Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: DEAD END – A Real Estate Crime Story.
Click the link above and read the story in my creative writing journal.
Creative Writing by Vikram Karve from Pune India – Anthology of Short Stories
Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: DEAD END – A Real Estate Crime Story.
Click the link above and read the story in my creative writing journal.
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From my Creative Writing Archives:
Early morning.
Chill in the air.
But true.
What’s outside just doesn’t matter; it is what is inside that matters.
Remembering good times when I am in misery causes me unimaginable agony.
7.30 A.M.
The small blue toy train pushed by its hissing steam engine comes on the platform.
Dot on time.
As it was then.
Now I feel the bitter cold penetrating within me.
But I know it is not.
Time stands still.
Because I cannot answer.
I am struck dumb, swept by a wave of melancholic despair.
My vocal cords numbed by emotional pain.
I am trapped.
So I decide to put on a brave front, and say to Avinash, “Coming from Chennai?”
He pauses, then asks me, “And you, Roopa? Going to Ooty? At the height of winter! To freeze over there?”
Because I cannot say anything.
So I suffer his words in silence.
I cannot describe the sense of humiliation I feel sitting there with Avinash.
The tables seem to have turned.
Or have they?
As the train begins to climb up the hills it began to get windy and Avinash closes the windows.
I remember the lovely moments with Avinash.
Avinash is easy to talk to and I am astonished how effortlessly my words come tumbling out.
But still, everything had gone wrong.
Abandoned by my only son at 52.
Banished to an old-age home. So that “they” could sell off our house and emigrate abroad.
“They” – yes, “they” – those two who ruined my life, betrayed my trust – my only son who I doted upon and lived for and that scheming wife of his.
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Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve.
He was incredibly handsome; mid thirties, maybe forty, well groomed, sharp features accentuated by a smart neatly trimmed beard, clean brown eyes, he looked strong and confident, and his outward appearance betrayed no sign of what was going on inside him.
He looked at me longingly, in a lingering sort of way that women secretly want men to look at them.
In such vulnerable situations anything could happen and I had to be careful, so I said to him in a firm dispassionate tone, “I think you better go now. It’s time for your flight.”
“Yes.”
“You stole your wife’s mobile?”
“This ‘Teddy Bear’ SMSs your wife?”
“Yes. I think they are having a good time right behind my back the moment I take off on a flight. This ‘Teddy Bear’ and my wife. This evening when she was bathing while I was getting ready to leave for the airport, her cell-phone was lying on the bed, an SMS came from ‘Teddy Bear’ : “I am yearning for you. SPST.”
He took out a cell-phone from his shirt pocket, dialled the standby pilot and a few other numbers and told them he was unwell and was going off the roster.
We sat for some time in silence. It appeared he was in a trance, a vacuous look in his eyes. Years of counselling had taught me that in such moments it was best to say nothing. So I just picked up my cup and sipped what remained of my coffee.
Suddenly he got up and said, “I think I’ll go home,” and
he quickly turned and walked away.It was only after he had gone, as I kept my coffee cup back on the table, that I noticed that he had forgotten
the cell-phone on the table, his unfaithful wife’s cell-phone.An idea struck me.
At first I was a bit hesitant; then curiosity took charge of me and I picked it the mobile phone.
Hurriedly I clicked on ‘names’, pressed ‘T’, quickly found‘Teddy Bear’ and pressed the call button.
A few rings and I instantly recognized my husband’s baritone voice at the other end, “Hey Sugar, where are you? Why aren’t you answering? Did you get my SMS – ‘SPST’ – ‘Same Place Same Time’. Why did you give me a blank call?…..”
I felt shattered. My very own world came tumbling down like a pack of cards.
And till I return, let everyone here stew in suspense.
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Vikram Karve: SOCIAL NETWORKING – THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS.
Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: SOCIAL NETWORKING – THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS
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Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: A POET AND HIS MUSE.
But one thing is sure. This is the happiest moment of his life.
Chotte Lal experiences an ecstatic feeling of pride, joy, thrill – I really have no words to describe this unique emotion, but if you are a writer, just recall the moment when you saw your first creative effort in print, and you will understand what I mean.
Everyday as he looked up from his lowly place beside the railway tracks fascinated by the sight of the haughty engine drivers speeding by, roughly snatch the tokens he held up for them, and then rudely throw their tokens kept in small leather pouches mounted on large cane rings at a distance for him to fetch and hand over to the signalman, his resolve became stronger and stronger, and Chotte Lal’s father dreamed of the moment when his son, sitting in the driver’s seat, would pick up the token from him.
Chotte Lal certainly doesn’t belong here amongst this hard drinking rough and earthy fraternity.
Chotte Lal lives on a higher plane – while his compatriots drink and gamble to pass their time in their leisure and changeover breaks, Chotte Lal reads, and now, he writes.
Had Chotte Lal got the proper opportunity he would be a man of erudition, but as I have already told you, circumstances willed otherwise and poor Chotte Lal he had no choice.
This quaint mofussil town boasts of a newspaper – a four page tabloid really.
The back page of this local rag features crosswords, tit-bits, and creative contributions from readers, which Chotte Lal always reads with avid interest and it was his dream to see his own creative writing printed right there on that page one day.
His wife of twenty years opens the door, gives him a preoccupied look, and begins walking towards the kitchen.
A boy is waiting for her on a motorcycle. Maybe it’s her college classmate, her boyfriend, maybe… Chotte Lal realises how little he knows about his children.
His son – he has already gone to the city to work in his uncle’s company. He is obsessed with earning money and has no time for the finer things of life. Like mother like son. He feels sad. It’s a pity, a real pity.
There is nothing worse for a man than to realise that his wife, his son are ashamed of him.
Maybe his daughter will appreciate his poem, his talent, his creative genius, his worth – after all she is a student of arts.
Then, she takes out the precious newspaper which Chotte Lal has given her. Chotte Lal looks on in anticipation. Maybe his daughter is going to show the poem to the boy.
Yes, Chotte Lal’s daughter does take out the newspaper from her bag. But she doesn’t even open it, leave alone showing her father’s poem to her friend. She just crumples the newspaper and wipes the motorcycle seat with it and throws it on the ground.
Then she sits on the seat and they drive off on the motorcycle.
He picks up the newspaper and they both, Master and dog, walk towards Ram Bharose’s Dhaba.
Since then Engine remained home, and whenever Chotte Lal was away on duty, poor Engine was dependent on the reluctant love of his wife who Chotte Lal suspected actually liked the cheerful dog.
Chotte Lal looks admiringly at Engine – his sincere patron, a true connoisseur who understands, appreciates.
He gets the inner urge to write, to express, to say something – Engine has ignited the spark of creativity within him.
Moments later, the creativity within him unleashed, Chotte Lal sits at his desk and pours out his latent emotions, his inner feelings, on paper, writing poem after poem, while his darling pet dog, his stimulus, his inspiration, his muse, his motivating “Engine”, sits loyally by his side looking lovingly at his Master with undisguised affection.
And so, the Railway Engine Driver Chotte Lal creates and his “Creative Engine” inspires and appreciates – they sit together in sublime unison – the Poet and his Muse – in perfect creative harmony.
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 Creative Writing Blog:
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A YUMMY DATE
Short Fiction – A Breezy Romance
By
VIKRAM KARVE
She stands in front of the full-length mirror and looks at herself.
She cringes a bit, for she does not like what she sees.
The jeans make her look fat.
And the tight blue top – it’s all wrong!
So she wears a loose dress – Churidar, Kurta and Dupatta – to hide her bulges.
She looks at her new high-heels – should she? They’ll make her look tall, less fat.
No.
Not today.
Now it’s got to be walking shoes.
A brisk invigorating walk from Chowpatty to Churchgate rejuvenating her body breathing the fresh evening sea breeze on Marine Drive is what she needs to cheer her up.
She stands on the weighing machine at Churchgate station and, with a tremor of trepidation, puts in the coin.
Lights flash.
Out comes the ticket.
She looks at it.
Same as yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before.
No change.
She is doomed.
There is never any change in her weight or in her fortune!
Her face falls.
She’s trying so much… exercising, dieting.
But it’s of no use… her weight, her size, remains the same…
She looks longingly at the Softy Ice Cream counter.
There is a smart young handsome man with two Ice Cream cones, one in each hand.
He looks at her for that moment longer than necessary.
She averts her eyes, but he walks up to her and says, “Hi! How are you?”
She looks at him confused.
His face seems vaguely familiar.
“You are Sheena’s roommate, aren’t you?” he asks.
She remembers him.
He is Sheena’s boyfriend from HR.
“Here,” he says, coming close, proffering an Ice Cream cone.
She steps back awkwardly, perplexed and taken aback by the man’s audacity.
“Take the ice cream fast. It’ll melt,” he says.
She hesitates, confused.
“Come on. Don’t be shy. I know you love Ice Cream. Sheena told me.”
She takes the Ice Cream cone from his hands.
“I’m Mohan. I work in HR.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Let’s walk,” he says, “and hey, eat your ice cream fast before it melts”.
They start walking.
As they walk slowly out of Churchgate station towards Marine Drive, they slowly lick the creamy yummy softy ice cream off their cones.
“You walked all the way?” he asks.
“Yes,” she speaks for the first time.
“All alone?”
“Yes.”
“You come here every evening?”
“Yes. I jog every morning too.”
“All alone?”
“No. On other days we come together.”
“We?”
“Sheena and me.”
“And today?”
“Sheena’s gone out.”
“For the office party at the disc?”
“Maybe.”
“And you? Why didn’t you go for the party? Didn’t want to go all alone is it? No date?”
She’s furious.
But she controls herself.
She says nothing.
No point getting on the wrong side of HR.
He notices and says, “Hey, don’t get angry. I didn’t go the party too.”
She hastens her steps and says, “Okay. Bye. Time for me to go! And thanks for the Ice Cream.”
“No. No. Wait. Let’s have a Pizza over there,” he says pointing to the Pizzeria on Marine Drive by the sea.
“No. Please. I’ve got to go.”
“Come on. Don’t count your calories too much. And don’t weigh yourself every day.”
“What?” she goes red with embarrassment!
This is too much! So this guy has been stalking her – watching her every day.
Outwardly she fumes. But inside, she secretly feels a flush of excitement.
“Yes. Don’t get obsessed about your weight. Like Sheena.”
“Sheena?”
“She keeps nagging me about my weight?”
“But you’re not fat!” she says.
“Then what would you say I am?” he asks.
“Let’s say you’re on the healthier side?”
“Healthier side? That’s great!” he says amused. “Then you too are on the healthier side, aren’t you?”
“Oh yes. We both are on the healthier side.” She laughs.
He laughs.
They both laugh together.
Healthy laughter!
They sit in the sea breeze and relish, enjoy their pizzas.
He is easy to talk to, she has much to say, and the words come tumbling out.
And so they enjoy a ‘healthy’ date.
Relishing delicious Pizzas, and other lip smacking goodies, to their hearts’ content, capping the satiating repast with the heavenly ice creams at Rustom’s nearby.
“Where were you?” Sheena asks when she returns to their room in the working women’s hostel late at night.
“I had a date.”
“You? Fatso? A date?” Sheena says disbelievingly
“Yes. A yummy date at Churchgate.”
“A date at Churchgate? Wow! Things are looking up for you yaar!”
“Yes. Things are really looking up for me. And you Sheena? How was your date?”
“The whole evening was ruined. That creep Mohan. He stood me up. He didn’t turn up at the disc and kept his mobile off.”
“Mohan?”
“You’ve met him.”
“Mohan? You’ve not introduced me to any Mohan.”
“Of course I have. He’s come here to pick me up so many times. He comes over to meet me at our office too. He works in HR.”
“Oh the guy from HR. The chap on the healthier side! That’s your darling Mohan, is it?”
“Darling? My foot!” Sheena says angrily, “Bloody ditcher, that’s what that Mohan is – how dare he stand me up – to hell with him!” Sheena mutters and goes off to sleep.
But our heroine cannot sleep.
She eagerly waits for sunrise.
For at six in the morning her newfound beau Mohan has promised to meet her on Marine Drive opposite the Aquarium – for a “healthy’”jog on Marine Drive.
And they will be meeting in the evening too – at Churchgate – for ice cream, pizza and a yummy lovey-dovey date.
She feels happy, full of anticipation and zest.
Happiness is when you have something to look forward to.
VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
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ROMANCING MY EX
Fiction Short Story – a romance
By
VIKRAM KARVE
From my archives – One of my earliest fiction short stories written almost 20 years ago way back in the early 1990s when everyone loved travelling by train …
Do tell me if you liked the story …
I stood on the platform of Hyderabad Railway Station with placid indifference.
It was dark, and the incessant rain made the atmosphere quite depressing.
But I was in a state of elation… the long arduous business tour of the South had been successful and I was keen on getting back home to my family in Pune after a month’s absence.
The couple of beers and delicious Biryani Dinner had further enhanced my joyful mood.
The beer had been properly chilled and the meat deliciously succulent. I felt on top of the world.
The train entered the platform.
I entered the air-conditioned sleeper coach and found my berth.
There were four berths in the small enclosure.
I wondered who my companions would be.
I was a typical middle aged man with a roving eye and a faithful wife.
I was hoping for the best; a bit of flirtation didn’t hurt anyone.
An old lady entered and sat beside me… a disappointing start…!
Suddenly, Rajashree entered the compartment.
I am still not sure as to who was more surprised, Rajashree or me… ?
I certainly hadn’t bargained for this.
We, Rajashree and I, stared at each other incredulously.
I was at my wits’ end when Vijay suddenly came in.
The coincidence was unbelievable.
“What a pleasant surprise, old boy…!” Vijay exclaimed, shaking my hand, “Long time, no see!”
“Glad to see you, too,” I stammered, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll go out and have some fresh air.”
I looked at Rajashree.
She pointedly avoided my glance and tried to look busy organizing the luggage. No hint of recognition, as if I were a total stranger…!
I made a quick exit to the platform and looked at the clock. There were still ten minutes for the train to start.
As I ambled on the platform, I wondered about the situation.
What were Vijay and Rajashree doing together in the same place?
Were they together, or was it a mere coincidence…?
Maybe they were just two co-travellers, total strangers, like the old woman and I.
If they were together Vijay would have certainly introduced Rajashree to me.
Probably he was too busy with the luggage and the porter.
There was plenty of time to get to the bottom of this mystery. It was a long overnight journey to Pune.
Vijay had been a crony of mine, till a few years ago.
We had studied together and later worked in the same firm till he had migrated to the USA in search of better prospects.
He was an unpretentious, soft-voiced man without temper, drama, or visible emotion. He was a fine gentleman and I was proud to claim his as a friend.
“Meet Rajashree, a friend and associate of mine”, he said as I entered the compartment.
I looked into her eyes and extended my hand.
Rajashree looked ravishing.
Around her slender neck she was wearing an exquisite diamond pendant which enhanced her alluring charm.
Her low-cut blouse, which accentuated the curves of her shapely breasts, made her look temptingly desirable.
She greeted me with a formal namaste, tinged with a chill reserve.
There was not a trace of recognition in her eyes.
I kept staring at her.
The silence was grotesque.
Vijay had introduced Rajashree as a ‘friend’ and ‘associate’ – a rather nebulous description of their relationship.
Was Vijay playing games with me…?
Why was Rajashree behaving in this strange manner, refusing to recognize me…?
Well, if they wanted to play a double game, I’d be too happy to oblige.
A man’s first love fills an enduring place in his heart.
Rajashree had been my protégée. Six years my junior, she was a management trainee when I first met her.
Her vigour was infectious, her wit barbed and she was at once stimulating and overbearing. Spirited and talkative, she always wanted to dominate. She was ambitious and her commitment to her career was complete.
I was her senior manger… it was the fourth job of my career and undoubtedly the best job I had ever held.
Rajashree was extremely competent and I mentored her, helped propel her career… and she made full use of my patronage.
She thirsted for quick success and her ambition took charge of her.
Her faults entirely arose from her overwhelming ambition and self-centeredness. She was impervious to absolutes and could measure her own success only in relation to others.
Despite her frailties and faults, Rajashree was an extremely desirable woman. I was attracted towards her and she responded with passion.
With the clarity of hindsight, I can now say that she led me up the garden path.
I can clearly remember the day I had gifted her that lovely diamond pendant which now adorned her slender neck. It was Rajashree’s twenty-fifth birthday, and after office we were strolling down Opera House intending to have a bowl of zesty Green Chilli Ice Cream at Bachellor’s Fruit Juice Stall opposite Chowpatty, and then spend the evening romancing the sunset on Marine Drive followed by dinner at her favourite restaurant in Churchgate.
I don’t know what made me do it, but suddenly, on the spur of the moment, I took her hand and led her into a posh jewellery shop and grandly asked her to choose her birthday present.
She promptly obliged by selecting a chic, exclusive, gorgeous and most expensive diamond pendant.
My credit cards and cheque book saved the day, but the impulsive birthday gift, which cost me a fortune, almost made me bankrupt.
But then, to me, it did not matter.
That night, for the first time, she made love to me.
Then we became lovers, I was madly in love with her, even proposed to her, she accepted, soon we got engaged and Rajashree became my fiancée.
Meanwhile, right from the beginning of our relationship, the office grapevine was working overtime. The love affair destabilized working relationships in my department.
Suddenly, everything started to go wrong for me at work.
My career took a down-swing and I was passed over for promotion.
Rajashree dropped me like a hot potato.
She didn’t want to be identified with a symbol of failure… she didn’t care for losers.
Now that I was of no use to her in furthering her ambitions, she abandoned me and cleverly latched on and ingratiated herself to a new powerful patron.
Her rise was rapid.
Within days she became my peer, and soon Rajashree broke the glass ceiling and became my boss.
Just imagine my plight and shame – my ex-protégée had now become my boss.
I accepted our reversal in roles with grace and tried to maintain a cordial working relationship, but Rajashree was ruthless.
It was the most humiliating time of my life and I still smart from the pain of those memories.
Soon the relationship between us had become so demoralized by hate and distrust that it was better severed than patched up.
I quit my job and moved to a new place.
I shed my pique and rancour and rebounded back fresh with zest.
I did well in my new job, got married to a nice back-home-type girl and settled down, and soon was living the life of a happy and contented family man.
The ticket-collector interrupted my chain of thoughts.
I noticed that Rajashree and Vijay were travelling together on a common ticket – so that was it – “Friends”, “Associates”, “Companions” – many nuances are possible in the relationship between a man and a woman.
I decided to go in for the kill.
“That’s a lovely pendant,” I said boldly to Rajashree, “it must have cost you a fortune.”
Rajashree ignored me.
Vijay gave her a canny look.
“You shouldn’t wear such expensive jewellery while travelling,” I added. “It is very dangerous, especially in trains.”
“He is right. You must be careful,” Vijay said to Rajashree.
Vijay was now looking curiously at the pendant, “Rajashree, it is really a very elegant and beautiful pendant. Fantastic diamond – must be very expensive. How much did it cost…?”
“No, No – it’s just costume jewellery, imitation stuff,” Rajashree said, “I picked it up in the lanes near Charminar, yesterday, for a couple of rupees.”
“What nonsense,” the old lady co-passenger sitting opposite Rajashree suddenly interjected out of the blue. “That is a superb diamond. And it is certainly not costume jewellery. It’s a beautifully crafted premium necklace.”
“No, No – it’s imitation …I know …I bought it…” Rajashree stammered nervously, trying to cover the necklace with the palu of her sari.
“Imitation diamond – what nonsense – that’s a genuine top-grade ornament…!” the lady said vehemently, “I should know. I’m a trained gemmologist and jewellery designer. Come on, young girl, show me the diamond, the pendant, and I will tell you its true price.”
Rajashree looked nervous. She put her hands over her neck.
“Let the lady have a look the necklace,” I spoke looking directly into Rajashree’s eyes. “I had once bought a diamond pendant exactly like the one you are wearing for my fiancée. I want to know whether I got my money’s worth.”
Rajashree looked dumbstruck, sat still, frozen, not knowing what to do.
Taking advantage, I moved fast, unfastened the clasp, removed the ornament from Rajashree’s neck and gave the necklace to the old lady.
My unexpected action hadn’t given Rajashree any time to react and she was frozen stunned.
I looked roguishly at Rajashree.
She was staring at me totally bewildered with wide and terrified eyes. Her eyes held a desperate appeal. She had suddenly become small, weak and vulnerable.
I saw tears of shame start in her eyes and her face became so ashen that she looked as thought she were about to faint.
I did not rebuke her for her mendacity.
There was no need.
Her guilt and shame itself were Rajashree own worst reprimand.
As the old lady was meticulously scrutinizing the diamond pendant, comprehension slowly dawned on Vijay.
The train was slowing down to stop at a station.
“Come, let’s go out on the platform,” Vijay said to me putting his hand affectionately on my shoulder, “I desperately need a breath of fresh air…!”
VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010
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 educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Trainer Manager by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book “Appetite for a Stroll”. Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts. Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog – http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com
Professional Profile of Vikram Karve – http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve
Email: vikramkarve@sify.com
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