Academic and Creative Writing Journal Vikram Karve: September 2013

Monday, September 30, 2013

30 Minutes: Military - The Apolitical Force

A TV Programme by Anubha Bhonsle on CNN IBN on Ex-Servicemen

WHEN TO BUY A HOUSE – Contrarian Wisdom – NEVER BUY A HOUSE TOO EARLY IN LIFE

NEVER BUY A HOUSE TOO EARLY IN LIFE

WHEN TO BUY A HOUSE – Contrarian Wisdom

THE STORY OF THE ARMY OFFICER WHO BOUGHT A HOUSE TOO EARLY IN LIFE

Short Fiction

VIKRAM KARVE

Disclaimer and NB:

1. Please read this story only if you have a sense of humour.

2. 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.

3. 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.

WHEN TO BUY A HOUSE – A Story By VIKRAM KARVE

There is a saying in Hindi:

जब जब जो जो होना है तब तब सो सो होता है

Jab Jab Jo Jo Hona Hai Tab Tab So So Hota Hai

(Things will happen as and when the time comes)

As a corollary, you may say that everything has a right time, and you must wait for the right time to do that particular thing.

You must not do things prematurely, too early in life, before their right time has come.

I have read a Chinese saying:

It is a misfortune to read a good book too early in life

On similar lines, I have coined an axiom:

It may be counterproductive to buy a house too early in life

Yes, sometimes buying a house too early in life may turn out to be detrimental.

Sounds like contrarian wisdom, doesn’t it?

How did I coin this axiom, this adage?

Let me tell you a story.

THE STORY OF THE ARMY OFFICER WHO BOUGHT A HOUSE TOO EARLY IN LIFE

There was this happily married young army officer.

It was an ideal happy family – husband, wife, and two children, a boy (7) and a girl (5).

This young army officer got posted to Pune.

Those were the days of the real estate boom with lots of attractive residential housing schemes sprouting all over Pune.

There was a lot of competition and builders were leaving no stone unturned to attract home buyers.

The officer and his wife saw one such “presentation” of a housing scheme arranged in their club in the evening.

This attractive ad blitz was specifically designed to entice gullible “faujis” to book apartments in a residential project being built “exclusively” for defence services officers of the army navy and air force.

Construction was on full swing and there were just a few vacant flats remaining, the marketing executives said, while exhorting everyone to book immediately lest they lose the golden opportunity (In fact, they had asked everyone to come with their cheque-books for the presentation).

“We must not miss this chance to have a house of our own,” the army wife said to her husband.

Everyone else also convinced the officer that it would be a wise decision to book a house.

“I am really not sure. Isn’t it too early in life to buy a house?” the officer asked.

“Early? What do you mean by ‘too early’ in life”?

“I am only 33 and it is more than 20 years till my retirement and I am going to be posted all over India. I may never be posted to Pune again. And I am not even sure whether I want a house in Pune.”

“Why?”

“We don’t belong to Pune – both me and my wife are from up-north. We belong to the up-country. Our parents live in our hometowns and we have both got big ancestral homes over there,” the officer argued.

“Don’t be foolish. This is a chance in a lifetime. The way property prices are going up in Pune and this is the best investment opportunity. There are just a few vacant flats left. The way the property prices are shooting up in Pune, if you don’t book a flat now, you will never be able to afford a house in Pune with your meager army pay,” everyone said.

And all of them – his wife, the marketing executives, his fellow army officers – they all convinced the army officer to book a flat in the residential housing scheme.

The builder helped arrange everything – a housing loan, the paperwork – and one year later the army officer and his family vacated their rather drab army quarters and shifted into their own brand new house.

The army officer and his wife felt proud – they were only in their early 30s and they already owned their own flat in a modern city like Pune.

They were all delighted at staying in their very own house.

There was another advantage – vacating army accommodation would enable the army officer to claim HRA which would offset the high EMI towards the Housing Loan.

The house was located in a posh locality in a modern cosmopolitan part of Pune.

The children were put in the best school which was nearby – this elite school just walking distance from their home.

Both the children were very happy to study in this classy school as compared to the rather humdrum KVs they had studied in earlier.

The army officer’s wife was a qualified interior designer.

She had worked as an interior designer before her marriage to the army officer.

She could not pursue a career in interior design as her husband had been posted to remote locations where there was no scope for her vocation.

Like they say, there are only two things a peripatetic army wife can do – you can be a homemaker or you can become a teacher.

She did not want to become a teacher, so she became a homemaker. She tried her best to be good army wife and give a fillip to her husband’s career by participating in AWWA activities, hobnobbing with “senior ladies” and actively taking part in social functions.

That is why the army officer’s wife was especially delighted because she would now get an opportunity to use her interior design skills in her own house.

She decorated and beautified the interiors of the house very tastefully with great passion.

They had a housewarming party.

The army officer’s boss was mighty impressed by the elegant décor.

When he learnt that the house had been decorated the army officer’s wife and that she was an interior designer, he desired that she do the interiors of the officers’ mess.

The army officer readily agreed as this would help boost his ACR.

Of course, all this interior design work in the officers’ mess was gratis and she wouldn’t be paid for her efforts.

Egged on by her husband, the army officer’s wife agreed to do this for free and started off her work.

But she quit in disgust after a haughty “senior wife” who was clueless about interior design started interfering to the point of ruining her work.

However, since they lived in a civilian area, their neighbours and other visitors saw and appreciated their well-designed apartment.

One day, a parent of her son’s classmate came over to pick up her son.

She was an architect.

When the she saw their tastefully decorated apartment and learned that the wife was an interior designer, the architect offered the army officer’s interior designer wife an assignment.

She took up the assignment and did it so well that everyone was impressed.

Soon, word spread and the army officer’s wife started getting interior design assignments.

Soon she was doing quite well and was making a name for herself in Pune as an accomplished interior designer.

It was sheer bliss – husband doing well in the army, wife flourishing in her career as an interior designer, and both their children studying in an excellent school.

When you are happy, time flies very fast.

They were so happy and time flew so fast that they did not even realize that two years had passed, till suddenly, one day, the posting order of the officer arrived.

The army officer had been posted to a remote place.

He tried his best to get the posting order cancelled, but there was no chance – he had spent 3 years in Pune and he had to go.

Resigned to the fact that he would have to move, he asked his wife to start packing.

“You go alone. We are staying here in Pune,” his wife said firmly.

The army officer was shocked to hear this.

“What do you mean? How can you are stay here? You have to come with me,” the army officer said to his wife.

“See. Try to understand. We are all very well settled here in Pune. The children are doing so well in school and my career is also taking off.”

“There will be a school there …”

“School? Which school? In that godforsaken place there will be only a KV. Do you want to shift our kids from this excellent school to a KV?”

“But KV’s are quite good.”

“Maybe some KVs are good out here in Pune, or in big places like Delhi and Mumbai, but I am not quite sure about the KV in that remote place where you have been posted. In any case, I am not going to shift the children now – they have settled down so well and this school is so good. It will be traumatic for them if you shift them down to an ordinary KV after they have got used to this top-notch elite school,” the wife said.

The husband looked at her in silence. She also remained silent. For a minute there was silence.

Then the army officer’s wife said firmly to her husband: “What about me? My career has taken off so well. I have so many ongoing assignments. How can I abandon everything? And what will I do in that desolate place? Sit at home doing nothing and mope? Or waste my time attending those boring AWWA meetings? If I give up my career in interior design now, I will become useless for the rest of my life. There is no way I am giving up all this and coming to that horrible place with you.”

“So you want me to go alone?” the army officer asked his wife.

“I don’t know. You do something. Pull strings. Get your posting cancelled. But we have to stay in Pune – for my sake and for our children’s sake.”

“You know I too want to stay in Pune with you. I tried so hard to get my transfer cancelled but there was no luck.”

“Why don’t you quit? I am sure you’ll get a good job here in Pune.”

“You know I cannot quit. They won’t even accept my papers. My promotion board is years away. You know how difficult it is to leave the army, don’t you? They say that there is a shortage of officers in the army. They don’t even let superseded officers quit easily.”

“Okay, I will ask you one question, just for the sake of argument,” the wife said.

“Go ahead, ask me.”

“Suppose, hypothetically, we all come with you to wherever you are going. It is such a small place that we will surely get quarters there. You won’t get any HRA. I won’t be working. So how are you going to pay the home loan EMI?”

“We’ll give this house on rent,” the husband said.

On hearing this, the wife stood up.

Her rising anger was visible on her face.

She was furious as she shouted: “Rent? You want to give my house on rent? How can you even think of giving my beautiful home on rent? I have decorated it so lovingly. Just look at the interiors – have you seen a home more exquisite than ours? People liked my superb interior design so much that they gave me assignments and my career took off. Look at each and every little detail – I have put my heart into it and designed it with so much care. And you want to give our marvelous apartment on rent? Tenants are not bothered. They will ruin everything. This house will never be worth living in again if you give it on rent. Now listen to me. It is final – I love my home and I am staying right here.”

“So you don’t want to leave your comfort zone?”

“You can think whatever you like, but my decision is final. You can go wherever the army sends you, but we are staying right here in our own home in Pune. The children are so well settled in the best school in town and I am not going to disturb them. I told you before – just imagine the trauma they will suffer shifting from this elite cosmopolitan school to some vague KV at some remote upcountry place in the back of beyond? And what happens when you get posted to another remote place after two years? Shift them again? And again and again every two years as you keep getting transferred all over the place? I can’t let their schooling suffer. And I want to do my interior design career. I am used to working now and I can’t sit at home, waste my time and do nothing.”

They, the army officer and his wife, argued and argued the whole night, but the wife refused to relocate.

So, the army officer left for his place of posting all alone, leaving his family behind in Pune.

He became a “married bachelor”.

For the army officer, it was terrible.

Once you have tasted and savoured the fruits of family life, it is difficult and painful to live alone.

But as days passed, he got used to living alone.

For company he had other “married bachelors”.

In the army, you will find many such “married bachelors”.

Yes, nowadays you will find many such “grass widower” type forced married bachelors living in officers’ messes – sometimes their number is larger than the unmarried bachelors.

If you go the bar of an officers’ mess, you can see these married bachelors drowning the sorrows in drink, thinking that alcohol will dissolve the pain which comes from loneliness – their connubial conjugal loneliness.

The lonely army officer too missed his wife and children and yearned for the joys of family life, and he too thought that alcohol was the panacea for his misery.

So, like all other “married bachelors”, he too started hitting the bar every evening to drown his sorrows in the company of his fellow “comrades in loneliness”.

Years passed.

The army officer moved on a number of postings.

Though he tried his best, he could not manage a posting to Pune, which was a highly sought after station, so he had to make do with sporadic visits, once or twice an year, whenever he got leave.

The more he stayed away from his family; the army officer was gradually transformed into an archetypical “chronic married bachelor”.

That was okay.

What was not okay was that due to his daily heavy drinking to drown his sorrows, the army officer had developed what they call “alcohol dependence syndrome”.

His boss could have filled up a form and put him in the psychiatric ward of Military Hospital for psychiatric treatment of his alcohol addiction.

But that would have put an end to the army officer’s future career prospects as he would have got branded as a “psycho” case for the rest of his army life.

The boss was a kindly man and did not want to ruin the career of the promising army officer.

So the boss gave the army officer one month’s leave, told him to get his life on track and put him on the first flight home.

The boss thought that some time with his wife and family would get the officer back to normal and wean him off alcohol.

It was almost midnight when the army officer pressed the doorbell of his home in Pune.

Those days, Pune was not directly connected, so the army officer, who was posted to the north-east, travelled to Mumbai by a series of connecting flights, and then took a cab from Mumbai airport to his home in Pune.

The army officer kept pressing the bell for a long time.

Finally, the door opened.

His wife stood in front of him.

She was wearing a flimsy nightie.

The army officer looked past his wife, over her shoulder.

There was a man standing behind his wife.

It looked like he had hurriedly put on his shirt – the buttons seemed to be in the wrong holes.

He was not wearing shoes, not even socks, and his hair was all haywire.

Even a blind man would have understood what hanky-panky they were upto – and the army officer was certainly not blind.

For a moment the army officer stood in a daze.

Then he abruptly turned around and went down the staircase.

He found that the taxi was still standing outside.

He got into the taxi and told the driver to take him to the army officers’ mess.

He managed a temporary room for the night.

Once inside, he took out a bottle of rum from his bag, and he proceeded to drink himself into stupor.

At 6 in the morning, the bearer came with morning tea, and found the army officer lying unconscious, dead drunk, the empty rum bottle lying by his side.

The ambulance was summoned and they took the dead-drunk unconscious army officer to the military hospital.

To cut a long story short, three things happened to the Army Officer:

1. He was thrown out the Army (the euphemistic expression used was “invalidated out of service on medical grounds”)

2. His wife threw him out of his house (the euphemism used here was “mutually agreed settlement as a prelude to amicable divorce by mutual consent”)

3. His wife’s “paramour”, an architect, her colleague during daytime and her lover at night, permanently moved into his house, right into his bed (euphemistically they called it “beginning a new life of caring and sharing”)

This was the story the haggard looking man drinking rum at the club bar told me.

He said that it was his life story.

Let me tell you how I met the old man.

I had gone to the club to attend an event sponsored by a famous builder to launch a “prestigious” and “exclusive” residential housing scheme.

Well, they were offering a “special discount” to army officers.

It was a well publicized event, and, in fact, many retired officers were heavily marketing the scheme.

After attending the event, I went to the bar to have a drink.

There I saw this man drinking alone and he asked me to join him.

“So, you booked a flat?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

“Married?”

“Yes, Sir – but I have just been posted to Pune. In fact, I reported only yesterday. So I have come alone. My wife and kids will join me in a few days, the moment I get some sort of married accommodation.”

“Oh, so you have kids too?”

“Yes, Sir – I have a boy who is 7 and a girl who is 5 years old.”

“Really? What a coincidence? Those were the exact ages of my children when I booked a house in Pune.”

“You booked a house? In Pune?”

The man looked at me and said, “It happened many years ago. Come – get another drink – let me tell you my story.”

And so, he told me his life story – which I have narrated to you above.

We drank, till closing time of the bar.

The barman asked for our last order.

The man ordered 3 Large Pegs of Rum.

I gestured to the barman not to give him any more drinks and said softly, “He is drunk.”

“He is drunk every night,” the barman said.

Then the barman poured three large pegs of rum and put them in front of the man.

The man quickly drank the three pegs of rum in quick succession, one after another – neat – down the hatch.

Then his eyes became glazed and sweat broke out on his face and he started swinging on the bar stool.

I quickly caught hold of the drunk man, and with the help of a waiter, laid him on a sofa.

“Sir – you go home now. Don’t worry about him. We will take him to his room,” the barman said to me.

“He lives here?” I asked.

“He was thrown out of an old age home for drunk and disorderly behaviour. He is a course-mate of the General – so the General Sahab has kept him here for a few days till they make arrangements for him to be admitted to some institution – maybe some mental asylum.”

“What?” I said in surprise.

“He must have been a good officer – the General pays for all his drinks, his food, his bills, everything. It’s sad – I have seen so many good officers become alcoholics and ruin their lives,” the wizened old barman said.

Next morning, I did two things.

First, I rang up the builder’s office and cancelled my booking of the 3 BHK flat in their exclusive residential project.

Second, I rang up my bank and told them to stop payment of the cheque I had given to the builder as advance booking amount.

After hearing the man’s story I am convinced that it can be detrimental to buy a house too early in life.

I am going to patiently wait for the right time to come.

जब जब जो जो होना है तब तब सो सो होता है

Jab Jab Jo Jo Hona Hai Tab Tab So So Hota Hai

(Things will happen as and when the time comes)

Do you agree?

VIKRAM KARVE

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

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.

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.

Did you like this story?

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About Vikram Karve

A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer 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.

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Sunday, September 29, 2013

LAZY HOT AFTERNOON IN MUMBAI

LAZY HOT AFTERNOON IN MUMBAI

Short Fiction - A Leisurely Romance

VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

One of my favourite short stories.

I wrote this a few years ago, in the year 2006 I think, more than 7 years ago, when I lived in Mumbai.

Many of my friends say that this is the best short story I ever wrote.

Do you agree?

Please read the story and tell me if you like it.

LAZY HOT AFTERNOON IN MUMBAI - A Leisurely Romance by VIKRAM KARVE

What is the best way to kill a lazy hot afternoon in South Mumbai...?

You can go window-shopping on Colaba Causeway; enjoy a movie at Eros or Regal; loaf aimlessly around Churchgate, Fountain, Gateway of India or on the Marine Drive; leisurely sip chilled beer at Gaylord, Leopold, Sundance or Mondegar; browse at the Oxford Book Store or in the Mumbai University Library under the Rajabai clock-tower; watch cricket sitting under the shade of a tree at the Oval; visit the Museum; or, if you are an art lover, admire the works of budding artists on display in the numerous art galleries in the Kalaghoda art district.

That’s what I decide to do.

At 11 o’clock in the morning I stand at the entrance of the Jehangir Art Gallery at Kalaghoda in Mumbai. I walk into the exhibition hall to my right. The art gallery has just opened and I am the first visitor.

Standing all alone in placid relaxing hall, in peaceful silence, surrounded by paintings adorning the pristine white walls, I experience a feeling of soothing tranquillity – a serene relaxing calm – and for the first time after many hectic, harried and stressed days, I experience an inner peace and comforting silence within me and, at that moment, I know what it feels like to be in harmony with oneself.

I leisurely look around at the paintings. I see a familiar face in a portrait. An uncanny resemblance to someone I know.

The face on the canvas stares back at me.

Comprehension strikes like a thunderbolt.

It’s me... Yes – it’s me...

No doubt about it... it is me in the painting...

Someone has painted my portrait, my own face.

I look at myself. I like what I see. It is a striking painting, crafted to the point of the most eloquent perfection.

I am amazed at the painter’s precise attention to detail – my flowing luxuriant black hair, delicate nose, large expressive eyes, even my beauty spot, the tiny mole on my left cheek; the painter has got everything right.

Never before have I looked so beautiful; even in a photograph. My face looks so eye-catching that I can’t help admiring myself – like Narcissus.

I look at the title of the painting on a brass tally below – My Lovely Muse.

Muse...?

I have never modelled for anyone in my life.

So who can it be...?

Suddenly I notice a wizened old man staring at me. He looks at the painting and then at me, and gives me a knowing smile.

“Excuse me, Sir,” I ask him, “do you know the artist who painted this...?”

“I’m the painter,” a gruff voice says behind me. I turn around and look at the man. With his flowing beard, unkempt hair and dishevelled appearance he looks like a scruffy scarecrow. At first sight, totally unrecognizable.

But the yearning look of frank admiration in his eyes gives him away. No one else has ever looked at me in that way and I know he is still desperately in love with me.

“Do I see the naughty boy I once knew hiding behind that horrible shaggy beard...?” I say to him.

“Do I see the bubbly and vivacious girl I once knew hiding inside the beautiful woman standing in front of me...?” he responds.

“You look terrible,” I say.

“You look lovely – like a flower in full bloom,” he says.

I feel good.

Aditya may be in love with me, but there is no pretence about him.

I know the compliment is genuine.

“Come, Anu,” he says taking my arm, “let me show you my work.” And as we walk around he explains the themes, nuances and finer points of each painting.

Here I feel a sense of timelessness – a state of supreme bliss.

I wish this were my world; sublime, harmonious, creative.

I wish I’d stayed on; not burnt my bridges.

Or have I...?

“Let’s eat, I’m hungry,” Aditya interrupts my train of thoughts.

“Khyber...?” I ask.

“No. I can’t afford it,” he says.

“I can afford it,” I tease.

“The treat is on me,” he asserts, pulls me gently, and says, “Let’s go next door to Samovar and have the stuffed parathas you loved once upon a time.”

“I still do,” I say, and soon we sit in Café Samovar enjoying a lazy unhurried lunch relishing delicious stuffed parathas.

“What time do you have to go...?”

“I’ll collect the visa from Churchgate at four and then catch the flight at night.”

“Churchgate...? I thought the visa office was at Breach Candy...”

“That’s the American visa. It’s already done. The British visa office is at Churchgate.”

“Wow! You are going to England too...?”

“Of course. US, UK, Europe, Singapore. Globetrotting. The next few months are going to be really hectic. It’s a huge software development project.”

“Lucky you... It must be so exciting. You must love it...”

“I hate it...!”

“What...?”

“It’s unimaginable agony. Sitting in front of a computer for hours and hours doing something I don’t like.”

“You don’t like it...? Then why do you do it...?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Aditya, do you know what the tragedy of my life is...?”

“What...?”

“My biggest misfortune is that I am good at things I don’t like.”

“Come on, be serious! Don’t tell me all that.”

“I hated Maths, but was so good at it that I landed up in IIT doing Engineering, and that too Computers.”

“But you’re damn good. A genius at computers. That’s why they are sending abroad aren’t they...? The youngest and brightest project manager...! You told me that.”

“Being good at work is different from liking it. You know, the thing I despise the most – sitting like a Zombie in front of the monitor for hours, discussing tedious technical mumbo jumbo with nerds I find insufferable. It’s painful, but then I am the best software expert in the company, the IT whiz-kid...!”

“Yes. I know. It’s true. It is indeed a great tragedy to be so good at something you hate doing. That’s why I quit practice and am doing my first love – painting. I don’t know how good I am but I certainly love doing it.”

“But you are so good. You must be minting money, isn’t it...?”

“Not at all. I told you I couldn’t even afford Khyber... I barely make my ends meet...”

“I thought artists make a lot of money. The art market is booming.”

“Only the established ones; not struggling types like me.”

“Come on, Aditya. Don’t joke. Tell me, how can you afford to have your exhibition here in Jehangir...?”

“There’s a patron. An old lady. She encourages budding artists like me. She’s given me a place for my studio.”

“Just like that...?” I ask, quite curious.

“Yes. There are still a few such people left in this world. I present her a painting once in a while,” Aditya pauses and says, “But today I’m going to be lucky. Looks like My Lovely Muse is going to fetch me a good price. Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me...?”

“You were the model for this painting. My inspiration. My Muse...!”

“Me...? Your Muse...? But I never modelled for you...!”

“You don’t have to. You image is so exquisitely etched in my mind’s eye that I can even paint you in the nude.”

“Stop it...” I say angrily, but inside me I blush and feel a kind of stirring sensation.

“Tell me about yourself, Anu,” Aditya says, changing the subject.

“I told you. About my painfullyboring work. And you won’t understand much about software. Spare me the agony. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“You still paint?”

“No. I stopped long ago. At IIT.”

“Why...?”

“No time. Too much study, I guess. And the techie crowd.”

“You should start again. You’re good. You’ve got a natural talent.”

“It’s too late. That part of me is dead. Now, it’s work and meeting deadlines. An intellectual sweatshop.”

“Come on Anu, cheer up. Tell me about your love life...?”

“The company is taking care of that too...! They are trying to get me hooked to some high flier Project Manager in my team.”

“Really...? What’s his name...?”

“Anand.”

“Wow...! Anu and Anand...! Made for each other...!”

“You know they set us up as per their convenience, facilitate working together all the time, encourage office romance, and even give us a dating allowance.”

“Dating allowance...? Office romance...! It’s crazy...! Just imagine - Paying people money to fall in love...!”

“Helps reduce attrition, they say; makes people stay on in the company. Nerds understand each other better; can cope better together, at work and at home. That’s what they say. Smart fellows, those guys in HR - they try and team us up as it suits them. They are dangling carrots too – like this trip abroad. They’ve even promised us a posting together to Singapore on a two year contract, if things work out.”

“It’s great...!”

“Great...? Are you crazy...? Just imagine living full-time with a boring number crunching nerd all my life, doing nothing but being buried in software, day in and day out. I shiver at the very thought.”

“Tell me, who would you like to marry...?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about marrying me...?”

“Come on, be serious.”

“I’m serious. We could paint together, do all the creative stuff you always wanted to do. Live a good life.”

“Let’s go,” I say changing the topic.

“Anu. Remember. If you love flowers, become a gardener. Don’t curb your creativity. A lifetime of having to curb the expression of original thought often culminates in one losing one’s ability to express.”

“I’ve got to go, Aditya. It’s almost four. The visa should be ready by now.”

“Wait. Let me give you a parting gift to remember me by.”

Aditya calls the curator and tells him to gift wrap and pack the painting titled My Lovely Muse.

“Sir, we’ll get a good price for it. I have already got an offer,” the curator says.

“It’s not for sale,” Aditya says, “It’s a gift from an Artist to his Muse.”

I am overcome by emotion at his loving gesture. I look at Aditya.

It is clearly evident that Aditya is really deeply in love with me.

And me...?

Am I in love with Aditya...?

Tears well up in my eyes. My throat chokes. My heart aches.

I find myself imprisoned in the chasm between the two different worlds – Aditya’s world and mine.

But soon the rational side of me takes charge, and as we part, Aditya says, “Bye, Anu. Remember. If you can do something well, enjoy doing it and feel proud of doing it, then that’s your perfect métier. There’s no point living a lie. You’ve got to find yourself.”

I hold out my hand to him.

He presses my hand fondly and says, “Start painting. You must always do what you love to do. That’s the highest value use of time – time spent on doing what you want to do.”

“And what is the lowest value of time...?” I ask.

“Doing what you don’t like just because others want you to do it.”

“Or maybe for money...!”

“Money...?” he asks, and then he looks lovingly into my eyes and says, “Anu, don’t destroy your talent by not using it.”

I get into a taxi and drive away form his world, my dream-world; into the material world of harsh reality.

In the evening, I sit by the sea, at the southern tip of Marine Drive and watch the glorious spectacle of sunset.

As I watch the orange sun being gobbled up the calm blue sea, and crimson petals form in the sky, my mobile phone rings.

It is Anand, my Project Manager, with whom my romance is being contrived, from the airport.

“Hey, Anuradha. The flight is at 10, check in begins at 8; make sure you are there on time. Terminal 2A,” Anand says.

“I’m not coming,” I say.

“What do you mean you’re not coming...?” Anand shouts from the other end.

“I mean I am not coming,” I say calmly.

“Why...? What’s wrong...? Someone made you a better offer...?”

“It’s nothing like that. I’ve discovered my métier. I’m going back to the world where I really belong,” I say.

“Where are you...? How can you ditch us like this at the last moment?” he pleads.

I know if this is the defining moment of my life.

It’s now or never.

I have to burn my bridges now, so I take a deep breath and say, “I have made my decision, Anand. I am not coming back. I have to discover my true self, do what I want, be happy from the inside. I’m sorry, Anand. I’m sure you’ll find someone else, your soul-mate, at work and for yourself. Best of luck...!”

I switch off my cell-phone. I look at it.

My cell-phone. The last of the manacles...!

Deliberately, I throw the mobile phone into the Arabian Sea.

I begin walking towards the place where I know I’ll find Aditya.

And then I will return to the world where I really belong - to realize my true metier.

I want to be my own Muse.

VIKRAM KARVE

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

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.

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