Thursday, November 25, 2021

Homecoming – Short Fiction

Short Fiction

HOMECOMING

Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

__________

I am delighted to see my daughter waiting for me at the exit of Auckland International Airport.

“You have grown so tall – and – you look so pretty…” I say to her.

My daughter smiles – she gives me a warm hug – and – she says to me:

“It’s been 3 years – I am so happy to see you, Daddy – I was eagerly waiting to see you – but – you took so much time – your flight landed more than an hour ago…”

“Immigration didn’t take much time – my bag arrived quickly too – but – there was delay at biosecurity – an old lady ahead of me in the queue had brought home-made pickles, sweets and mangoes from India – and – she was arguing and was refusing to pay the fine…” I say to my daughter.

“How stupid – don’t they read the biosecurity rules before coming to New Zealand…?” my daughter says.

“Forget all that…” I said, “in which hotel have you booked me…?”

“Hotel…? Why hotel…? You are going to stay at home – our home…” my daughter says, firmly.

“But – your mother…?” I say to her, with a bit of apprehension.

(When talking to my daughter – I have always addressed my wife as “your mother” – even earlier – when we lived together…)

“Mother…? You don’t worry about her…” my daughter says to me, “it is our house – and – I want you to stay with us at home…”

“Okay – shall we go by “Airport Shuttle Bus”…? We can get down at Mount Eden Bus Stop – and – walk down to our house in Epsom…” I say to my daughter.

“We are driving down in our car…” she says, with a confident smile.

“Car…? Has your mother come to pick me up…?” I ask my daughter.

“No – I am driving…” my daughter says.

“You…? But you are just 17…” I say to her.

“Have you forgotten the rules…? I got my driving license last year. Of course – it is a restricted one – so – I can drive only during the daytime – from 5 AM to 10 PM – next year – I will get my full-fledged driving license…” my daughter says.

And – we – my daughter and I – we walk towards the parking area.

As we drive from Auckland Airport to our home in Epsom – my daughter says to me: “I am angry with you…”

“Why…?” I ask her, “what have I done…?”

“You have come after 3 years…” my daughter says to me, “I thought you would come more often – at least once in six months…”

“I thought it would be best to stay away…” I say to her.

“Why did you think it was best to stay away from us…?” my daughter asked me.

“Your mother – she has divorced me…” I say to my daughter.

“She may have divorced you – but – I haven’t divorced you…” my daughter says to me.

I marvel at the profound truth spoken by my daughter.

Can children ever divorce their parents…?

Also – parents can divorce each other – but can they divorce their children…?

I look at my daughter lovingly.

“I know you still love me Monika…” I say to my daughter, “Don’t worry – I haven’t divorced you – I may have divorced your mother – but I will never “divorce” you – I love you very much…”

We drive in silence.

In a few minutes – we reach the beautiful “bungalow” in Epsom – our lovely home.

It is exactly the same as I had left it 3 years ago – lush green lawns – lovely colourful garden – the same beautiful home I had bought 10 years ago – when we relocated to Epsom from Sandringham.

Though it was expensive – and – a bit beyond my means – I had bought the classy villa because I wanted to please my wife Nisha – who always wanted to live in a posh “upmarket” neighborhood.

My daughter parks the car in the garage.

I pick up my bag and we go inside the house via the side-door in the garage.

I enter the house – I look around – everything is exactly as I had left it – 3 years ago.

“You have kept the house so well…” I say to my daughter.

“I love this beautiful bright and spacious house…” my daughter says, “and it’s all thanks to you – if you hadn’t let us live in this house – we would be living in a tiny “shoe-box” apartment on rent somewhere…” my daughter says.

“It’s our family home – it will always be our home – whether I live here or not…” I say, filled with nostalgia.

I look around – my eyes search for my wife.

But – I don’t see my wife in the living room – or – in the kitchen.

“Your mother…? Where is she…?” I ask my daughter.

“She must be in her room…” my daughter says, “Daddy – please don’t worry about her. You go the guest bedroom and freshen up – I have made everything ready…”

I walk into the guest bedroom – I am so familiar with it – I have lived in this room for quite some time – ever since my wife Nisha and I began sleeping in separate rooms.

During those sad depressing days filled with marital disharmony and discord – we used all the three bedrooms in the house – my wife Nisha in the master bedroom – my daughter in her bedroom – and me – I slept in the guest bedroom – a “guest” in my own home.

I freshen up – shave – have a shower – and wear a fresh set of clothes.

From my bag – I take out the gifts I have brought from India – for my wife and my daughter.

I walk into the living room.

There is no one there.

I keep the gifts on the table in front of the sofa.

I walk to the kitchen and peep inside.

My daughter is cooking something.

“What are you cooking…?” I ask my daughter.

She turns towards me.

“Ah – you are looking so nice – I am making your favourite – Potato Sabzi – it’s done – I will fry hot Puris for you when we sit for lunch…” my daughter says to me, “look in the fridge – I have made something special for you…”

I open the fridge and look around.

“Where…” I ask my daughter.

“On the top tray…” she says.

I see the bowl of Shrikhand.

“You made Shrikhand…? I ask her, feeling delighted.

“Yes – I tried my best to make your favourite Shrikhand – but – you don’t get good curd here – so – I made it from yoghurt – so – it may taste a bit different…” she says.

I take out the bowl of Shrikhand – dip my finger in the Shrikhand – and lick the creamy Shrikhand on my finger with my tongue.

“It tastes wonderful…” I say with genuine appreciation to my daughter.

“Thank you…” she says, “Shrikhand, Puri and Batata Bhaji – that’s the menu for lunch…”

“Perfect…” I say, “let’s go to the living room – I have got gifts for you…”

“Wow – what is it…?” my daughter says excitedly.

“Come and see for yourself…” I say to her.

We walk to the living room.

“Call your mother…” I say to my daughter.

“First – show me my gift…” she says to me.

I look at the two jewelry boxes on the table.

I pick up the smaller one and give it to my daughter.

She opens it and sees the set of gold jhumka earrings.

“Wow – what lovely earrings…” she says – and – she kisses me on my cheek.

“You like them…?” I ask her.

“Of course, I like them – the earrings are so beautiful…” she says, “Thank you so much…”

“I really didn’t know whether you would like to wear such ornaments over here…” I say to her.

“I am going to wear them tomorrow – and show them off to my friends – I will tell them how much you love me…” she says.

She looks at the unopened jewellery box on the table.

“What have you got for mummy…?” my daughter asks me.

“Call your mother – I will give it to her myself…” I say to my daughter.

“Yes – I will call her – I don’t know what she is doing inside…” my daughter says – she walks to the door of my wife’s room and knocks on the door.

“Daddy has come…” my daughter says.

“I know…” I hear my wife’s voice say from inside.

“Come out quickly…” my daughter says.

After a few moments – the door opens – and my wife comes out.

“Why have you come back…?” my wife asks me, curtly.

I am taken aback by her sudden question – no “hello” – no polite greeting – no smile – she straightaway asks me “why have I come back” in a most rude tone.

I recover my wits.

“My sabbatical is over…” I say to my wife.

“You could have extended it…” she says.

“I already extended it twice – I stayed there for 3 years – I can’t remain as a visiting faculty forever…” I say to her.

“You could have taken up some other assignment over there…” she says.

“Why should I…?” I say, “I have a lien on my post over here…”

“So – you are going to join and stay here in Auckland…?” she says.

“Yes…” I say to her, “I plan to re-join as a Professor at the University and stay here in Auckland…”

“Then – we will have to move out of this house…” my wife says – and she looks at our daughter.

My daughter looks distraught.

“Why should we move out…?” my daughter asks my wife, “all of us can live in this house as we lived before – there is enough space and separate rooms for everyone – isn’t it, Daddy…?” my daughter says – and she looks at me.

“Yes – of course – we can all stay together in the house…” I say, “as we lived before…”

“No – I can’t live with this man…” my wife says to my daughter.

I decide to change the topic.

I pick up the jewellery box from the table and hold it out to her.

 “I have brought you a gift…” I say to my wife.

“Why did you waste your money buying me gifts…? I don’t want anything from you…” my wife says to me, tersely.

“At least see it…” I say – giving her the jewellery box.

My wife roughly puts the jewellery box on the table and says rudely to me: “I told you I don’t want anything from you – so – don’t try all these tactics…!!!”

I wince seeing her offensive behaviour – why does she hate me so much…?

My daughter picks up the jewellery box and opens it.

Her eyes brighten.

“Wow – a diamond necklace set – it is awesome – so beautiful – it must be very expensive…” my daughter says – then she looks at me and feigns displeasure, “What is this, Daddy…? For me – you get only earrings – but for Mummy – you get a whole diamond necklace set – necklace, earrings, bangles everything – such magnificent jewellery…”

“You take it if you like it so much…” my wife says brusquely to our daughter.

I look at me with beseeching eyes.

“I got this necklace set specially for you…” I say to my wife.

“I don’t want it – I don’t want anything from you…” my wife says – and she gets up from her chair.

“Please sit – I want to talk to you…” I say to my wife.

“I don’t want to talk to you – I don’t even want to see your face – I don’t know why you have come here…” my wife shouts angrily to me, “I don’t want anything from you – I don’t want to see your face – I just want you out of my life – can’t you understand this simple thing…?”

After shouting at me – my wife walks towards the door.

“Where are you going…?” my daughter asks my wife.

“I am going out – you spend “quality time” with your father…” my wife says sarcastically to our daughter.

“Please don’t go – I have made lunch – let’s have lunch together…” my daughter pleads with my wife.

“I can’t stand the sight of this atrocious man…” my wife says angrily.

“Atrocious…? How dare you call me that…? Tell me – what have I done…? I am trying my best – but – ever since the time I have come – you are talking nonsense…” I shout at my wife – losing my temper.

“Please don’t fight…” my daughter says with tears in her eyes, “you are meeting after 3 years – please be good to each other…”

“I didn’t ask him to come – I had told him clearly that I didn’t want to see his face again – I don’t want him in my life – just tell him to go away – I don’t want him here…” my wife says – looking at my daughter.

My daughter looks beseechingly at my wife.

“You don’t want him here – but – I want him here…” my daughter says to my wife.

“Then – you stay with him over here…” my wife says to my daughter, “I will go and look for some place to stay and move out from here…”

“I want both of you – I want all of us to stay here…” my daughter says.

My wife ignores my daughter and she walks out of the house.

I can see tears well up in my daughter’s eyes – and – she breaks down inconsolably.

“I shouldn’t have come…” I say to my daughter, “I sent her so many emails – I wrote letters to her too – but she didn’t respond to even a single one…”

“I respond to all your emails…” my daughter says.

“Yes – you told me to come – again and again – that’s why I decided to come back and live here with you and your mother…” I say to my daughter.

“Come, Daddy – let’s have lunch…” my daughter says.

“Yes – why take out our anger on food…?” I say – and I follow my daughter into the kitchen.

She fries some hot puris – and – we sit on the dining table and we start eating our “Batata Bhaji, Shrikhand, Puri” lunch.

“You cook very well – the food is so tasty – I love this Shrikhand too…” I say to my daughter.

“Thank you…” she says to me, “I want to ask you something…?”

“Please ask…” I say to her.

“I am old enough now – Daddy – so – tell me frankly – did you have an affair…?” my daughter asks me.

“No…” I say.

“Did she have an affair…?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Then – why did you two get divorced…?” my daughter asks me.

I look at my daughter.

“Is adultery the only reason couples get divorced…?” I say to my daughter.

“Then please tell me the exact reason why you got divorced…?” my daughter asks.

My first impulse is to tell my daughter everything – my side of the story.

But – I feel it is best to not to tell her the nasty inside story about the irretrievable breakdown of our marital relationship.

I don’t want to badmouth my wife – after all – she is her mother.

And – it is quite obvious that my wife hasn’t told everything to my daughter – otherwise – my daughter wouldn’t be asking me.

So – I decide to give her a vague reply.

“There can be so many reasons for divorce. And – in my case – I don’t even know the reason why she divorced me….” I say to my daughter.

“She says the same thing…” my daughter says – in a forlorn tone.

“Let’s talk something else…” I say to my daughter. “you tell me about your plans…?”

She tells me excitedly about her studies – that she wants to be a teacher – and a writer – like me.

“I am so happy you are coming back to the University here – I think you may be teaching our class this semester…” my daughter says.

“Your mother doesn’t seem to be happy – she doesn’t want me around…” I say to my daughter.

“I want you to stay here – you don’t worry about her…” may daughter says.

We talk for some time – about the 3 years I had spent away from her – my life – my work.

My daughter keeps asking me all sorts of questions but she doesn’t tell me much about herself.

Suddenly – my daughter’s mobile phone rings.

She picks up and listens for some time.

Then – she looks crestfallen – and says: “Okay – I am coming…”

“What happened…?” I ask my daughter.

“It’s mummy – she’s at the pub – they aren’t allowing her to drive – so – I will have to go and pick her up…” my daughter says.

“Is she drunk…?” I ask my daughter.

“Yes – she seems quite drunk…” my daughter says, “they said she was argumentative but they have managed to subdue her…”

“I’ll come with you…” I say to my daughter.

“No – Daddy – she may get upset if she sees you and create a scene…” my daughter says to me.

I keep quiet.

“One more thing, Daddy – please – a request…” my daughter says.

“Yes – tell me…” I say to her.

“I think you should stay at a hotel…” my daughter says – she looks embarrassed and says to me, “I am so sorry, Daddy…”

“Don’t feel sorry – I understand – I’ll pack my bags…” I say to my daughter.

I call up the hotel in Parnell – luckily – they have a room.

My wife has taken the car with her – so – we call a cab.

I get off at the hotel in Parnell – and – my daughter goes ahead to the pub in CBD.

She will pick up my inebriated wife and drive her home in the car.

I smile to myself at the cruel irony of the situation.

How things have changed so drastically in a few hours.

In the morning – I wanted to go to a hotel – and my daughter insisted that I stay at home with them.

And now – a few hours later – my daughter wants me to go to a hotel.

I vividly remember the words my daughter said to me in the cab – her parting shot – so to speak.

“I thought time heals wounds – but when I see you and mummy – time seems to have worsened the wound…” my daughter had said – in despair.

Alone – in the hotel – I weigh my options.

I can either stay here in Auckland – or – I can take up the excellent offer I have in another continent – half-way across the world.

At night – I have a disturbing dream.

In my dream – I am suspended in space – and – I can see my daughter and my wife standing side by side in front of me – at a distance – outside our home in Epsom, in Auckland.

I feel two forces acting on me.

My daughter is trying to pull me towards her with her love.

And – my wife is trying to push me away with her hate.

Two opposing forces are acting on me – a force of attraction due to my daughter’s love – and a force of repulsion due to my wife’s hate – one – propelling me towards our home in Auckland – and – the other – repelling me away from Auckland.

And – I suffer terrible pain and unimaginable agony – as I am brutally torn apart by the two opposing forces.

_________ 

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 
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Disclaimer:
This story is 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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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.

__________


Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Unfinished Story : Homecoming

Unfinished Story 

HOMECOMING

Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

 

I am delighted to see my daughter waiting for me at the exit of Auckland International Airport.

“You have grown so tall – and – you look so pretty…” I say to her.

My daughter smiles – she gives me a warm hug – and – she says to me:

“It’s been 3 years – I am so happy to see you, Daddy – I was eagerly waiting to see you – but – you took so much time – your flight landed more than an hour ago…”

“Immigration didn’t take much time – my bag arrived quickly too – but – there was delay at biosecurity – an old lady ahead of me in the queue had brought home-made pickles, sweets and mangoes from India – and – she was arguing and was refusing to pay the fine…” I say to my daughter.

“How stupid – don’t they read the biosecurity rules before coming to New Zealand…?” my daughter says.

“Forget all that…” I said, “in which hotel have you booked me…?”

“Hotel…? Why hotel…? You are going to stay at home – our home…” my daughter says, firmly.

“But – your mother…?” I say to her, with a bit of apprehension.

(When talking to my daughter – I have always addressed my wife as “your mother” – even earlier – when we lived together…)

“Mother…? You don’t worry about her…” my daughter says to me, “it is our house – and – I want you to stay with us at home…”

“Okay – shall we go by “Airport Shuttle Bus”…? We can get down at Mount Eden Bus Stop – and – walk down to our house in Epsom…” I say to my daughter.

“We are driving down in our car…” she says, with a confident smile.

“Car…? Has your mother come to pick me up…?” I ask my daughter.

“No – I am driving…” my daughter says.

“You…? But you are just 17…” I say to her.

“Have you forgotten the rules…? I got my driving license last year. Of course – it is a restricted one – so – I can drive only during the daytime – from 5 AM to 10 PM – next year – I will get my full-fledged driving license…” my daughter says.

And – we – my daughter and I – we walk towards the parking area.

As we drive from Auckland Airport to our home in Epsom – my daughter says to me: “I am angry with you…”

“Why…?” I ask her, “what have I done…?”

“You have come after 3 years…” my daughter says to me, “I thought you would come more often – at least once in six months…”

“I thought it would be best to stay away…” I say to her.

“Why did you think it was best to stay away from us…?” my daughter asked me.

“Your mother…” I say to her, “she has divorced me…”

“She may have divorced you – but – I haven’t divorced you…” my daughter says to me.

I marvel at the profound truth spoken by my daughter.

Can children ever divorce their parents…?

Also – parents can divorce each other – but can they divorce their children…?

I look at my daughter lovingly.

“I know you still love me Monika…” I say to my daughter, “Don’t worry – I haven’t divorced you – I may have divorced your mother – but I will never “divorce” you – I love you very much…”

We drive in silence.

In a few minutes – we reach the beautiful “bungalow” in Epsom – our lovely home.

It is exactly the same as I had left it 3 years ago – lush green lawns – lovely colourful garden – the same beautiful home I had bought 10 years ago – when we relocated to Epsom from Sandringham.

Though it was expensive – and – a bit beyond my means – I had bought the classy villa because I wanted to please my wife Nisha – who always wanted to live in a posh “upmarket” neighborhood.

My daughter parks the car in the garage.

I pick up my bag and we go inside the house via the side-door in the garage.

I enter the house – I look around – everything is exactly as I had left it – 3 years ago.

“You have kept the house so well…” I say to my daughter.

“I love this beautiful bright and spacious house…” my daughter says, “and it’s all thanks to you – if you hadn’t let us live in this house – we would be living in a tiny “shoe-box” apartment on rent somewhere…” my daughter says.

“It’s our family home – it will always be our home – whether I live here or not…” I say, filled with nostalgia.

I look around – my eyes search for my wife.

But – I don’t see my wife in the living room – or – in the kitchen.

“Your mother…? Where is she…?” I ask my daughter.

“She must be in her room…” my daughter says, “Daddy – please don’t worry about her. You go the guest bedroom and freshen up – I have made everything ready…”

I walk into the guest bedroom – I am so familiar with it – I have lived in this room for quite some time – ever since my wife Nisha and I began sleeping in separate rooms.

During those sad depressing days filled with marital disharmony and discord – we used all the three bedrooms in the house – my wife Nisha in the master bedroom – my daughter in her bedroom – and me – I slept in the guest bedroom – a “guest” in my own home.

I freshen up – shave – have a shower – and wear a fresh set of clothes.

From my bag – I take out the gifts I have brought from India – for my wife and my daughter.

I walk into the living room.

There is no one there.

I keep the gifts on the table in front of the sofa.

I walk to the kitchen and peep inside.

My daughter is cooking something.

“What are you cooking…?” I ask my daughter.

She turns towards me.

“Ah – you are looking so nice – I am making your favourite – Potato Sabzi – it’s done – I will fry hot Puris for you when we sit for lunch…” my daughter says to me, “look in the fridge – I have made something special for you…”

I open the fridge and look around.

“Where…” I ask my daughter.

“On the top tray…” she says.

I see the bowl of Shrikhand.

“You made Shrikhand…? I ask her, feeling delighted.

“Yes – I tried my best to make your favourite Shrikhand – but – you don’t get good curd here – so – I made it from yoghurt – so – it may taste a bit different…” she says.

I take out the bowl of Shrikhand – dip my finger in the Shrikhand – and lick the creamy Shrikhand on my finger with my tongue.

“It tastes wonderful…” I say with genuine appreciation to my daughter.

“Thank you…” she says, “Shrikhand, Puri and Batata Bhaji – that’s the menu for lunch…”

“Perfect…” I say, “let’s go to the living room – I have got gifts for you…”

“Wow – what is it…?” my daughter says excitedly.

“Come and see for yourself…” I say to her.

We walk to the living room.

“Call your mother…” I say to my daughter.

“First – show me my gift…” she says to me.

I look at the two jewelry boxes on the table.

I pick up the smaller one and give it to my daughter.

She opens it and sees the set of gold jhumka earrings.

“Wow – what lovely earrings…” she says – and – she kisses me on my cheek.

“You like them…?” I ask her.

“Of course, I like them – the earrings are so beautiful…” she says, “Thank you so much…”

“I really didn’t know whether you would like to wear such ornaments over here…” I say to her.

“I am going to wear them tomorrow – and show them off to my friends – I will tell them how much you love me…” she says.

She looks at the unopened jewellery box on the table.

“What have you got for mummy…?” my daughter asks me.

“Call your mother – I will give it to her myself…” I say to my daughter.

“Yes – I will call her – I don’t know what she is doing inside…” my daughter says – she walks to the door of my wife’s room and knocks on the door.

“Daddy has come…” my daughter says.

“I know…” I hear my wife’s voice say from inside.

“Come out quickly…” my daughter says.

After a few moments – the door opens – and my wife comes out.

“Why have you come back…?” my wife asks me, curtly.

I am taken aback by her sudden question – no “hello” – no polite greeting – no smile – she straightaway asks me “why have I come back” in a most rude tone.

I recover my wits.

“My sabbatical is over…” I say to my wife.

“You could have extended it…” she says.

“I already extended it twice – I stayed there for 3 years – I can’t remain as a visiting faculty forever…” I say to her.

“You could have taken up some other assignment over there…” she says.

“Why should I…?” I say, “I have a lien on my post over here…”

“So – you are going to join and stay here in Auckland…?” she says.

“Yes…” I say to her, “I plan to re-join as a Professor at the University and stay here in Auckland…”

“Then – we will have to move out of this house…” my wife says – and she looks at our daughter.

My daughter looks distraught.

“Why should we move out…?” my daughter asks my wife, “all of us can live in this house as we lived before – there is enough space and separate rooms for everyone – isn’t it, Daddy…?” my daughter says – and she looks at me.

“Yes – of course – we can all stay together in the house…” I say, “as we lived before…”

“No – I can’t live with this man…” my wife says to my daughter.

I decide to change the topic.

I pick up the jewellery box from the table and hold it out to her.

 “I have brought you a gift…” I say to my wife.

“Why did you waste your money buying me gifts…? I don’t want anything from you…” my wife says to me, tersely.

“At least see it…” I say – giving her the jewellery box.

My wife roughly puts the jewellery box on the table and says rudely to me: “I told you I don’t want anything from you – so – don’t try all these tactics…!!!”

I wince seeing her offensive behaviour – why does she hate me so much…?

My daughter picks up the jewellery box and opens it.

Her eyes brighten.

“Wow – a diamond necklace set – it is awesome – so beautiful – it must be very expensive…” my daughter says – then she looks at me and feigns displeasure, “What is this, Daddy…? For me – you get only earrings – but for Mummy – you get a whole diamond necklace set – necklace, earrings, bangles everything – such magnificent jewellery…”

“You take it if you like it so much…” my wife says brusquely to our daughter.

I look at me with beseeching eyes.

“I got this necklace set specially for you…” I say to my wife.

“I don’t want it – I don’t want anything from you…” my wife says – and she gets up from her chair.

“Please sit – I want to talk to you…” I say to my wife.

“I don’t want to talk to you – I don’t even want to see your face – I don’t know why you have come here…” my wife says angrily – and she walks towards the door.

“Where are you going…?” my daughter asks my wife.

“I am going out – you spend “quality time” with your father…” my wife says sarcastically to our daughter.

“Please don’t go – I have made lunch – let’s have lunch together…” my daughter pleads with my wife.

“I can’t stand the sight of this atrocious man…” my wife says angrily.

“Atrocious…? How dare you call me that…? Tell me – what have I done…? I am trying my best – but – ever since the time I have come – you are talking nonsense…” I shout at my wife – losing my temper.

“Please don’t fight…” my daughter says with tears in her eyes, “you are meeting after 3 years – please be good to each other…”

“I didn’t ask him to come – I had told him clearly that I didn’t want to see his face again – I don’t want him in my life…” my wife says – looking at my daughter.

My daughter looks beseechingly at my wife.

“You don’t want him here – but – I want him here…” my daughter says to my wife.

“Then – you stay with him here…” my wife says to my daughter, “I will go and look for some place to stay and move out from here…”

“I want both of you – I want all of us to stay here…” my daughter says.

My wife ignores my daughter and she walks out of the house.

I can see tears well up in my daughter’s eyes – and – she breaks down inconsolably.

“I shouldn’t have come…” I say to my daughter, “I sent her so many emails – wrote letters too – but she didn’t respond to even a single one…”

“I respond to all your emails…” my daughter says.

“Yes – you told me to come – again and again – that’s why I decided to come back and live here with you and your mother…” I say.

 

______

To be continued…

______


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 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)

Monday, November 22, 2021

Sting in the Tail

STING IN THE TAIL 

Fiction Short Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE

From my Creative Writing Archives:

For old-times’ sake, here is a rather amateurish story I wrote long ago, around 30 years ago, in the 1990s, suitably abridged and revised.

Do tell me if you like the story...


STING IN THE TAIL 
A Hot Love Story by Vikram Karve 

_________
       
I shouted angrily at Shalini:

“I am an uncomplicated and transparent man. 

I have no taste for sham, tact or pretension. 

Never do I feel it necessary to be guarded, or to conceal, or to try to impress, to feel tense, to watch my words or actions, to suppress or repress my emotions. 

I express my emotions spontaneously and overtly. 

I can’t fake my emotions for the sake of so-called social graces. 

If this – according to your stupid mother-in-law  is crude, uncultured and unrefined behaviour – so be it. 

I don’t give a tinker’s damn...” 

I said these words angrily to Shalini. 

_________
         
I saw tears start in Shalini’s eyes  and I was instantly sorry. 

She suddenly looked small, weak and vulnerable  her defences shattered. 

I looked at her and felt a strange attraction towards her. 

Her very powerlessness and vulnerability were the essence of her sex appeal.
         
“No wonder he is such a loser and failure...” taunted Shalini’s mother-in-law. 

Shalini’s mother-in-law looked at my wife – and she said to my wife: 

“You must teach your husband some manners if you want him to go up in life. Look at my son. He knows the ways of the world. He is so soft-spoken and refined.”
         
The comparison was a doubly bitter pill for me to swallow.

While I was going through a bad patch in my career  Shalini’s husband was doing really well in the corporate sector – as an upwardly mobile executive in a top MNC.
         
I walked out of my house and sat down on a bench in the nearby park. 

I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes trying to calm down.

The train of my thoughts ran on. 

It was mainly my wife’s fault. 

She was too good natured

It was one of those invitations which she makes so readily and spontaneously  and then regrets later.

Shalini’s flat was being renovated  and my wife had invited them over to our house to stay for a month.

And today was just the first day.
         
Though we stayed in the same town  I did not visit Shalini often. 

She stayed with her mother-in-law. 

Her husband was away on tour most of the time. 

I did not get along with them. 

There was a mismatch in our sense of values. 

I hated their patronizing attitude, ingratiating manner, sweet-talk and double standards. 

Shalini’s mother-in-law was the worst of them all. 

She was always giving me unsolicited advice and trying to make me conform to her perception of ideal behaviour.

But I refused to be stereotyped. 

I was happy to be myself  with all my so-called faults and frailties.

I valued my originality  my own uniqueness.

I was not an imitator or a clone.

And now  this wily old woman – Shalini’s mother-in-law – she had the temerity to instigate my wife against me.

And that too – she was doing this in my own house.
         
I saw Shalini walking towards me. 

She had no personality of her own. 

The only thing she did was hang around her mother-in-law and nod her head in agreement.

All the time – Shalini flattered her mother-in-law  and they indulged in mutual admiration sessions – the “ideal” daughter-in-law  and the “ideal” mother-in-law.

It was disgusting. 

The old woman had probably sent Shalini to me to give me a moral lecture.

They had succeeded in brainwashing my wife. 

I was the only one remaining. 

I was not going to give them the satisfaction of toeing their line and conforming to their views. 
         
Before Shalini could speak  I said to her: 

“Sit down. Have you got a piece of paper...?”
         
She opened her purse  and she gave me a small pocket-diary.
______

I took out my pen and wrote: 

“A servile status and a vicarious life  so typical of a domesticated lonely wife...”
______
         
Shalini read the words and she gave me a glance that could have meant anything.

I was surprised that she was not offended.

She put the pocket-book in her purse and she got up to leave.
______

I delivered my parting shot and said to Shalini: 

“She who trims herself to suit everybody will soon whittle herself away...”
______
         
As Shalini walked away  I watched the subtle, sensual rhythm of her hips. 

I felt aroused. 

I laughed to myself. 

There was no point in chasing rainbows. 

What I needed now was a good stiff drink.

So – I went across to my club – and had a few stiff drinks.
         
I returned home around midnight.

I was not drunk  but I was feeling good.

I opened the door with the spare key that I always carried in my pocket.

It was dark inside the house.

I did not switch on the lights. 

There was no point in disturbing everybody.

I felt like having a smoke  so I tiptoed towards the balcony.

As I negotiated my way in the darkness  I could sense that someone was following me.

I guessed who she was.

I stopped in tracks.

I turned around.

Shalini put her arms around me  and she held me in a passionate embrace.

I tried to restrain myself  but I had not bargained for the sheer sensual power of the encounter. 

Shalini was radiating an extraordinary sensuousness of a degree I had never experienced before.

I caught her hair  I pulled her face towards me – and we were engulfed in a wave of burning passion...
_________

Suddenly  someone switched on the lights.
        
I disengaged from Shalini  and I looked at my wife. 

“Don’t be late next time...” I said to my wife, tongue-in-check. 

Shalini’s mother-in-law looked at us  dumbstruck and stunned.
         
My wife walked up to Shalini and gave her a tight slap. 

My wife was very angry. 

After all  Shalini was her best friend.
         
I never saw Shalini again. 

But I did come across her mother-in-law once in the market. 

I cheerfully waved out to Shalini’s mother-in-law  but she scrupulously avoided my glance  and she walked away.
___________

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 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 story STING IN THE TAIL written by me Vikram Karve 30 years ago in 1990 and posted online earlier in my various creative writing blogs including at urlshttp://karvediat.blogspot.in/2011/01/sting-in-tail-short-fiction-love-story.html and http://karvediat.blogspot.in/2015/06/sting-in-tail-hot-love-story.html and http://karvediat.blogspot.com/2017/08/sunday-fiction-sting-in-tail.html etc 

© vikram karve., all rights reserved.