‘I’ve decided to make a career for myself. One office will not be different from any other. If he’s the suspicious sort, he’ll suspect me in any situation. Then why should I leave someone as gentlemanly as you? I have understood one thing clearly: it’s not enough just to be clean. Others need to see it too.’
‘You’re right. So what do you propose?’
‘Sir, there’s no need to fear when one is truthful. The truth will come out someday.’
‘That’s the spirit! And what do we do about the note-writer?’
‘Let him keep writing.’
‘I believe it might be a case of blackmail. I’ll keep a five-rupee note on your desk tomorrow. If the five rupees disappear, we’ll know the person is doing it for money. He’ll get caught one day.’
The guess turned out to be right.
The money vanished the next day.
The money was being taken away every day.
Ghanekar sir spent nearly five hundred rupees.
That brought Vandana and him closer.
Their friendship deepened.
The demands of the note-writer increased.
Vandana got further indebted.
Her fights with Mr Samant became more intense.
Mrs Vandana Samant’s looks changed.
Her natural pink cheeks were now hidden under a layer of Max Factor cream.
Her lips needed a dash of lipstick to make them smile better.
Her hair, which used to stay silky and shiny with just the gentle touch of oil, now sported a blueish streak. Her tresses were left dry in the name of modern fashion, and then there was no choice but to allow the hairdresser to cut them in modern styles. A dash of kajal was no longer enough for her eyes. They needed a touch of mascara now to enhance their beauty. Her lips, naturally pink, were covered with lip gloss to make them shiny.
The big red bindi, which she’d been proud to wear earlier, now embarrassed her. The colour of the bindis changed to match her clothes.
She changed her brand of brassieres and settled upon Modernform. She had put on weight. The roving eyes, already enamoured of the way Modernform enhanced her curves, were distracted further by the way her pallu refused to stay in place.
The amount of clothes covering her body decreased in the same proportion as the increase in her salary.
And finally, one day, Vandana Samant left her house to live with Ghanekar sir.
It was public knowledge.
That was the day the last letter arrived.
It was not a note. It was a long letter. And with it, there were five hundred rupees.
So it wasn’t blackmail after all!
It could not have been.
For on the same day, Shiva came to meet me.
He wanted to fight.
‘You’ll be happy to know that Vandana has left her home.’
‘Sahasrabuddhe, don’t be absurd.’
‘What else can I say, Kale? A simple, innocent soul is fooled into becoming such a person. Ghanekar manages to fool her and all we do is sit and watch. Imagine the number of girls being fooled in this manner. How many bosses must be committing such crimes?’
‘What are we supposed to do, Sahasrabuddhe?’
‘Nothing! Writers like you just sit and watch, and then write stories. You could have done something to save the life of an innocent soul. I couldn’t sit and watch. You knew what kind of person Ghanekar was, how many girls he had trapped earlier. I told you. I continued to write the notes and keep them on her desk without fail. I continued to act as if I was dozing while hearing them talk. You should have helped me. I could have saved her life.’
‘Sahasrabuddhe, what if she had taunted me, saying, “It’s the absurd imagination of writers like you that conjures up such situations?” In fact, I was the one she suspected when the first note arrived. She had borrowed my handwritten notes, saying she wanted to read them, but all she wanted to do was to compare the handwriting. But what had to happen happened. Didn’t you try your best?’
Sahasrabuddhe, alias Shiva, could not contain his anger. He was restless. He finally composed himself and left without saying a word.
Since then he’s stopped talking to anyone.
All you see is his silence. You don’t see the reason behind his silence. I’m the only one who knows his pain. But, you idiots, please remember – never ask me or any other writer whom we’ve based our stories on. Never ask that. Ever again.
Just read the story, turn the pages, believing that it must be happening somewhere…
NOTES
VAIDYA
*Mother.
*Father.
SADASHIV
*Brother-in-law.
*Sister-in-law.
SATWALEKAR
*Paternal uncle.
*Maternal uncle.
KALPANA
*Elder brother.
VANDANA SAMANT
*Elder sister.
ABOUT THE BOOK
You who stand in a queue to buy rations or rail tickets, who try to board a running local train and hang precariously from the door, who tolerate your boss’s snide remarks and the trials and tribulations of marital life – you still manage to discuss politics with enthusiasm, to finish a game of cards, to laugh and to make others laugh … You are a true karmachari.
A collection of unforgettable short stories about ordinary people, Karmachari is a mirror held up to society. Set in the suburban Mumbai of the 1970s, yet universal, it is peopled by characters we might meet in real life. They come alive under V.P. Kale’s sharp but compassionate gaze, and prod us gently towards a world of greater kindness and understanding.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Vasant Purushottam Kale (1932–2001), or ‘VaPu’ as he was popularly known, was one of the most prolific writers in Marathi, with more than sixty books to his credit. His short stories are known for their insightful character studies, gentle satire and observations on life. Apart from his short stories, some of his most-read works have been the novella, Partner, and his autobiography, Vapurzha. He also started the trend of ‘katha kathan’, where he would read his stories
