Monday, January 24, 2011


A Short Story

“Come, Vijay,” Captain Naik said, leading me into his study, “I’ll show you something interesting.”

He opened a cupboard, pulled out a strange-looking contraption and laid it on the table.

I looked at the odd device, confused but curious.

The peculiar apparatus consisted of a whole hollowed-out spherical coconut shell attached to a solid iron chain, about two feet long, with a large metal stake at the other end.

“You know what this is?” Captain Naik asked me.

“No,” I answered.

“I got this in Penang when I was cadet, almost thirty years ago,” Captain Naik said, picking up the coconut in his left hand, holding the chain in his right.

He looked at me and explained: “This is a monkey trap. The hollowed-out coconut is filled with some cooked rice through this small hole, chained to the stake which is driven firmly into the ground.”

Captain Naik pointed to the small hole at the top of the coconut and said, “Look at this hole. It is just big enough so that the monkey’s hand to go in, but too small for his fist filled with rice to come out. The greedy monkey reaches in, grabs the rice and is suddenly trapped. Because his greed won’t allow him to let go of the rice and extricate his hand, the monkey remains trapped, a victim of his greed, until he is captured.”

I listened, curious.

“The monkey cannot see that freedom without the rice is more valuable than capture with it,” Captain Naik said, and then he concluded with these words addressed to me, “That’s what happens to most of us. Probably it’s the story of your life too. Think about it.”

I thought about it and said, “Suppose I quit the merchant navy. What will I do?”

“Why don’t you join me?” Captain Naik suggested, “It’s a comfortable job. It’s professionally satisfying, and you will have plenty of time for your family too. Besides, I need people like you. Of course, you won’t get your thousands of dollars, but the pay here is quite good by Indian standards.”

Captain Naik was the director of a maritime training institute in Goa, running various courses for merchant navy officers. It was a lovely self-contained campus on the shores of the Arabian Sea.

At first I wondered whether he had a vested interest, but I knew that was not true. Captain Naik had been my mentor and well-wisher; it was he who had groomed me when I had been a cadet on his ship many years ago, and always showered me with his patronage later too, when I was a junior officer. That’s why I had made it a point to visit him the moment my ship touched Murmagao port.

For the next six months, as I sailed on the high seas, I could not forget the ‘monkey trap’ – in fact, the story of the Monkey Trap haunted me.

I pondered over the matter; let the story perambulate in my mind, and one day I knew what my decision would be.

But first, I would have to discuss it with my wife.

Truly speaking, that was not really necessary.

My wife would be the happiest person on earth.

For I could clearly recall every word of that vicious argument we had just before I left my home to sail out to sea on my long eight month contract as the Master of this ship about seven months ago.

It was our tenth wedding anniversary and we had thrown a small party.

As I walked towards the kitchen door, I noticed my wife, Anjali, engrossed in a conversation with her childhood friend Meena, their backs turned toward me.

“Tell me, Anjali,” Meena was saying, “If you could live your life again, what is the one thing you would like to change?”

“My marriage…!” Anjali answered.

I was so stunned that I stopped in my tracks, dumbstruck. I recovered my wits and I turned away from the kitchen door and returned to the party.

After the party was over, I confronted Anjali, “What were you doing in the kitchen all the time with that Meena friend of yours? You should have circulated amongst the important guests,”

“I feel out of place in your shippie crowd,” Anjali answered.

“My shippie crowd…!” I thundered. “And you regret marrying me, do you?”

I paused for a moment, and then said firmly, “Listen Anjali, you better stop associating with riffraff like Meena. Please get rid of your middle-class mentality. Think of our status.”

“Riffraff…!” Anjali was staring at me incredulously, “I too was also what you call ‘riffraff’ once. And I was quite happy too with my so-called middle class mentality! What’s the use of all these material comforts and all this money and so-called status? None of it can compensate for the companionship and security of a husband. It is painful for me to stay alone for most of my life when you are away at sea. The terrible loneliness, it is corrosive; and it is eating into me. Sometimes I feel you just wanted a caretaker to look after your parents, your house, and of course, now to bring up your children; a sentry to hold the fort while you gallivant around the world for months at a time. And that’s why you married a simple middle-class girl like me; or rather you bought me! That’s what you think, isn’t it…?”

I winced when she said, ‘bought’.

But in a certain way, I knew it was true, and that is why I lost my temper and shouted, “I don’t gallivant around – It’s hard earned money I have to slog and undergo hardship for! I do it for all of you. And yes indeed! I bought you. Yes I may have bought you…but that is because you were willing to sell yourself. Remember one thing. No one can buy anything unless someone is willing to sell it.”

I instantly regretted my words realizing that they would only worsen the gaps in our relationship – gaps I had failed to fill all these ten years by expensive gifts and material comforts and gaps which kept becoming bigger and bigger with time.

That is what I was always doing – always trying to use money to fill gaps in our relationship.

And now, I was flying home after handing over command – for the last time.

This was my last ship.

I had made my decision.

It was probably the meeting with Captain Naik and the ‘monkey trap’ which clinched the issue, but my decision was final.

I had even written to him that I would be joining him at his maritime training institute in a month or so.

But I did not write or tell Anjali.

For her I wanted it to be a surprise – the happiest moment of her life!

And for me too.

I did not hire a luxury air-conditioned taxi from Mumbai airport to take me directly to my house in Pune like I always did. I knew I would have to get used to a bit of thrift and frugality and have a less lavish lifestyle in the future.

So, from Mumbai airport, I took a bus to Dadar Railway Station and caught the Deccan Express at seven in the morning.

I was travelling light – no expensive gifts this time, and it being off-season, I was lucky to get a seat in an unreserved second-class compartment.

When I reached home at about lunch time, I was shocked to find my wife Anjali missing.

My old parents were having lunch by themselves; my children were at school.

When Anjali arrived at two in the afternoon, I was stunned by the metamorphosis in her appearance – designer dress, fashionable jewellery, hair done up, fancy make-up – painted like a doll; in short, the works.

“What a surprise!” she exclaimed on seeing me. “Why didn’t you call up and tell us you were coming…?”

“Anjali, I want to talk to you. It is something important,” I said.

“Not now,” she said, almost ignoring me. “I am already late. I just came for a quick change of clothes. Something suitable for the races…”

“Races…?” I asked flabbergasted as I could not believe my ears.

“Don’t you know? Today is Derby Day – I am going to see the Pune Derby at the Turf Club in the afternoon. Mrs. Shah is coming to pick me up. You know her, don’t you…the one whose husband is working in the Gulf. And you better buy me a new car.”

“New car…?” I asked dumbfounded.

“The old one looks cheap. I hate to be seen in it. It doesn’t befit our status at all. We must have something good – the latest luxury limousine. I know we can afford it.”

The next few days passed in a haze of confusion, punctuated by one surprise after another from Anjali. She wanted a deluxe flat in one of those exclusive townships, to send our children to an elite boarding school in Mussoorie, membership to time-share holiday resorts, a farmhouse near Lonavala, and so on and on – her demands were endless.

And in between she would ask me, “Vijay, I hope you are happy that I am trying to change myself. I am getting rid of my stupid middle class mentality. It’s all for your sake. You were right. It is money and status that matter. Without a standard of living, there can be no quality of life…!”

I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

That she was once a simple domesticated middle-class girl whose concept of utopia was a happy family life was now but a distant memory to her.

Anjali was no longer the simple girl I once knew - she has metamorphosed into a high-society wife.

To ‘belong’ was now the driving force of her life.

I wish I could give this story a happy ending.

But I will tell you what actually happened.

First, I rang up my shipping agent in Mumbai and told him to get me the most lucrative contract to go to sea as soon as possible.

Then I wrote a long letter to Captain Naik regretting my inability to join him immediately.

But I also wrote in that letter asking him to keep his offer of the teaching job open just in case there was a reverse transformation in Anjali – back to her earlier self.

I am an optimist and I think it will happen someday.

And I hope the day comes fast – when both of us, Anjali and I, can free ourselves from the Monkey Traps of our own making.

Dear Reader, close your eyes and ponder a bit.

Have you entangled yourself in monkey traps of your own making…?

Think about it…!


And in your mind’s eye visualize all your very own self-created Monkey Traps in which you have entangled yourself.

What are you waiting for?

The solution is in your hands.

Just let go, and free yourself.

But is it that easy?

Ask yourself – What is more important: Freedom or golden manacles…?

What do you value more: standard of living or quality of life…?

I wonder if I shall ever be able to free myself from the manacles of the ‘Monkey Trap’ of my own making and can my high society wife ever become the simple middle-class girl I once knew…?

I sometimes wonder: “Is it true that without a standard of living, there can be no quality of life …?”

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., all rights reserved.

VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU, The Lawrence School Lovedale, and Bishop’s School Pune, 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:
Academic Journal Vikram Karve –
Professional Profile of Vikram Karve –
Foodie Book: Appetite for a Stroll

1 comment:

Midhun Manmadhan said...

A beautiful and poignant story. Monkey traps...Yes..they abound!