Showing posts with label grandparent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparent. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

The Grandmother


THE GRANDMOTHER
A Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

I recognized her at once.

She was my course-mate’s wife.

It was 7 o’clock in the morning.

She was standing with a little boy who was wearing school uniform.

The school-bus arrived.

She kissed the little boy on the cheek.

The small boy waved her goodbye and got into the school-bus.

The school-bus departed.

She turned around.

And – she saw me.

She recognized me.

She smiled at me – and walked towards me.

“What are you doing here…” she asked me.

I said to her:

“I have been watching you for 5 minutes – but you were so engrossed in the little boy that you didn’t even notice me…”

“He is my grandson…” she said.

“I thought as much…” I said.

“My grandson is the only thing I have got in my life…” she said.

“What about your daughter…?” I asked her.

“She is there – but she is very busy with her work…” she said.

“Oh – so you are doing “nanny duties” in your daughter’s house…?”

“What to do…? She lives all alone – and she has such a busy career – so I have to look after her son…”

“You daughter lives all alone…? What about her husband…?”

“My daughter is divorced…”

“Oh – I am sorry to hear that. What happened…? Why did she get divorced…?”

“Compatibility Issues…!!!”

“If “compatibility issues” was a reason to get divorced – all of us would have got divorced long back – especially you and…” 

I instantly regretted my words.

So – I said to her:

“I am sorry…”

“It’s okay. He passed away so many years ago. I have got over it long ago…” she said.

“Yes. 25 years. He was a dear friend – and – of course – he was my course-mate since our academy days…”

“My daughter was just 12 years old then – now she is 37 – I brought her up on my own…”

“I know – it must have been tough – but full credit must go to you…”

“My daughter has done really well – she topped in her engineering course – and now – she is working for the best Software Company – and she is doing really well in her career…”

“That’s really good…” I said.

“The only bad thing that happened is that her marriage broke up…” my course-mate’s wife said.

“But you are there for her…” I said.

“Yes – I am living with her for the last 9 years – ever since my grandson was born…”

“Oh…”

“My daughter – she got divorced 6 years ago – and since then – she has immersed herself so much in her career – that she has absolutely no time – and I am looking after my grandson – doing everything – as if he was my own son…”

“That’s really great of you…” I said to her.

She looked at me and said:

“I have been talking all about myself. What about you…? What are you doing here in Pune…? And that too in our residential township…” she said.

“Well – I retired from the Navy last year…”

“Settled in Pune…?”

“No. I have gone back to my hometown – we have a huge ancestral home there…”

“Oh. So – visiting someone…?”

“Yes…” I said, “My uncle lives here – in “E” Building. You may know him – Mr. “XXX”…”

“This is such a huge gated community – I don’t even know the people living in my own building. Out here – life is different as compared to Navy Townships – everyone keeps to themselves…” she said, “and I am so busy looking after my grandson – that I really don’t have any time for anyone else…”

“Let’s go and meet your daughter – the last time I saw her she was a small girl…” I said.

“She is not at home…”

“Does she go to work so early…? I thought “IT Firms” open quite late – after 9…”

“My daughter has gone abroad for 3 months – to the US – for a project…”

“Oh…”

“She has to travel a lot for work…”

“And you are there to look after her son…”

“Yes – I told you – my entire life revolves around my grandson…” she said.

I spent a week in Pune.

During that week – I met my course-mate’s wife every day in the morning when I went for my morning walk – and – she invited me home a couple of times for tea and dinner too.

I saw that my course-mate’s wife was devoted to her grandson.

Her entire routine revolved around her grandson – dropping him on the school-bus – picking him up after school – taking him for various tuition and hobby “classes” – monitor him as the young boy played sports or had a swim – his meals – his studies – everything – she did more for her grandson than normal mothers do for their children.

She was constantly with her grandson – not leaving him alone even for a minute.

Once – I said to her:

“You are getting too attached to your grandson. Remember – he is not your son…”

On hearing this – she got angry – and she said to me:

“Don’t say such things – he is more than a son – I love him much more than people love their own children – and he loves me too – even more than his own mother. I told you that my grandson is the only thing I have got in my life. He is the light of my life…”

It was true – her grandson loved her very much – he was indeed the “light” of her life.

10 YEARS LATER

I visited Pune 10 years later to see the same uncle.

But this time – I went to visit him in the “Assisted Living” facility of an “old age home”.

My uncle was suffering from dementia – he had been afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease.

He was in bad shape.

I felt very depressed after meeting him. 

As I was walking towards the main gate of the “old age home” – I saw my course-mate’s wife coming out of the reception office of the “old age home”.

Yes – it was her – my course-mate’s wife – who I had met 10 years ago – the woman who loved her grandson so much.

I smiled at her.

She smiled back.

I said to her:

“So – you’ve come to meet someone here…?”

“I live here…” she said.

“You live in this “old age home”…?” I asked her, surprised.

“Yes…” she said, “you were right. I shouldn’t have got attached to my grandson so much…”

And then – she broke into tears. 

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Disclaimer:
All stories in this blog are a work of fiction. Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the story 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.

Copyright Notice:
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 (all rights reserved)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.
 

Saturday, December 30, 2017

Mother of a Single Mother

A Single Mother and Her Mother 
Fiction Short Story 
By
VIKRAM KARVE

“Dramatis Personae”

S: A Single Mother

M: Her Mother (Mother of the Single Mother) 

“S” and “M” are having a conversation after dinner… 

S: How can you stay with such a horrible man…?

M: He is your father. Speak respectfully about him.

S: I know he is my father. But I am surprised how are living with him for 36 years.

M: He is my husband.

S: Yes – a most terrible and cruel husband. I don’t understand why you tolerated his cruelty for all these years…?

M: Cruelty…? What are you saying…? Your father has never been cruel to me.

S: He keeps shouting at you – in fact – he just yelled at you during dinner.

M: That is his nature – but – he doesn’t mean it at all.

S: I have seen him shouting at you in public. I don’t understand how you can tolerate such insults…?

M: I know – sometimes he reacts impulsively – that is a fault of his. But otherwise – he has been a very good husband.

S: Good Husband…? You call such an uncouth man a “good husband”…?

M: He has always been loyal to me.

S: “Loyal”…? What are you trying to imply…?

M: No nothing…

S: Are you talking about my divorce…?

M: No. Let’s not talk about that…

S: My husband tried to treat me like a “doormat” – so – I taught him a lesson. But just look at you...? You have meekly accepted being a “doormat” all your life while your husband walks all over you.

M: He is a good man. He has looked after me well – and you too – he ensured that you got the best possible education.

S: That was his duty…

M: Duty…? He worked hard so that we had everything – house, money, a comfortable life, whatever things we wanted – even now – he takes care of all my needs – he never says “No” whenever I want anything. He was the “breadwinner” – and even now – after he has retired – it is his pension and savings that keep us comfortable…”

S: Oh. So – that is the real reason why you are living with him despite his arrogant behavior – you are “financially dependent” on him…

M: No. It has got nothing to do with that.

S: Of course it has got everything to do with that – I could leave my husband because I am “financially independent”.

M: You made a mistake – you could have adjusted – and also – just because you had a fight with your husband doesn’t mean that you...”

S: I told you that I don’t want to talk about that…

M: Then – what do you want to talk about…?

S: I want you leave that horrible man – and – you come and stay with me…

M: What…? You want me leave your father – and you want me to come and stay with you…? Are you mad…? How can I leave my husband just like that…?

S: You have suffered him for your entire life just because you were “financially dependent” on him. Now – there is no need for you to meekly tolerate his insulting behavior…

M: What do you mean…?

S: You come and live with me in Mumbai. You will be more comfortable over there than in your small stuffy flat over here. I have moved into an even more luxurious house than the one you saw last time when you visited – you will have all the facilities you want over there – I will keep a car and driver at your disposal whenever you want…

M: And what about your father…?

S: He can stay back here…

M: What are you saying…? You want me to live there in Mumbai with you – and – you want him to live all alone over here…?

S: He is quite capable of staying alone…

M: But – why should he stay all alone…?

S: Because I want you to stay with me and have a comfortable life. After suffering all these years of tyranny – living with that oppressive man – you deserve a bit of happiness and freedom…

M: He is your father. Yes – he may be a bit dominating – but – that is between him and me. I don’t like you talking like this…

S: Okay. Okay. I will not talk about that obnoxious man. Let him remain here. I am taking you with me to Mumbai tomorrow – I am going to “liberate” you from slavery…

M: What…? Tomorrow…? How can I come with you to Mumbai leaving your father all alone over here…?

S: Please mummy – no discussion now. We are flying tomorrow to Mumbai – I have already booked your ticket. Now you go inside and start packing your bags. I have to make an important call…

EPILOGUE

The Daughter “S” goes out into the balcony.

She looks at her smartphone.

It is past 9 o’clock at night.

Normally – she wouldn’t think of disturbing her boss at this late hour – but the matter is most important.

She dials the number of her boss.

After a few rings – she hears the voice of her boss.

“Hello…” her boss says.

“Sir – I have decided to accept the assignment – I want the promotion…” she says to her boss.

“Are you sure…? This job requires a lot of travel – you will be out of town for almost 20 days every month…” the boss says.

“I know, Sir…”

“Who is going to look after your small daughter when you are away…?”

“I have made arrangements…”

“Arrangements…? A “Nanny”…?”

“I am bringing my mother to Mumbai to stay with me – she will look after my daughter…”  

Story to be continued in “Mother of a Single Mother” Part 2...

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

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.

Copyright Notice:
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 (all rights reserved)
 

This is a repost of my story A Single Mother and Her Mother posted online by me Vikram Karve earlier in my blogs at urls http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2017/05/a-single-mother-and-her-mother.html and https://karve.wordpress.com/2017/11/11/single-mother-and-her-mother/ etc 

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Lovedale

LOVEDALE 
Short Fiction - A Love Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

Here is one of my earliest pieces of short fiction, a story from my collection of short stories about relationships COCKTAIL
 
I wrote this story sometime in the early 1990s  after a visit to Lovedale  around 24 years ago  and it still remains one of my all time favourite stories. 

The story is set in the Nilgiris. 

On the blue “toy-train” of the Nilgiri Blue Mountain Railway . 

Lovedale is a story of Changing Relationships. 

Yes, there is a place called Lovedale with a cute little Railway Station which is the highest Railway Station in South India, and maybe in India

I have lived in Lovedale for 6 years in the 1960s for my schooling in a boarding school and wonder whether Lovedale is still the same quaint little place as it was back then.

As I told you this is a longish story was written be by me long ago, 24 years ago, in old fashioned style  and  Dear Reader  I am sure you will enjoy reading this story and reflect on it too.

Read on and tell me if you liked the story. I look forward to your comments and feedback.


LOVEDALE - a love story by Vikram Karve

Lovedale.

A quaint little station on the Nilgiri Mountain Railway that runs from Mettupalayam in the plains up the Blue Mountains on a breathtaking journey to beautiful Ooty, the Queen of Hill Stations.

On Lovedale Railway Station there is just one small platform – and on it  towards its southern end  there is a solitary bench.

If you sit on this bench you will see in front of you  beyond the railway track  an undulating valley, covered with eucalyptus trees  and in the distance  the silhouette of a huge structure  which looks like a castle  with an impressive clock-tower.

In this mighty building is located a famous boarding school – one of the best schools in India

Many such elite schools are known more for snob value than academic achievements  but this one is different – it is a prestigious public school famous for its rich heritage and tradition of excellence.  

Lovedale  in 1970.

That is all there is in Lovedale – this famous public school, a small tea-estate called Lovedale (from which this place got its name), a tiny post office – and  of course  the lonely railway platform with its solitary bench.

It’s a cold damp depressing winter morning, and since the school is closed for winter, the platform is deserted except for two people – yes, just two persons – a woman and a small girl, shivering in the morning mist, sitting on the solitary bench.

It’s almost 9 o’clock – time for the morning “toy-train” from the plains carrying tourists via Coonoor to Ooty, the “Queen” of hill-stations, just three kilometres ahead - the end of the line.

But this morning the train is late, probably because of the dense fog and the drizzle on the mountain-slopes, and it will be empty – for there are hardly any tourists in this cold and damp winter season.
  
“I’m dying to meet mummy. And this stupid train – it’s always late,” the girl says.

The girl is dressed in her school uniform – gray blazer, thick gray woollen skirt, navy-blue stockings, freshly polished black shoes, her hair tied smartly in two small plaits with black ribbons.
  
The woman, 55 – maybe 60  dressed in a white sari with a thick white shawl draped over her shoulder and a white scarf around her head covering her ears, looks lovingly at the girl.

The woman softly takes the girl’s hand in her own  and  she says to the girl: “It will come. The train will come. Look at the weather. The driver can hardly see in this mist. And it must be raining down there in Ketti valley.”
  
“I hate this place. It’s so cold and lonely. Everyone has gone home for the winter holidays and we have nowhere to go. Why do we have to spend our holidays here every time?”
  
“You know we can’t stay with her in the hostel.”
  
“But her training is over now. And she’s become an executive – that’s what she wrote.”
   
“Yes. Yes. She is an executive now. After two years of tough training. Very creditable  after all that has happened,” the old woman says.
  
“She has to take us to Mumbai with her now. We can’t stay here any longer. No more excuses now.”

“Even I don’t want to stay here. It’s cold and I am old. Let your mummy come. This time we’ll tell her to take us all to Mumbai.”

“And we’ll all stay together – like we did before God took Daddy away.”

“Yes. Mummy will go to work. You will go to school. And I will look after the house and all of you. Just like before.”

“Only Daddy won’t be there. Why did God take Daddy away?” the girl says, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Don’t think those sad things. We cannot change what has happened. You must be brave – like your mummy,” says the old lady putting her hand softly around the girl.

The old lady closes her eyes in sadness. There is no greater pain than to remember happier times when in distress.

Meanwhile the toy-train is meandering its way laboriously round the steep u-curve, desperately pushed by a hissing steam engine, as it leaves Wellington station on its way to Ketti.

A man and a woman sit facing each other in the tiny first class compartment. 

There is no one else in the compartment.

“You must tell her today,” the man says.

“Yes,” the woman replies softly.
   
“You should have told her before.”
  
“Told her before...? How...? When...?”

“You could have written, called her up. I told you so many times.”

“How can I be so cruel...?”

“Cruel...? What’s so cruel about it...?”
   
“I don’t know how she will react. She loved her father very much.”
  
“Now she will have to love me. I am her new father now.”
  
“Yes, I know,” the woman says, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know how to tell her; how she’ll take it. I think we should wait for some time. Baby is very sensitive.”

“Baby! Why do you still call her Baby...? She is a grown up girl now. You must call her by her real name. Damayanti – what a nice name – and you call her Baby...!”

“It’s her pet name. Deepak always liked to call her Baby.”

“Well I don’t like it...! It’s childish, ridiculous...!” the man says firmly, “Anyway, all that we can sort out later. But you tell her about us today. Tell both of them.”

“You want me to tell both of them right now...? My mother-in-law also...? What will she feel...? She will be shocked...!”
  
“She’ll understand.”
  
“Poor thing. She will be all alone.”

“Stop saying ‘poor thing... poor thing’. She’ll be okay. She’s got her work to keep her busy.”

“She’s old and weak. I don’t think she’ll be able to do that matron’s job much longer.”

“Let her work till she can. At least it will keep her occupied. Then we’ll see.”
   
“Can’t we take her with us...?”
   
“You know it’s not possible.”
   
“It’s so sad. She was so good to me. Where will she go...? We can’t abandon her just like that...!”

“Abandon...? Nobody is abandoning her. Don’t worry. If she doesn’t want to stay on here, I’ll arrange something – I know an excellent place near Lonavala. She will be very comfortable there – it’s an ideal place for senior citizens like her.”

“You want to me to put her in an Old-Age Home...?”
  
“Call it what you want but actually it’s quite a luxurious place. She’ll be happy there. I’ve already spoken to them. Let her continue here till she can. Then we’ll shift her there.”
  
“I can’t be that cruel and heartless to my mother-in-law. She was so loving and good to me, treated me like her own daughter, and looked after Baby, when we were devastated. And now we discard her when she needs us most,” the woman says, and starts sobbing.
  
“Come on Kavita. Don’t get sentimental,. You have to face the harsh reality. You know we can’t take your mother-in-law with us. And by the way  she is your ex-mother-in-law now."

"How can you say that...?"

"Come on, Kavita, don't get too sentimental...you must begin a new life now...there is no point carrying the baggage of your past...” the man realizes he has said something wrong and he instantly apologizes, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“You did mean it...! That’s why you said it...! I hate you, you are so cruel, mean and selfish,” the woman says, turns away from the man and looks out of the window.

They travel in silence, an uneasy disquieting silence.

Suddenly it is dark, as the train enters a tunnel, and as it emerges on the other side, the woman can see the vast lush green Ketti Valley with its undulating mountains in the distance.
  
“Listen Kavita, I think I’ll also get down with you at Lovedale. I’ll tell them. Explain everything. And get over with it once and for all,” the man says.
  
“No! No! I don’t even want them to see you. The sudden shock may upset them. I have to do this carefully. Please don’t get down at Lovedale. Go straight to Ooty. I’ll tell them everything and we’ll do as we decided.”
  
“I was only trying to help you, Kavita. Make things easier for everyone. I want to meet Damayanti. Tell her about us. I’m sure she’ll love me and understand everything.”
   
“No, please. Let me do this. I don’t want her to see you before I tell her. She’s a very sensitive girl. I don’t know how she’ll react. I’ll have to do it very gently.”

“Okay,” the man says. “Make sure you wind up everything at the school. We have to leave for Mumbai tomorrow. There is so much to be done. We’ve hardly got any time left.”
   
The steam engine pushing the train huffs and puffs up the slope round the bend under the bridge. “Lovedale station is coming,” the woman says. 

She gets up and takes out her bag from the shelf.

“Sure you don’t want me to come with you to the school...?” asks the man.
   
“No. Not now. You go ahead to Ooty. I’ll ring you up,” says the woman.
   
“Okay. But tell them everything. We can’t wait any longer.”
   
“Just leave everything to me. Don’t make it more difficult.”

They sit in silence  looking out of different windows  waiting for Lovedale railway station to come.

On the solitary bench on the platform at Lovedale Railway Station  the girl  and  her grandmother – both of them wait patiently for the train which will bring their deliverance.
  
“I hate it over here in boarding school. I hate the cold scary dormitories. At night I miss mummy tucking me in. And every night I count DLFMTC...”

“DLFMTC... ?”
   
“Days Left For Mummy To Come...! Others count DLTGH – Days Left To Go Home...”

“Next time you too …”

“No. No. I am not going to stay here in boarding school. I don’t know why we came here to this horrible place. I hate boarding school. I miss mummy so much. We could have stayed on in Mumbai with her.”
  
“Now we will be all staying in Mumbai. Your mummy’s training is over. She can hire a house now. Or get a loan. We will try to buy a good house. I’ve saved some money too.”

The lone station-master of the forlorn Lovedale Railway Station strikes the bell outside his office.

The occupants of the solitary bench look towards their left.

There is no one else on the platform.

And suddenly the train emerges from under the bridge – pushed by the hissing steam engine.
  
Only one person gets down from the train – a beautiful woman, around 30.

The girl runs into her arms.

The old woman walks towards her with a welcoming smile.

The man, sitting in the train, looks furtively, cautious not to be seen.

A whistle; and the train starts and moves out of Lovedale station towards Fern Hill tunnel on its way to Ooty – the end of the line.
   
That evening the small girl and her granny sit near the fireplace with the girl’s mother eating dinner – and  the woman tells them everything. 

Yes – the woman talks to the old woman (her mother-in-law) and the small girl (her daughter) – and  she tells them everything - from the beginning to the end – just as the man had asked her to do.

At noon the next day  four people wait at Lovedale Railway Station for the train which comes from Ooty and goes down to the plains – the girl, her mother, her grandmother and the man.

The girl presses close to her grandmother – and – she looks at her new father” with trepidation. 

The man gives the girl a smile of forced geniality.

The old woman holds the girl tight to her body  and – she looks at the man with distaste.

The young woman looks with awe  mixed with hope  at her new husband.

They all stand in silence. 

No one speaks. 

Time stands still. 

And suddenly – the train enters.

“I don’t want to go...” the girl cries, clinging to her grandmother.

“Don’t you want to stay with your mummy...? You hate boarding school don’t you...? ” the man says, extending his hand towards the girl.

The girl recoils and says: “No. No. I like it here. I don’t want to come. I like boarding school. I want to stay here.”

“Come Baby  we have to go...” her mother says, as tears well up in her eyes.

“What about Granny...? How will she stay here all alone...? Mummy  please don’t go. You also stay here. We all will stay here. Let this man go to Mumbai...” the girl pleads to her mother.

“Damayanti  I am your new father...” the man says firmly to the girl.

And then  the man turns to the young woman  and – he says in a commanding voice to her: “Kavita. Come. The train is going to leave.”

“Go Baby. Be a good girl. I will be okay,” says the old woman, releasing the girl.

As her mother gently holds her arm and guides her towards the train  for the first time in her life  the girl feels that her mother’s hand is like the clasp of an iron gate  like manacles.
   
“I will come and meet you in Mumbai. I promise...” the grandmother says, fighting back her tears.

But  the girl feels scared – something inside tells her she that may never see her grandmother again.
  
As the train heads towards the plains  the old woman begins to walk her longest mile – her loneliest mile – into emptiness, a void.

Poor old Lovedale Railway Station. 

It wants to cry. 

It tries to cry. 

But  it cannot even a shed a tear. 

For it is not human. 

So it suffers its sorrow in inanimate helplessness  powerless  hapless  a silent spectator  and a mute witness.

Yes – Lovedale helplessly watches love being torn apart.

Love being torn apart at Lovedale  a pity, isn't it...?

Yes  a pity  a real pity...!

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright © Vikram Karve 
1. If you share this post, please give due credit to the author Vikram Karve
2. Please DO NOT PLAGIARIZE. Please DO NOT Cut/Copy/Paste this post
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Disclaimer:
This story is a work of fiction.  Events, Places, Settings and Incidents narrated in the story 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.

Copyright Notice
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 (All Rights Reserved)

Copyright © Vikram Karve (all rights reserved)