Hello out there cyberworld (Jesus, do they even still say that shit?) Veronica Lyon here… a/k/a one of The Girls. I don’t work in the biz but I’m here to offer another perspective… that of the single, sexy, twenty-something female. Ava has been gracious enough to let me be one of the voices on this glorious site of sin and so here I am.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to be where I am right now, I’m here to tell you. It’s fucking fun. We’re not all on a search for a husband or baby daddy. Some of us are ecstatic to be exactly where we are. Ready to suck fuck or just plain tease.

I’m still not exactly sure what would cause someone to want to settle down in your early or mid 20’s. I remember dating a guy in college and my only concern with settling down was that I haven’t fucked enough people to be okay with just one person for the rest of my life! And I’ll tell ya, after I broke up with him I did indeed get A LOT more experience!

Ok, now just to throw a disclaimer out there I am not one of those chicks that’s into the one night stands or who hoes around. I simply enjoy the joys of experimentation and good sex. And let’s be honest, in your early 20’s have you really experimented enough to know what you like and what you don’t like? Not only sexually but personally… I think not. Shit, I’ve even met women in their early 20’s (and older!) who had never played with themselves before!! Crazy, I know.

So with all of that being said I look forward to sharing with you fabulous people what many women may be afraid to say. Apparently a woman strong in her sexuality is still taboo.

xoxo,

Veronica

Chick Corea is undoubtedly one of the most important jazz pianists to have emerged over the last three decades. Picking up where the likes of the great Bill Evans left off, Corea has, in the course of his career, meddled with all manner of jazz, including fusion, classical and free. He has also worked with many of the greats of the jazz world, including Miles Davies. This three-day residency, with two sets per day, will be a rare treat for fans. As always, try to catch the late show if you can.

ello Smexies!

Happy Thanksgiving to all !! =)

I have a thanksgiving sale in my store till 30th of Nov! Search for the items with a blue crystal star. Those are the discounted items. Do Check them out!

And more good news for the Black lace design fans! Another 2 of your favorite Black Lace designs – Senorita and Madame in now available in the white lace collection too! See the pics! Sexy and sensual – a total must-have for your closet =)

If u love them,

Check the Hyper Culture Main Store out now!

Happy Thanksgiving again!

much <3

Crissy

ello Smexies,

I am participating in the 69 Hump day happiness this week too! … which means one of my higher priced items would be slashed to 69 lindens only ONLY TILL MIDNIGHT TODAY!! The item for this week is a cute exposed top in the punk check pattern! check the pic =>

The vendor is right on the store’s entrance!

Check the HYPER CULTURE mainstore now!!

much <3

Crissy!

I have now finished crocheting the Mario and Luigi heads my brother had asked me to make for him.  But I have a surprise for him: I’m making a Yoshi for him!  He is actually buying the Mario and Luigi, but Yoshi will be his Yule gift.  I followed a pattern for the Mario and Luigi, but I am making my own Yoshi pattern.  The Mario and Luigi heads are roughly baseball size, a little bigger.  I had to make two Luigi hats because the first one turned out way too big.

I will try to get some photographs on here, but I may be a little late with them.

Speaking of photos, I got new batteries for my camera.  Now I can take more photos for this blog!  I am so happy!

The batteries are Maxell alkaline AA batteries.  1.5 volts.  If that matters.

Have you ever heard of the book called Keeping Chickens?  Here is a link to the Amazon.ca page for it: Keeping Chickens.

This is making me think about the website called My Pet Chicken.  It’s all about chickens.  They even sell chickens and chicken-themed gifts and whatnot.  Oh, and have I mentioned that I like the Rhode Island Red breed of chicken?  This is the My Pet Chicken page about it: Rhode Island Red.

I would show you my photographs of my Mario and Luigi, but the USB cable isn’t here, so I can’t get them onto the computer.  But I want to tell you this amusing bit of thought: the photos look like the line-up photos.  You know, when the line of people stand facing forward for a photo, then they turn sideways for another?  Anyway, I found that funny.

Well, this post, besides being on the wrong day, is long enough.  See you tomorrow!

Con Katherine Dunn, tra sigarette rollate con del tabacco fortissimo, the e sguardi carichi di intesa abbiamo parlato del suo “Carnival Love” (Eliott edizioni). Anche a registratore spento ho continuato a respirare un’aria che aveva in sé una sorta di misticismo metropolitano, una specie di lungo racconto umano che nelle pagine del romanzo galleggia invischiando il lettore in un vortice emotivo crescente.

Chick (uno dei protagonisti del libro nda.) dice “ Il volersi spostare fa parte delle cose stesse”. Cosa si è spostato in te con la scrittura di Carnival Love?

Chick è la mia personale interpretazione dell’energia che è contenuta nella materia. Questo libro è un luogo dove sono andata e ho vissuto per moltissimo tempo, per moltissimi anni. Un posto in cui ho raccolto tante cose della mia vita.
C’è stato un processo di crescita, di mutamento che ha accompagnato la scrittura del mio romanzo, ma io per prima ancora non mi rendo conto perfettamente di quali siano questi cambiamenti.
Fatto sta che l’energia contenuta nella materia scritta ha mutato qualcosa di profondo, talmente profondo da essere “insondabile”.
Ci sono sentimenti molto privati che sono davvero cambiati.

Quella dei Bineswki è una saga familiare, corale, che prende il via dalla scelta di due genitori che per creare dei freaks usano droghe durante la gravidanza. Saga che poi continua con le varie esistenze egotiche dei figli. Cos’è l’ego per te?

Credo in una specie di imposizione innata nel DNA dell’ego, e infatti la scelta di Al e Lil di assumere le droghe è legata proprio a questa idea che mi sono fatta vedendo svilupparsi i personaggi e le loro caratteristiche umorali. Padre e madre cercano di creare la prossima generazione seguendo i loro sogni e i loro desideri, arrivando, durante i primi “esperimenti”, ad uccidere molti dei loro figli, ma proseguendo lo stesso nel loro intento.
Ogni scelta del personaggio poi è differente. All’inizio avevo deciso di mettermi al loro posto e poi immaginare il loro sviluppo. Ma tutto questo è cambiato in corso d’opera, le riflessioni che nascevano durante la produzione letteraria erano frutto di una battaglia interna tra vanità e identità che affliggeva i protagonisti.
La scrittura è un’imposizione egotica che mi permette di cambiare continuamente il materiale che ho a disposizione, quindi credo che l’ego sia semplicemente una parte dell’uomo con cui convivere.

Tutte le vicende ruotano attorno al concetto di “normale”, “freak”, “diverso”, eppure nel libro spesso queste idee si confondono, si mescolano, capovolgendosi: esistono davvero per te la diversità e la normalità?

Come dici tu, nel libro cerco di capovolgere il concetto di normalità. La famiglia circense di cui parlo, normalmente non è auspicabile nella nostra società, non è desiderabile, ma nella mentalità dei Bineswki il concetto si ribalta e loro sono “auspicabili”, “desiderabili”, guardano con tristezza e compassione i normali.
Come in un gioco mentale ho cercato di confondere il sistema dei valori sociali che muovono le nostre scelte, i nostri pensieri e i nostri giudizi.
Non parlo di cose nuove, se ci pensi bene, ma cerco di dare una “prospettiva nuova”, un nuovo modo di vedere la normalità e per farlo il punto di vista deve nascere dall’interno del “diverso”, del comunemente ritenuto “diverso”, per andare verso il normale.
Da questo gioco ne esce fuori che la normalità è un prodotto, un brand, una serialità in cui questi freaks si ergono come unici, come pezzi unici diversi da quelli della fabbrica sociale.
Anche i giovani, americani e non, si raggruppano in tribù sociali in cui pensano di poter esternare la loro unicità, non rendendosi perfettamente conto che fanno parte di una macchina comportamentale ben precisa, che illude di essere “fuori dagli schemi” inglobando invece anche quella falsa libertà espressiva in una gabbia sociale che non permette l’espressione dell’io più vera.

Si coglie un senso quasi religioso nei personaggi, nella storia: Chick è una specie di Cristo silenzioso, Artie un Lucifero che si ribella al padre, fonda un suo culto e offre affabulazione.
È una dimensione consapevole questa, perché la religione ti appartiene o è nata con lo sviluppo narrativo?

Io sono atea, individualista e solitaria.
All’inizio credevo di essere cosciente di questa costruzione religioso/familiare, di questa sorta di archetipo, anche se poi, durante la scrittura, mi sono resa conto che non ero davvero consapevole di questa idea di partenza, di questo costrutto che stava vivendo la sua evoluzione.
Per quel che mi riguarda, io non sono molto favorevole ai culti in generale. In America ci sono moltissime sette, chiese, culti che spesso sfociano in suicidi di massa o omicidi.
La cosa che mi fa rabbrividire è che le persone che ne fanno parte sono quasi sempre molto istruite, hanno avuto una buona educazione e non capisco come possano compiere queste azioni, o far parte di queste congregazioni avendo una coscienza e una conoscenza dignitosa.
Per la creazione del culto arturiano ho cercato di entrare profondamente nella testa di Arturo e dei suoi seguaci all’inizio e credevo di esserci riuscita, smentendomi in seguito, perché entrare in quelle menti è davvero complicato.
La famiglia in senso lato ha un profondo senso religioso poi, è un misto tra una casta piramidale, una società ben definita, un’orda e un un’unione di individualità. Forse questo senso “religioso” di cui parli viene fuori anche grazie a questa sensazione che abbiamo della famiglia: un luogo in cui si può essere paria, santi e peccatori, un luogo in cui tutto si condanna e tutto si assolve. Una storia fatta di errori, cadute e risalite sempre tenute insieme dal legame di sangue… nel bene e nel male di questo.

Individualista e solitaria? Quindi nella solitudine siamo davvero liberi?

No assolutamente. Non dico niente di nuovo dicendo che le grandi conquiste dell’umanità sono frutto della collaborazione, che tendenzialmente ci si raggruppa anche in piccoli gruppi per darsi un senso di appartenenza comune in cui poi davvero capire il proprio sé.
L’individuo ha bisogno dell’altro, tutti abbiamo dei piccoli bisogni che riescono ad essere soddisfatti solo dagli altri o con gli altri.
Nella solitudine troviamo il nostro io evinto dalla massa, dalla moda, dagli influssi sociali, hai mai pensato al fatto che ti chiedano “Che tipo sei e non chi sei?”, una volta trovato questo io si deve semplicemente trovare una via di mezzo capace di regalarci la convivenza con la società e i suoi dettami. Per vivere sereni, per vivere in pace.

Dietro Carnival Love si percepisce un altro personaggio di cui non si parla mai o con cui ho parlato fino adesso. Hai detto che hai messo dentro il libro molte cose di te… quante davvero?

Ogni storia raccontata è frutto del narratore, quindi sì, in ogni riga ci sono io, c’è questo “personaggio”… però non creo nulla di nuovo con il mio scrivere, con la mia esperienza. Mi piace dare il point of view, il mio punto di vista personale riunendo così il lato biografico con quello dell’invenzione letteraria.
Come diceva Einstein “La materia occupa lo spazio” allo stesso modo io, in ogni mia piccola parte, occupo i miei personaggi e le vicende che si trovano a vivere.

Se dovessi paragonare il tuo stile di scrittura ad un pugile (la Dunn adora la boxe.nda) chi sceglieresti tra questi nomi: Alì, Tyson o Carnera?

Mmm, credo nessuno di questi nomi, però c’è un proverbio inglese che dice che in ogni scrittura c’è combattimento e quindi scrivo lottando.

Faccio un ultimo tiro dalla sigaretta offerta e mi esce spontaneo: Sai che mi è sembrato di leggere la Bibbia sotto acido con Carnival Love?

Quando torno a casa questa me la faccio tatuare qui sulla pancia..

Ridendo ci salutiamo abbracciandoci.

Alex Pietrogiacomi

My current stress level is raising. I have broken up with a girl I was dating for about two weeks. She acts like we have dated for 3 years. Just walk away. Also work sucked, I lost a $160 at the casino and got drunk. Makes for an interesting shit. Stress at about a 5.

—————-
Now playing: Dolores O’Riordan – When We Were Young
via FoxyTunes

En dat is waar. Zilver is mooier dan goud, tenminste mooier dan geel goud.
Het is al enige tijd stil geweest aan deze zijde.
Langer zwijgen lukt echter niet. Byebye goud.

Vandaag heb ik iets belangrijk uit de biecht geklapt. Door de reële afstand dwong ik een skypesessie af.

Ik moet u iets belangrijk vertellen…

Weg verbinding.
BOYcot!

Maar het vertellen over het belangrijke vertellen maakte het finale vertelsel overbodig.
Er volgde een precieze predictie aan de andere zijde van de onderbroken lijn.
Omdat ik voorspelbaar ben? Of zeer openhartig? Of wij twee handen op een buik? Maakt niet uit.
Gezegd is gezegd. Zelfs ongezegd was gezegd.
Al zal ik waarschijnlijk nog wel eens een onbeholpen poging tot relativatie van het onuitgesproken nieuws ondernemen.
Stellig ontkennen.

Blog er anders over.

Zegt ze, mocking me.
Maar mijn mond loopt er gelukkig nog niet van over tot aan de internetsnelweg.

Een ander verhaaltje dan maar, deels realiteit, deels fictie en eventueel een vervaging tussen beiden in mijn wakkere piekermomenten.
Naargelang interpretatie kan je ‘t koppelen aan mijn vage inleiding.

Er was eens een avond.
Na een normaal uur officieel omgedoopt tot nacht.
Maandagnacht. Grillig. Aprillig.
Maandagavonden durven mooi te zijn, en zoet.
Maar die nacht constateerde ik grilligheid door mezelf bewust te maken van wat symboliek.

Je zet de jongen buiten.
Tot daar aan toe. Het is immers nacht.
Nog een blik op de lange straat en hij die me inmiddels ’s nachts verlaat.
Ik constateer met een laatste blik,
beslis nog een nuttige taak te vervullen,
noodzaak op een Leuvense maandagnacht.

De voordeur staat wagenwijd open. Terug naar binnen. Terug naar…
Buiten,
daar waar ik good riddance het vuilnis zet,
haast tegelijk met …
En ‘ah symboliek’ denk ik luidop, glimlachend.
Symboliek, anti-romantiek.

Een half jaar gaat voorbij.
Avonden en nachten. Whatever grillig of zoet.
Dromen en daden blijven bij.
Een zondag, ’s ochtends, veer ik recht.
Met herinnering aan…

Een locatie.
“Ik moet nog iets doen”, zegt hij.
Een bruine zak, een wagenwijd geopende deur en een blik op de straat .
Het lijkt wel maandagnacht.

Een hartslag sneller.
Een angstvallige blik
zoekt naar symbolische voortekens.

Naar buiten.
Niet terug naar binnen.
Maar ergens halfweg, leunend tegen de deurpost.
Daar staat hij dan.

De deur gaat onherroepelijk dicht.
I am in.

Symboliek, roma…..???

Boring day Today in Amsterdam the weather is horrible. Lots of rain and wind. Yesterday we’ve got the same weather in the morning. But later on the sun was shining and it became a nice afternoon. I had to do some shopping in the city center. After that is took some shots.

The fist one is a tourist taking a picture of her family. I was impressed by her boots. They are great don’t you think.

The second one I took at one of the canals. I saw some colourful tourist on orange bikes. But when I wanted to take the picture this couple passed them. Well I was happy with it.

The last one is typical Amsterdam I think. All tourists come to Holland for the Red light district, drugs and the canals.

see also on my pictures on FlickR

I AM FEELING GOOD

Short Fiction   -   Pure Romance   -   A Love Story

By 

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, it is a cold morning and during my morning walk this story, one of my earliest writings, suddenly came to my mind and then perambulated in me. It made me feel good. I am sure it will make you feel good too!

I felt good.

My eyes feasted on the snow-clad Himalayan Mountain peaks painted honey-gold by the first rays of sunlight.

Behind me, deep down, was the resplendent Doon valley.

I breathed in slowly, mouth and nose together, relishing the pure, cold, nourishing mountain air.

I felt on top of the world, literally and figuratively, as I stood high in the middle of nowhere on a refreshingly cold bright morning, undecided what I was going to do, or where I was going to go.

What greater freedom than not having anything to do or anywhere to go!

I felt I was flying like a bird in the sky, with no one to take my freedom away.

“Something exciting is going to happen today,” said a tingling sensation within me, as if I were on the top of a high roller-coaster ready to plunge into unknown depths.

Suddenly, at the spur of the moment I decided to visit Victor, and with a spring in my step started walking towards Landour.

“Who’s Piyu ?” I asked Victor, picking up and opening the book lying on the bedside table.

“Piyu?” Victor said, his voice feigning ignorance but his eyes gave him away.

“Yes. Piyu! It’s written here in this book…‘ To my darling Victor, with fond memories of those wonderful moments at Port Blair. Love Piyu ‘… And Wow! Look at the lovely cursive feminine handwriting. So delicate. If her handwriting is so beautiful, she must be really gorgeous. A real beauty! Tell me. Who is she?” I asked teasingly.

“Shalini, you shouldn’t pry into others’ private matters,” Victor said.

“Private ? This is no personal dairy. It’s ‘Selected Stories of Anton Chekhov’. I’m taking it to read.”

“No,” Victor shouted and started to move his wheelchair towards me.

I know I had touched a raw nerve.

“I’m sorry,” I said and gave him the book.

He opened it and stared at Piyu’s handwriting.

“I thought there were no secrets between us,” I said.

“There aren’t,” he said.

“Except Piyu?”

“Please Shalu…….”

“You want to tell me about her?”

“Okay,” Victor said. And then he told me. About Piyu. And him. And their days in Port Blair. Maybe not everything. But whatever he wanted to tell me, he told me.

“Piyu ? A funny name?” I said.

“That’s what I called her. Like you call me Victor.”

I left it at that and said, “Now there are no secrets between us?”

“No! Now there are no secrets between us!” Victor said and gave me the book, “Read it, Shalu. There’s a story called ‘The Darling’. You’re just like the heroine. Always trying to mother me.”

“That’s because you are a naughty boy,” I teased.

“Naughty boy? I’m almost an old man. You should play with girls of your own age.”

“Play? You think I’m a small kid to play Barbie Doll? And you’re not that old either. You are just thirty.”

“I am twice your age.”

“Girls mature faster,” I said. “And your mental age is the same as mine.”

“Come on. You’re just a kid compared to me. I am a man of the world with a lot of experiences.”

“Like Piyu ………” I bit my tongue and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Piyu is a closed chapter,” Victor said.

“I’ve forgotten her,” I said “Piyu will never come between us again.”

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

“Shalu, why don’t you come to meet me more often?” Victor asked.

“I don’t want to disturb you too much,” I replied.

“Disturb me?” he smiled. “It is impossible to disturb me. You see, I never do anything. Every day is a holiday for me, from morning to night, from the moment I get up to the moment I sleep, there is nothing to do, nothing to look forward to…”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said.

“Okay. But please come more often, Shalu. You make me feel good.”

“You too make me feel good!” I said.

It was true.

Talking to someone who needs comforting seems to make one’s own troubles go away.

“I’ll come on Wednesday. We’ve got a holiday,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Yes. We’ll discuss Anton Chekhov,” I said holding up the book.

“The Darling?”

“The Darling!” I said.

“Okay. Bye. Take care,” he said and lovingly looked at me as I began to walk away.

Victor had come into my life on a cold and rainy evening just a few months back.

I had slipped and fractured my leg playing basketball. It was a simple fracture.

Victor was convalescing from a severe injury to both his legs. His was a complex case, and for months he was confined to a wheelchair not knowing whether or when he would be able to walk again.

Actually, his name wasn’t Victor – he was Vivek – but everyone called him Victor, so I too started calling him Victor.

At first I called him Victor uncle. But as our friendship grew, somewhere on the way, the ‘uncle’ dropped. And now there were no secrets between us.

On Tuesday evening I rushed to see Victor bunking the self-study period.

“A clandestine visit,” I joked.

“Better be careful, Shalu. If your warden finds out, she may think something.”

“Let her,” I said, “I came to tell you I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, no! I was looking forward to discussing Anton Chekhov with you.”

“Daddy is coming to Dehradun for some urgent work. He wants me to meet him at the station. He rang up the Principal for permission.”

“That’s great. I’m dying to meet your Dad. Make sure you bring him up here to Mussoorie.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You must. I want to ask him for your hand,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

“How cute,” I said coyly.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Take care.”

“You too take care. Okay Bye,” I said and rushed back to my hostel.

On Wednesday morning I left Mussoorie at six by the first bus and reached Dehradun railway station just in time for the express from Delhi which steamed in at eight.

Daddy was the first to get down from the AC coach and the moment he saw me his face lit up and he gave me a tight warm hug and smothered my cheeks with kisses.

“Please Papa,” I said embarrassed, “People are looking.”

“I feel so good when I see you, Shalu,” he said.

Papa kept the bag he was holding next to me and said, “Look after this. I’ll get the rest of the luggage.”

He beckoned to a porter and went back into the coach.

“Rest of the luggage?” I wondered.

Normally Papa travelled light, with just one bag.”

Soon there were three bags, a basket and a tall young woman with a small child in her arms standing beside Papa.

“Shalu, this is Ms. Bhattacharya. We travelled together from Delhi,” Papa introduced the woman, who smiled a sweet hello, and we began following the porter to the exit.

I looked at the woman through the corner of my eye. She was a real beauty, fair, with a skin like smooth cream. She looked straight ahead, as if looking at a distant object, and walked on expressionless.

But I noticed the way my Papa stole glances at her when he thought I wasn’t looking and I knew that she was much more than a mere fellow passenger.

I felt a tingle of excitement. Something was brewing. Maybe Papa was falling in love. Ten years after mummy had gone.

My father walked with a spring in his step, pulling his stomach in and thrusting his chest out.

“You seem very happy, Papa,” I said mischievously.

“Yes. Yes.” he said, “I’m so happy to see you, Shalu. You look so good.”

He opened the door of the taxi and looked at her, trying to mask the undisguised love in his eyes. It seemed a desperate case of thunderbolt.

I decided to have a bit of fun, quickly got in the car, and said, “Thanks, Papa, for treating me like a lady.”

Then I looked at the woman and said, “Bye Auntie.”

“Auntie is coming with us,” Papa said, “Shalu, you sit in front.”

“It’s okay, I’ll sit in front,” Ms. Bhattacharya said.

“There’s place for all of us at the back,” I said. “We can keep the basket in front next to the driver.”

I shifted, she sat next to me with the baby on her lap, Papa next to her on the other side and we drove in silence through Palton Bazar towards Rajpur road.

I kept quiet, waiting for Papa to tell me everything, but he too remained silent, probably because of the driver.

He got off outside an office. “You two can go to the guest house and freshen up. I’ll join you after finishing my work.

We sat alone at the breakfast table. The baby was sleeping inside. I looked at Ms. Bhattacharya. She looked so elegant yet youthful.

Late twenties? Maybe! Or maybe a bit younger.

I was dying to ask her everything, wondering what to say, when she looked into my eyes and spoke softly, “Shalu, I want to be your mother.”

I was touched by the way she phrased it.

I can’t begin to describe the emotions I felt, but instinctively I blurted out, “Why didn’t Papa tell me?”

She touched my hand and said, “He felt shy, embarrassed. You know how he is. He wanted me to tell you. And leave the decision to you.” She paused, and said; “I know it’s difficult for you. I promise we’ll do what you want. But try to understand. Your Papa feels very lonely.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I am lonely too,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

Suddenly she started to cry into her handkerchief, “I’m sorry,” she said, got up, and went into her room.

I sat confused.

She had been so calm and composed. And suddenly she broke down.

Had I said something wrong?

Maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was that Papa should be happy, everyone should be happy; even she should be happy.

Ms. Bhattacharya came out of the room. She had washed up, done up her face and looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that I instantly felt like hugging her.

Something inside told me that she would make Papa very happy. And me too!

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that sometimes you wait for a moment and when it comes you don’t know what to do with it.”

 “I like you,” I said. “I know you’ll make Papa happy. Only I wish Papa had told me. Shall I call you mummy?”

She smiled, “Come on Shalini. Be my friend. Call me Priya.”

“Okay,” I held out my hand, “Priya, let’s be friends. And you call me Shalu.”

“Shalu, actually even I wanted your Papa to tell you,” she said.

“He must’ve been embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“To tell me that he’s fallen in love at his age.”

“He’s only 43.”

“And you, Priya?”

“28. Oh come on, I shouldn’t be telling you my age.”

“You look 25,” I said.

She blushed. The baby cried. She went inside.

I went into my room and lay on the bed. What a day! I just couldn’t wait to tell Victor all this. He’d die laughing. Maybe I should marry him. We are so happy together. If Papa can marry Priya, why can’t I marry Victor?

They – 43 and 28 – Adult Love!

We – 15 and 30 – Puppy Love?

It’s not fair, isn’t it?

I drifted into sleep.

When I woke up, Papa was sitting beside me on the bed.

“It’s past one,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?” I asked.

His cheeks, his ears became red. He avoided my eyes.

“I guessed it the moment I saw you two at the station,” I said.

“You’ve really grown up, Shalu,” Papa said. “I’m so happy you have accepted her and your little brother.”

“Brother?” I said dumbstruck, and slowly comprehension dawned on me. I closed my eyes. All sorts of thoughts entered my brains. And suddenly everything was clear. “Oh yes. My little brother.”

Lunch passed off in a trance and soon we were on our way to Mussoorie. I’d wanted to go alone by bus, but Papa wouldn’t hear of it. He had work at the site office near Mussoorie and Priya wanted to see my school. She hadn’t been to Mussoorie before.

It was almost five when Papa got off at the site office and we were cruising on the Mall on the way to my school. Priya was looking out of the window as if searching for something. Suddenly she asked the driver to stop.

“I have to get something. Please look after the baby for a moment,” she said.

I took the baby in my lap and saw her enter Hackman’s, the biggest departmental store in Mussoorie.

She returned fast. “A small gift for you, Shalu” she said giving me a gift-wrapped packet and an envelope containing a greeting card.

I opened the envelope. It was a ‘Thank-you’ card.

She had written a message on the inside of the card:  “…To my darling daughter and friend, Shalini…”

I kept on starting at the beautiful handwriting, unable to read further.

Instantly, I recognized the same unique familiar lovely cursive handwriting, so feminine, so delicate.

Tremors started reverberating in my stomach, like a roller coaster. My pulse was racing. The car negotiated the steep road past Picture Palace up the winding slopes of Landour.

“Priya, look,” I said pointing out of the car window, “that’s the oldest building in Mussoorie. It’s called Mullingar. Isn’t it just like the Cellular Jail?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’ve seen Cellular Jail?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Many times.”

“You’ve been to Port Blair?” I persisted.

“Yes. I’ve lived there. It’s a lovely place,” she said.

“How lucky,” I said. “I’ve only seen pictures of Cellular Jail.”

Silence. Pregnant silence.

Then I spoke, looking at her child seated on her lap, “Baby. He’s so cute. How old is he?”

“Six months,” she said.

“You haven’t named him?

“Oh yes,” she said, “we call him Baby, his real name is Vivek.”

“Vivek?”

“Yes. Vivek ,” she said “It’s a nice name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I patted the driver on the shoulder and said, “Seedha Le Chalo. Jaldi. Drive fast. To Landour Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Priya asked flabbergasted.

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

The car stopped outside the hospital. “Come,” I said, and Priya holding her baby in her arms followed me towards the door of Victor’s room.

I opened the door and said, “Come Piyu. Go right in. Your Victor is waiting for you, for both of you.”

I didn’t wait to see the expression on her face.

I quickly turned and ran to the car and shouted to the driver, “Driver – jaldi karo. Be quick. Take me to the site office. Fast.”

As the car descended down the steep slopes of Landour, past Char-Dukan, towards Picture Palace at the end of the Mall, I took out Anton Chekhov’s book from my purse.

I’ll have plenty of time to read it now.

Maybe I’ll keep it as a souvenir to remember Victor.

I opened the book, read on the first page: “To my darling Victor…Love. Piyu.”

I took out my cell-phone and sent an SMS to Victor: “Happy Reunion!”

Then I turned the page and began reading Anton Chekhov’s enthralling short story ‘The Darling.’

As I write this I am feeling good.

Yes, I am feeling good.

Don’t ask me why.

Happiness goes when you speak of it.

VIKRAM KARVE  

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve

Appetite for a Stroll

http://books.sulekha.com/book/appetite-for-a-stroll/default.htm

vikramkarve@sify.com

Mate Soulmate SPDP  

Short Fiction – A Tasty Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Pune. Fergusson College Road. Vaishali Restaurant. 5 PM on a Sunday evening.

Crowded. Crammed full. Jam-packed. All tables occupied chock-a-block. Aisles teeming with people waiting with watchful eyes for signs of someone finishing their refreshments.

Suddenly I see a woman waving to me, beckoning me with her hand. Her face seems familiar – oh yes, she is Ravi’s wife. She is sitting all alone on a table for two with a half eaten masala dosa in front of her.

I walk towards her and give her a smile.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says to me, gesturing with her hand towards the empty chair opposite her, “Sit down here with me, otherwise you will have to wait for hours.”

I sit down opposite her and say, “Thanks.”

She summons a waiter and orders peremptorily, “SPDP.”

“Two?” the waiter asks.

“No, one SPDP for Madam,” she says pointing to the empty plate in front of me without even bothering to ask me, then she pauses for a moment and tells the waiter, “and get one Kachori for me.”

Before I can recover my wits, she says, “You like SPDP don’t you? Ravi told me.”

“Yes, I love the SPDP at Vaishali. In fact I come all the way here every Sunday…”

“To spend the day reading in the library opposite followed by an SPDP at Vaishali,” she completes my sentence.

“Ravi told you all this?”

“Of course. He’s told me everything about you. Ravi admires you so much, he always talks about you.”

“Really? But he never tells me anything about you.”

“What’s there to tell? I am only his housewife, you are his office wife.”

“Come on. Please don’t say that. There is nothing like that between me and Ravi. We are just colleagues – workmates…”

“Workmates?” Ravi’s wife interrupts, and then says with a hint of sarcasm, “I think you are his true soulmate – and I am only his mate!”

I am struck dumb, feel a bit uneasy, but suddenly the plate of SPDP is kept in front of me, so I look down and begin to eat.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “Don’t get angry. I was just teasing. I want you to be Ravi’s friend. He likes you so much. That’s why he is so happy in office and doing so well in his work.”

I stop eating; look up at her vacuously, wondering what to say.

“Ravi appreciates you so much he even brings you home to me every evening in his thoughts and talks…that’s why I wanted to meet you.”

“We’ve met before…”

“Only once, that too only an introduction, at the Office Annual Day get-together…we are hardly married for three months, you know, and you all are so busy, with your targets and all, so I decided to meet you, talk to you, get to know you better, make a friendship…”

“You mean…”

“Yes, I contrived this coincidence. I came to the library also, but you were so busy browsing that I did not want to disturb you, so I waited here in Vaishali knowing you would surely come for your SPDP.”

“You’re not eating your Kachori,” I say, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

“Here, you eat,” she says pushing her untouched plate of Kachori and katori of whipped curds towards me, “I am all full – I ate an Uttapam, Idli-Vada Sambar, god-knows-what, waiting for you to come…”

She leans forward and casually picks up a Sev Potato Dahi Puri from my plate, pops into her mouth and says, “Wow. I love the chatpata flavour of SPDP – you call it Umami taste or something – that’s what you told Ravi, isn’t it?”

“I think I’ll go now,” I say, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, making up my mind to have a long talk with Ravi the moment I meet him in the morning at work.

“No, no, don’t go, I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?”

“Yes, that’s why I came all the way here to meet you.”

We finish the SPDP and Kachori, I insist on paying the bill, she doesn’t object too much, and then she takes me to the drapery section of the Shopping Mall nearby.

“We are furnishing our new house,” she says, pointing at the curtain cloth on display.

I look at her clueless.

“I like yellow, you like blue, and since you have told him about the aesthetic cool tranquil beauty of the blue colour, Ravi is besotted with everything blue – blue shirts, blue trousers, blue table-covers, blue bed-sheets, blue napkins, the sober blue everything that you make him buy…”

I look furtively and self-consciously at the blue dress I am wearing, and say, “Okay, tell me which curtains you like.”

She points to a bright yellow floral print and says, “I like that one, I love yellow, so lively and cheerful… I hate sober gloomy colours, especially blue, it depresses me.”

Next morning at the office, Ravi says to me, “Hey, keep yourself free in the evening. We’ll go to Deccan for some shopping. You’ve got to help me select curtains for our new home. Then we’ll have SPDP at Vaishali.”

“Sure, Ravi, I’ll love to come with you,” I say.

Now I’ve got till evening to decide one thing – which colour curtains should I tell Ravi to buy – Yellow Curtains or Blue Curtains?

VIKRAM KARVE

 Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com 

http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve 

Appetite for a Stroll

vikramkarve@sify.com

I’ve finally submitted my third article at Alltern8 about LARPing and Dating. It’s a constant thing to hear people mention how they can never meet a significant other during a LARP. While I’ve seen it happen countless times! To open some eyes about scoring a date at a LARP I’ve written:

Article:

LARPing and Dating… Not a Myth

LARPing is a social event. I know! Can you believe it? Being a social event there tends to be some social interaction between people. Usually awkward, not looking in each other’s eyes, shifting your weight from feet to feet, and you can’t remember what you talked about after you walk away. Did I even introduce myself? What class is she?
Yup, that about covers a conversation between two people that are use to interacting with a screen between themselves and humanity. But you are subjecting yourself to actual social event outside of your basement so that alone is something to be proud of.
Most players when they think about the stress of carrying on a conversation do not even think of forming a relationship with someone unless they can call to trade Magic cards. Furthest from their mind is starting a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship.
And yet when guys gather around to plan an outing to the local LARP just the mention of lady LARPers have them cheering each other on, slapping each others back and drawing up intensive plans of who is wingman. But they are usually the first ones to mumble a hello and hightail it out of there to the first girl LARPer they come in contact with.
There are many girls out there that have the same reaction! We plan on meeting a lot of guys but it becomes overwhelming when we finally arrive to the camp. If you don’t have the confidence of a movie star the reactions you receive are intimidating enough to send anyone running for cover. And if you have the confidence to actually receive and handle the attention accordingly you become ‘untouchable’ by the guys who are nervous around confident girls and the stuck up princess to the rest.

To continue reading please click here!

We’ve all been w/ the wrong person at least once. When we break up and we look back like what the hell was I thinking. Now, personally if one of my chicks have any of this flag pop up! Imma Jay-Z that trick and be on to the next one. Check em out tell me what you think.

1. Her body issues exceed normal limits.
Who wants to spend time with a girl who constantly asks you if you think she’s fat? Every girl’s got her insecurities, but if she can’t eat a meal without calculating calories, cancels dates with you so she can get in those extra workouts, or walks backward when she’s naked because she’s afraid you’ll see her non-existent cellulite, we don’t care how skinny she is — she sucks.

The Story: “My ex didn’t eat pizza, but not because she didn’t like it. In fact, she loved it. She swore off pizza because of the calories. Then she swore off beer, also because of the calories. I understand not wanting to gain weight but come on, splurge once in a while. If your girl won’t chill on the couch eating pizza and drinking beer every now and then, you may as well swear off the relationship because you’re dating a total Debbie Downer.”

2. She doesn’t have a mind of her own.
If you’re talking to a girl and she thinks everything you say is interesting, she probably isn’t thinking at all or is too inarticulate or insecure to share her opinion with you. This inability to think for herself will likely snowball with time — soon she’ll be adopting your interests and agreeing with everything you say, which is a lot more boring than it sounds.

The Story: “I was dating this girl who was totally high maintenance but claimed to be a great athlete. She said she played softball, basketball and ran track in high school. For her birthday, I planned a special sports-oriented day. For the first half, I packed a picnic basket and brought two mitts and a softball. Once we got to the park, I grabbed a mitt for myself and tossed the other one her way … and she ducked … I called her out on it and she said she had lied because she knew I was really into baseball and wanted us to have something in common.”

3. She’s obsessed with marriage.
When a girl says she isn’t thinking at all about marriage and just wants to enjoy the moment, do not believe her. She is lying to you and herself — all girls think about marriage. The chicks you need to look out for are those who plan their entire wedding and are merely looking for a man to insert into their delusional fantasy.

The Story: “Considering proposal to my then girlfriend, I went window-shopping for rings. Finding not one perfect diamond, I took it as a sign that the relationship was flawed and decided to slow things down a bit. Well, I knew I had made the right decision when just a few weeks later she asked me where her ring was. Not, Are we going to get married and spend the rest of our lives happy together? but Where’s my ring? Then, when I told her I had to use the money to pay off some bills, she became outraged, throwing a fit.”

4. She tells you not to wear the condom on your first night.
Yes, in the heat of the moment, people make mistakes. If you’re both wasted and it accidentally happens, OK, we get it. But if a chick specifically tells you not to worry about wearing a condom, you need to worry about it — how many other guys has she said that to?

The Story: “At a Super Bowl party my buddies and I were playing flip-cup outside at a friend’s beach house and I charmed some girls into hanging out with us for the day. Things between me and this hot redhead were clicking … After a few games and some witty banter we ended up in my buddy’s bedroom fooling around. After an exhaustive search to find condoms at the house and asking everyone there to no avail, I told her, ‘Oh well, I guess no sex, no big deal.’ To this I got the response: ‘If you promise to be careful you can go right ahead.’ If a girl is willing to let a stranger go raw, and all you have to do is remember to pull out, you should run like I did. Or give her a fake name so then she can’t find you for the child support payments.”

5. She thinks her dog is your child.
You’re not living with the girl but somehow you end up being the one walking her yappy dog (and cleaning up after it) when you’re over at her place. Why? Because you’re its daddy.

The Story: “I’d been seeing this girl for a couple weeks when she decided to spend $400 on a hypoallergenic dog about the size of my fist. The first red flag was the fact that she spent that much on a pet, when I’d been helping her pay rent for three months. Then, she started calling her dog her ‘baby,’ and referred to me as the dog’s ‘daddy.’ I hit the road, knowing the longer I stayed, the more ‘children’ I’d have to support and rent I’d have to pay.”

6. She “doesn’t give blowjobs.”
What does this mean exactly? Like she doesn’t give head, ever? We don’t get it.

The Story: “I once dated this chick who stopped blowing me after a few months because she ‘didn’t like the taste.’ No offense, but that labyrinth you call your vagina doesn’t taste like sweet, delicious candy. If you don’t want to drop to your knees anymore, you probably shouldn’t expect me to have any more dinners at the Y.”

7. She has a record of dating jerks.
Girls with sketchy dating histories, particularly those who have subjected themselves to serious degradation in multiple relationships, present some major red flags. No, you’re not going to save her; you’ll just end up being the nice guy she once dated.

The Story: “Shortly into a relationship a girl told me that she had had a number of shitty boyfriends, among them a guy who used to make her do push ups and ab exercises every night to keep a lean figure. I obviously laughed when she told me this but seriously, what girl allows herself to be treated so poorly? The answer: the type of girl that, one week post break-up, calls at 3 AM hysterically crying and looking for consolation because the condom worn by some random dude she just met at a bar broke during intercourse. Needless to say, I was glad she was no longer my problem.”

Now, I’ve read a lot of Chic Lit in my time, too much, in my opinion, but it was always something I grabbed from the shelf in a moment of extreme boredom and desperation. I think I speak for the world when I say that each time I grabbed for one I was hopeful that it would fulfill my literary and intellectual needs; however, each time I was dismayed to find that not only are they written badly but my IQ level seemed to decrease at a steady rate as I continued through the book.

When I picked up The Truth about Forever by Sarah Dessen, I thought it would be the same: another book that was recommended by friends but was full of immature agony over middle  or high school life. In this case, however, it was my pessimistic side that was disappointed. Of course, this book does contain the necessary elements of Chick Lit (summer setting, romance, hurt, healing, and “learning”) but within this overly dramatic mess is something new: a true analysis into the complex array of human emotion caused by events, of any type, in a person’s life. The author did not just look at the young girl’s wild emotional roller coaster, but also at the people around her and how they reacted and acted to certain events. By reading this deeply into a book we learn the true lessons that should be learned; even if they are not the one intended by the author.

Although this might seem a little farfetched to you, this is the lesson that I learned from this one book: All people are connected; your actions affect the person next to you, who affects another person. A cycle that goes on forever, that is, of course, based entirely of your perspective of “forever”. If forever is the two minutes that are left in you last period math class, then you are more likely not to be thinking about how your actions in those next two minutes will affect your life and the people around you. Your prespective is different again if you are behind on your rent and are about to be kicked out; forever then becomes the time that you might have to be without a home. All your mind is thinking is that “I will be in this situation forever”, but many times when we think like this, we are ignoring the important people around us that might need more support than we do. As you think about “forever”, you might be ignoring your child who is stoically putting up a front so that you don’t look so tired and worried. If you got a different impression from this book, please tell me; I would be fascinated to learn other people’s perspective on this topic.

This type of look into the grayness of life is fascinating because so many authors seemed delusional into believing that everything is black and white, that there is a good and bad side to everything. In reality though, all of us just react to someone else’s act and are rarely trying to hurt anyone, and if we do try to hurt then it is usually based on perception of the other persons action(s).

The only thing that is very unrealistic in this book that you will have to watch for is the possibility that everyone is happy in the end, that everyone settles into a happy relationship with all their troubles past, but I wouldn’t dwell on that too much; this is a book that to be enjoyed must be read at a deeper level than the mindless scribbling of a lovesick girl. But of course, that might just be my pessimistic side, coming up for air again, maybe it will be proved wrong again… maybe everyone ends up happy in real life… but I doubt it.