Rendezvous in Mumbai

RENDEZVOUS

By

VIKRAM KARVE




What do you do if a man looks at you with frank admiration in his eyes – in an insistent suggestive sort of way that is worth a thousand compliments?

Nothing! You do absolutely nothing. Because you are a thoroughly bored “happily” married thirty year old housewife sitting comfortably in your favorite rocking chair, browsing through Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care, at the Oxford Bookstore at Churchgate in Mumbai.

So you just look down, act as if you have not noticed, and try to read.

But you cannot read – the words just don’t focus in front of you. You think of the man, his lingering look, his eyes curiously languid, yet inviting – it’s the first time someone looked at you in such a flattering way for a long long time.

You feel a tinge of excitement. Maybe something is going to happen. Something exciting – dangerously exciting. At long last. Something that you have been secretly wanting to happen, and thought would never ever happen.

Or maybe it’s nothing. Just your imagination playing tricks. So just to check. Once. Only once. You quickly look up – a fleeting glance.

He is still looking at you – not furtively, but brazenly, almost unashamedly, with waves of yearning flowing out of his eyes. He looks a decisive, hot-blooded and masculine man with his smart beard and piercing eyes.

You feel a flush inside. A shiver. A tremor. A tremor of trepidation – mixed with excitement. You cannot define how you feel – but it feels good. He looks at you. You look back at him in return. He begins to smile. You quickly look down and bury yourself into the pages in front of you and pretend to read.

But it’s no use. You can sense his unseen eyes locked onto you, burning into you, traveling all over your body and lingering exactly where they shouldn’t – just like a laser beam.

And now, he knows that you know.

What do you do? Best is not to react – just accept the fact of being looked at – ignore him. Keep on pretending to read.

Oh no! That may be dangerous. He may get ideas. You never know these types. May think you are game. But are you? Or aren’t you?

Why not play on – have some fun. Flirt a bit. See what happens. A little excitement to liven up your boring life a bit. So you take a deep breath, brace yourself and start a dangerous game.

You look up from your book, pan your gaze slowly across the bookstore, looking at everything – the shelves of books, the people, the cha-bar, the sales counter - and finally, like a dog that has circled its bowl of food long enough, you look directly at him.

Eyes meet. His and yours. Yours and his. His appraising eyes look into yours. And then his eyes travel down and look at the book in your hands.

You spontaneously follow his gaze, and look down at the book in your hands – Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care – most inappropriate for what you have in mind. You quickly put it away into the rack, run your eyes across the shelf and pick up ‘The Art of Seduction’.

You turn the pages – nothing registers – so you look up at him almost seeking approbation.

He smiles – a wry canny smile – as if he knows something you don’t. And suddenly he gets up from the chair, keeps the magazine he is holding back in the rack and begins walking towards you.

Your heart stops – you want to disappear, but he is already standing in front of you.

“Good morning Anita,” he says. “I’m Sen. Dilip Sen.”

Anita? You are not Anita. Seems to be a case of mistaken identity – but you are curious, and in a playful mood, so you say, “Oh, Hello Mr. Sen. You are late.”

“Late? No,” he says looking at his watch, a confused look on his face. “The RV is correct - as planned.”

“RV?”

“Rendezvous.”

Now you are really curious. “Why don’t you pull that stool and sit,” you say.

“Not here. Let’s go to the cha-bar. We can talk in peace there,” he says.

“Okay,” You replace the book in its place in the shelf, get up and walk towards the cha-bar.

The cha-bar – the tea lounge – it’s the best thing about Oxford Bookstore. An ideal place to relax, browse, or have a quiet flirtatious chat over a cup of exquisite tea.

As you sip, savoring the fragrance and relishing the rich flavor of premium Darjeeling Tea, you feel a shiver of anticipation. It’s your first time. You wonder what’s going to happen next.

“Well done. Let’s recap,” he says pulling out a pocket diary.

Well done? Recap? You wonder what this is all about. The man seems to be crazy. But you keep your wits about, and to calm down you say to yourself, “Relax. Just keep quiet and go along.”

And to Mr. Sen, you say confidently, “Okay. Sure. Let’s recap.”

“Step 1,” he says looking into the diary in front of him, “you and I independently arrive at the previously agreed upon rendezvous. Your choice is excellent – this bookstore – easy to wait, observe and not be noticed. We just blended in. Much better cover than a railway station, park or restaurant. And the book you chose – Baby and Child Care - easily discernible – so aptly chosen. Perfect for your cover. Looked so natural in your hands.”

“Do I look pregnant?” you snap at him.

“Oh no. I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, taken aback, “ You look lovely. But the book – it suited your cover – as a bored housewife.”

Cover? What’s he talking. A bored housewife! That’s what you are, aren’t you? Husband busy working, kids at school, and you – bored to death with nothing to do.

“I’m not bored,” you tease him with your eyes. Flatter him by looking steadily at him without letting your eyes stray.

“Step 2 – making eye contact. We could be a bit more discreet next time, isn’t it?” he says smiling into your eyes.

Discreet? Next time? What’s going on? Who’s this guy?

“Step3 – the signal. Change of book. Okay. But ‘The Art of Seduction’?,” he looks perplexed, “try something more sober – in line with your cover…..”

He goes on and on but you aren’t listening. You just look at him. A man who looks like a man. Solid, strong, decisive but vulnerable. You fantasize. Your imagination begins to run wild. You feel his touch – he has put his hand in your arm. His touch is electric. A shiver of anticipation rises within you. Suddenly he is shaking you. You snap back to reality.

“Okay Anita. Let’s get on with the tradecraft,” he says, in an almost imperative tone.

“Tradecraft?”

“Yes. And make sure you don’t grow a tail.”

“Tail? “

“Yes,” he says, “ Be careful. Maybe you’ve already grown a tail – check it out and shake it off.”

“Grown a tail?” unknowingly you move your hand over your behind to check and instinctively shake your bottom.

“Not there!” he reprimands, in a voice a teacher uses to scold a careless student.

“Have you forgotten everything – counter surveillance protocol?”

“Countersurveillance protocol?” you ask credulous.

“Come on Anita. Snap out of it. Be alert. They told me you were a seasoned detective. Now get on with your mission.”

Detective? Mission? What’s he talking about?

Oh my God! Fear starts rising within you. It’s getting dangerous. This is for real - no longer fun. It’s time to run.

“Excuse me,” you say, quickly get up and start walking towards the exit. You sense he is following you. So the moment you get out of the bookstore, you deliberately avoid going to your car but walk in the opposite direction towards the Oval.

The Clock on Rajabai Tower is striking twelve – it’s noon.

You look back over your shoulder. Dilip Sen is following you. You break into a run, still looking back, and suddenly bang into someone. It’s Nalini – your gossipy neighbor.

“What happened?” Nalini asks, steadying you up.

“Nothing,” you say.

“Hey. Why did you abort?” Dilip Sen asks, catching up with you, his hand clutching your arm.

“Abort?” exclaims Nalini, her eyebrows arched, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You look at Nalini. Then at Dilip Sen. And then at Nalini again.

Nalini’s roving eyes travel all over you, look meaningfully at Dilip Sen, for that significant moment her eyes focus on his hand holding yours, taking in everything, till her gaze settles down pointedly looking at where it shouldn’t.

Everything seems frozen. In grotesque silence.

And then, Nalini looks at you with envious awe. And you see something mischievously wicked in her large radiating eyes.

You know you are sunk. Truly sunk. You break out into laughter. That’s the only sane thing left to do. Life isn’t going to be boring any longer.




VIKRAM KARVE

copyright 2006 Vikram Karve


vikramkarve@sify.com


http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Double Game ( science fiction) by Vikram Karve

DOUBLE GAME
BY
VIKRAM KARVE



Failures and Losers avoid school reunions. But this time I decided to go. Sucheta would be there. She had rung up from New York. And of course Anand was also coming with her. Maybe that’s the real reason I wanted to go.

It was fifteen years since we passed out from school and the reunion was a grand affair in the best hotel at this picturesque ‘queen’ of hill stations on the slopes of the Himalayas where our school was located. For ours was an elite and famous boarding school, distinguished more for its snob appeal than for its academic excellence. ‘Bookworm’ was an exception. He had topped the board exams and had become a distinguished scientist, always inventing something mysterious and experimenting something esoteric.

“Hi, Bookworm!” I said genuinely happy to see him.

“Moushumi, my name is Doctor Pratap Joshi. Not Bookworm”, he said angrily, “I am a Professor.”

“Professor Bookworm!” I teased him.

“That’s better,” he said.

“And what are you inventing nowadays?” I asked.

“I’m researching in the frontiers of Psycho-cybernetics.”

“Stop the mumbo jumbo, Bookworm. Tell me in simple language. Who are you and what do you do?”

“Okay. I am a neurologist. A psychiatrist. A psychologist. And I also hold a doctorate in Electrical Engineering. Currently I am researching in mind-transference,” Bookworm said proudly.

“Mind-transference?” I asked confused.

“You have seen star-trek haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There they transfer persons in space. H G Wells’ time machine transferred entire persons in time,” he said.

“And you?” I asked.

“I can put your mind into someone else’s body and vice-versa – someone else’s brain into your body!”

“It sound spooky to me. Is it ESP? Some kind of occult stuff? ”

“Not at all,” Bookworm said, “Nothing supernatural, esoteric or mystical. It’s a purely scientific technique. I’ve developed a pilot system for trials. The machine is upstairs in my hotel room. Why don’t you give it a try?”

A strange thought crossed my mind as I surveyed the room. My eyes rested on Anand. His height and his magnificent beard made him look so prominent in the crowd. He looked a decisive, hot-blooded and dangerous man, but he also looked vulnerable. Even now, he wore a lonely and rather perplexed expression, as though he were at the party but not a member of it. And beside him stood his wife Sucheta radiating the natural pride of possession that any woman feels when she has the ownership and company of a man that other women desire.

I reminisced. There were four of us who grew up together. In school and in college. Anand, Mohan, Sucheta and I. Inseparable friends. All of us loved each other.

I had the first choice since both Anand and Mohan were desperately in love with me and both had proposed to me. I opted for Mohan, leaving Anand for Sucheta. Then I kept tormenting myself living with Mohan but longing for Anand, wondering if I had made the wrong choice, repenting, trying to imagine what my life would have been like if I had married Anand instead of Mohan.

I looked at Anand, and then at Bookworm. Serendipity! Yes. I felt the adrenalin rush. This was my chance to find out what life would have been like if I had married Anand; and I was going to risk it.

I waved out to Sucheta and five minutes later both of us were lying side by side on the double-bed in Bookworm’s hotel room. There was a mesh of wires with electrode-transducers connected to our heads (like an EEG), a laptop-like special computer and a briefcase-size electronic device which Bookworm described as the ‘Electrophoresis Signal Processor’.

“Good,” Bookworm said, “both your brainwave frequencies are in ‘beta’ state around 15 hertz. I’ll give you both a high frequency burst to momentarily raise your brain-states to ‘K-Complex’ and instantaneously commence the electrophoresis.”

Looking at me, he said, “Moushumi, you will be Sucheta as far as the outside world is concerned. So when you wake up, go straight to Anand. Let’s see if he suspects.” And then to Sucheta he said, “Sucheta, you go straight to Mohan. He will think you are Moushumi.”

“It’s dangerous. I’m scared,” Sucheta said.

“Come on, Sucheta. Be a sport. It’s just for fun,” I said.

“It’s not fun. We’re doing this experiment to validate my research – in vivo – to see if the concept of mind-transference it works. Just for half-an-hour,” Bookworm said, “then both of you come back and I’ll reverse the process, and you can leave as your own total selves – your same mind in your own same body.”

I closed my eyes in trepidation wondering whether I was doing the right thing. Suddenly I felt my brain go blank and then there were vivid flashes in a void.

Half an hour later, when I was in seventh heaven gliding in Anand’s strong arms, enjoying the dance, Bookworm suddenly appeared by my side, tugged my arm and said with urgency in his voice, “It’s time. Let’s go, Moushumi.”

“Moushumi? Why are you calling her Moushumi?” an incredulous Anand asked Bookworm.

“She is Moushumi,” Bookworm said pointing at me.

“Are you drunk or stoned or something?” Anand snapped angrily. “Can’t you see she’s Sucheta, my wife? Moushumi must be with her husband Mohan. I last saw them having a drink near the bar.”

Instinctively we all turned and looked towards the bar. No sign of them. I hurriedly scanned the room. They had disappeared.

Bookworm was in a state of panic, “Anand. Try to understand. Your wife Sucheta has gone away with Mohan. And this here in front of you is Moushumi – Mohan’s wife. This is only Sucheta’s body. Inside it’s Moushumi’s brain – her self. Moushumi’s mind is in Sucheta’s body. My in vivo experiment was successful – it’s validated – the mind-transference!”

“Mind-transference? Stop talking nonsense!” Anand shouted angrily at Bookworm and taking my arm he said to me, “Come on Sucheta. Let’s go. Bookworm has gone crazy. And it’s getting late. We’ll drive straight down to Delhi. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow before we catch our flight back home.”

As we walked through the parking lot towards the luxury limousine Anand had hired for his visit I noticed that ‘our’ car was missing. It was cold and I glanced at ‘our’ small cottage on the hill slope for the last time. ‘They’ were probably cuddling up in ‘our’ bedroom by now.

I thought I was smart, but it was Sucheta who played the double game. For me it was only a half-hour experiment, but Sucheta had upped the ante and turned the tables on me. Will Mohan find out? And Anand? Will this mind-transference last forever? I shiver with trepidation. And what will happen then?

I don’t know. But from now on it’s going to be a tightrope walk. Every moment I’ll have to be on my toes. I’m excited. And a bit scared too. It’s going to dangerous fun. Now I will really know what life would have been like if had I married Anand instead of Mohan.

And soon I shall know whether I made the right choice. And then, maybe, I’ll tell you about it.



Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve



VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com
vikramkarve@hotmail.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com
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