Metamorphosis at Sunset – A Story for Republic Day

METAMORPHOSIS AT SUNSET

Short Fiction - A STORY FOR REPUBLIC DAY 

By

VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

Here is a fiction short story I wrote many years ago on Republic Day... 

METAMORPHOSIS AT SUNSET – Story by Vikram Karve

"How was your day?" she asks.

"Terrible," he says.

"Terrible?" 

"Everything is rotten out here! This country is going to the dogs because of this bloody corruption! They must do something about it."

"They? What 'they'? Who is this 'they'...?"

"I don't know. And I don't care, because I am getting out of here once and for all."

"Sanjiv, come on, how can you be so sure things are better out there? At least here, in our country, we are treated properly."

"Treated properly? My foot! Only the corrupt and powerful, the rich and wealthy, are having a ball. If you're honest, life is hell. They treat you like dirt. But one thing is sure. Once I'm an NRI, I'll be treated better. Look at way they pamper these NRI and expat chaps - they get all the top jobs, the dough, the recognition, the honors. It is pathetic, the way we put them on a pedestal - they enjoy best of both worlds and we even bestow them with all sorts of accolades and awards!"

"What rubbish!"

"Rubbish? Here, look at the newspaper. Just count the the number of NRI and PIO names in the Republic Day Awards List...!!!"

(NB: In the year I wrote this story – a number of NRIs/PIOs/OCIs had got Republic Day Awards)

"These NRIs and PIOs – they must have done something for the country..." she says. 

"Oh, yeah...!!! Sure. They have done something for the country. But which country...? Have they done anything for us...?" he says. 

"What do you mean?"

"All they've done is make money for the foreign company they work for over there – and earned money and glory for themselves."

"So what is wrong with that...? If they India is awarding them – they may have done something ..."

"Done something...? Of course these NRIs and PIOs may have done something for the country they live in – for America – or for England – or wherever they live. But what have they done for India...?"

"Come on – don't be so bitter."

"Bitter? Why should I not be bitter. We pamper those who leave the country and go abroad – and we ignore the poor guys who stay behind to serve the country. It is very funny – and very sad. This country values "Non Resident Indians" but doesn't care a damn for its very own "Resident Indians" – it seems we still haven't got over the "Colonial Raj" hangover."

"Just forget all this Sanjiv and think positively. You've got a chance to stay here and do something, haven't you? Sanjiv. Don't go. Please!"

"Don't go? Please? Come on, Nalini. What's wrong with you? Why the hell should I stay here?"

"The IAS is the best thing in the world." 

"Oh yeah! Tell me. What's so great about rotting away in some back-of-the-beyond town in the moffusil – places whose names you only hear only on Vividh Bharati..."

"Come off it – it's not all that bad."

"And the bloody grovelling and kowtowing the powers that be all your life?"

"The pay, the perks. "

"Pay, Perks? What are you talking about? I've told you about the mind-boggling amount I'm going to get out there, haven't I? What I will get here is peanuts compared to what I will earn there."

"So it's Seattle – not Mussoorie?"

"Yes. It's final. I've nothing left here now."

"Nothing?" tears start to well up in her eyes.

He puts his arms around her and says: "Please Nalini don't make it difficult for me."

"I'm thirsty. Come – let's have some chilled milk."

   

Hand in hand, the man and the woman cross Marine Drive, and amble to the Jai Jawan Stall, and order some chilled milk.

Suddenly a policeman arrives, bangs his lathi on the counter and shouts rudely at the old man inside the stall: "Abe Saale – Hafta kyon nahi deta...?"

"I am a war veteran disabled soldier..." the Jawan says proudly stamping his crutch on the ground in anger, "I lost my leg in combat, serving the nation".

"So what...? Just pay up, you one-legged cripple – or I'll shove that crutch up your... "

Something suddenly snaps inside Sanjiv – and he is filled with a terrible rage.

Sanjiv suddenly turns, catches the cop's collar, shoves him roughly, and shouts: "You just get out."

  

The stunned cop slowly recovers, he talks on his cell phone – and within seconds – a police jeep appears – and they are all whisked away to the police station.

"Saale..." the inspector says menacingly, "assaulting a policeman on duty... "

"Sir..." a constable interrupts, "we found this in his pocket."

The constable hands over a paper to the inspector.

The inspector reads it – he looks at Sanjiv – and he goes inside to his superior's office. 

They discuss and reach a conclusion. 

There is no point taking punga with IAS types – even if he is just going to be a probationer. 

The inspector comes out and looks at Sanjiv. 

"You are going to be IAS. You shouldn't do these things..." the inspector says politely to Sanjiv. 

There is a total metamorphosis in tye inspector's demeanor. 

Then the inspector sends his jeep to drop them back at the Jai Jawan Stall on Marine Drive.

"Thank you, Sahab. We need young people like you to sort things out..." the disabled soldier at the Jai Jawan says gratefully, as they sip the deliciously soothing chilled milk.

"Hey, let's watch sunset..." Nalini says.

They cross Marine Drive, run to the parapet and watch the breathtakingly beautiful spectacle as the tranquil blue sea begins to swallow the orange ball and the crimson rays dancing in the sky slowly dissolve into twilight.

"Your last sunset in India, isn't it...?" she says, tears in her eyes.

He takes her in his arms, and they kiss, slow and prolonged, as if it were their first and last kiss.

And when it is finally over, Sanjiv looks into Nalini's eyes and says: 

"Nalini, I am not going there. I have decided to stay here – where I belong. I am going join the IAS and do something for my country and my people."

"Really...? Why...? What happened...?" Nalini exults in incredulous delight.

Sanjiv does not answer. 

He looks into Nalini's eyes.

Then he tenderly puts his arm around her and together they watch the awesome metamorphosis at sunset. 

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, 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. This story is a work of fiction. 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)

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

This story was first written by me Vikram Karve many years ago and and posted online by me earlier in my Blogs a number of times inlcuding at urls: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2012/01/republic-day-story-metamorphosis-at.html and http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2013/01/a-story-for-republic-day-metamorphosis.html  and http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2014/01/metamorphosis-at-sunset-on-eve-of.html etc 

War Poem for Jingoistic “Armchair Generals” – Dulce et Decorum est

When I watch jingoistic war-mongering on TV debates – I am reminded of this war poem...

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

A WAR POEM FOR “ARMCHAIR GENERALS” and JINGOISTS

Ramblings of a Retired Veteran

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Here is a poem by Wilfred Owen I read in school – the poem is about the horrors of war and was written during the First World War (when Chlorine Gas was used as a weapon).

Nevertheless – this classic piece of war poetry is relevant even today – where soldiers continue to die every day – and jingoists – who may not have seen a shot fired in anger – continue to exhort soldiers to die for their country – while they themselves remain safely ensconced in their homes.

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 

Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud 

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori

Wilfred Owen

8 October 1917 - March, 1918

From the War Poetry  Website: http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

“DULCE ET DECORUM EST” are the first words of a Latin saying (taken from an ode by Horace).

The words were widely understood and often quoted at the start of the First World War.

They mean “It is sweet and right”

The full saying ends the poem:

“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”

(It is sweet and right to die for your country)

In other words:

It is a wonderful and great honour to fight and die for your country.

The poet calls this “THE OLD LIE”

Do you agree...?

Is it right for jingoistic politicians, “armchair generals”, media-persons, veterans, academicians, journalists, bureaucrats and assorted civilians to indulge in warmongering – and exhort the soldier to die for his country – while they themselves are safely ensconced in their offices and homes – in peaceful places like Delhi and Mumbai – far away from combat zones...? 

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 revised repost of my blog post DULCE ET DECORUM EST A WAR POEM FOR “ARMCHAIR GENERALS” and JINGOISTS written by me Vikram Karve more then 4 years ago in 2013/2014 and posted online in my blog at urls: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2013/10/a-war-poem-for-armchair-generals.html  and  http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2014/02/dulce-et-decorum-est-war-poem-for.html  etc

Musings of a Veteran on the Eve of Independence Day – Jingoism and Patriotism

JINGOISM and PATRIOTISM

Musings of a Veteran

By

VIKRAM KARVE

NB: The generic term “soldier” covers all uniformed personnel of the Armed Forces (Army, Navy and Air Force) 

Musings of a Veteran on the Eve of Independence Day – Jingoism and Patriotism 

Nowadays – we see plenty of jingoism. 

Many individuals – especially politicians – feel that jingoism is a substitute for patriotism.

How many politicians have their children serving in the Armed Forces...?

What about rich industrialists and businessmen – civil servants and corporate executives – or the urban middle-class – are any of their children serving in the Defence Services...?

Nowadays – even Defence Officers are not motivating their children to don military uniform.

And it is mostly these persons – especially politicians – who keep making jingoistic statements about war and teaching our adversaries a lesson.

Jingoists want the soldier to risk his life and limb – while they themselves will remain safe and secure.

Haven’t you seen some politicians – who want layers of security to protect them – but expect the soldier to sacrifice his life for the nation.

Are there any politicians who are willing to risk their own lives for the nation – or motivate their children to the join the defence services?

If you see today’s self-serving politicians – you won’t believe it – but long ago – there were exceptional politicians who were genuinely patriotic – who ready to risk their own lives for the nation – and led by personal example.

One shining example is the inimitable Biju Patnaik (05 Mar 1916 – 17 Apr 1997).

His heroic exploits as a pilot in the Royal Indian Air Force in the early 1940’s during World War II were legendary.

Later – after independence – when he had become a politician – he took to the skies again and undertook daredevil flights to airlift army troops into Kashmir during the 1947 War Operations.

He was always ready to work shoulder-to-shoulder with the soldier.

Biju Patnaik demonstrated that he was a true “soldier” and politician.

He was prepared to put his life in danger for the sake of the nation when required.

Is there any politician today who can emulate such stalwarts...?

Times have changed.

Politics is no longer a profession of sacrifice.

Politicians do not want to put their lives in danger.

Politicians are no longer prepared to suffer physical discomfort.

That is why they politicians like to monitor things from a safe distance – while the soldier slogs it out in the field.

Will politicians change for the better...?

Let us hope so.

Till such time that happens:

Soldiers will slog incessantly in war and peace.

Soldiers will do the dangerous work and risk their lives.

On the other hand – politicians will indulge in jingoism and rhetoric.

And – shameless politicians will fight with each other to claim credit for the soldier’s achievements.

Before you resort to jingoistic rhetoric – you must remember that:

Jingoism is not a substitute for Patriotism.

Genuine Patriotism is far superior to a show of Jingoism.

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. 

This is a revised repost of my article first published by me under the title SOLDIER AND POLITICIAN on June 2013 and this article was first posted online by me Vikram Karve on 26 June 2013 in my blog at url: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2013/06/soldier-and-politician.html and reposted later at url: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2015/08/jingoism-is-not-substitute-for.html

Republic Day Story : January 26

In the occasion of Republic Day, here is a story from my Creative Writing Archives.

I wrote this story 3 years ago on the eve of Republic Day – on 25 January 2013 – to be precise.

I feel it is still relevant.

Do tell me if you like it.

Wish You a Happy Republic Day 26 January 2016.

JANUARY 26

Republic Day Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

January 26

Republic Day of India.

6:30 AM.

A cold morning.

A woman sits on a bench on the solitary platform of Girinagar Railway Station.

She looks at her watch.

Then she looks towards the Railway Track.

She has a worried expression on her face.

The Station Master comes out of his office holding two flags, one green and one red.

He sees the woman and smiles at her.

The woman gets up from the bench and asks the station master, “Is the shuttle late?”

“Yes, the shuttle has been delayed. The express train is being stopped here. The shuttle has been detained at the outer signal and will arrive here after the express train goes away.”

“Oh, My God…!!!”

“What happened?” asks the station master.

“I don’t want to be late for the Republic Day function in our school,” the woman says.

“What time is the function?”

“7:30. The normal school time.”

“Oh.”

“I hope I will reach in time,” the woman says anxiously.

“I don’t think so,” the station master says.

“Why? What happened?” the woman asks.

“Well, normally the shuttle leaves here at 6:25 and reaches the Junction at 7:10,” the station master says.

“That’s right. And it is just a 10 minute walk down to school. I’ll reach in time even if my train is a few minutes late, isn’t it?” the woman says.

The station master looks at his watch, then looks at the woman, and he says, “Well, I really can’t say. From here to the junction, it is 45 minutes running time for the shuttle train. The express is expected to arrive at 6:45 and will be detained here for about 10 minutes. By the time the shuttle arrives and leaves it will easily be 7 o’clock. Even if it makes up time, the shuttle train will not be able to reach the junction by 7:30. And then, you still have a 10 minute walk to school. I don’t think you will be able to reach your school by 7:30.”

“Oh, My God. I will be in trouble if I am late for the Republic Day function. It will be so humiliating,” the woman says in an anxious voice with nervousness written all over her face.

“You have got a first class pass, haven’t you?” the station master asks.

“Yes,” the woman says.

“Then don’t worry. You can travel by the express in the air-conditioned coach. I will tell the TTE to permit you. The express will take less than 15 minutes to reach the junction and you will be there latest by 7:10 and you can easily reach your school well before 7:30.”

“Thank you so much.”

“What ‘Thank You’? You are like my daughter. This is the least I can do for you.”

“Why is the express stopping here?” the woman asks.

“The express train is being stopped here for Colonel Ashok,” the station master says.

Suddenly the telephone rings and the station master rushes inside his office.

The woman closes her eyes and remembers the station master’s words:

“The express train is being stopped here for Colonel Ashok”

Those words slice through the woman’s heart like a knife slices through butter.

“So Ashok is a Colonel now. A big shot. Big enough to get the express train stopped for him at Girinagar where even the fast passenger does not halt,” the woman says to herself.

Then the woman is filled with hate and regret.

As the woman remembers her days with Ashok – her thoughts become bitter – and she says to herself:

“Had it not been for the scheming bitch Menaka who mesmerized Ashok with her enticing charms and stole him away from me – today I would been Mrs. Ashok – Yes, it is me who should have rightfully been Mrs. Ashok – I would have been a Colonel’s Wife – a Memsahib.”

Suddenly, the shrill whistle of the diesel engine of the express train disturbs her train of thoughts and the express train arrives on the platform.

The air-conditioned coach stops right in front of her. 

In the door of the coach stands Menaka, Ashok’s wife.

Menaka sees the woman on the platform and smiles at her.

But the woman does not return the smile. 

The woman turns her face away from Menaka.

But the woman furtively looks at the door of the air-conditioned coach with the corner of her eyes trying to catch a glimpse of Ashok.

The big show-off that he is, the woman is sure that Ashok will be all dressed up in his resplendent army uniform strutting like a peacock.

But there is no sign of Colonel Ashok.

Instead she sees a young officer in army uniform getting down from the train with Menaka.

Then both of them – Menaka and the young army officer – start walking together towards the end of the train.

“Come on, get in fast,” the station master motions her towards the door of the air-conditioned coach. 

The Station Master says something to the TTE.

The TTE tells the woman to go inside and sit on Seat No. 30.

She sits on Seat No. 30.

A family – a man, a woman and a small boy sit on the seats around her.

There is a jerk, the tug of the engine, and the train starts moving and picks up speed.

The woman looks at her watch.

6:50.

She heaves a sigh of relief.

She will be well on time for the Republic Day function.

The TTE arrives to check her pass.

The woman asks the TTE: “Why did the train stop here?”

“To detach the refrigerated van at the end of the train,” the TTE says.

“Refrigerated van?” the woman asks.

“The refrigerated van was carrying the body of an army officer who died in action and sacrificed his life for the nation. The dead army officer’s widowed wife was sitting right here on Seat No. 30 – the same seat where you are now sitting,” the TTE says.

“Army Officer? Dead?” the woman asks.

“His name was Colonel Ashok,” the man sitting in front says.

“Ashok? Colonel Ashok?” the woman asks with disbelief.

“Yes. The brave martyr’s name was Colonel Ashok. And hat’s off to the courage of the Colonel’s wife. Despite losing her husband the courageous lady was so poised and calm. It is because of the supreme sacrifice of such brave army officers and their families that we can celebrate Republic Day … ”

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)

     

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

 

This Story is a Revised Version of My Story Earlier Posted by me Vikram Karve in my Academic and Creative Writing Journal Blog at 1/25/2013 10:08:00 PM at url: http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2013/01/26-january-2013.html