ONCE BITTEN TWICE SHY
Short Fiction - A Love Story - Passionate Romance
By
VIKRAM KARVE
Dear Reader:
Here is a story from my collection COCKTAIL.
Please read this story with a pinch of salt. I think it is one of my bizarre stories – an example of my inchoate and amateurish attempts at writing in my early days.
I wrote this yarn, a rather tall story, sometime in the 1990’s, I think, during a visit to Goad, during that unforgettable time when you traveled to Goa by that delightful metre-gauge train winding its way down from Londa past the cascading Dudhsagar falls to Vasco.
I wonder what genre one can call this.
Romance? Pulp Fiction? Chic Lit? Or maybe what they now call Metro Read.
Let's say that it is a story for Urban Adults.
Well, I have warned you...
Now, My Dear Reader, if you still want to read this bizarre, preposterous story, go ahead, do so at your own peril. So just relax, transport yourself back in time 20 years to the 1990s, and enjoy this story.
Have a laugh; and don’t forget the brickbats (and bouquets, if any).
As always, I value your comments and feedback.
Part 1 – ONCE BITTEN
I looked thoughtfully, with
nostalgia and pride, at the words inscribed on the brass plaque I held in my
hand:
“The first time you slap me it is
your fault;
The second time you slap me it is
my fault.”
This engraved plaque was the
only item I had brought with me from my old office in Pune. I had now made it
big time. A top job in a prestigious firm in Bangalore
I gave the brass plaque to
Suhas and told him to hang it on the wall. For added effect, I loudly recited
the words – a Chinese proverb – again and again.
The first impression is a
lasting one. I wanted to project myself as a tough guy, and had dramatically
succeeded. I had totally intimidated Suhas into submission. He had never
expected that I would order him to drive me from the airport straight to office
on a Sunday, get the office opened, and brief me in detail.
Suhas had been one of the
aspirants for the chair I was sitting on; now he would be my deputy. If he was
disappointed at not being promoted, he did not show it. After all, he had
worked for ten years in the same firm and surely did not like an outsider like
me thrust upon him.
As I stroked my beard, I
looked appraisingly at Suhas. True to his name he had a sweet pleasant smile.
But he looked a weakling – one of those suave, slimy, effeminate characters
that adorn the corporate world – a soft-spoken, clean-shaven, ingratiating
sissy with an almost feminine voice and carefully cultivated mannerisms as if
he had been trained in a finishing school. Suhas had no masculinity, no
manliness about him. He was one of those sissy chikna types who were bullied and ragged and sought after to be
buggered at school and college. In my mind’s eye I smiled to myself at my
excellent assessment.
Suhas handed me an invitation
card and stammered, “Sir, an invitation for the New Year Eve party tonight.”
I was genuinely pleased and
gave him an appreciative smile. In my euphoria I had almost forgotten the date.
Eager-Beaver and sycophant
that he was, Suresh had organized a partner for me, Anita, a young ambitious executive
anxious to please the boss. Anita was openly showing her willingness to get
involved with me. A pity, as I was not interested in Anita. She was not my type
of woman.
Anita was one of those
synthetic beauties; pleasing to look at but not exciting to embrace. Dainty,
delicate, perfectly poised, petite, precise, prim and proper. Her make-up
perfect and exact, she looked like an artificial doll – optimally designed,
precisely engineered and finished to perfection. Her actions appeared carefully
contrived; there was no spontaneity about her. That vital spark of sensuality
was missing. I could see that she had titivated for me, but I was not
titillated. I liked voluptuous, sensual, earthy women – the rough-and-ready
kind. As we danced she pressed against me in desperate appeal. I was not
stirred. She was too simulated to
stimulate me.
I signalled to Suhas who
rescued me and took Anita away for a dance.
I picked up a drink and took
up a strong tactical position with my back to the wall. I looked at Anita –
Good from Far, but, Far from Good. I smiled to myself. I sipped my drink, lit a
cigarette, and looked at the entrance.
I saw her almost at once.
She radiated an extraordinary
sensuousness of a degree I had never experienced before. The impact was so
overwhelming that I was instantly aroused and consumed with desire. She could
not have made her body more inviting. There was nothing delicate about her.
Plump and lusty, she oozed raw sexuality. I ached with desire and drank her in
with my eyes insatiably.
“Enjoying the party, Sir, ”
Suhas had followed my transfixed gaze and guessed what was on my mind. “That
dish is Menaka. She’s a hot-shot executive in our main competitor. Let me
formally introduce you.”
“No,” I said, “not now.”
Politeness is a pleasant way for a man to get
nowhere with a woman.
Suhas got the hint and left
me alone. My hungry eyes locked on to Menaka. I was feasting my eyes on her
captivating face when she suddenly turned and glanced at me. Our eyes met. She
looked at me for that moment longer, and with a curious smile, she turned back
to her group.
I kept my eyes on her, looking steadily and
directly; trying to transmit and project my thought-waves of passionate
yearning. She adjusted her stance slightly, probably to observe me through the
corner of her eye. Her gestures indicated that I had succeeded in disturbing
the equilibrium of her personal inner comfort zone. I was thrilled with
anticipation.
Suddenly she excused herself
from her group, walked towards a secluded corner, turned and looked directly
towards me. She held my gaze in a kind of challenge, there was a lengthy pause,
and then she smiled. There was a conspiratorial look in her expressive eyes; at
once inviting and taunting. She teased me with her eyes. My stimulus had evoked
a response.
Encouraged by her
enthusiastic response, I indulged myself lavishly. I made love to her with my
eyes. She responded with unrestrained zeal; exhilaration pouring out of her
eyes. As our mutual visual interplay became intense, I could clearly decipher
the language in her eyes. I did not require the power of clairvoyance to look
into the province of her mind; to read her thoughts. I boldly walked up to her
and asked her for a dance. As I led her onto the dance-floor, I realized that
every man, who was a man, was hungrily ogling at her. I felt the natural pride
of possession that any man feels when he has the company of a woman that other
men desire.
We danced continuously,
without break. I held her tightly. She let her body rub against mine. Suddenly,
the lights went off. Someone announced, “One minute left for the New Year.”
It was pitch-dark. The
dance-floor was packed with bodies. I locked Menaka in a passionate embrace.
Intoxicated by the aroma of her natural scent, I caressed her neck with my
tongue. Her skin was moist with sweat. She sighed and her breathing became
heavy and rapid. I kissed her warm mouth, a fervent passionate kiss. She kissed
me back, most eagerly and amorously. As our tongues intertwined I could taste
the fresh flavour of her mouthwash mixed with her hot saliva. We were
luxuriating in a wave of sensuality which had engulfed us when the lights were
suddenly switched on. Everyone seemed to have gone berserk – shouting “Happy
New Year” at the top of their voices, and hooters, whistles, horns, drums,
shouts raising the noise level to a deafening din.
“Happy New Year,” it was Suhas. He was quite
drunk. Anita was standing next to him – her hurt quite evident in her eyes.
First I had rejected her, and now she had seen Menaka and me in passionate embrace…
Before I realized it, Menaka
had quickly disengaged and walked away. I was too confused to react. Anita
pulled me to dance. She still hadn’t given up hopes. I kissed her on the
cheeks, wished her a Happy New Year, and joined in the merrymaking. It was only
after a considerable amount of time that I noticed that Suhas had
disappeared.
It took me a week to sink my
teeth into my new assignment. I worked hard. My first vital challenge was to
win a huge software development contract with a multinational company. It was a
prestigious contract. A large number of firms would be vying for it. It was
imperative that I succeeded in winning it – to establish my credentials and
prove my worth. The primary reason I had been appointed to the top post was
owing to my expertise and track record in this area. My professional reputation
was at stake. By the end of the week I had my proposal ready. I kept just one
hard copy – no soft copies – for I believe that one should not store anything
in a computer that one cannot display on a public notice board.
But my being busy at work was
not the only reason that I had not contacted Menaka. I had not forgotten the
sensuality of her body. During nights, as I lay awake in bed, I desperately
yearned for her and I felt like a volcano without eruption.
I purposely did not make the
first move. I didn’t want her to think I was desperate and grovel before her. I
had ardently communicated my unspoken intentions to her on New Year’s Eve – if
she wanted me, she’d contact me.
One day, while I was working in my plush
office, suddenly my phone rang. It was Menaka. I felt a tremor of anticipation.
She invited me to lunch at a nearby restaurant. I accepted.
Menaka was waiting for me outside the
restaurant. She was dressed in a full-sleeved blouse and a heavy formal blue
silk sari. It was hot. The fabric of her blouse around her armpits was wet with
sweat. She looked and smelt natural. No attempt to camouflage her raw steamy
sensuousness behind the synthetic mask of make-up and deodorants. Raw steamy
sensuousness – that’s what I liked about her. It stimulated me and attracted me
towards her.
As we sipped chilled beer, I
found that she was easy to talk to. I had a strange feeling of elation. In
these moods there was so much to say, the words simply came tumbling out. I
told her everything about myself. In hindsight, I realize that she hardly told
me anything about herself.
We met often during the next few days,
arranging rendezvous in restaurants and our club. She tantalized me. But she
did not let me go all the way. A bit of petting, necking, fondling, caressing,
hugging, kissing, cuddling – it was okay. But there she drew the line. She
never invited me home nor talked about her personal things. At first I was
patient. No point hurrying up or forcing things. I did not want to lose her.
There is a time to let things happen and a time to make things happen. I thought
I would let things happen. But the more I met her, the more the desire began
building up in me. The time had come to make things happen. I was wondering
what strategy I should adopt when Suhas interrupted me, “Drying a divorcee’s
tears is one of the most dangerous pastimes known to man.”
I tried to hide my surprise
and regain my composure. I certainly wasn’t interested in drying Menaka’s
tears!
“I didn’t know she is a
divorcee,” I said truthfully. “In any case it’s a purely platonic friendship.”
“All such platonic
relationships have a potential to culminate into affairs,” Suhas pontificated.
I was getting angry now. Surely I didn’t need
a lecture on how to handle women from this prissy effeminate sissy.
He sensed my feelings and pleaded, “The office
grapevine is pulsating with juicy rumours about your romance with Menaka. Such
liaisons can be dangerous. She is working for our rival firm which is competing
for the same vital contract we are so desperate for.”
This was news to me. Menaka
hadn’t mentioned anything about the contract. I looked innocently at Suhas. I
would have to be careful with this Nosey Parker around.
One evening I was stunned
when Menaka suddenly walked into my office. I had not bargained for this
unexpected situation at all. It was one thing to meet Menaka in some restaurant
or club. It was quite another thing to have her show up bold as brass at my
office – it was embarrassing and downright dangerous.
“Don’t worry, everyone has gone home,” Menaka
said and came around my desk and stood close to me. I was sitting on my
swivel-chair working on the computer. I swivelled my chair around. Her silky
smooth stomach was inches from my face. I sensed the beginnings of the
experience which had been eluding me. I was tremendously excited, yet
frightened. Even the improbability of the situation made me slightly
incredulous and cautious. But I could not control myself and animal instinct
took charge of me. I clasped her hips and buried my face in her stomach, and we
both were going wildly berserk with passionate lovemaking when suddenly the
door opened and Suhas walked in.
A few moments later, as I sat
in Suhas’s office trying to regain my composure, I realized that Suhas had not
spoken a word, and was totally ignoring me. He was sitting quietly, ostensibly
engrossed in work. The nuance wasn’t lost on me.
I had left Menaka in my
office to tidy up. I wondered what effect this episode would have on her.
Suddenly an ominous thought
entered my mind and I was overcome by a strange foreboding. I rushed to my
office. Menaka had disappeared. I yanked open my desk drawer. I broke into cold
sweat. My premonition had come true – the vital file was missing.
Disgraced, accused of moral
turpitude and disloyalty, I resigned my job and left Bangalore
Needless to say, Suhas walked
into my job.
Part 2 – TWICE SHY
Pune – 31 December
1998
I was not one to wallow in
despondency for long. I put the episode behind me and went on a sabbatical.
Interestingly, I found my true métier in the world of academics. I bounced back
into life with vigour and zeal. I
started teaching and, in a couple of years, was heading my own computer
training institute.
Five years later, I stood on
the platform of Pune Railway Station and scanned the passenger list on the
reservation chart. No matter how many times I begin a train journey; there is
always an intriguing interest in seeing who one’s follow-passengers are. I was
on berth number 27. Berth number 28 was reserved in the name of a Mrs. M.
Kumar, Age 35. All others in the vicinity were males. A disappointment. I
always wondered why all the good chicks were in other trains, other
compartments. Let’s hope this Mrs. Kumar was worth a look, at least.
When Mrs. Kumar entered and
sat down opposite me, I was dumbstruck. It was Menaka. She gave me a warm smile
and started talking of me as if she were expecting me. Her behaviour was
natural, as if she had fixed up a rendezvous with me here on the train. No
guilt, no regret, no remorse. There was absolutely no trace of surprise at
seeing me evident on her face. She had blossomed. Her beauty had enhanced with
age.
“I was looking forward to
meeting you, “she said looking directly into my eyes. “It’s good they organized
the seminar in Goa . We shall enjoy ourselves.
And, of course, finish our unfinished business. It’s so exciting!”
I couldn’t believe my ears
and cannot begin to describe my emotions I felt. At once, I hated her for the
way she had played with me, used me, and tossed me by the wayside; at the same
time she evoked within me the familiar stirrings of passion. But I knew it was
dangerous, so I decided to steer clear of her – once bitten, twice shy
I avoided talking to Menaka, snubbed her when
she tried to start a conversation, pretended to read and we traveled in silence
on the broad-gauge train from Pune to Miraj, where we would change over to the
connecting metre-gauge express to Goa .
Hopefully, Menaka would get seat away from me.
In the evening, just before Miraj, the train
conductor arrived and said, “There is no air-conditioned service on the
metre-gauge overnight train from Miraj to Vasco Da Gama. You will have to
travel first class.”
“Both of us are together. Give us a coupe,”
Menaka said.
I was struck dumb, tongue-tied, the moment I
heard her words.
“Yes, Madam, I will allot you Coach F-1, coupe
compartment D,” the train conductor gave me a canny look, and said in railway
lingo, “This train reaches Miraj at 2000 hrs. The connecting train leaves at
2030.”
Menaka sat down close to me
on the berth of the coupe of the metre-gauge train. The compartment’s smallness
forced us into such an arousing intimacy that I could not control myself when
she made her move.
She made love to me with a
professional’s skill and an amateur’s enthusiasm. Making love in a speeding
metre-gauge train was an awesome experience. As the train rocked and sped
through the night, we went crazy with passion, and she did not let me rest, but
brought me back to her each time I tried to slide away from her, exhausted.
In the next two weeks, I
realized the wildest of my fantasies with her. We made love to each other in
all possible ways, at all possible places.
Later, as I lay next to her
on the wet sand in a secluded corner of the beach, intoxicated with ‘feni’, I
felt exhausted, drained and gratified.
“Enough is enough”, I said to
myself and I decided to leave quietly next morning.
Six months later I had a
surprise visitor. It was Anita. She had a parcel for me. I opened it. There was
a ‘Thank-you’ card from Menaka. There was also the brass plaque with the
Chinese proverb which I had forgotten in my Bangalore
I looked at the familiar words on the brass plaque:
“The first time you slap me it is your fault;
The second time you slap me it is my fault.”
I was baffled, nonplussed. Why had Menaka sent me this brass plaque? Was there a hidden message in this? I looked at the ‘Thank-you’ card. “From Menaka Kumar” - the “Kumar” was intriguing - those days she called herself “Menaka” - that’s all.
“Tell me Anita, who is this Kumar that Menaka
remarried. Or is it her first husband’s surname. Or was it her maiden name?” I asked Anita.
Anita burst out laughing, “She married Suhas.
Suhas Kumar. Your ex-deputy. Have you forgotten him?”
I felt angry, betrayed. Suhas Kumar! Just
imagine? Menaka married that effete womanish softy. He was hardly man enough
for her. What a mismatch. She needed a real man – a strong, virile, potent man
like me.
Seeing the look on my face,
Anita spoke quickly, “Suhas and Menaka got married soon after you left. Now
they have set up their own firm. I work for them.”
She abruptly stopped speaking.
I could sense her hesitation. But I wanted to know why Menaka had sent Anita to
me. It was an intriguing mystery.
“Go on,” I said. “Tell me
everything.”
Anita gave me a curious look and said, “Menaka
is pregnant for the first time. She was trying desperately all these years. And
finally it happened after so long. I am so happy for her. The baby is due in
another three months time.”
Comprehension dawned on me
pretty fast. Anita need not have spelt it out to me. I did not know whether to
laugh or to cry. Menaka had used me again, for the second time, to realize her
goal and then cast me aside. She had “slapped” me again!
But was it a slap? Had she
slapped me for the second time? Delivered a sucker punch? I don’t know. I truly
don’t know. And I don’t care. I picked up the brass plaque, looked at it
nostalgically for the last time, and tossed it out of the window. No more
proverbs for me.
“Convey my congratulations
and best wishes to Menaka,” I said genuinely to Anita. “Tell her I am eagerly
waiting for the next rendezvous with her. Whenever she wants me, wherever she
wants me, any time, any place, I’ll always be there at her service.”
Ten years have passed since –
ten long years.
Often I think of Menaka,
yearn for her, and wonder when I am going to have my next rendezvous with her –
I eagerly wait for her to “slap” me again. Yes, I wait in anticipation for her to deliver the next sucker punch.
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?
This is a story from my recently published anthology of Short Fiction COCKTAIL.
I am sure you will like the 27 short stories in COCKTAIL
To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-81910
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COCKTAIL ebook
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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-gw23f9
About Vikram Karve
A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for almost 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.
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-gw23f9
About Vikram Karve
A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram has taught at a University as a Professor for almost 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.
Vikram Karve Academic and Creative Writing Journal: http://karvediat.blogspot.com
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
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.
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