DISCOVERY OF FREEDOM short fiction film - a love story
DISCOVERY OF FREEDOM
Fiction Short Story
By
VIKRAM Karve
From my archives: Here's one of my stories Mumbai lazy ...
Anonymity. This is what I love Mumbai. As I lose myself in the sea of humanity out of the station to Churchgate rush hour in the morning, I feel a refreshing feeling of loneliness. I notice I walk fast I, in phase with the crowd, as if propelled by the dynamics collective. I experienced the enormous benefits of the darkness that I lost in the huge flood of people surrounding. This is freedom - the power of anonymity.
But I'm in no hurry. I have no office, no destination to reach. I come here to spend time with myself. Where no one is watching me. And I can do what I please. It is freedom - to be able to do what I want to do.
I stand outside the Churchgate subway. Should I turn right, walk past Asian, Gaylord, and Rustom to Marine Drive on the Arabian Sea? Or go straight past Eros, Nariman Point? Or walk to my left, between the oval and the Cross Maidan Chowk to Hutatma? I feel good. On the roof of the world. I am free to go where I please. This is freedom!
Gasoline Travel is not having a destination. A good traveler is one who does not know where it will reach before it begins its journey. We decided on the spot. Instinctively. Intuitively. Impulsive. Spontaneously. This is freedom! To be able to do what we love. To go where we want. Yes. Is real and true freedom!
I chose the third option, walk on the sidewalk, watching the boys play cricket on the oval, my right. Booksellers floor near the Central Telegraph Office had disappeared. I cross the road and stand near the fountain. Might as well call to my husband. Not that he would bother. It is not disturbed, nor am I - it is mutual. Indifference. Yes, indifference - which is the essence of our relationship - marital indifference - the indifference mutual. This is not freedom - indifference is not freedom.
But the mask of kindness and sharing, the facade of friendliness domestic must be carefully maintained. At least for the love of the outside world. That's what counts. For him, at least. And maybe for me too, at least until now.
Looking for a payphone. I'm not carrying my cell phone. I have not forgotten to bring my cell phone. I deliberately did not bring with me my. This is freedom! Unshackling me to handcuff my mobile phone.
I found a phone, insert a coin and call his office number.
"I'll be late today, I said.
"Okay," he replied, trying to conceal his irritation. But I can feel his displeasure about a hundred miles. Posted by phone waves. He dislikes being disturbed in the office. Especially by me. For it is always too busy with his business. I wonder who is his last conquest. The last time was this little girl in his office. Who looked so innocent, so primitive, so pure. A lover unlikely for a man fifty years. This is probably why it was so good for so many months. There were many before. Many will be in the future.
Basically I feel betrayed. It's terrible to love and not be loved in return. I do not know what to do. I feel a sense of futility and helplessness. This is not freedom.
What can I do? Nightlife marriage. And what? Maybe I can also have an affair. Tit for tat. I look, but they lack the courage. That is why I have no other choice but to continue this relationship futile and meaningless. This is not freedom. It's cowardice, they also call compromise.
All the world looks at us with envy and admiration. The husband of success. The lovely wife. The ideal couple. "Made For Each Other". And from time to time I hear tell all my biggest lie: "I am so lucky. It's a beautiful marriage. My life has been such a wonderful success. "Lies, hypocrisy, the claim - this is not freedom.
I window shopping on MG Road, opposite the university until I reach Kalaghoda. There is a sale everywhere. Drink a glass of sugarcane juice refreshing cold on the edge of the road. Browse the bookstore Magna. Listen to the latest hits to House Rhythm. See the latest paintings Jehangir Art Gallery. You can see, feel, walk and hear what you want but do not have to buy - is freedom.
I decide to have lunch. Stuffed Parathas Samovar Cafe. Heavenly tasty rich fabric with an abundance of calories and cholesterol. The devil killjoy restrictions imposed on itself. This is freedom!
I sit alone in the long rectangular restaurant that reminds me of dining cars the trains of yesteryear. I eat alone. Me eat unhurriedly and consciously. It is sacrilege to eat delicious food in a hurry.
Person do not look at me as I eat slowly and mindfully, savoring the hot parathas stuffed up, dipping liberally in spicy chutneys with my fingers. I let go until I'm satisfied. Follow up with ice. A delicious delicious meals enjoyed alone. Epicurean pleasure of first order. This is Freedom!
Once more I realize the benefits of anonymity. Nobody knows me. Nobody's looked after me. The restaurant is full arty - with artists, art lovers, office ladies lovers society. All busy in their own world. The types of creation - concerned their own thoughts. Nobody cares. It Mumbai. It is not our district society, and the residential campus near Pune, where My husband is the undisputed boss - the feudal lord, the "king" - Queen and I "all the comforts pampered, fawned and flattered, by the abundance sycophants posing as friends, secretly envied by all, but trapped in a gilded cage. This pseudo-freedom!
My daughter has not returned to the university. It is independent. On his own journey. Having received all of the comforts they want. With each year that goes the distance between us is growing. I'm calling from the phone outside the restaurant.
"I'll be late, I told my daughter.
"So I" she replied. "I'm going out with my friends."
The brevity of communication. Characteristic our family.
I spent several hours doing what I always loved. Aimless wandering on Colaba Causeway, a brief visit to the Museum, in watching the boats through the India Gate, a movie at the Regal, a walk through the ring, invigorating style Irani tea at the restaurant stage, sitting on the parapet of Marine Drive and watch the sun was swallowed by the sea I am lost in my pleasure trip in a state of timelessness. This is freedom - and not the sterile artificial synthetic life I'm alive.
The sky is overcast and it began to drizzle. I walk quietly on a road to enjoy the weather. Mumbai is at its best in the monsoon season. I stopped at my house. My old house. My parents house. The house of my childhood. The house where I grew up. The house my parents had to sell my dowry. In the hope that I would enjoy a better life. And yes, they were so happy - for my parents, my marriage was a social triumph.
I feel a sense of nostalgia. I remember. There is no more pain that remembering the happier times when you're depressed, dejected and depressed with life. But it is also true that when his desires are insoluble thwarted by reality, there is a tendency to return to happy memories. Indeed, it is vicious circle. As I felt trapped in time. Then I turn from my house and walk past in the present, back to Marine Drive.
The sea is rough. It's windy. I can the smell of rain in the distance. I looked at my watch. Nearly seven hours. More than ten hours since I left my house in Pune. I'm enjoying the change routine. A pause. After a long period of time. Most of us have a preference for a kind of routine or rhythm of our daily life. But when the rhythm becomes sinusoidal, the routine overwhelms you. Then you have to break it. As I had done. Today. At precisely 6:30 I left my house. As usual. But today, I do not wear bathing suits underneath. For that I was not going to the health club. I went straight to the station of Pune and has drawn the Deccan Queen. In Mumbai.
It's raining today. I rushed to the station Churchgate. As I found my favorite restaurant Chinese, I wonder with whom my husband would have his "work" dinner. He would not have missed. We did not eat all of our days. Except breakfast on Sunday. When he would shut himself behind the log Nursing a hangover. On other days, be off to the office when I returned as health club. And I would take care of my daily routine. Everything works like clockwork. Everyone takes me for granted. There is no problem. This is the real problem. Oh yes My problem is that I have no problems! Or I do? You tell me.
I take a bus to Dadar and Volvo to the home later in night. It is almost 11. There's nobody home. The servants asked me if I want something and then go to sleep.
I wake up late morning. My husband gives me a beautiful diamond necklace. A gift for his beloved wife. As always - a gift to offset his bad conscience of his faults - over the crime more guilt, and the most expensive gift. This is not love, it is not freedom.
We sit at the table of small lunch. Nobody asks me where I was yesterday. Maybe I have become redundant. Or did I?
"Be prepared to 12 years. I will send car. We need to go for lunch at the Golf Club ", my husband locks conclusively.
Oh yes. I'll go long. Like candy "arm".
And, Mom, after you come with me to the jeweler, "my daughter orders. That's all I'm worth these days, is not it? Just my ornamental value. Soon, I will not even do that.
The moment they go I'm out of laughter. To hell with them! From now on I will be free! Do exactly what I want. Go where I want. Do what I please.
Mumbai was yesterday. Now, where should I go - Lonavala? No, too boring. Mumbai? - Not yet! Bangalore? - I have been many times. Delhi? - Maybe! Why not head for the hills - Ooty, Mussoorie, Darjeeling, Shimla Nainital, Mahableshwar? The possibilities are endless!
Hey! Why should I tell you? I am free to do what I please. I go on my own journey.
It is freedom ... I found my freedom ...!
DISCOVER FREEDOM
Fiction Short Story
by
VIKRAM Karve
© Copyright 2010 Vikram Karve
Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act of 1988 to be identified as the author of this book
About the Author
VIKRAM KARVE educated at IIT Delhi, ITBHU and The Lawrence School Lovedale, is an Electronics and Communications Engineer by profession, a Human Resource and Training Manager by occupation, a Teacher by vocation, a Creative Writer by inclination and a Foodie by passion. An avid blogger, he has written a number of fiction short stories and creative non-fiction articles in magazines and journals for many years before the advent of blogging. His delicious foodie blogs have been compiled in a book "Appetite for a Stroll". Vikram lives in Pune with his family and pet Doberman girl Sherry, with whom he takes long walks thinking creative thoughts. Vikram Karve Creative Writing Blog - http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com Email: [email protected]
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