In search of that something called Love.. May 17, 2007

Sometimes eight year old hearts want revenge.

She woke up in the darkness of the night. Tiptoeing past her mother and brother, who were sleeping on mats in the living room, she went into the hall to check the time. The wall clock showed 3 AM. Just a few more hours, she thought. Will he think I have grown up? What presents will he bring? She chided herself for thinking about the presents. After all, he was coming after three years. Will he scoop me up in his arms, like they do in that advertisement? The whole scene was so picture-perfect, she wondered. Does it happen in real life too? Amma had told her that advertisements and films do not always project the truth. She tiptoed back into bed and remained there quietly, awake until he finally arrived.

” Appa! “
He smiled at her. No scooping up in arms, she sadly thought. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe…
” Are you up so early?”
“I was waiting for you, Appa! Do you want to see my English class work book? My teacher gave me a ‘very good’,you know? And..”
” Um.. that’s good.”
Amma brought him a cup of coffee. He drank it, while trying to pry open his suitcase between sips. She hung around awkwardly, curious yet scared. Three years had not dimmed the memory of his sometimes angry self.
The suitcase seemed to be full of treasures- perfumes, clothes, colouring books, trinkets…
And then she saw it.
A pretty yellow polka dotted dress. Her heart raced wildly:I can’t wait to wear it! How she could dance along, looking like one of those posh kids in her school! Maybe she could wear her hair down, just that one day..She would look very pretty, she was sure.
” Come here”
She went ahead, unable to control her excitement. He held the dress against her and asked Amma, ” Do you think Bala’s daughter is the same size as her? “
Baala’s daughter, that was Shruti. Her cousin from Chennai.
” I think this will suit Shruti a lot. We’ll go down to Chennai sometime next week and give it to her, okay? “
Amma nodded, her mind more worried about the economic concerns of the family. His going abroad had done nothing to improve their state of living. With leeches for relatives, there was nothing more you could expect.

Shruti. Why does she need this dress, she wondered. She has so many pretty dresses.. Tears welled up in her eight year old eyes. She looked at the colouring book and crayon set on her lap. She had been sitting on the terrace for the past one hour, trying to draw birds with the new crayons. All she managed to do was to convince herself that yellow polka dotted dresses did not really matter one bit.

***

He came in from his morning walk, slightly sweaty and out of breath. Retirement had brought in a voracious ennui into his life and he felt himself sapped of all energy. He did not feel motivated to do anything. And now, his daughter had also flown the coop. She had decided to stay back in the US for another three years to complete her Ph.D as well.

He settled down in his easy chair, with the day’s newspaper. The usual stuff, he thought. Politician caught in scam. School kid commits suicide. Bus accident kills four. Earthquake claims two hundred.
Suddenly the phone rang. The long beep told him it was an international call. Before he could bring himself up to answer, his wife picked it up.
” Oh! It’s you.. I am so relieved to hear your voice kanna! How is everything?”
He knew it was her. It had been so long since she had called! Everyday he would wait for her call, though he knew she called up only on weekends. If she was free, that is. Work and studies kept her very busy. He felt a little angry, will she never understand how this old heart clamours for a word from her? How it waits for one phrase, ” How are you, Appa ” ?

His wife handed him the phone. Finally she seemed to have remembered him!
” Hi Appa.”
” Hello! How are you doing? How is everything going? Are you eating properly? You remember Kichami uncle from Chennai? He had…”
” Um, Appa, the line might get cut anytime. I have just a minute left on the card. You take ca…”

He put the phone back into the cradle and went back to reading his newspaper.

Sometimes eight year old hearts have their revenge.

All for the stars. January 29, 2007

Ouch! My eyes are watering. I should have expected that, because I’d just looked up at the sun. Quite a powerful character,he. Knows how to make me cry. In case you were wondering, I never cry.

Never.

I did not cry when I saw my daughter being stowed away on a stretcher, she was dead and pale, in that wretched hospital, what was its name? Oh, swell, I do not remember and do not intend to. I never cried when I saw my mother die, right under my nose. Point is, I did not really care and I did not cry. That should give you some picture about me, I guess. Otherwise, I am just another man on the streets, slightly old and extremely shabby.

I have come to realise, from my days so far, that life goes on. A tea at the local café, a cigarette and my day is made. I have a small job, not that I am entirely useless-I pick up rubbish and earn a few rupees from it. Fancy that, getting paid just because you have an eye for the dirty, the rotted and the useless. Life goes on, and on. I do not have the time or the inclination to worry about my ‘fate’, as I have heard people call it. Fate or no fate, life goes on.

I have come to my usual spot now. I come here everyday to pick up trash. Quite a nice place, I must add. There is a small lake nearby and on sunny mornings like today’s, you can see beautiful girls jogging around the place. Trying to lose weight, I reckon. As for me, I love them just the way they are, I prefer round women to those skinny weaklings. Look at me, telling you what kind of women I like! My own wife dumped for another man (been quite some time now) a few years ago, she found me too ugly to be living with. I never found a woman after that, never wanted to. I am happy looking at a pretty thing once in a while, thank you.

I have managed to fill my dirty bag. All I need to do is turn in my stuff to that bald idiot in the ‘raddi’ store, see how much I get, grab a tea and dinner at Rehmat snacks, and then, maybe, gaze at the stars. Somehow feel like doing that today, watch those little lights and go to sleep.

“You think this would fetch you anything?”

His angry voice jolts me out of my reverie about those dumb stars. I look at him helplessly. There is not much I can do, is there? I just pick up stuff.

“Just take whatever you want and let me out of here”, I snap back. He flings a thin book at me and thrusts a few soiled notes into my hand.

“Go”, he adds nonchalantly.

I am pretty used to this treatment. My ego died a natural death ever since I started this job. I take the money and the book. Hell, what am I supposed to do with a book? I dropped out of school, rather was kicked out of school halfway through my sixth class. I can manage to read a bit, which is clearly enough. I did not want to touch a book ever since. But I have a book with me now. I should just dump it in the next dustbin I see.

I am walking, the book still in my hand. Perhaps I sound silly, and I am mortified to admit it, the binding feels good to touch- a little soft, a little rough, slightly coming apart.. I guess I am going mad with age. I need to trash the book soon.

I wake up to the jarring noise of an ambulance at the end of the street. I realise I have been sleeping on the pavement for the past one hour and oh! Just look at those stars above, cute boys, shining and all that! I feel something poking my tummy. It is the dirty book, still tucked between my torn pants and stomach. I pull it out gingerly, why hadn’t I managed to trash it?

Maybe it is boredom, but I feel like opening the book and reading what it has. I rub my eyes and sitting under the stars, I strain to read the letters, one by one.

What is this? I find the word ‘star’ amongst all the other words that there are. I could recognize that word anywhere! Oh, I could, you bet I could!

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night..

Do you see stars in streams too? During the day? I see stars during the day too, not in the streams, but in my head! What could that possibly mean? Am I crazy or is this just a nutty book?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

I read the lines again and again, does not make any sense to me. How could it, I should have listened to my mother and gone to school. I put the book aside and gaze at the stars instead. Some weird book, wonder why they write such stuff.

Tomorrow I am going to look for these stupid stars in the stream.

Maybe I’ll find them.

The Magic Sieve January 6, 2007

Once upon a time, there was a little village by the sea. It was a beautiful village where coconut trees swayed gently to the salty breeze of the ocean, where the green sea regularly rocked the children to bed with its haunting melodies. The golden coast was decorated with shells and the crabs moved in and out of tiny openings in the sand. When the sun rose, at the other end of the ocean, it was as if the world was being lit up by an angel’s torch, flushed and divine.

.This village was made up of gentle people, soft spoken and peace loving. They loved coconut water, baths in the sea, walks on the sands, and most importantly, each other. They were woven together like pieces of a painting. Closely knit, they moved gracefully against the winds of time, like a kite fluttering in the blue skies, amidst the cottony clouds.

The people of this sunlit village had a special gift: they could see their thoughts. Each morning, they woke up, sifted through their thoughts, identified the good ones, and went about their way. Sometimes a bad thought could be found nestled in the crooks of their mind, but they persevered and threw it away. They called it ‘weeding’. Even little children there were adept at this. Of course, they had each other for help. Peace reigned over the blessed village. Many years and eons passed this way. The people of the village only got better with their weeding each day.

Until the day a magician from a far away land visited their land. He brought with him magic wands and magic potions and wanted to entertain them all. Settling down on the vast coast, the one with the long nose spread his ware.

Come one and come all,

let us not this show stall!

I draw things from thin air,

A rose, a pie or even a hare!

The people of the village had never seen a magic show before. Intrigued by this strange man, they gathered around him in a large circle. Some of them laughed, some of them were afraid. Who knows what a stranger might do? Children jumped up and down in glee, attracted by his strange clothes and singsong talk. They settled down on the wet sand, forming an inner circle, while the adults stood around them in a larger one.

Right at the middle stood the magician, pulling up things from nowhere. Lovely bouquets, prancing hares, talking parrots, paper hats- he seemed to have them all up his sleeve. The children started to clap, some of them started to sing. The adults hushed them, asking them to pay attention. The magician tore his scarf and pieced it together, with just a swoosh of his wand. Thus he went on and on, conjuring up unimaginable things. Suddenly, he stopped everything and looked around.

As the ocean here does roar,

Do you want to see some more?

All the children screamed their assent. Behind them, the adults frowned, but they wanted too, for the show to go on. They watched as the magician put his long hands into the pockets of his deep blue gown, and pulled out a round plate. The plate was made of silver, but only along the edges. The core was made of mesh, like the nets they used at night to ward mosquitoes away. The long nosed one peered at them through the mesh.

This sieve that I have with me,

with this I can your thoughts see!

People gasped. Was that true, but how was it possible? They waited for him to go on. What they thought was their special gift, was now too common! With his blue robe threatening to fly away from his form, the magician continued,

Good, bad, give them to me,

And I will let the good ones be!

One by one, child and adult, man and woman, they moved up to the centre, while the magician used his sieve to take away all the bad thoughts. He assured them only the good ones would remain. Wasn’t that so much easier, than weeding everyday? He took away everyone’s bad thoughts and packed them into his magic wand. The entire village watched in horror as he broke his wand and flung it into the sea. They now had only good thoughts! They thanked the magician over and over.They thanked him for coming to their village. They thanked him for bringing his magic sieve. They put coins into his bowl and gave him presents of precious silk. The magician walked away with a beautiful smile,

Noble ones, please do hear,

I shall be here again next year…

With that promise, he traipsed into the sunset, back to the land from where he had come. The people of the village rejoiced. What a wonderful gift the magician had given them! They went to bed with full hearts and singing souls.

Next day dawned, as fresh as ever. They woke and began to sift through their thoughts, out of habit. then they realized: no more sifting! They just had to look at their noble thoughts everyday. They searched hard, but where were all their good thoughts? They searched high and low, through the labyrinths of their minds, alas! They were left with none. First shocked, then sad, the people tried harder. But they could not see their noble thoughts at all. The stupid trickster, they thought. He has taken them all away, leaving us with none! They cursed him and called him names. They did not like each other now. Each believed that they lost out on their good thoughts because of the other. If only he had not pushed me into the middle, thought one. If only he had not praised the magician before me, thought another.

They bickered. They quarrelled. They screamed. They fought.

The once tranquil village was now a veritable ground for bloodshed. All the bad thoughts that they thought they had given away, were now ruling their hearts and minds. They were not able to sift through their thoughts anymore. Each day seemed like a torture, life seemed hard. They only complained about their difficulties now.

Exactly a year later, as the sun went down on the village, wondering about how the people stole his colours, a child saw a blue blob walking along the coast. She was playing alone on the sand, for she had no friends. She saw him and certain memories came back. She ran back to her father to tell him that the magician was back, she was sure of it. Father and daughter searched the coast for him. They found him lying in a corner, sorting out his seashells. The father grabbed him, livid. You stole our thoughts, he said, give them back to us! The magician smiled, I did not take them at all, he said. The father looked on, surprised. The whole village gathered around him once again, like it had one year ago. They saw the magician and started pelting him with rocks. They hit him, called him a cheat. He fell down to the ground in a heap. A child saw something between his fingers. He went forward and snatched the piece of parchment.

Good, bad,

Can you people, good thoughts see

If you did not let the bad ones be?

Fight your bad thoughts,

do not throw them away…

the easy way,

is not always

the best way.

Fight, fight, fight the bad,

for that is how you can see the good.

Before the child could get past the violent adults to sit and ponder over the verse, the magician had already breathed his last.

For a fault of hers. January 2, 2007

The warm breeze against her face soothed her a little. In another few hours, she would be back where ‘she’ belonged, as she had been told. The train only seemed a little too eager to send her there. It scurried its way along, with not so much as a cursory glance at the green fields and looming hills en route.

Perhaps that was where she really had to be. Away from what had been her family. How strange it was that your mother or father no longer formed part of family, once you were married.

The husband is your everything, they told her, he will keep you happy.

Happiness is such a relative term, she smiled to herself, so you never know how it ‘actually’ feels. Her hand accidentally moved to the parting on her forehead as she brushed away a stray lock of hair.

Red with sindoor.

‘Happily married’.

She remembered her tantrums, about not wanting to go back to her husband and her father’s stern reprimands.

‘You have to go, whether or not you like it Mathi, you are married now. You cannot stay with us forever.’

She had felt like an errant schoolchild then, being sent to school with undone homework and dirty shoes. But that’s exactly how she felt around her husband- useless, unworthy, dirty. Her smiles danced around the bottom of her heart in his presence, not finding expression on her face. She was a huge contrast to what she had been a few years ago- vibrant and spirited.

And she did not know why.

Perhaps it was her fault.

She had to learn to compromise and be happy.

‘The train is late’, he said, talking more to himself than to her, wiping his enormous forehead with a brown checkered handkerchief.

‘Yes’, she replied in a low tone, ‘How is Ma?’

‘She is fine, waiting for the daughter-in-law’, he managed a half-smile.

She did not reply.

‘How was your trip?’, he continued, ‘what did your parents say?’

‘Nothing much, had a nice time, that’s all.’ she replied.

Had to come back here anyway.

He barged ahead, jostling through the crowd with her suitcase, as she meekly followed him through the maze of luggage, dirt, people, babies.. and well, hope, hatred, love.

‘TAXI’, he bellowed, once they were out of the noisy, crowded station and onto the road.

A taxi pulled over, he put her luggage into it. She got into it, looking at him quizzically, for he showed no intentions of getting in with her.

‘You go home,’ he ordered, ‘while I get back to work.’

She almost smiled. She should have known that was coming. Looking at his now retreating figure, she braced herself to the thought that she would not be seeing him for another week.

Atleast.

Sitting in the stuffy taxi, looking out at the loud traffic, she wondered…’So this is what married life is all about..’

DING_DONG!
The rest of the household was asleep. Mathi woke up hurriedly to answer the door, her nightgown trailing behind her. It was 11 in the night and she did not want her mother-in-law to wake up. She was in no mood for another of her scolding sessions.
He walked in, reeking of alcohol. She followed him into the bedroom.

‘Are you drunk again?’, she asked, giving him a long stare.

“Just this night, sweetheart, I am sorry.’

She sat down at the edge of the bed, looking at him as he plopped onto it like a ‘jack-in-the box’.

For a second, she thought he looked funny.

Hilarious, in fact.
It is no big deal, she told herself, so many men come home drunk, besides he’ll be OK tomorrow.

She lied down on the bed next to him, looking at him sideways. He was sprawled out on the bed, his mouth slightly ajar, breathing shallowly.

Does he know right now that I am his wife?, she thought.

That we walked around the sacred fire exactly one year ago?

That he is seeing me after nearly a week?

What scared her more was the fact that it did not affect her at all. Nothing he did moved her. He was just another man she was forced to share a roof with. It was like a child playing make-believe. Soon, somebody would tell her that this role was not for her and she would go back to her old self.

Her old life.

Without him.

Until then, the least she could do was to enjoy the game. She put a finger to his forehead, feeling the beads of sweat on it. She turned over on her stomach, her hand still on his forehead, and went to sleep.

‘Congratulations! It’s a baby boy!’, the nurse broke the good news to Mathi’s father, who dropped onto the chair , crying out of sheer delight. His little girl, his youngest daughter, the apple of his eye, had made him a grandfather again! How time did fly! He went in to have a look at his grandson.
‘He’s got your eyes, Mathi!’ he exclaimed, not able to take his eyes off the handsome child.

She smiled.

‘Did he call?’ she asked, as an afterthought.

Mathi’s father looked slightly uncomfortable as he told her , ‘yes, he did…but he made no mention of the baby. He just said he’d be coming next month to take you back home’.

She stared at the white hospital ceiling.

When he came a month later, she told him pointblank, ‘I am not coming back with you’.

‘What nonsense!’ he screamed, his voice trembling slightly, ‘I am not going back without you.

And my son’.
Mathi looked at him sullenly. Her mother spoke to the son-in-law, “But son, she said she was missing us a lot back there.. and perhaps one more month here would do her some good.’ He gave her mother an empty look.

‘Fine. You may keep your daughter to yourself.’

His face was knotted with anger and he looked as though he might kill someone. He left that very night, with the same urgency with which he had landed.

One week later, Mathi woke up to a brilliant sunrise. She fed her baby, dressed him and then decided to take a nap. Suddenly she heard her mother screaming, ‘Mathi! Oh my god! This cannot happen!’

Mathi rushed out into the hall. Her father was kneeling on the floor, sobbing. She snatched the piece of paper from her mother’s hands.

SEKHAR DEAD. LIVER DAMAGE. CEREMONY ON 23.

Mathi stared at it for a long time, before she fell to the floor bawling.

Then she stopped.

And laughed aloud.

It’s all my fault, she thought.

I should have stopped him from drinking.

I should have gone back with him.

It’s all my fault.
Funny how you can miss someone you never even loved.

Dawn December 26, 2006

She settled down to a long nap after the afternoon meal. Stretching her limbs languorously, she slipped in to deep sleep. The sun blazed, making the green leaves wilt. There was an occasional rustle of dried leaves when someone chose to turn over in bed. She stirred lightly, looked around with eyes half-open, to make sure all was well. Mother was nearby, so she had nothing to fear.

She started to play a game: find the sun. She closed her eyes and moved her head from side to side, trying to find out where exactly the sun was. She stopped, and looked up. Sure enough, there he was, the big ball of light, shining right into her eyes. She went back to sleep, content. She was getting bored of the game, anyway. Imagine, born this morning, and bored of the sun already!

The sky was darkening, she could feel it within her eyes. She slowly opened them, looking around with panic. What was happening?

Why is everybody up? Is something bad going to happen?

She tried to close her eyes and play her game again. She moved her head from side to side, and opened them. The sun was not shining into her eyes now; he seemed to have moved a little. How would she know? His light had become so feeble now.

Is he angry with me? Perhaps I should not have been so arrogant…

She could feel Mother standing next to her, but with every passing moment, Mother was slowly going out of focus. Right now, she was just a grey shadow, a grey shadow tossing its mane.

The sun was nowhere to be seen. There was just a touch of red in the sky. Had the sun forgotten to take his halo with him?

But where was He?

She whimpered. Mother was not visible at all now, though she could feel her heavy breathing. The earth was damp under her feet.

What happened to Mother? Why can’t I see her anymore?

The breeze was upon her shoulders and she began to feel cold. She moved closer to what seemed like Mother. Everything was still again, like it was in the afternoon. Only, there was no sun now.

Thrown into an inky darkness. Was life over already? She thought, for a moment, that she was back in Mother’s womb again.

Of course not! It was so warm and cosy in there. Here it is so dark..and cold..

She heard strange noises and rumbles that did not let her sleep. Fear was hanging from her throat, threatening to slit it if she opened her mouth. She crouched low, wrapped in the blanket of blackness that had descended upon her.

Who is this dark demon? He stole the sun and now, He is after my life!

Mother seemed to be fast asleep. Was she not caught in this mire, too?

Perhaps I’ve suddenly gone blind..

Shuddering at the thought, she tried to calm herself. Not a soul around to help, she was sure it was the end of the world. She let out a feeble cry and braced herself for the floods, the volcanoes, the meteor rains and the earthquakes that would soon follow. She thought of her life, one day old.

One day old and not a good deed to my name..why, I even got bored of the sun!

Trembling in the cold, she collected all the unsaid goodbyes. Poor sun, he deserved it the most.

What would I not do to see his bright face now?

She shut her eyes tight, trying to remember all the good days she had in Mother’s womb, and waited for Nemesis.

 

She could feel the earth shaking beneath her. Frantically, she opened her eyes, prepared for the worst. It was not an earthquake, only Mother, walking about.

There was the sun, shining down, as though nothing had ever happened!

He seems so cheerful for one who was kidnapped..

He smiled at her, blushing. He was redder and cooler than he had been.

She played her game again. This time he did not let her down. Tears rolled down her cheeks in happiness. She felt grateful for having been given another chance.

It was dawn, yet again, in the history of Life.

Let me fly a kite again… December 23, 2006

She stood at the window, gazing out at the lilies in the pond and the cackling geese. The grass glistened with the wetness of the morning. Squabbling birds slowly rose up, their gray wings against the orange-tinted sky. How fresh and inviting it all looked! No matter how many years passed, they always seemed the same. Age did not seem to wither them, or perhaps it went by, not perceptible to an ignorant eye.

Just a little while ago, she had looked at herself in the mirror. Graying hair, crow’s feet, wrinkles, laugh lines-she had everything that would put her in that slot.

Old.

Old enough to use a walking stick, old enough to be a senior citizen.

Balancing a reed-like body as she tried to walk on a single railway track; climbing trees for juicy mangoes; playing hop-scotch on muddy lanes; graduating from lacy frocks to contour-hugging gowns; knowing the differences between a ‘real’ man and a normal one; the wonders of mascara and lipstick; the pleasure of arguing for the sake of argument; the joy of learning; the highs of being in love; the magic of motherhood; the satisfaction of feeding a child from her breast; watching her children grow; letting them free to find themselves…

She had also found herself, more of what she was, what she really liked to do. Every moment of her sixty-two years was worth re-living. Today, four children (three boys and one girl) and two grandchildren (one girl and one boy) later, she wondered about it all. Age has been digging her claws into my back all these years, and I barely realized.

What now? The children were well settled and happy with their families. Nothing to worry about them. There were many more things coming up: her grandson, Vinu, was starting school this June; her granddaughter, Mini, had already started to speak in full sentences at two.

She looked back at her husband, peacefully sleeping on the bed, dreaming about integrals and variables, she was sure of that. Age had not dimmed his passion for calculus, though mathematics had nothing to do with his career.

You must be so proud of your doctor-husband, people told her often. She was proud of him, but also loved the earnestness in his voice when he was listening to her and the way his eyes lit up whenever he looked at her. He had grown to be a part of her soul. Even when she slept, she knew a corner of her mind was always wondering about him, if he was safe. Love does that to you, she thought, makes sleeplessness a prayer.

She went into the kitchen to pour out a mug of coffee for herself. Doc, as she affectionately called him, would not be up at least for some more time. It was his day off from the clinic. Over the last few years, age had caught up with him as well, so he stopped seeing as many patients as he used to. He had settled down to a comfortable 9 AM to 11 AM and 6 PM to 8 PM shift. Weekends were strictly off. Will give me more time to work on my maths, he had announced. Silly Doc, he could not admit he was getting old, she smiled to herself.

Childhood seemed so far behind on the roads of memory. So many milestones met, so many journeys made, so many people met- now what? She mindlessly picked up the newspaper on the coffee table and started to browse at random. Her eyes fell on a picture of young men and women, dancing in a pub. Invincible and carefree, like youth usually is. If they knew where all that ends in, they would not be as carefree, she mused. Why did they not see it all- the boisterous energy to be replaced with lethargy, the boundless excitement to be replaced with gnawing ennui? She tossed the paper aside, part disdainful, part nostalgic. Anyway, she had work to do. Boredom was not an excuse to shirk your chores.

She went into the bathroom. Slowly, she reached for the warm water in the bucket and washed herself. She had to be careful, one slip and she could land in the emergency room of the local hospital. She bathed and dressed. She put the clothes from the hamper into the washing machine and asked the maid to keep an eye on the buzzer. She would probably not hear it, even if it blared like the pipe of Pied Piper. She settled down in her favourite chair to read. Not that she enjoyed it. The small print of most reading material plus the added weight of her glasses on her nose, made it very difficult for her to read. She put the book on her chest and dozed off.

Ten minutes later, she woke up with a start, an idea in her mind. She rose gently from her chair and walked with as much speed as her feet would allow, to Doc.

Doc, Please wake up! She tugged at his arm like a puppy.

Doc woke up, and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

What is the matter, something wrong Princess? he asked , perching his glasses atop his nose.

Though she could not hear him, she continued, I just had an idea!

He beamed. Another of her brilliant ideas! He held her hand, waiting for her to continue. She rambled on and on, about the thing on her mind. Doc’s smile only got bigger and bigger.

I think it is a wonderful idea! I will talk to Ravi tonight, and see what we can do!

She watched the young men and women dance happily in their living room. What they were dancing to, she was not too sure, but she was happy.

Happier than she had ever been.

Doc winked at her from across the room. He was Master of Ceremonies tonight. She had never seen him this happy, either. It was their reintroduction to youth, their attempt at having another go.

At life.

At living.

Sitting in her baby seat at the dining table was Mini, playing with a piece torn from a newspaper. She could not read the words; or she would have known what they said:

Not so young couple invites young people, ages 14-25 for weekend get-togethers. No drinking, no smoking. Entry and dinner free. Contact : 45678234. Ask for Doc!

First Love… December 13, 2006

Loud applause filled the hall. He mindlessly clapped with the others, caught in a trance. Her dance was flawless. She moved with such grace and beauty that he was enthralled. Every abhinaya, every mudra, every step of hers seemed so delicate and swan-like. Once again, he could not help but wonder,

Why does not her life reflect her art? Why is her love not as pure, as expressive? Perhaps she does not love people, passionate as she is about her art…

His mind raced back to a few days ago. He was walking with her on a bougainvillea-lined path. Conversation was sparse, as she was worried about something else. Suddenly he looked into her eyes, and blurted out,

You are so beautiful…

She had just smiled, was she only being polite?

He was in no mood to stop, though.

Perhaps marriage is too mundane a word to come between the two of us , but all I want to do, is to live with you. Forever.

At which point she had touched his arm, telling him in not so polite terms,

“I don’t think I love you. Why don’t you just get lost?”

It was almost as if he had suggested something profane. She took an auto and sped off, leaving him to ponder about his words. He stood dazed, the expression on her face when she had left him was vivid: partly disgusted, partly sad. Suddenly, the doors to their wonderful friendship and all the joy they had shared were permanently shut. Either they were friends, or nothing. A few strained phone calls and heated arguments later, they had decided to not meet each other again.

 

Today he was at one of her performances, uninvited. She was his ideal woman. The sensuousness of her movements, her smile, the soft curves of her body, the silkiness in her voice, her wit, her whole self: Everything about her was so lovely. She was, in his terms, a complete woman. His love could not take a no for an answer, and her heart had no place for him. He thought of the day they had first met. It was the first time that he knew what falling in love meant. He took one look at her, in her gorgeous yellow salwar, her long hair caressing her back, and was in love. He had no guts to go up to her and speak-she was like a beautiful goddess, to be admired from afar. However, his interest won over his initial awe. He went up, made conversation. She realized that had a great chemistry, he realized that he was in love. They exchanged phone numbers. Things began to move, at least for him.

 

He soon realized that she was not as gentle as she appeared to be. She had an unreasonably high opinion about herself and was callous towards people she thought were not talented enough, the ‘not-so-elite’ as she liked to call them. They were also other things he discovered, not quite to his liking. The way she swore, for example.

“%&*# this bike, does not start when I want it to!”

To him, language was sacred, to be used carefully, nurturing it like a child…

 

He would then rationalize,

Is not love supposed to be above all this? I love her and that is all that matters…

His love consumed him like a forest fire. He was blinded with his idealism, with the dazzling purity of his love. He was sure she felt the same way too. After all, true lovers do not need words, do they?

 

Until the day the bougainvillea decorated conversation happened. His dreams were not shattered, paradoxically, for that would have made things so much easier. They were crippled.

And it hurt.

 

As he walked out of the auditorium now, he thought,

This is all I can have: an ordinary life, with ordinary ideals.

Eat, Sleep, Die.

Many years from now, his wife will wonder at the dried bougainvillea flowers tucked away in his favourite book. She will see his manic passion for dance.

She will see their daughter take dance lessons.

She will see him snapping when he finds their daughter swearing.

She will see his eyes moisten when she buys him a yellow shirt.

Yellow is such a lovely colour…

First loves die hard.