Kabab Mein Haddi - Then and Now

I once read somewhere that characteristics of good writing can be encapsulated in three factors (Writing Triad):

CLARITY

BREVITY

SINCERITY

Similarly, the three characteristics of good blogging (Blogging Triad) are:

FREQUENCY (of posting)

BREVITY (of posts)

PERSONALITY (of the blog/blogger)

So let me introspect on my blogging - oh yes, I have been posting quite regularly so my blogging FREQUENCY is good; my blog has a distinctive PERSONALITY so that point is taken care of; it is the BREVITY aspect that I have to focus on - most of my posts are too long - that's the feedback some fellow bloggers gave me too. When reading online one doesn't have the same patience and concentration as one has while reading a book on printed paper.

From now on let me try some short and sweet posts - after all, "Brevity is the Soul of Wit". 

Let's see - some flash fiction, microfiction, short, short posts.

So, Dear Reader,  to set the ball rolling, here is a short and "sweet" fiction short story - do tell me if you liked it...

KABAB MEIN HADDI - THEN and NOW

Romantic Fiction – A Story in Two Scenes

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dramatis Personae

Aditya: 30, a bright young upwardly mobile executive.

Anjali: 27, Aditya’s wife, also a high flier executive, working in a different firm.

Nisha: 26, Anjali’s classmate and friend, just arrived in town, looking for a new job.

  

SCENE I – THEN

THREE MONTHS AGO. 

OFFICE HOURS.

  

Aditya calls up Anjali on her cell phone.

ADITYA: Hey, Anjoo, let’s drive down to Lakeview Gardens for dinner tonight.

ANJALI: Wow…the weather is lovely…it will be really amazing driving out there…let’s go to our favourite place…

ADITYA: Cupid’s Cove…?

ANJALI: Yeah…Cupid’s Cove…I love the ambience there… Okay, I’ll tell Nisha…

ADITYA: Nisha…? Why Nisha…? Why take her…? I thought just the two of us…a romantic evening together…Let’s not have kabab mein haddi…!

ANJALI: Please Adi…try to understand…she is all alone…this place is so new to her…poor girl…she is so lonely and all at sea…Nisha has no friends except us…please let’s take her…

And so the three of them, Aditya, Anjali, and "kabab mein haddi" Nisha, drive down to Cupid’s Cove in Lakeview Gardens for an enjoyable dinner…

SCENE II – NOW

TODAY.

OFFICE HOURS. 

Nisha calls up Aditya on his cell phone.

NISHA: Hey, Aditya, let’s drive down to Lakeview Gardens for dinner tonight.

ADITYA: Oh yeah…great idea…it is perfect weather for a lovely drive…it’ll be really amazing out there…let’s go to our favourite place…

NISHA: We’ll go to that lovely place…Cupid’s Cove…I love it out there…the atmosphere is so marvellous…

ADITYA: Okay…I’ll tell Anjali…

NISHA: Come on Aditya…why have kabab mein haddi… let’s go…just the two of us…a romantic evening together…

ADITYA: What shall I tell Anjali…?

NISHA: The usual…working late…meetings…

ADITYA: Okay…I’ll ring her up…and I’ll pick you up at seven…the same place…

NISHA: I’ll be waiting for you…

And so the two of them, Aditya and Nisha, drive down to Cupid’s Cove in Lakeview Gardens for a romantic dinner…without the now "kabab mein haddi" Anjali, the oblivious wife, who stays at home wondering why her darling hubby Aditya and her best friend Nisha work so late so often... 

KABAB MEIN HADDI - THEN and NOW

Romantic Fiction – A Story in Two Scenes

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010

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

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Academic Journal Vikram Karve – http://karvediat.blogspot.com

Professional Profile of Vikram Karve - http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 

Email: vikramkarve@sify.com
Foodie Book: Appetite for a Stroll  

SECOND HONEYMOON

SECOND HONEYMOON

Short Fiction - A Travel Tale

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Winter.

Early morning.

Chill in the air.

I stand alone on the metre gauge side of the lonely island platform of Mettupalaiyam Railway Station and stare at the peaks of the Blue Mountains (the Nilgiris) silhouetted in a veil of mist in the distance.

Nothing much has changed here since the last time I came here on my way to Ooty.

It was almost 30 years ago and even now the place, the things, the people – everything looks the same – as if frozen in time.

But for me there is a world of difference.

Then I was a young bride, full of inchoate zest, in the company of my handsome husband, eagerly looking forward to the romantic journey on the mountain train, on my way to our honeymoon at Ooty.  

And now...   The same place which then felt so exciting then, now feels so gloomy.

Strange.

But true.

What’s outside just doesn’t matter; what’s inside does.

I try not to reminisce.

Remembering good times when I am in misery causes me unimaginable agony.

I look at my watch.

7.30 A.M.

The small blue toy train pushed by its hissing steam engine comes on the platform.

Dot on time.

As it was then.

The same chill in the air. The same February morning - the 14th of February - Valentine's Day.

Then I had the loving warmth of my husband’s arm around me.

Now I feel the bitter cold penetrating within me.

I drag my feet across the platform towards the mountain train – then they called it The Blue Mountain Express – now I don’t know.

Scared, anxious, fear in my stomach, I experience a strange uneasiness, a sense of foreboding, a feeling of ominous helplessness - wondering what my new life would have in store for me.

I sit alone in the First Class compartment right in front of the train and wait for the train to start – the train which is going to take me to the point to no return.

I wish that all this is just a dream.

But I know it is not.

And suddenly, Avinash enters.

We stare at each other in disbelief.

Time stands still.

There is silence, a grotesque silence, till Avinash speaks, “Roopa! What are you doing here?”

I do not answer.

Because I cannot answer.

I am struck dumb, swept by a wave of melancholic despair.

My vocal cords numbed by emotional pain.

I look ineffectually and forlornly at Avinash and I realize that there is no greater pain than to remember happier times when in distress.  

“You look good when you get emotional,” Avinash says sitting opposite me.

In the vulnerable emotional state that I am in, I know that I will have a breakdown if I continue sitting with Avinash.

I want to get out, run away; but suddenly, the train moves.

I am trapped.

So I decide to put on a brave front, and say to Avinash, “Coming from Chennai?”

“Yes,” he says, “I’d gone for some work there.”

“You stay here? In Ooty?” I ask with a tremor of trepidation for I do not want to run into Avinash again and again; and let him know that I had made a big mistake by not marrying him - that I had made the wrong choice by dumping him, the man I loved, in search of a "better" life.

“I stay near Kotagiri,” Avinash says.

“Kotagiri?” I ask relieved.

“Yes, I own a tea-estate there.”

 “You own a tea estate?”

“Yes. I am a planter.”

Now I really regret my blunder 30 years ago. Indeed I had made the wrong choice.

“Your family – wife, children?” I probe, curious.

“I didn’t marry,” he says curtly. “There’s no family; only me. A confirmed bachelor – just me – I live all by myself.”

“Oh, Avinash. You should have got married. Why didn’t you?”

“It is strange that you should be asking me why I did not marry,” he says.

 “Oh my God! Because of me?”

 

Avinash changes the subject and says, “I’ll be getting off at Coonoor. My jeep will pick me up.”

He pauses, then asks me, “And you, Roopa? Going to Ooty? At the height of winter! To freeze over there?”

“No,” I say, “I am going to Ketti.”

 “Ketti ?” he asks with derisive surprise.

  “Yes. What’s wrong with going to Ketti?” I protest.

“There are only two places you can go to in Ketti – The boarding school and the old-age home. And the school is closed in December,” Avinash says nonchalantly, looking out of the window.

I say nothing.

Because I cannot say anything.

So I suffer his words in silence.

“Unless of course you own a bungalow there!” he says sarcastically turning towards me and mocking me once again.

The cat is out of the bag.

I cannot describe the sense of humiliation I feel sitting there with Avinash.

The tables seem to have turned.

Or have they?

There are only the two of us in the tiny compartment.

As the train begins to climb up the hills it began to get windy and Avinash closes the windows.

The smallness of the compartment forces us into a strange sort of intimacy.

I remember the lovely moments with Avinash.

A woman’s first love always has an enduring place in her heart.

“I am sorry if I hurt you,” Avinash says, “but the bitterness just came out.”

We talk.

Avinash is easy to talk to and I am astonished how effortlessly my words come tumbling out.

I tell him everything. Yes, I tell him everything – the entire story of my life.

How I had struggled, sacrificed, planned and taken every care.

But still, everything had gone wrong.

Widowed at 28.

Abandoned by my only son at 52.

Banished to an old-age home. So that "they" could sell off our house and emigrate abroad.

"They" - my only son who I doted upon and lived for and that scheming wife of his. 

“I have lost everything,” I cry, unable to control my self. “Avinash, I have lost everything.”

“No, Roopa,” Avinash says. “You haven’t lost everything. You have got me! I’ve got you. We’ve got each other.”

Avinash takes me in his comforting arms and I experience the same feeling, the same zest, the same warmth, the same lovely emotion, the same love that I felt thirty years ago, on my first romantic journey, on this same mountain toy train, on my way to my first honeymoon.

 

SECOND HONEYMOON

Short Fiction - A Travel Tale

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010

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

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Academic Journal Vikram Karve – http://karvediat.blogspot.com

Professional Profile of Vikram Karve - http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 

Email: vikramkarve@sify.com

COGNITION

Battle of Wits
A Teaching Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

Some students asked me the meaning of the term COGNITION.

As I was in no mood to pontificate, I told them this story:

Once upon a time only two monks were permitted to stay in a Zen Temple. 

If any other wandering monk wanted to stay in the temple he had to engage in a battle of wits and defeat a resident monk in debate.

If the new monk won the argument he took the place of the defeated resident monk who then had to leave the temple and move on. 

If the resident monk won he continued to stay in the temple and the wandering monk had to go away.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together.

The elder monk was learned and wise, but the younger monk was stupid and had just one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about spirituality.

The wise elder monk was fatigued and tired that day from too much studying so he told the younger one-eyed stupid monk to take up the challenge.

“I am tired and want to sleep,” the elder learned monk told the stupid one-eyed younger monk, “I don't want to hear any noise so you go and request the dialogue in silence.” 

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down to debate in silence.

Shortly afterwards the traveller rose and went in to the elder monk, bowed his head in reverence, and said: “Your young companion is a brilliant scholar. He thoroughly defeated me.”

The wise elder monk was sure that the younger stupid one-eyed monk would be defeated in the battle of wits, so, on hearing that result was the opposite than he had expected, the astonished elder monk said to the visitor, “Please relate the silent dialogue to me.”

“Well,” explained the traveller, “first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. 

So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his Teaching. 

I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his Teaching, and his Followers, living the harmonious life. 

In reply he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. 

Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here.”

With this, the traveller bowed in reverence once again and left the Zen temple.

Suddenly the stupid one-eyed younger monk came storming into the room and asked the wise elder monk, “Where is that fellow...?”

“I understand you won the debate,” the older learned monk said.

“Debate...? What debate...? There was no debate and I won nothing. I am going to beat him up and thrash the hell out of him,” the young monk shouted in anger.

“Beat him up...? Trash him...?” the perplexed elder monk exclaimed, “tell me what happened...relate the silent dialogue to me...”

This is how the stupid one-eyed younger brother described his version of the silent debate:

“The minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. 

Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes.

Then the impolite scoundrel held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes.

So I got mad and started to punch him, but the coward ran out and that ended the debate...”

Dear Reader, I am sure you are now enlightened about the concept of cognition. 

Otherwise, I’ll have to tell you another story...!

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2010

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

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource Manager and Trainer by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.

Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com  

Academic Journal Vikram Karve – http://karvediat.blogspot.com

Professional Profile of Vikram Karve - http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 

Email: vikramkarve@sify.com