Who was She...? Girlfriend or Wife...?

WHO WAS SHE...?

LIEUTENANT’S GIRLFRIEND OR CAPTAIN’S WIFE...?

A Fictional Spoof

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Let me delve into my “Humor/Romance in Uniform” Archives – and narrate to you this unforgettable “memoir” from my wonderful Early Navy Days – a delightful “love” story – romance in uniform – a story which will bring a smile to your lips...

WHO WAS SHE – LIEUTENANT’S GIRLFRIEND OR CAPTAIN’S WIFE...?

(a spoof by Vikram Karve)

Part 1

The Lieutenant’s Girl Friend

Thursday 07 December 1978 MUMBAI (then called BOMBAY)

We sit on the lush green lawns of the Navy Officers’ Command Mess – drinking, smoking, eating snacks, and enjoying ourselves.

We watch the gorgeous sexy fashion models in skimpy outfits – walking the ramp – rehearsing for the Navy Ball Fashion Show.

The Navy Ball is going to be held two days later – on Saturday.

Time passes fast when you are enjoying yourself.

Suddenly it is 11 PM – and – the bar steward appears.

He requests permission to close the bar – and he asks us if we want any more drinks.

We order the last round of drinks – 3 large pegs of rum each.

I am feeling high – quite drunk – and I have lost count of the large pegs of rum I have consumed since 7:30 in the evening..

The fashion show rehearsal gets over.

Lieutenant “X” walks over to our table.

With him is a girl – a fashion model who was rehearsing on the ramp.

She looks very pretty in the yellow dress she is wearing.

I know Lieutenant “X” – he is a course-mate of our Gunnery Officer – and he comes over to our ship quite often to have a drink in the wardroom.

Though both “X” and I are Lieutenants – Lieutenant “X” is senior to me by around 3 years – we have enjoyed many drinking sessions together – and we have become quite good friends. 

(Now – a Naval Lieutenant is equivalent to an Army Captain – and those days – you remained in the rank of Lieutenant for 8 long years before you were promoted to Lieutenant Commander – equivalent to Major. 

This story happened in the 1970’s – much before the Ajai Vikram Singh (AVS) Report Bonanza in 2006. 

In the 1970’s – you were promoted as Lieutenant after 3 years service as a Naval Officer – and you remained in the rank of Lieutenant for 8 long years – before being promoted as Lieutenant Commander after a total of 11 years of commissioned service. 

Those days – most of the officers on board a ship were Lieutenants – but now – after the AVS Cadre Review – the significance of rank has been so diluted – that now you probably have Commanders performing the duties of First Lieutenant (“number one” or XO) – and Captains are XO’s of shore establishments). 

Though both “X” and Me are Lieutenants – Lieutenant “X” is senior to me by around 3 years – we have enjoyed many drinking sessions together – and we have become quite good friends.

Lieutenant “X” looks at me – and he says to me: 

“Hey – can I borrow a cigarette...?”

I am surprised.

I have never seen “X” smoking.

I am under the impression that “X” is a non-smoker – so I ask him: 

“Sir, when did you start smoking...?”

“No – the cigarette is not for me – my girlfriend has run out of cigarettes...” Lieutenant “X” says – gesturing towards the lovely girl in the yellow dress.

“Sure...” I say – and I pull out the packet of cigarettes from my pocket.

I open the flap – and I extend the cigarette packet towards the girl.

“Wow...” she exclaims, “this is my brand – how come a tough looking man like you smokes this “girlie” cigarette...? This is a brand for ladies – isn’t it...?”

“Well – I like the light taste – the menthol flavour...” I say.

From the green coloured cigarette packet – she pulls out one slim long brown “girlie” cigarette wrapped in its distinctive dark-brown paper.

I light her cigarette.

She smokes in a very stylish way – and this imparts to her persona a rather sensuous and seductive sexuality.

I want to be in the company of this woman longer – so I say: 

“Why don’t you join us for a drink...?”

“No, No...” she says, “we’ve got to go – thanks for the cigarette.”

Then she looks at Lieutenant “X” – and she says to him: 

“You never told me that you get my favourite brand of cigarettes 

“duty-free” on your ship. It is so difficult to get this brand in India – and I have to pay a fortune for buying it in black in Bombay.”

“You can keep this cigarette pack...” I say to her. 

She seems hesitant.

So – I hold out the green coloured cigarette packet towards her and say to her: 

“Come on – take it – don’t feel shy – I can get plenty of cartons of this brand of cigarettes on board my ship.”

“Thanks...” she says – and she takes the cigarette pack from me – and puts it in her purse.

I am quite surprised that she accepts my offer so easily – so I say: 

“Come on – sit down with us – have a quick drink – we’ve got rum – but if you want something else – I will get it…”

“Okay – I’ll just have a swig from your glass if you feel happy...” she says.

She picks up my glass – and she takes a big swig of rum – down the hatch – and she says to me: 

“Wow – that was good. Actually – I love rum – especially with Cola.”

“If you want – I’ll get some cola…” I say.

But Lieutenant “X” interrupts me – and he says to his girlfriend: 

“Aren’t we getting late...?”

“Oh yes – we have to go...” the gorgeous fashion model says to her boyfriend Lieutenant “X”

Then – she takes a deep drag from her cigarette – and as she exhales – she is haloed by a mist of cigarette smoke – and this makes her look very tantalizing, very enticing, very sexy.

“Hey – I don’t even know your name...” I say – and I introduce myself.

“Nisha...” she says, “my name is Nisha...”

Then – she says “Bye”.

And both of them – Lieutenant “X” and Nisha – they walk away.

My mind starts imagining things.

Like most Indian men – outwardly I may appear to be “modern” and broadminded.

But inside – I am a rather old-fashioned prude – with a conservative patriarchal mindset – and I hold the rather chauvinistic view – that only “fast” women smoke and drink in public.

Yes – you can call me whatever epithets you want to – prudish, straitlaced, narrow-minded, outdated, antiquated, old-fashioned, dogmatic, chauvinist, sexist – but way back then – I associated smoking and drinking by women as a sign of loose morals and promiscuity. 

Next evening – during the Navy Ball – in the fashion show – I stand in the distance and I admire Nisha as she walks the ramp – modelling various latest fashion skimpy outfits.

Nisha looks stunning – she is easily the most glamorous model on the ramp.

But – that is the last I see of her.

After the fashion show is over – the Navy Queen contest starts – and when the beauty pageant is over – I search for Nisha all over – but she is nowhere to be seen – and – neither can I find her boyfriend Lieutenant “X”.

Maybe – they have gone somewhere – to do something more passionate than dancing...!!!

Next morning I go to meet Lieutenant “X” on his ship – but I am disappointed to learn that he has gone out for the weekend. 

The OOD says that Lieutenant “X” has taken a few days leave too – and he may come back after a week.

Unfortunately – my ship has to sail out for a long sailing – and by the time we return after a month – I learn that Lieutenant “X” has been transferred to Vizag.

I search and search – on other ships – in the hope that maybe Nisha is a “fleet auxiliary” – I search in the Mess – in the Club – I ask around – but there is no joy.

I cannot find Nisha anywhere – it seems as if she has disappeared into thin air.

Soon – I too am transferred out – and I never see Nisha again – but I can never forget Nisha – she always remains ingrained in my mind.

15 Years Later

Part 2

The Captain’s Wife

Tuesday 07 December 1993 New Delhi

The Frontier Mail reaches New Delhi on the dot at 7 PM.

At 8:30 – after a shower – I sit in the bar of Kota House Naval Officers Mess.

I have a look at the dinner menu – and – I decide to have food outside.

Unlike the Navy Mess at Mumbai – where the food is delicious – here – the menu seems to be least appetizing.

By 10:30 PM – I have imbibed 6 large pegs of rum – and I am feeling quite high.

I “top-up” my hip flask with neat rum – before the bar closes.

Then – I start walking towards Pandara Road Market.

I am familiar with the place – having lived nearby at Curzon Road Apartments – around 10 years ago.

It is a cold winter night – and as I stagger along the isolated road – I take swigs of neat rum from my hip flask – in order to warm my insides.

By the time I reach Pandara Road Market – my hip flask is empty – and I am drunk (in Navy parlance – I am feeling “nice”).

Yes – I am feeling very “nice” – and I am feeling very hungry.

To satiate my ravenous alcohol induced appetite – I have a hearty meal of Butter Chicken and Naans at Gulati (my favourite eatery in Pandara Market).

Then – I have a paan – and I light a cigarette. 

I am feeling on top of the world.

Suddenly – I see her – standing in the porch – as if waiting for someone.

I recognize her at once – it is Nisha.

I walk towards her – and I say to her: 

“Hello, Nisha...”

“Excuse me...?” she says.

There is no trace of recognition in her eyes.

“Didn’t you recognize me...?” I say.

“No – I don’t recognize you...” she says – with quite a wary expression on her face.

She seems scared.

She should be.

Any lonely lady would be scared.

Just imagine the scene.

It is midnight – and she is all alone.

And – there is a ferocious looking huge man standing in front of her – and worse – the formidable man looks like a hooligan – and seems totally drunk – with disheveled hair – unruly beard – bloodshot eyes – chewing pan – lips stained red – cigarette in hand – lurching towards her – and trying to be familiar.

“Come on, Nisha – don’t tell me that you don’t recognize me – remember that night in the Navy Command Mess at Mumbai, where you were modelling, doing rehearsals for the Navy Ball fashion show – Ah – maybe this will remind you – here – have a cigarette – see – I still smoke the same brand as you do...” I say – and I take out the green cigarette packet from my pocket – and – from the pack – I proffer a brown coloured cigarette to her.

“Please Mister – now listen to me – whoever you are – there seems to be some misunderstanding – I have never met you before – I don’t know you – I don’t smoke – and – my name is not Nisha...” she says.

“Ah – so you have stopped smoking – that’s good – and you are saying that your name is not Nisha – then may I please know your name, Ma’am...?” 

“Usha – my name is Usha...” she says. 

“Ha Ha – Usha...!!! So – from Nisha – you have become Usha...!!! Ha Ha – from “Night” (Nisha) – you have become “Morning” (Usha) – from “Darkness” – you have become “Light”...!!! Ha Ha – and now – you will tell me that you are not a Fashion Model…” 

“I am not a fashion model – I have never done modelling in my life – and now you listen – please stop bothering me and go away – my husband has gone to get the car – he will be coming anytime now – and he is a Defence Officer in the Navy…” she says, with a slight threatening tone.

“Of course I know your husband is in the Navy – his name is Captain “X” – isn’t it...?” I say.

“How do you know my husband...?” she asks, surprised.

“Come on, don’t you remember – we met in the Navy Command Mess Mumbai – in 1978 – you were with your husband “X” – of course – those days must have been his girlfriend – and you desperately wanted a cigarette – so you came over and took a cigarette from me – and you said we smoked the same brand – one slim long brown cigarette which I am smoking right now – you asked me why I smoked this “girlie” cigarette – remember – you called this a “girlie” cigarette – and you had a sip of rum from my glass too – don’t you remember – that day also you were wearing a yellow dress – and today also you wearing a yellow dress – it seems yellow is your favourite colour – and it suits you very well…”

“What nonsense...? I don’t remember anything what you are saying – and – by the way – I have never been to Mumbai…” she says angrily.

“How is that possible...?” I ask.

“Well – we have been married for 10 years – and we have been posted to Vizag, Cochin and Delhi – but we have never been posted to Mumbai – in fact – our next posting may be in Mumbai...” she says.

Then – she looks over my shoulder – and she exclaims: 

“Ah – there comes my husband.”

A car drives up and stops nearby.

I can see “X” at the steering wheel of the car.

I open the door of the car for the lady.

Then I peep inside – and I say: 

“Hi, Sir – congratulations – I saw the promotion signal last week.”

“X” recognizes me at once.

“X” gets out of the car – he walks around to me – shakes my hand – and says warmly: 

“It is really so nice to see you. How come you are in Delhi...?”

I tell him the nature of my visit.

“So – where are you put up...?” he asks.

“Kota House, Sir...” I say.

“Come on – get inside – I’ll drop you at Kota House on the way...” he says.

I get inside the car – on the rear seat – behind Mrs “X”.

As we drive towards Kota House – I say to “X”: 

“Sir – you have become a Captain – and you recognized me – but your wife refuses to recognize me – it seems your rank has gone into her head…”

“No, No – nothing like that – and – how can she recognize you – she has never met you before...” says “X”.

“Sir – I don’t know what’s wrong with you two – you both just don’t seem to remember anything – first your wife says that she has not met me – and now you too say the same thing – how can you forget that evening of the fashion show rehearsal in the Mumbai Command Mess...?” I say.

And then – I narrate the entire story of that unforgettable evening on the lawns on Navy Command Mess Mumbai on Thursday the 7^th of December 1978.

Mrs “X” seems to have turned her head slightly.

I can sense that she is hearing my words intently.

I harp again and again on the salient points – the rare “girlie” brand of cigarettes that we two smoked – his wife and Me. 

I narrate the episode of Mrs “X” swigging rum from my glass – her yellow dress – like the one she was wearing now – her stunning performance on the ramp the next evening during the Navy Ball Fashion Show.

I narrate everything in full detail.

And then – I deliver the coup de grace:

“And Sir – now your wife tells me that she has never met me. She says that she was never a fashion model. And – best of all – your wife says that she has changed her name from Nisha to Usha.”

“X” looks at me via the rear view mirror – and he says to me: 

“I think you are confused. I don’t remember any such incident. And yes – my wife’s name is Usha – not Nisha. You seem to be really confused – maybe you’ve had too much to drink ...”

I feel puzzled.

First – Mrs “X” denies it.

Now – “X” himself is denying it.

What the hell is going on...?

Suddenly – “X” says: 

“Ah – here is Kota House.” 

And – he pulls up the car beside Kota House gate.

I get out of the car – wish them good night – and then I stagger towards my cabin.

1 Day Later

Part 3

The Casanova Lieutenant turned Henpecked Captain

7 AM Wednesday 08 December 1993 Kota House Mess New Delhi

There is a loud knock on my cabin door.

I wake up – feeling groggy after last night’s excesses – and I open the door.

It is Captain “X” 

“X” looks angrily at me – and he says to me: 

“You bloody drunkard – why did you blurt out all that nonsense to my wife...? That female with me in the Navy Command Mess at Mumbai 15 years ago was someone else – not my wife. That female’s name was Nisha – and my wife’s name is Usha – they are two different persons – do you understand...?”

“Really...? Nisha and Usha – but they look so similar – and the yellow dress – so much coincidence – I am sorry – I made a mistake...” I say, feeling contrite.

“What bloody mistake – my wife is furious...” says “X”.

“You didn’t tell your wife about that female Nisha – your girlfriend in Mumbai...?” I ask.

“Are you crazy...? Of course not...!!! I have not told my wife anything about that female – it was just a passing affair...” he says.

“Oh, shit – just tell your wife that I was drunk and I was talking nonsense...” I say.

“I told her that – but she says that people who are drunk always speak the truth. You have really got me into trouble – she is suspecting all sorts of things...” he says.

“Sir – you should have told her about your girlfriend – why did you hide your past love life from your wife…?” I said.

“It is too late for all those “if’s and why’s” now – let us not discuss all that – now if you want to help me save my marriage – you just do exactly as I tell you. Come on – get ready quickly. I am taking you home for breakfast...” says “X”.

“Your home...? For breakfast...?” I ask, bewildered.

“X” looks at me – and he says to me: 

“Yes. 

You are coming with me right now. 

You will tell my wife Usha that it was not me who you met that night in Mumbai – but someone else. 

Do you understand – you never met me in the Navy Command Mess in Mumbai that evening in 1978 when I was with Nisha. 

And – you will tell my wife Usha that you have never met her in your life before yesterday evening 

Do you understand – you will tell my wife Usha that you were mistaken about meeting me and her in Command Mess that evening – it was someone else – some other Navy couple – and you made a mistake – you were drunk – you got confused. 

You have to convince my wife Usha somehow – do you understand...?”

“Yes, Sir...” I say.

“And remember – my wife’s name is Usha – not Nisha. In fact – you will never utter the name Nisha again – that chapter is over, finished, closed forever – do you understand...?”  he warns me.

“Aye Aye, Sir...” I say.

“X” drives me down to his house for breakfast.

I do exactly as I am told.

I tell Mrs “X” (Usha) exactly what her husband “X” had asked me to tell her.

But – whether Mrs “X” is convinced or not – I do not know.

Once the seed of suspicion is sown – the mind can think all sorts of things – and even go berserk in strange directions.

After breakfast at his home – as “X” drives me back to the Kota House Mess – I look at “X” – and I wonder: 

“Was Nisha his only pre-marital love affair...? 

Or – like a quintessential sailor – did he have a girl in every port...?”

VIKRAM KARVE

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Disclaimer:

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

2. All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the stories are a figment of my imagination. The characters do not exist and are purely imaginary. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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