Saturday, August 31, 2013

WHO ATE THE KABABS ?

A hectic day. 

No time for blogging. 

So here is one of my favourite Mulla Nasrudin Stories to end the day with a smile (and food for thought)


WHO ATE THE KABABS

One day the gourmet Mulla Nasrudin bought five kilos of the tastiest kababs  from the best restaurant in town to enjoy with his friends in the evening party he had organized for his closest friends.

He gave them to his wife with explicit instructions in how to serve them in the evening party and went out for a walk.

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife garnished the kababs and kept them in serving plates on the dining table.

Suddenly, her sister and her kids arrived unexpectedly.

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife’s noticed that her sister and her kids were staring at the mouth-watering kababs in hungry anticipation, so the wife asked her sister and her kids if they would like to taste a kabab.

“Yes,” they all said and so the wife, her sister and her kids tasted a kabab each.

The melt-in-the-mouth kababs were so delicious and tasty that they could not resist the temptation to eat a few more.

They loved the kababs so much that, while gossiping, they unconsciously kept popping the kababs into their mouths, till suddenly all the kababs were finished.

Then the wife’s sister and her kids said goodbye and left.

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife realized that the kababs were finished.

To salvage the situation Mulla Nasrudin’s wife quickly prepared pakoras to be served in lie of the kababs.

When Mulla Nasrudin’s friends arrived they were served pakoras instead of kababs.

After his friends had left, a furious Nasrudin demanded an explanation from his wife about why kababs were not served.

His wife meekly said that the pet cat ate up all the kababs.

“There were 5 kilos of kababs.  Don’t tell me the cat ate up the full 5 kilos of kababs,” Nasrudin shouted.

“Yes. Your cat ate all the kababs - the full 5 kilos. Why don’t you ask your darling cat instead of scolding me?” his wife said.

Mulla Nasrudin caught hold of his cat and put the cat on the weighing scale.

The cat weighed exactly 5 kilos.

Nasrudin looked at his wife and said, “The cat weighs 5 kilos and the kababs were 5 kilos.”

Nasrudin’s wife said, “So?”

Nasrudin asked, pointing to the cat sitting on the weighing scale and said to his wife:

Now, tell me my dear wife:

If this is the cat then where are the kababs? 

On the contrary if these are the kababs then where is the cat?


Cat (5 Kg) + Kabab (5 Kg) = Cat (5 Kg)

Please balance the equation!


Friday, August 30, 2013

COCKTAIL - THE STORY OF A SMALL TOWN GIRL

COCKTAIL
THE STORY OF A SMALL TOWN GIRL
Short Fiction 
By
VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives: 
This is fiction, but I have seen similar things happening to small town girls who want to transform themselves into chic high society modern women. 
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. 
I think this is one of the good stories I have written. 
Dear Reader, do tell me if you liked it...

COCKTAIL

The moment she saw us, tears welled up in her eyes – there is nothing more shameful for a young bride than to see her husband helplessly drunk, staggering disgracefully in another woman’s arms.

I felt sorry for her.

It is true – to be married to a drunkard is the crown of all misery.

I lay him on the sofa, took off his shoes, put a pillow under his head – she, his wife, did not move but remained frozen with a look of anxious trepidation on her face.

The man who was dead drunk, Arun, lay in stupor, oblivious to the world.

It was only as I began to leave that his wife, Sadhana, rushed into my arms and broke down.

“He will be okay,” I hugged her warmly and comforted her.

“I want to die...I want to die...” she began screaming hysterically, “Why is this happening to me...?”

I sat her down, gave her a glass of cold water from the fridge, and said, “Sadhana, you just go to sleep now. Arun will be absolutely well in the morning. You don’t say anything to him – just ignore him – let him go to office. Then I will come here and we will talk.”

“You will come?” she pleaded.

“Yes, I will come in the morning and everything will be okay,” I calmed her.

I drove home late at night, lay alone in my lonely bed, commiserating, unable to sleep, wondering what to do.

I knew I had to do something, for I loved Arun dearly.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. It’s not what you’re thinking.

Tell me, can a woman love a man without ever having made love to him? Can a woman love a man without falling in love with him?

Of course she can – you can take my word for it – like I loved Arun.

Maybe it was our mutual chemistry or I don’t know what, but we certainly shared fantastic vibes, and we did love each other – Platonic, Ethereal, buddy-love – call it what you like.

Arun was my colleague and developing feelings of fondness for someone who you are in close proximity with for more than least ten hours every day is very natural – but he was much more than my “work spouse” – he was my soul mate.

Arun was my classmate from our student days in the States and I was not only his constant companion at work and socially, but also his closest confidante.

In such cases it is a thin line between friendship and having an affair, but we never crossed that line.

There were no secrets between us except the time he suddenly went to his hometown in the interiors of the mofussil and dutifully got married to the girl his parents had chosen for him.

Then he rang me up in the office, told me the news without much ado, and peremptorily commanded me to get his flat ready and come to the Mumbai Central Railway Station to receive him and his newly wedded wife.

I liked Arun’s wife Sadhana too.

She was a plump, graceful girl with a very pretty face and a sincere friendly smile which radiated a charming innocence.

She readily accepted me as a friend with honesty and openness, and generously understood my relationship with Arun without a trace of suspicion, envy or rancour.

I could not bear to see the poor innocent girl suffer like this.

Tomorrow I would talk to her, counsel her, and talk to Arun, and find a solution, make them more compatible, so that they could be happy, have a fun marriage.

But first let me tell you how it all started.

Arun loved his drink.

In fact, he loved his drink a bit too much.

I think he had an innate propensity for alcohol.

I noticed this and told him once or twice and then let it go as it was early days and maybe he was just enjoying himself, and I too didn’t quite mind sharing a spot of cheer in his affable company.

Maybe his parents knew this, his penchant for the bottle, and, maybe they thought that marriage was the panacea, and then they saw Sadhana, and said to themselves: “She is a very good girl, from a cultured family, excellent upbringing – I am sure she will bring improve him with her love and he will mend his ways after marriage. She’ll take care of him. Bring him around.”

It’s true; many people do seem to think the marriage is the easiest solution to many ills, like alcoholism, and everything will suddenly be happy ever after.

Sadhana’s marriage was a social triumph for her parents. She was an ordinary looking small town girl studying in college and it was almost a miracle, a stroke of good fortune, that the elders of the best known family in the town had come all the way their modest house, the girl’s parents, to ask for her hand in marriage to their son – a well-educated foreign returned top management executive.

It was a grand wedding; but I have heard somewhere that, sometimes, a grand wedding results in a disastrous marriage.

At first Arun too was quite happy at his newly acquired simple naïve “provincial” wife who he thought would be unquestioningly obedient and acquiesce to his every whim and fancy.

Sadhana turned out exactly as he expected – a nurturing, caring, loving wife who did exactly what he wanted, pampered him to glory and unquestioningly submitted to all his demands, except one – she did not allow even a drop of alcohol in their house. In this she did not yield.

On her first day she cleaned out his well stocked bar, simply throwing all the bottles of expensive booze down the garbage chute.

Arun tried to reason with her, explained the ways of cosmopolitan culture, but Sadhana stuck to her guns, defiant.

And when all of us at the office suddenly landed up for impromptu dinner with the big boss presenting Arun a bottle of his favourite Single Malt, Sadhana promptly drained the precious whisky down the sink saying, “This daru is evil stuff,” and then served us a delicious spur-of-the-moment meal.

This was the last straw!

I noticed Arun seethe in silence feeling totally humiliated in front of his colleagues, his juniors, his friends, and me, but he did not say anything.

He reacted the next day - from that day onwards he started drinking with vengeance.

Arun started drinking at the club bar on his way home from work every night.

At first I would give him company, but soon I stopped accompanying him, as his drinking grew from bad to worse and his behaviour would often become nasty after a few drinks.

And now this – a call at midnight from the club secretary that my colleague and friend Arun had passed out stone drunk in the bar and would I please take him away as they had to close up.

Next morning, I left the office around ten thirty, telling Arun that I was not feeling well and went straight to his house.

Sadhana was waiting for me.

“Shall we have tea...?” she asked.

“No. Let’s go to the club,” I hustled her out of the house and bundled her into my car overruling her protests, “We can be more discreet there,” I said hinting at the servants, but I had other plans.

It was early, the club was empty.

I chose a lonely inconspicuous table and ordered a Pina Colada Cocktail for myself and a Soft Drink for Sadhana.

“You’ve got to help him,” I said to Sadhana, coming straightaway to the point, not giving her a chance to start her sob story.

“Help him? Of course I want to help him. But how?”

“You adapt a bit, and he too will change and get better.”

“Adapt...? What should I do...?”

“Give him company.”

“What...?”

“Be his friend. Spend your evenings with him.”

“But he goes to the club every evening.”

“Go to the club with him, sit with him, meet his friends, chat, talk to him, and make friends with him. He will feel good. In fact, I would suggest that you join him in a drink once in a while and have a little fun.”

“What?” Sadhana said flabbergasted, “You want me to drink liquor? In my home I have not even seen a drop of alcohol…”

“Relax, Sadhana, don’t be so dogmatic,” I took her hands in mine and calmed her down, “You are in a different society now. There is no harm in having a small cocktail, or some wine – now-a-days everyone does – even I do.”

“No. No…”

“Here, sip this,” I said giving her my glass of the lip-smacking sweet creamy Pina Colada.

“No. No. I can’t have this bitter strong stuff,” she protested.

“Try it, just once,” I insisted, almost forced her, and she took a tiny sip.

“It’s sweet and delicious isn’t it...? Now if you have a little bit for Arun’s sake, he will start enjoying your company. Arun needs companionship. Tell me Sadhana, isn’t it better he has a drink with you than his hard drinking friends – that he rather spends his time in your company than with his good-for-nothing friends who are out to ruin him...?”

Sadhana gave me a hesitant look, but did not say anything.

But I could sense her desperation deep within that would make her try out anything, any remedy, any cure.

I looked into her eyes and said, “The trick is to wean him away from hard drinking to social drinking. That’s what will happen once he starts enjoying your company. I am telling you again. Be his friend. Spend your evenings with him. Go to the club, sit with him, have a drink. Arun will feel good. He will start liking you. Now drinking is his priority – soon you will be his priority.”

“I don’t know…” Sadhana faltered.

“Trust me. Try it. It will make life easier for both of you. Stop trying to control him.  It will never work. I know Arun well. If you nag him you will drive him away from you. Confrontations, threats, arguments – with these he will only get worse. Come on, Sadhana, for Arun’s sake, for your sake, give it a try, I am sure he will respond positively.”

Sadhana looked anxiously at me, nervous, unsure, yet desperate.

I stood up walked to her and gave her a loving hug, “You two are newly married. I want you to be able to laugh, relax, have fun and enjoy life to its fullest!”

She hugged me in return.

“Promise me you’ll give it a try,” I said.

“I will try my best,” she promised.

It worked.

Arun sobered down.

And though he did enjoy his drinks – I never saw him drunk again.

The metamorphosis in Sadhana was truly fascinating.

The way she had transformed herself from a conservative Small Town Girl from the heart of the mofussil into a chic crème-de-la-crème socialite was remarkable, almost unbelievable. I would often see her sipping exotic colourful cocktails rubbing shoulders with the cream of society.

There was a time when Arun was ashamed of showing off his wife; now his heart swelled with pride and admiration as everyone noticed and praised her. They were the toast of society; the crowning glory was when they were crowned the “Made for Each Other Couple” at the New Year Eve Ball at the club.

Their marriage started rocking.

In fact their marriage rocked so much that soon comprehension dawned on me that there cannot be three persons in a marriage and I gracefully withdrew from their lives, changed my job, relocated and, yes, believe it or not, I got married to a nice young man and commenced a blissful married life of my own.

Of course, Arun and Sadhana attended my marriage, and at my wedding reception Sadhana seemed to be in a vivaciously celebratory mood, swinging brightly and dancing wildly, downing glass after glass of Champagne.

My new husband and I honeymooned on a luxury cruise liner, sailing to exotic locales – a wedding gift from Arun and Sadhana.

At first we kept in touch, but with the passage of time, as I settled comfortably in the cocoon of wedded bliss, the communication became less and less, and when we relocated abroad to the States we lost touch altogether.

It was three years before I visited Mumbai again, and the first thing I did after depositing my baggage in the hotel was to head towards Arun’s flat on Marine Drive.

It was early and I wanted to catch him home before he left for work.

Arun and Sadhana were not at home. “Saheb and Memsaheb have gone to the Ashram,” the servants said.

“Ashram...?” I said surprised, and asked whether they could give me his mobile number.

They did, and I rang up Arun on his cell phone, “Hey, Arun, what are you two doing in an Ashram – given up the material world and taken up the spiritual path...?”

“No. No. It’s not that. This is not really the type of Ashram you are thinking; it’s a nature cure clinic,” Arun said.

“Nature Cure Clinic...?”

“Not exactly, you can say it’s a de-addiction centre, a sort of rehab...”

“Rehab...? You promised me Arun, you promised me that you’d cut down your drinking…for her sake…poor thing…I hate you Arun…”

“Stop it...!” Arun interrupted angrily, “It’s not me. I’ve given up drinking. It’s Sadhana – she’s become an alcoholic.’

“What...?” I said, stunned.

“Yes. My wife Sadhana has become an alcoholic. Thanks to you and your stupid advice she's hit the bottle. And now will you please keep your advice to yourself and leave us alone...?” Arun said angrily and disconnected.

I cannot begin to describe the emotion I felt at that moment when I realized how terribly my good natured advice had boomeranged.

But one thing is sure: I felt very guilty, terribly guilty; yes, never ever have I felt so terribly guilty in my life, till this very day.


VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2013
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.

Disclaimer:
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
NB:
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 2013 all rights reserved

The title of this story from was selected as the title of my short fiction anthology COCKTAIL comprising 27 short stories about relationships. 

Did you like this story? This is a story from COCKTAIL.
I am sure you will like all the 27 short stories from my recently published book COCKTAIL 

To order your COCKTAIL please click any of the links below:
http://www.flipkart.com/cocktail-vikram-karve-short-stories-book-8191091844?affid=nme
http://www.indiaplaza.in/cocktail-vikram-karve/books/9788191091847.htm
http://www.apkpublishers.com/books/short-stories/cocktail-by-vikram-karve.html


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

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

About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. 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@hotmail.com
Twitter: @vikramkarve 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

WOMEN FRIENDLY MARRIAGE LAWS

A new bill is being passed giving rights to women in the property of their husbands including ancestral property, even after divorce.

However, husbands have not been given any right to the property of their wives.

Like most laws, this marriage law too seems lopsided in favour of women, whereas all laws need to be gender-neutral. 

Sometimes, such biased laws may be counter productive as husbands may try to find ingenious ways to beat the law like:

1. Avoid buying immovable property. Never buy your own house and live in rented houses.

2. Hide your earnings and movable property from your wife. Avoid joint accounts or investments in joint names.

3. Avoid marriage

4. Have a legally binding pre-nuptial agreement before marriage

All this will lead to an atmosphere of mistrust in a marriage and result in trust deficit between husband and wife and spoil the marriage relationship.

Since a divorced wife can claim a share in ancestral property (which the husband has not self acquired but has inherited) parents (who have self acquired the property) may be reluctant to bequeath such property to their son and also ask their sons to live separately - this will adversely affect parental and familial relationships too.

Also I wonder whether making divorce easy is a good idea.

Marriage is more of an emotional relationship than a legal one and too many laws will spoil the sanctity of the marital relationship.

It looks like the only persons who will gain are divorce lawyers. 

Also, I wonder why this new law will be applicable only in cases where marriages have been solemnised under the Hindu Marriage Act and Special Marriage Act. What about other women? Why not have universal laws applicable to all citizens?


Wednesday, August 28, 2013

TERRIBLE FELLOW - Humor in Uniform

TERRIBLE FELLOW
Humour in Uniform
A Naval Yarn
By
VIKRAM KARVE

This story is a work of fiction. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

TERRIBLE FELLOW

This happened long back, almost 35 years ago.

We were only two bachelors living on the first floor cabins of the staff block of the officers’ mess – Colonel “N” and myself.

Of course, I was a true unmarried bachelor, whereas “N” was a forced bachelor, a married bachelor, as his wife was working in Mumbai where she lived along with their school-going children.

Colonel “N” was a doctor, an army medical officer, who was commanding the local Military Hospital (MH).

The MH was located inside our Naval Establishment.

It was a small hospital, with just a handful of doctors and staff.

In fact, the MH comprised just a few decrepit barracks located in a rather desolate corner of the base.

The only bright thing about the MH was its Commanding Officer – Colonel “N” – who was a most jovial chap.

N” was a Keralite, a Malayali, and like most officers from Kerala, he was a down-to-earth hardworking officer, very sincere in his job.

Though he was a senior Colonel, “N” did not pull rank. He did not exhibit unnecessary airs, or have an inflated ego, and we liked his rather amiable disposition.

Despite the age difference between us (“N” was in his late 40’s and I was in my early 20’s) he had such a likable nature that we became close friends.

What we liked about “N” was that he was not rank conscious.

“Rank has got nothing to do with medicine”, he would bellow at fellow doctors who tried to pull rank over their juniors and patients, soldiers and sailors.

Every evening “N” and I would sit on the lawns of the officers’ mess, or on the terrace, and polish off a bottle of rum, drinking late into the night, sometimes till the wee hours of the morning.

I remember one occasion, when “N” was in high spirits, topped up to the hilt, and he pointed towards the horizon and said, “Look – there is a fire over there – maybe some ship, an oil tanker is on fire.”

I looked at the distant eerie orange glow.

Soon the sun broke the horizon and we realized that it was sunrise – yes, it was no fire, but sunrise – we had been drinking the entire night.

N” and I enjoyed our drinking sessions.

We both liked to talk, and had many yarns to tell, especially “N” who regaled me with his never-ending “Medical Anecdotes” and “Army Stories”.

The most remarkable feature about “N” was his amusing diction.

At times, his choice of words was hilarious.

If “N” liked someone, he would say: “He is a terrible fellow.”

Spoken in his typical jovial Kerala accent, these words had a rather delightful effect.

One day, at a meeting, our Commanding Officer (CO) asked “N” whether he knew the Army Medical Corps (AMC) Brigadier who was coming to inspect the Military Hospital (MH).

“Oh yes, I know the Brigadier quite well – he is a terrible fellow,” said “N” in his usual candid style.

On hearing this, that the inspecting officer was a “terrible fellow”, our career-conscious CO got quite anxious.

Strictly speaking, the MH was an independent entity, but still it was located inside the Naval Establishment and the CO did not want to take any chances.

Our CO was quite wary of the apparent easygoing ways of “N” and was paranoid that should something go wrong with the inspection, he may inadvertently end up getting a “black mark”.

So, our CO took personal charge and pulled out all stops to ensure that the inspection was a success.

Our CO would personally take rounds of the MH every morning and spend hours planning, supervising, rehearsing and micromanaging every aspect of the impending inspection which he had planned meticulously to the smallest detail, since our CO did not want the MH to be caught on the wrong foot by the “terrible fellow” who was coming for the inspection.

One evening, when I commented to “N” that our CO seemed to be interfering a bit too much, “N” said nonchalantly, “Well, if your CO wants to do my job, he is most welcome to do so.”

Contrary to our CO’s expectations, the “terrible fellow” turned out to be a most “jolly good fellow” – yes, the AMC Brigadier was a most informal and unfussy inspecting officer and he carried out the inspection in a most jovial and relaxed manner exchanging witty jokes and banter with the CO, the staff, the patients and all of us in the entourage.

In the evening, there was a cocktail party to “celebrate” the successful inspection.

Our nonplussed CO was looking quite sternly at “N” who was thoroughly enjoying his drinks along with the AMC Brigadier.

Suddenly, a happily drunk “N” pointed towards the AMC Brigadier and said loudly to our CO, “I told you that he is a terrible fellow.”  

A few days later, one morning, “N” summoned me to his office, which was quite unusual.

He had said it was something urgent, so I rushed to his office in the MH.

“Hey, there was a matrimonial enquiry about you,” he said.

“From who?” I asked, quite surprised, as I was not aware of any matchmaking moves.

“I just got a call from an AMC General. He is a Maharashtrian like you. He is looking for a suitable match for his daughter.”

“Well, I don’t know anything…”

N” looked at me and said, “You know how these things work – by word of mouth. Someone back home must have told the General or his wife about you – and that you are posted here. So the General must have thought it best to ask me, the nearest AMC Officer, about you.”
                                                                          
“So, what did you tell the General?” I asked.

N” looked at me with warm affection and said, “I told the General that you are a terrible fellow. In fact, I like you so much that I told him that you are a terribly terrible fellow.”

Those momentous words of “praise” put an immediate end to the rather promising matrimonial prospect for me and there were no further inquiries about me from the AMC General.

A few years later, one evening, I met “N” on Colaba Causeway.

N” had retired from the Army and was working at a leading hospital in Mumbai.

I invited “N” over to my ship for a drink.

We sat in the wardroom, drinking and talking of the good old days.

The Captain sent down his compliments to me in the wardroom asking me to bring along “N” for a drink to the Captain’s cabin.

After we were seated in the Captain’s Cabin, drinks in hand, the Captain looked at “N” and said: “Sir, do you remember me? I was once admitted to MH Khadki and you were the Medical Officer in-charge of the Officers’ Ward.”

N” looked carefully at the Captain and suddenly his eyes lit up and he said, “Oh, so you are the one who used to disappear without a bloody outpass to romance with my pretty nursing officer? What a terrible fellow!”

“Sir, thanks to you, I got married to her,” my Captain said.

“Really? I must say you are truly a very terrible fellow.”

We talked. We drank. It was hilarious to hear of their escapades.

It was almost midnight by the time we finished and we were quite happily drunk.

As a mark of respect to “N”, the Captain came to see him off the gangway.

The OOD, the duty PO and the Quartermaster were all smartly lined up at the gangway.

As we crossed the gangway, everyone saluted.

Suddenly, “N” turned around and shouted jovially to the OOD and the gangway staff: “Let me tell you one thing. You are very lucky. Your Captain is a terrible fellow. Yes, he is an utterly terrible fellow.”

Next morning, rather contrite, I went to the Captain to explain: “Sir, actually he meant that you are a jolly good fellow.”

“I know. “N” rang me up in the morning to thank me for the hospitality. And do you know what he said about you?”

“What did he say about me, Sir?” I asked quite curious.

“He told me that you were a terribly terrible fellow – Isn’t that the ultimate compliment?” the Captain said, and broke into a laugh.

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 2013
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.

Disclaimer:
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
NB:
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 2013 all rights reserved

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

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

About Vikram Karve

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

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