DO YOU RECYCLE GIFTS
By
VIKRAM KARVE
I have
with me a number of shirt pieces and trouser pieces (pant pieces) which have
been gifted to me as presents from time to time.
Since I
buy readymade shirts and trousers I wondered what to do with these pieces of
top quality cloth.
So I
found a simple solution – whenever there was an occasion I gifted these pieces
away as presents.
Do you
know what happened once?
One
such shirt piece went through an entire “gifting circle” and landed back to me as
a present.
Once, a
Television Set which was presented as a wedding gift by the bride’s family to
the husband was re-gifted by him at his sister’s wedding and found its way into
the drawing room of his brother-in-law.
A purse
gifted by me to a friend found its way back to me after quite a circuitous
“gifting cycle”.
Whenever
I see presents and gifts travelling “merry go round” being “recycled” in such hilarious
“gifting cycles” I recall this classic story by the master storyteller Anton
Chekhov – A WORK OF ART.
This
story A WORK OF ART is freely available on the internet for you to read.
I am
giving the url link below and also posting the story from the link for your
convenience:
A Work of Art
by Anton
Chekhov
(1860-1904)
Sasha
Smirnov, the only son of his mother, holding under his arm, something wrapped
up in No. 223 of the Financial News, assumed a sentimental expression, and went
into Dr. Koshelkov’s consulting room.
“Ah, dear
lad!” was how the doctor greeted him. “Well! how are we feeling? What good news
have you for me?”
Sasha
blinked, laid his hand on his heart and said in an agitated voice: “Mamma sends
her greetings to you, Ivan Nikolaevitch, and told me to thank you.… I am the
only son of my mother and you have saved my life…you have brought me through a
dangerous illness and…we do not know how to thank you.”
“Nonsense,
lad!” said the doctor, highly delighted. “I only did what anyone else would
have done in my place.”
“I am the
only son of my mother…we are poor people and cannot of course repay you, and.…
we are quite ashamed, doctor, although, however, mamma and I…the only son of my
mother, earnestly beg you to accept in token of our gratitude…this object,
which…An object of great value, an antique bronze.… A rare work of art.”
“You
shouldn’t!” said the doctor, frowning. “What’s this for!”
“No, please
do not refuse,” Sasha went on muttering as he unpacked the parcel. “You will
wound mamma and me by refusing.… It’s a fine thing…an antique bronze.… It was
left us by my deceased father and we have kept it as a precious souvenir. My
father used to buy antique bronzes and sell them to connoisseurs…Mamma and I
keep on the business now.…”
Sasha undid
the object and put it solemnly on the table. It was a not very tall candelabra
of old bronze and artistic workmanship. It consisted of a group: on the
pedestal stood two female figures in the costume of Eve and in attitudes for
the description of which I have neither the courage nor the fitting
temperament. The figures were smiling coquettishly and altogether looked as
though, had it not been for the necessity of supporting the candlestick, they
would have skipped off the pedestal and have indulged in an orgy such as is
improper for the reader even to imagine.
Looking at
the present, the doctor slowly scratched behind his ear, cleared his throat and
blew his nose irresolutely.
“Yes, it
certainly is a fine thing,” he muttered, “but…how shall I express
it?…it’s…h’m…it’s not quite for family reading. It’s not simply décolleté but
beyond anything, dash it all.…”
“How do you
mean?”
“The
serpent-tempter himself could not have invented anything worse.… Why, to put
such a phantasmagoria on the table would be defiling the whole flat.”
“What a
strange way of looking at art, doctor!” said Sasha, offended. “Why, it is an
artistic thing, look at it! There is so much beauty and elegance that it fills
one’s soul with a feeling of reverence and brings a lump into one’s throat!
When one sees anything so beautiful one forgets everything earthly.… Only look,
how much movement, what an atmosphere, what expression!”
“I understand
all that very well, my dear boy,” the doctor interposed, “but you know I am a
family man, my children run in here, ladies come in.”
“Of course if
you look at it from the point of view of the crowd,” said Sasha, “then this
exquisitely artistic work may appear in a certain light.… But, doctor, rise
superior to the crowd, especially as you will wound mamma and me by refusing
it. I am the only son of my mother, you have saved my life.… We are giving you
the thing most precious to us and…and I only regret that I have not the pair to
present to you.…”
“Thank you,
my dear fellow, I am very grateful…Give my respects to your mother but really
consider, my children run in here, ladies come.… However, let it remain! I see
there’s no arguing with you.”
“And there is
nothing to argue about,” said Sasha, relieved. “Put the candlestick here, by
this vase. What a pity we have not the pair to it! It is a pity! Well,
good-bye, doctor.”
After Sasha’s
departure the doctor looked for a long time at the candelabra, scratched behind
his ear and meditated.
“It’s a
superb thing, there’s no denying it,” he thought, “and it would be a pity to
throw it away.… But it’s impossible for me to keep it.… H’m!…Here’s a problem!
To whom can I make a present of it, or to what charity can I give it?”
After long
meditation he thought of his good friend, the lawyer Uhov, to whom he was
indebted for the management of legal business.
“Excellent,”
the doctor decided, “it would be awkward for him as a friend to take money from
me, and it will be very suitable for me to present him with this. I will take
him the devilish thing! Luckily he is a bachelor and easy-going.”
Without
further procrastination the doctor put on his hat and coat, took the candelabra
and went off to Uhov’s.
“How are you,
friend!” he said, finding the lawyer at home. “I’ve come to see you…to thank
you for your efforts.… You won’t take money so you must at least accept this
thing here.… See, my dear fellow.… The thing is magnificent!”
On seeing the
bronze the lawyer was moved to indescribable delight.
“What a
specimen!” he chuckled. “Ah, deuce take it, to think of them imagining such a
thing, the devils! Exquisite! Ravishing! Where did you get hold of such a
delightful thing?”
After pouring
out his ecstasies the lawyer looked timidly towards the door and said: “Only
you must carry off your present, my boy.… I can’t take it.…”
“Why?” cried
the doctor, disconcerted.
“Why…because
my mother is here at times, my clients…besides I should be ashamed for my
servants to see it.”
“Nonsense!
Nonsense! Don’t you dare to refuse!” said the doctor, gesticulating. “It’s
piggish of you! It’s a work of art!… What movement…what expression! I won’t
even talk of it! You will offend me!”
“If one could
plaster it over or stick on fig-leaves…”
But the
doctor gesticulated more violently than before, and dashing out of the flat
went home, glad that he had succeeded in getting the present off his hands.
When he had
gone away the lawyer examined the candelabra, fingered it all over, and then,
like the doctor, racked his brains over the question what to do with the
present.
“It’s a fine
thing,” he mused, “and it would be a pity to throw it away and improper to keep
it. The very best thing would be to make a present of it to someone.… I know
what! I’ll take it this evening to Shashkin, the comedian. The rascal is fond
of such things, and by the way it is his benefit tonight.”
No sooner
said than done. In the evening the candelabra, carefully wrapped up, was duly
carried to Shashkin’s. The whole evening the comic actor’s dressing-room was
besieged by men coming to admire the present; dressing-room was filled with the
hum of enthusiasm and laughter like the neighing of horses. If one of the
actresses approached the door and asked: “May I come in?” the comedian’s husky
voice was heard at once: “No, no, my dear, I am not dressed!”
After the
performance the comedian shrugged his shoulders, flung up his hands and said:
“Well what am I to do with the horrid thing? Why, I live in a private flat!
Actresses come and see me! It’s not a photograph that you can put in a drawer!”
“You had
better sell it, sir,” the hairdresser who was disrobing the actor advised him.
“There’s an old woman living about here who buys antique bronzes. Go and
enquire for Madame Smirnov…everyone knows her.”
The actor followed
his advice.… Two days later the doctor was sitting in his consulting-room, and
with his finger to his brow was meditating on the acids of the bile. All at
once the door opened and Sasha Smirnov flew into the room. He was smiling,
beaming, and his whole figure was radiant with happiness. In his hands he held
something wrapped up in newspaper.
“Doctor!” he
began breathlessly, “imagine my delight! Happily for you we have succeeded in
picking up the pair to your candelabra! Mamma is so happy.… I am the only son
of my mother, you saved my life.…”
And Sasha,
all of a tremor with gratitude, set the candelabra before the doctor. The
doctor opened his mouth, tried to say something, but said nothing: he could not
speak.
Is
there a moral in this story?
Sometimes
things boomerang and what goes around may again come around.
The
“gift” (the antique piece candelabra) is a metaphor.
But
this effect of things going in circles and coming back to haunt you is
especially evident in what you say (communications, spreading rumours, speaking
ill of others etc) and what you do (if you do good, then the good will return
back to you, maybe via a different route and similarly evil will reap evil).
As is
the case with most stories of Anton Chekhov, notice how this story is
breathtaking in its simplicity yet so powerful in delivering the message in a
most witty manner.
If you
want to learn the craft of creative writing, especially the genre of short
fiction, the first thing you must do is to read the short stories of Anton
Chekhov, see how he succinctly distils real-life experiences and closely
observe his storytelling style which makes every story engrossing, unique and
meaningful, with the message subtly put across to the reader .
Do read
short stories. And in the literary genre of short fiction, Anton Chekhov is
inimitable and unsurpassed.
Happy Reading.
VIKRAM KARVE
COCKTAIL ebook
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Foodie Book: Appetite for a Stroll
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About Vikram Karve
A creative person with a zest for life, Vikram Karve is a retired Naval Officer turned full time writer. Educated at IIT Delhi, IIT (BHU) Varanasi, The Lawrence School Lovedale and Bishops School Pune, Vikram has published two books: COCKTAIL a collection of fiction short stories about relationships (2011) and APPETITE FOR A STROLL a book of Foodie Adventures (2008) and is currently working on his novel and a book of vignettes and short fiction. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories, creative non-fiction articles on a variety of topics including food, travel, philosophy, academics, technology, management, health, pet parenting, teaching stories and self help in magazines and published a large number of professional research papers in journals and edited in-house journals for many years, before the advent of blogging. Vikram Karve has taught at a University as a Professor for 15 years and now teaches as a visiting faculty and devotes most of his time to creative writing. Vikram Karve lives in Pune India with his family and muse - his pet dog Sherry with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts.
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