Wednesday, December 28, 2022

Unfinished Story – A Quick Bite – Part 1

Unfinished Story – A Quick Bite – Part 1

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A QUICK BITE

SHORT STORY By VIKRAM KARVE

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Circa – 1970’s

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PART 1

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A QUICK BITE

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IGATPURI RAILWAY STATION

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The Punjab Mail started from Bombay VT (now called Mumbai CSMT) at 4:30 PM in the evening – one hour later – after a brief halt at Kalyan Junction – the train turned on the North East Main Line – stopped at Kasara for attachment of banker locomotives – to help push the train up the steep gradient of the Kasara Ghat (Thal Ghat) – and – around 7:30 PM – the Punjab Mail approached Igatpuri Railway Station – the locomotive changeover station from Electric to Diesel Locomotive.

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In the 1970’s – there were two mail trains from Bombay (Mumbai) to New Delhi – the Frontier Mail on the Western Railway Route via Surat Baroda (Vadodara) Ratlam and Kota – and – the Punjab Mail on the Central Railway Route via Bhusaval Itarsi Jhansi and Agra – and – of course – the Superfast Rajdhani Express was introduced in 1972 – but – we were not entitled to travel by AC First Class Sleeper in Rajdhani – and – the Chair Car was quite uncomfortable – so – we preferred the Frontier Mail which started at around 7 PM from Bombay Central or the Punjab Mail which started at 4:30 PM from Bombay VT.

It seems both trains have been speeded up and the Punjab Mail now starts at around 8 PM from Bombay VT (Mumbai CSMT).

Also - in the 1970’s – only very senior officers were entitled air travel – so – most of us travelled by train – both on duty and while proceeding on leave.

I was told in the morning that I required to go to Naval Headquarters for some urgent work – and – I would have preferred to travel by the Frontier Mail – but it was absolutely full – and the MCO managed a first-class berth for me on the Punjab Mail.

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As the Punjab Mail approached Igatpuri – the Train Conductor (TC) advised me to have a quick dinner at the refreshment room at Igatpuri Railway Station – since – there was no dinner halt later.

The train would halt for over 20 minutes for detaching the banker engines at the rear and for main locomotive changeover from Electric Traction to Diesel Traction.

At Igatpuri – the Electric Locomotive would be detached and a Diesel Locomotive would be attached which would haul the Punjab Mail till Jhansi – from where – a Steam Locomotive would haul the train to Delhi.

The TC said he could get a “thali” served in the compartment – but it would be much better to have a fresh hot biryani at the refreshment room – which would be very near where our first-class bogie would halt.

________

Punjab Mail didn’t have a restaurant car – so food had to brought from railway refreshment rooms at the meal halts – whereas the Frontier Mail had a lovely restaurant car – where you could sit and dine in comfort while watching the scenery.

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The train halted – the refreshment room was right in front of me – the non-veg section to the left – and – the vegetarian section to the right.

I entered the non-veg section – bought a token for mutton biryani – picked up a plate of piping hot mutton biryani – and – I looked for a place to sit in the crowded refreshment room – all tables were occupied.

I spotted a vacant chair.

There was a couple sitting on a table for four – the man and woman sat opposite each other – and – there was a vacant chair on the side.

I recognized the man – he was a Naval Officer.

Though I didn’t know him well – I had seen him on a sister ship of our frigate squadron – and I knew that his name was “Khanna” – and – I assumed that he was a few years senior to me.

I walked towards their table.

“Sir – may I sit on the vacant chair…?” I asked Khanna.

Khanna looked up at me – and smiled at me.

He seemed to have recognized me.

“Oh – Hi – you are on Nilgiri – aren’t you…?” he said to me.

“Yes, Sir…” I said to him.

“Come. Come. Sit down and join us…” he said in a friendly voice.

I sat down on the vacant chair – with Khanna to my left – and the woman to my right.

I smiled at the woman.

“Good Evening, Ma’am…” I greeted her.

The woman smiled at me – a sweet, warm, genuine smile.

“This Biryani is really good…” the woman said.

Khanna was so engrossed in eating his Biryani that he forgot to introduce me to the lady – presumably his wife.

So – I decided to introduce myself to her.

“Hello Mrs. Khanna – I am Vikram…” I said to her politely.

The woman laughed – a vivacious laugh.

“I am not Mrs. Khanna…” she said, “I am Mrs. Puri…”

“Oh …” I said to her, taken aback.

I was confused and non-plussed.

From their friendly and intimate demeanor – they seemed husband and wife.

I felt contrite – and – I apologized for my faux pas.

“I am so sorry – you were sitting together – so – I thought you were husband and wife…” I said to both of them.

“It’s okay…” Khanna said to me, “we are both “non-veg” – so we are eating together over here in the non-vegetarian refreshment room – my wife and her husband are both vegetarians – so – they are eating a vegetarian meal in the vegetarian refreshment room next door…”

“Oh – a “food-swap”…!!!” I blurted out – imprudently – without thinking.

“Food-Swap…?” Khanna looked at me – questioningly.

“Sir – I meant you are non-veg – your wife is vegetarian – and – for Mrs. Puri – it is opposite – so…” I was explaining – when Khanna interrupted me.

“Okay – okay – you don’t have to spell it out…” Khanna said to me, “there is no “swap” going on over here – it’s just a matter of convenience – they have two separate refreshment rooms – you don’t get vegetarian food over here – so – the vegetarians have gone to the vegetarian refreshment room – that’s all…”

I regretted using the word “swap” – it gave a wrong connotation – and – I felt contrite.

“I am very sorry – it was very indiscreet of me…” I said to both of them.

“Come on – it’s okay – now – let’s finish our Biryani – before our train starts…” Mrs. Puri said to me.

I focused on my Biryani.

Lieutenant Khanna and Mrs. Puri were finishing their Biryani.

A waiter announced:

“Punjab Mail Passengers – Please Finish Quickly – Your Train will leave in 5 minutes…”

I quickly finished my Biryani.

Lieutenant Khanna got up from his seat.

“Let’s go…” he said to us.

We walked outside onto the platform.

We saw a couple coming out of the Vegetarian Refreshment Room.

I rightly guessed that they were the “Vegetarian Couple” Lieutenant Puri and Mrs. Khanna.

Both of them – the “Vegetarian Couple” Lieutenant Puri and Mrs. Khanna  - they seemed rather serious types – whereas – the “Non-Vegetarian” couple I had dined with – Lieutenant Khanna and Mrs. Puri  - they  were more friendly and cheerful – in fact – I liked Mrs. Puri a lot – she was quite bubbly and talkative.

My coach was right in front of where we were standing.

“This is my bogie…” I said to them, “are you in the same bogie…?”

“No – we are in the one ahead…” Lieutenant Khanna said to me, “okay – Bye – see you in Bombay after a month when we return from leave…”

(Mumbai was known as Bombay in the 1970’s)

I smiled at the vivacious Mrs. Puri with whom I had shared a table in the Refreshment Room – eating Biryani.

She gave me a vivacious smile.

Her husband – the serious type Lieutenant Puri – he seemed to be observing us – and – seeing his rather disapproving look – I started walking towards my coach – and – I saw them walking ahead to the First Class Coach ahead.

A few minutes later – the guard blew his whistle – the engine blew its horn – and – the Punjab Mail started its journey to its next halt – Devlali (Deolali).

The train was not vestibuled – so – I did not meet the two couples for the rest of the journey to New Delhi.

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story to be continued in part 2

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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.

Sunday, December 25, 2022

The Single Mother

Short Fiction

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THE SINGLE MOTHER

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

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THE SINGLE MOTHER

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“It’s one year since your divorce – have you thought of getting married again…?” I asked Nisha.

“No…” she said.

“Why…? You are so young…” I said to her.

“I want to focus on my son…” she said, “he is the only thing in my life now…”

Nisha looked at me and spoke in a resolute voice.

“My son means everything to me – I quit my successful career in Mumbai – and – I took up this modest job as a teacher in this school up here in the hills – because I want my son to get the best education…” she said.

“Yes – this is a really good school – internationally acclaimed – top class, elite and famous – it must be very expensive…” I said to her.

“My son gets free education – that’s the perk I get as a teacher – and – I am the warden of the girls’ hostel – so – I get free accommodation too…” she said.

“You really love your son a lot – you sacrificed your career for him – and your friends and your active social life in Mumbai…” I said to her.

“I didn’t want him growing up in that bohemian atmosphere – my son is 12 now – he will be 13 soon – a teenager – of impressionable age – over there – in Mumbai – with me spending long hours at work – he may have drifted – but here – faraway in the hills – the environment in the school campus is conducive for studies and all-round development – and – I am there for him 24/7 – remember – as a single parent – I have to be his mother and father both…” she said.

“Yes – a child needs both mother and father – you shouldn’t have got divorced…” I was saying – when Nisha rudely interrupted me.

“What do you mean “I shouldn’t have got divorced”…? How could I live with that unfaithful adulterous bastard…? Don’t you know…? He was disloyal to me – he cheated on me…” Nisha said, angrily.

“You cheated on him too…” I said to her.

“Just once – it was “revenge sex” – on the rebound – when I found out he being unfaithful and was cheating on me – but – his was a full-fledged extramarital affair – I think he has married that woman too…” she said – and looked at me – with a question in her eyes.

“Yes – he married her last month – after her divorce came through…” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Good for him – let him do what he likes – I don’t care – I just want him out of our lives…” she said – with a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

“I believe he gave you full permanent custody of your son…” I said to her.

“Yes – my son is mine – 100% - he can’t even visit him – he has given it in writing…” she said.

“That’s generous of him…” I was saying – when I saw her flare up.

“Generous…? What nonsense are you talking…? I gave up everything – no alimony – no maintenance – no child support – I didn’t take a single rupee from him – not even my share in the house – nothing – absolutely nothing – I took nothing from him – I just wanted my son – that’s all…” she said, vehemently.

“It’s surprising that he gave up visitation rights for life – I thought he loved your son…” I said, confused.

“Well – my lawyer “convinced” him…” she said, with a canny look.

“Oh My God…!!!” I said, appalled, “don’t tell me you…”

“Let’s not talk about it…” she interrupted me, “I wanted my son exclusively for myself – so – we had to use these tactics…”

“But…” I tried to say – but she interrupted me again.

“I don’t want his influence on my son – please try to understand – I desperately love my son – I will bring him up all by myself – that’s why I have “burnt my bridges” and come here…” she said, proudly, “I have even told my father that I want nothing from him…”

“Why…?” I asked her – I knew that her mother had died in her childhood – she had no siblings – and her father was her only close living relative.

“My father was vehemently opposed to my marriage with that man – he didn’t even attend the wedding – and now that my marriage has failed – I don’t think I will be able to bear his sadistic rebukes and hear him say “I told you so” – I’d rather struggle myself – rather than be at his mercy…” she said, with a tinge of haughtiness in her tone of voice.

Suddenly – the door opened – and her son came in – a handsome boy – dressed in sports gear – he had come home after a game of football – his evening organized sports session.

He smiled at me – wished me “Good Evening” – and went inside.

Nisha looked at me.

“I think you should go now…” she said to me, “it’s almost 6 PM – and – I have to supervise the evening study session…”

“Yes…” I said, “if you need anything – don’t hesitate to ask me – I’ll give you my card – you can call me – email – and I’ll be there for you…”

“That’s so kind of you – but – I can manage by myself…” she said, confidently.

“I know…” I said, took out my visiting card from my wallet and gave it to her, “just in case – no harm keeping my card…”

Nisha took my visiting card and kept it on the table.

Then – Nisha looked at me – and she spoke in a polite yet firm tone of voice.

“I have one request…” she said to me.

“Yes…?” I said, wondering what she wanted.

“Please don’t come here again – and don’t ever try to contact me…” Nisha said to me – and then – she escorted me out of her home and closed the door.

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I was stunned by her snub – and – I felt hurt at the way she had rebuffed me.

I decided that I would never ever contact Nisha or try to meet her again.

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A few years later – while browsing the Sunday Supplement of my Newspaper – I saw a photo of Nisha.

Below the photo there was a story about Nisha and her son.

The story was all praise for Nisha – and described – how – as a single mother – she had conquered various tough challenges – and – how splendidly she had brought up her son – who had performed brilliantly – topped his school exams and won a prestigious scholarship to study overseas.

There were pictures of Nisha and her son too – who looked a handsome young man – and his quote that Nisha was the best mother in the world.

There was praise for Nisha from various persons – admiration for how she had sacrificed her own career ambitions – and dedicated her life to single parenting her son – who had turned out to be such a brilliant young man.

I felt happy for Nisha – she had achieved what she had wanted to achieve – her devotion to parenting her son had borne fruit.

Out of curiosity – I “Googled” her name – and – I saw that Nisha was quite active on Social Media – on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter etc.

I browsed through her recent posts on Facebook – and I saw that she was obsessed with her son for whom she was all praise – there were so many pictures of her son – and she had written so much about their love for each other – and eulogizing her son and extolling his virtues.

The most recent picture – clicked a few days ago – was of her son at the Delhi Airport – before his flight overseas to study abroad – with a sentimental comment by Nisha below about how she was already anticipating the “empty nest syndrome” once her son left and she would be all alone.

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A few months later – Nisha surprised me by coming to my office unannounced.

“You don’t seem to be happy to see me…” Nisha said to me.

“No. No…” I said to her, “I was surprised at your unexpected visit – you didn’t call or anything…”

“I wanted to surprise you…” she said.

“On a visit to Mumbai…?” I asked her.

“I came to see you…” she said.

“Anything urgent…?” I asked her.

“Yes – urgent and important…” she said.

“Okay – I’ll just tell my secretary to see that we are not disturbed…” I said to Nisha.

While speaking to my secretary on the intercom – I looked at Nisha.

She seemed fatigued – her face looked haggard.

I was surprised at the metamorphosis in her appearance – her youthful vivaciousness had gone – and – there was only a slight hint of her earlier beauty.

I wondered how she had managed to look so good in her online photos – maybe – it was the magic of “filters”.

Nisha must have noticed that I was looking at her.

“Why are you staring at me so intently…?” she asked me.

“You look tired…” I said to Nisha.

“I brought up my son single-handedly…” Nisha said, “it was very difficult – financially – and very exhausting emotionally too…”

“Yes – that’s really praiseworthy…” I said to her, “you have succeeded so well – your son has turned out to be such a bright boy…”

“Thank you…” she said.

“I have been following you on Facebook – on Twitter, Instagram too – and – I really admire you – you have brought up your son so well – you dedicated your life to him – and now – he has done you proud by getting that coveted scholarship overseas – I saw your post saying “goodbye” to him at Delhi Airport…” I said to her.

“Thank you once again…” she said.

Then – Nisha looked at me and spoke.

“You said that I look “tired” – didn’t you…? I look terrible – don’t I…?” she asked me.

“No. No…” I tried to say – but she interrupted me.

“For so many years – I focused totally on my son – I dedicated my life 100% to bringing him up properly – so – maybe – that’s why I neglected looking after my own self…” she said, “but don’t worry – I will look after myself now and become the same beautiful Nisha you knew…”

I didn’t know what to say.

I wondered why Nisha had suddenly landed up at my office out of the blue.

Nisha must have sensed my thoughts.

“You must be wondering why I have come from Delhi to Mumbai to see you – unannounced – so – let me get to the point straightaway…” she said.

“Yes…” I said, “tell me…”

“When you had come to meet me last time – you had asked me to marry you…” she said, “is the offer still open…?”

I was taken aback – dumbstruck.

We looked at each other in silence – a grotesque silence.

Then – I gathered my wits and spoke – mumbling incoherently.

“I think you misunderstood – I generally asked you if you wanted to get married because one year had passed since your divorce – I didn’t propose marriage to you…” I said, trying to explain.

Nisha smiled like a Cheshire Cat.

“Come on – do you think I am naïve…? I know you are in love with me – you always were – ever since school…” she said with a loving smile.

I kept quiet – not knowing what to say – because what she was saying was true.

Nisha looked into my eyes and spoke in a candid tone of voice.

“Do you want to marry me…?” she asked me, matter-of-factly.

“I am quite confused…” I muttered.

“Why…?” she asked me.

“By the suddenness of events – you unexpectedly come to my office – and – out of the blue – you propose marriage to me…” I said to her.

“I thought you would say “Yes” instantly…” Nisha said, “I found out that you are still unmarried – I suspect it is because of me – you still love me – don’t you…?”

“Yes…” I mumbled, “but please give me some time – I am terribly confused now…”

“Okay – we’ll meet for dinner in the evening – you can tell me then…” she said.

“Dinner…? Where…?” I asked her.

“Come to my hotel room…” she said, “we can talk more intimately and privately than in a restaurant – and bring a bottle of wine…”

Nisha took out her visiting card and gave it to me.

“My private mobile number, the name of the hotel and room number – I have written everything on the reverse…” she said, “call me on my private mobile number…”

I looked at Nisha’s visiting card.     

“Impressive…” I said, “I didn’t know you did so many things besides teaching…”

“Once we get married – I am going to give up everything – and be a loving wife – that’s all – I have slogged too much and for too long – I need relaxation – and love – and plenty of…” she was saying – when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in…” I said in a loud voice.

“My colleague Monika entered.

She smiled at Nisha.

Then – she looked at me and spoke.

“Sorry to interrupt – but we have our weekly review meeting in five minutes time…” my colleague Monika said.

“Oh, yes…” I said to Monika, “you go ahead – I’ll join you soon…”

Monika left my office.

“I think I’ll go now…” Nisha said to me.

“Yes…” I said to her, “we’ll meet in the evening…”

“Come at 8 – I’ll be waiting for you in my hotel room…?” Nisha said with a loving smile.

After the weekly review meeting was over – Monika walked along with me to my office.

“Who was that woman…?” Monika asked me.

“Nisha – she was married to one of my friends…” I said to her.

“What do you mean “was married” – did her husband die – or is she divorced…?” Monika asked me.

“Divorced…” I said, matter-of-factly.

Monika looked at me in a curious manner.

“Tell me everything – about her – about you and her…” Monika said to me.

Dear Reader - knowing Monika – I knew it was best for me to tell her the whole story – about Nisha and Me – the story I have told you till now.

After hearing the story – Monika gave me a questioning look.

“Tell me something…” she said.

“What…?” I asked her.

“You told me that this Nisha had “revenge sex” – was it with you…?” Monika asked me – with an inquisitorial look in her eyes.

“Yes…” I said truthfully, “but it was long ago…”

Monika gave me a naughty smile.

“And now – this Nisha – she wants to marry you…” Monika said.

“Yes…” I said, sheepishly.

“And you…? Do you want to marry her…?” Monika asked me.

“If I would have married her then – it would have been because I loved her. If I marry her now – it would be because I pity her. I don’t want a marriage based on pity – I want a marriage based on love…” I said to Monika.

“Love…? Or – Attraction…?” Monika said, naughtily.

I was amazed at her perception.

Monika was right – then – Nisha looked so chic and beautiful – and I had been “attracted” to Nisha – now – Nisha looked haggard and worn-out – and though – I wouldn’t go so far as saying that I was “repelled” by her – I certainly wasn’t “attracted” to her.

I smiled at Monika – held her hand – and spoke.

“You are right – it was “attraction” – now – she certainly doesn’t look “attractive” – at least to me…” I said to Monika.

“And me – do you love me – or – are you attracted to me…?” Monika asked me, with a mischievous look.

“You certainly look attractive…” I said to her.

Monika burst out into a laugh.

“You are so brutally honest – that’s what I love about you…” Monika said with a lovely smile.

Monika got up from her chair – walked across to me – came close – looked into my eyes – and spoke to me in a loving tone of voice.

“Let’s get married…” Monika said to me – and – before I could react – she kissed me full on the lips – and I kissed her back.

I looked at Monika – she looked very desirable – I wanted to take her in my arms and make love to her – but then – this was my office.

So – I calmed the fires inside me – and – I looked at Monika.

“Is there something you want to tell me…?” Monika asked me.

“Nisha has called me for dinner…” I said to Monika.

“Don’t go…” Monika said.

“But – I have to tell her…” I said to Monika.

“I will tell her – connect her number and give me your phone…” Monika said.

I picked up Nisha’s visiting card, turned it around and showed it to Monika.

“She told me to call her on this number – her private mobile number…” I said to Monika.

“I will talk to her from your number – give me for mobile phone…” Monika said.

I gave Monika my smartphone.

Monika called Nisha – she spoke to Nisha in an emphatic voice – and – she told Nisha unequivocally that she (Monika) was my fiancée – and – in an imperative tone of voice – Monika “warned” Nisha to keep away from me.

I was stunned by Monika’s demeanor – but – before I could recover my wits – Monika disconnected the call – gave me my smartphone – looked into my eyes – and she said to me in a mischievous voice:

“We don’t want ghosts of your past haunting our marriage – do we…?”


________ 

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)

Part 1 of this story posted in my blog at url: https://karve.wordpress.com/2022/12/24/the-single-mother-part-1/
     
© vikram karve., all rights reserved.

Saturday, December 24, 2022

Unfinished Story : The Single Mother : Part 1

 

Unfinished Story

______

THE SINGLE MOTHER

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

______

A short story is a piece of prose fiction which can be read at a single sitting.

In today’s technology-driven hectic times – the “span of attention” of the reader is just a few minutes.

So now – a “single sitting” means just a few minutes.

Dear Reader – let me try to write a very short story that you can read on your smartphone in a “single sitting” of a few minutes.

______

THE SINGLE MOTHER

______

PART 1

_____

“It’s one year since your divorce – have you thought of getting married again…?” I asked Nisha.

“No…” she said.

“Why…? You are so young…” I said to her.

“I want to focus on my son…” she said, “he is the only thing in my life now…”

Nisha looked at me and spoke in a resolute voice.

“My son means everything to me – I quit my successful career in Mumbai – and – I took up this modest job as a teacher in this school up here in the hills – because I want my son to get the best education…” she said.

“Yes – this is a really good school – internationally acclaimed – top class, elite and famous – it must be very expensive…” I said to her.

“My son gets free education – that’s the perk I get as a teacher – and – I am the warden of the girls’ hostel – so – I get free accommodation too…” she said.

“You really love your son a lot – you sacrificed your career for him – and your friends and your active social life in Mumbai…” I said to her.

“I didn’t want him growing up in that bohemian atmosphere – my son is 12 now – he will be 13 soon – a teenager – of impressionable age – over there – in Mumbai – with me spending long hours at work – he may have drifted – but here – faraway in the hills – the environment in the school campus is conducive for studies and all-round development – and – I am there for him 24/7 – remember – as a single parent – I have to be his mother and father both…” she said.

“Yes – a child needs both mother and father – you shouldn’t have got divorced…” I was saying – when Nisha rudely interrupted me.

“What do you mean “I shouldn’t have got divorced”…? How could I live with that unfaithful adulterous bastard…? Don’t you know…? He was disloyal to me – he cheated on me…” Nisha said, angrily.

“You cheated on him too…” I said to her.

“Just once – it was “revenge sex” – on the rebound – when I found out he being unfaithful and was cheating on me – but – his was a full-fledged extramarital affair – I think he has married that woman too…” she said – and looked at me – with a question in her eyes.

“Yes – he married her last month – after her divorce came through…” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Good for him – let him do what he likes – I don’t care – I just want him out of our lives…” she said – with a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

“I believe he gave you full permanent custody of your son…” I said to her.

“Yes – my son is mine – 100% - he can’t even visit him – he has given it in writing…” she said.

“That’s generous of him…” I was saying – when I saw her flare up.

“Generous…? What nonsense are you talking…? I gave up everything – no alimony – no maintenance – no child support – I didn’t take a single rupee from him – not even my share in the house – nothing – absolutely nothing – I took nothing from him – I just wanted my son – that’s all…” she said, vehemently.

“It’s surprising that he gave up visitation rights for life – I thought he loved your son…” I said, confused.

“Well – my lawyer “convinced” him…” she said, with a canny look.

“Oh My God…!!!” I said, appalled, “don’t tell me you…”

“Let’s not talk about it…” she interrupted me, “I wanted my son exclusively for myself – so – we had to use these tactics…”

“But…” I tried to say – but she interrupted me again.

“I don’t want his influence on my son – please try to understand – I desperately love my son – I will bring him up all by myself – that’s why I have “burnt my bridges” and come here…” she said, proudly, “I have even told my father that I want nothing from him…”

“Why…?” I asked her – I knew that her mother had died in her childhood – she had no siblings – and her father was her only close living relative.

“My father was vehemently opposed to my marriage with that man – he didn’t even attend the wedding – and now that my marriage has failed – I don’t think I will be able to bear his sadistic rebukes and hear him say “I told you so” – I’d rather struggle myself – rather than be at his mercy…” she said, with a tinge of haughtiness in her tone of voice.

Suddenly – the door opened – and her son came in – a handsome boy – dressed in sports gear – he had come home after a game of football – his evening organized sports session.

He smiled at me – wished me “Good Evening” – and went inside.

Nisha looked at me.

“I think you should go now…” she said to me, “it’s almost 6 PM – and – I have to supervise the evening study session…”

“Yes…” I said, “if you need anything – don’t hesitate to ask me – I’ll give you my card – you can call me – email – and I’ll be there for you…”

“That’s so kind of you – but – I can manage by myself…” she said, confidently.

“I know…” I said, took out my visiting card from my wallet and gave it to her, “just in case – no harm keeping my card…”

Nisha took my visiting card and kept it on the table.

Then – Nisha looked at me – and she spoke in a polite yet firm tone of voice.

“I have one request…” she said to me.

“Yes…?” I said, wondering what she wanted.

“Please don’t come here again – and don’t ever try to contact me…” Nisha said to me – and then – she escorted me out of her home and closed the door.

________

I was stunned by her snub – and – I felt hurt at the way she had rebuffed me.

I decided that I would never ever contact Nisha or try to meet her again.

_______

Story To Be Continued in 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:
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.

Tuesday, December 13, 2022

Short Fiction : Who is my husband...?

WHO IS MY HUSBAND...?

Fiction Short Story
By
VIKRAM KARVE 
_______

THE OLD LAB JOURNAL
_______

“See this...” I say to my friend Priti.
“It’s a lab journal...” Priti says – looking at the old laboratory journal.
“I picked it up at the raddiwala...” 
“Hey  I sent you to sell old newspapers  not collect raddi... 
“Open it  read the name...” I say to Priti.
“John Morris...” she reads the name on the first page of the journal.
“John Morris. That is my husband’s name...” I say
“Wow  your husband’s name on this old journal. It’s unbelievable  isn’t it...? Just imagine – your husband’s science lab journal  after so many years – and that too here  at a raddiwala in Delhi...” 
“Let’s go to Mussoorie...” I say.
“Mussoorie...? Now...? Are you crazy...?” Priti says to me – surprised.
“Yes. Let’s go to Mussoorie – to John’s school. He studied in a boarding school in Mussoorie  but he never tells me anything about his schooldays.  I’m dying to know – let’s go  please...”  I say to Priti.
“Annie  be sensible. You have got to catch the flight back home to New York early tomorrow morning...” Priti pleads with me.
“Please Priti  I have to go – this old lab journal with my husband’s name  serendipity  it’s a signal. Let’s go in your car – Mussoorie is only a 5 hour drive – we can easily be back by evening...” I say.
Okay  lets go...” Priti says. 
________
MUSSOORIE
_______
That afternoon – the two women are seated in the office of the Headmaster of a famous school in Mussoorie. 
“I wonder how this school journal surfaced after twenty years  and that too in Delhi...” the Headmaster says, with an expression of awe. 
“I would love to know about my husband’s schooldays – photos, anything…” 
“Well  I have joined recently  and  most of the staff too has joined recently. Why don’t you ask the Bursar  he is an old timer,” the Headmaster suggests.
Annie and Priti walk to the Bursar’s office.
They show him the science lab journal. 
“Mrs. Bhalla must have taken this journal with her to Delhi as remembrance when she retired...” the Bursar says wistfully. 
“Remembrance...? Mrs Bhalla...?” 
“Mrs. Bhalla was our previous Science Teacher. John Morris was her favourite student. She treated him like a son.” 
“Son...?” 
“Yes. John was an orphan – he lost both his parents in a car accident…” 
“I know.” 
“…and  Mrs. Bhalla was a childless widow. They lived for each other – like mother and son.” 
“It’s surprising – John never told me about Mrs. Bhalla…” 
“John told you...? When did you meet John Morris...?”
“Two weeks back.” 
“Two weeks back...? That is impossible. Where did you meet John...?” 
“In New York. At home. John Morris is my husband.” 
“John Morris is your husband...? That is just not possible…” 
“Not possible...? Why do you say that...? I am Annie Morris – I have been married to John Morris for 5 years.” 
“Look here young lady. There seems to be some mistake…” 
“Mistake...? No. No. There is no mistake. Everything fits perfectly. John told me he studied here. 20 years back  in 1988  he must have been in class 9  like it is written on this lab journal. I know he was born in 1974.” 
“1974...? Are you sure...?” 
“Yes. He was born on the 7th of September 1974...” Annie Morris says.
“Oh, My God. How do you know all this...? Tell me  do you remember when you first met John Morris...?” the Bursar asks.
“Of course I remember – I first met him in May 2001. In New York. Why are you asking me all this...?” 
“Come with me...” the Bursar says.
The two women follow the podgy old man up the slopes of Landour to the cemetery near Lal Tibba. 
________
THE TOMBSTONE
_______
The two women  Annie and Priti  freeze with shock as they read the large bold letters engraved on the tombstone:
 
                 JOHN MORRIS
      BORN: 7 SEPTEMBER 1974
      DIED: 15 DECEMBER 1988
                   RIP 
________
Annie Morris stares at the tombstone. 
Her brain goes into a tizzy  and suddenly  she blurts out:
“Who is my husband...?
If this is the real John Morris  then  who is that man living with me in New York...? 
And  if that man living with me in New York is the real John Morris  then – who is this man lying dead for twenty years in this grave...? 
_________

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.


© vikram karve., all rights reserved.
_________