boy (for arranged marriage).

The girl was accompanied by her mother (the girl’s father, a Brigadier, was serving in a field area).

Normally – in Maharashtra – the boy goes to the girl’s home (for the customary “kande pohe program”).

But – in this case – the boy had requested the girl to come over to his rather Spartan home.

It was around 10 in the morning – the boy was alone at home – as the boy’s mother had gone for work.

The boy (a Naval Officer) had come to Pune on a week’s leave for “girl seeing” for arranged marriage.

Since the boy was not one of those refined “metrosexuals” – he had not “decked up” for the occasion – but he was dressed in a simple cotton white kurta-pyjama – and he was enjoying a smoke and reading a book – while waiting for the girl to arrive.

The girl and her mother arrived at 10:30.

“You are late,” the boy said, and he asked the girl and her mother to sit down.

The boy served Tea (which he had prepared himself).

Then – the boy lit a cigarette – and he said to the girl, “Let me tell you a bit about myself. As you can see – I smoke a lot. I drink regularly too – around 6 large pegs of rum daily – that is about half a bottle of rum every evening. My career prospects in the Navy are not very bright – I am certainly not ‘Admiral Material’. You are a ‘SODA’ – your father is a big shot in the Army – so you may be used to the comforts and facilities of army life – but in the Navy you get nothing – no batman (sahayak), no transport, no proper housing, no facilities – as you can see I am not a rich man – I just have a scooter – and I do not think I will be able to afford a car on the paltry salary we get in the Navy – you will have to live in some temporary make-shift  shanty – and you will have to do all the housework yourself…”

“You don’t get a house in the Navy…?” the girl asked.

“You do – but there is a huge shortage of married accommodation and the waiting period is 2 years – so by the time we get a proper house, it will be time for my transfer – and it is the same story in every new place – so you must be prepared for a nomadic existence shifting from one temporary accommodation to another…”

“What is ‘SODA’…?” the girl asked.

“Senior Officers’ Daughters’ Association – your Dad is a Brigadier so you are a SODA,” the boy said, “but let me tell you one thing – I am an honest, straightforward and outspoken officer – and so – your chances of becoming a member of SOWA are pretty bleak…”

“SOWA – Senior Officers’ Wives’ Association…!” the girl said.

The boy was happy to see that the girl was intelligent.

“You are very intelligent – and highly qualified – and all your good qualities are listed in your matrimonial profile – but I want to know one thing – and I want an honest answer,” the boy said to the girl.

“What…?” the girl asked.

“What are your faults…? Your bad qualities…? Your weaknesses…?” the boy asked.

“I cannot cook…” the girl began opening up – but her mother gave her a stern look – and the girl stopped speaking.

Observing the situation, the boy said to the girl, “Never mind – we will discuss all that in detail when we meet tomorrow…”

“We are meeting tomorrow…?” the girl asked.

“Why not…? After all, we are getting married – and I am here for a week – so we can go out together a few times – and get to know each other better…” the boy said, extinguishing his finished cigarette and lighting another cigarette.

The girl’s mother was getting increasingly uncomfortable at the way things were going, so she asked the boy, “You have a big beard – are you going to shave it off when you get married…?”

The boy looked at the girl’s mother, and he said to the middle-aged woman, “How does it matter to you whether I keep a beard or not…? Are you going to marry me…? Or is your daughter going to marry me…? But since you have asked – No – I am not going to shave off my beard – I like my beard – and a beard is the sign of a true Naval Officer – so I am going to keep my beard even after marriage – forever…”

The boy looked at the girl, and he said, “See – I told you that I drink heavily, I smoke, and that I have no future in the navy – very poor career prospects – and about the poor quality of life in the navy – but you just told me one thing – that you do not know how to cook – please tell me more about your other faults…”

“We have to go somewhere,” the girl’s mother interrupted – and she brought the ‘interview’ to an abrupt end.

In the evening, the girl’s mother made a ‘trunk-call’ to her Brigadier husband and she said, “What a terrible boy? He is himself saying that he drinks half a bottle a day, he smokes, and ….”

She told him everything.

“The boy said all that…?” the Brigadier asked.

“Yes – the boy hasn’t given us even one reason why we should get our daughter married to him.”

“Maybe that is the very reason why we should get our daughter married to him,” the astute Brigadier said.

The Brigadier met the boy – and he liked him – and so – the girl and boy got married.

The girl was expecting the worst.

But after marriage – the girl noticed the following ‘improvements’ in the boy:

1. Her husband did not drink 6 pegs of rum every evening – he drank around 3 or 4 pegs daily – and only rarely – at parties or with friends – did he drink 6 pegs or more.

2. He did not smoke much too – in fact – he smoked very few cigarettes – he preferred smoking his pipe.

3. She had been expecting to stay in a “jhuggi-jhopri” – but first they lived in the officers’ mess for some time – and then they shifted to quite a decent furnished apartment – which though small – the apartment was modern, comfortable, and located in the prime area of the city.

Though he was not an “angel” by any standards – her husband was not all that bad – as she had thought.

Much later – when she had given up all hope – her husband suddenly gave up drinking and smoking one day.

This happened 20 years after her marriage – and she had never imagined that her husband would give up alcohol and tobacco forever.

Of course – her husband has still not shaved off his majestic beard – but then she has got used to it now – after 33 years of married life.

After reading this “fairy-tale” – some persons may think that this is a true story – and they may even “recognize” some of the characters in this story – but let me emphasize that this is an apocryphal story – the characters do not exist and are purely imaginary – and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

What is important – is the MORAL OF THE STORY.

You must have heard the saying: “First Impression is the Best Impression”

But I say: “Worst Impression is the Best Impression”.

If you give your best impression during your first meeting with someone – then you have to live up to the image you have created.

On the other hand – if you give your worst impression during your first meeting – then there is always scope for improvement.

There are many aspects to your personality – the “Best Side” – the “Worst Side” – with shades of grey in between.

At your very first meeting – if you try and impress someone with your “Best Side” – you have projected your best image – and thus you have no scope for improvement.

In fact – you will get all stressed out keeping up appearances trying to live up to the hyped-up expectations you have created in the other person – and slowly the “veneer” will start peeling off – and the goody-goody façade will crumble.

Dear Reader – you just read the “happy ending” story above.

I know a story where exactly the opposite happened.

There was a girl from a civilian academic background (her parents were university professors).

They lived in a town where there was a large cantonment nearby.

Most of her schoolmates and friends were daughters of Army officers – and the girl was enamored by Army social life.

The girl got a proposal from a Naval Officer.

The girl was under the impression that the life of a Navy Wife was the same as the good life of an Army “Memsahib” which she had observed in the peacetime cantonment.

The Navy boy came to meet the girl.

Believing in the “First Impression is the Best Impression” dictum – the boy showed his “Best Side” – and he “boasted” a bit about himself – he painted a rosy picture of Navy life – instead of telling her the ground reality.

All this created a glorified image and high expectations in the newlywed girl.

But – after their honeymoon – when they reached Vizag – everything came crashing down.

The boy sailed off on his ship – leaving the girl to fend for herself – all alone – in their “B Type” hired house – at the other end of town – far away from the Naval Base.

Feeling totally isolated, the girl went into a depression – and summoned her parents – who came rushing to Vizag – to help their daughter settle down and tackle reality.

As their marriage progressed – the “first impression” that the boy had created by showing his “Best Side” – this rosy first impression started to slowly crumble away as his negative qualities began to emerge.

After many years of marriage – the girl still feels that the boy “cheated” her by portraying a goody-goody false impression of himself and hyped rosy image of Navy life.

My hypothesis of “Worst First Impression” worked in my Navy life too.

I was posted as faculty in a prestigious inter-service training establishment.

My boss was a Commodore from a landlubber branch who had never met me before.

However – my “spoken reputation” had somehow reached him via the grapevine.

For a month or so – I noticed that he was quite wary of me – he treated me coldly and he kept me at arm’s length.

Then – one evening – at a party – when he was feeling quite happy after a few drinks – he sidled up to me – and he said, “Actually – I have realized that you are quite a good officer…”

Taken aback, I said to him, “Come on, Sir – of course – I am a good officer – why did you think otherwise…?”

“I had heard so many wicked things about you – that you are a difficult officer – but I actually find you to be so good…” the Commodore said – and later – his wife told me that I was his favourite officer – and he trusted me the most among all officers.

So – Dear Reader – whenever you meet someone for the first time – for matchmaking – for dating – at the workplace – for any long term relationship – beware of the dictum: “First Impression is the Best Impression” – and don’t get too carried away trying to make the “best impression” – since you may find it difficult to live up to such a ‘perfect’ image in later life.

When you meet someone for the first time – never try to “impress” anyone – just be your natural self – in fact – show a bit of your darker side – so that there is always “scope for improvement” later.

And for those of you who are going in for an “arranged marriage” – when you meet your “prospective spouse” for the first time – the first question you must ask him (or her) is: “Tell be about your weaknesses and your faults…”

Remember: “Worst Impression is the Best Impression”.

There is always scope for improvement if you project your “worst” impression

But there is no scope for improvement if you project your “best” impression – in fact, there is always pressure to live up to the “perfect” image you have created – and ultimately, this mismatch will cause stress and distrust in your relationships.

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:
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.

Posted by Vikram Karve at 3/20/2015 04:16:00 PM

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

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.