I was super excited about the whole thing. The party not only meant I could be away from home and Maths tuition for the whole evening but also that I could stand and stare at things which at that point in time seemed precious, delicious and so out of reach.
It was Aparna Didi's birthday. Aparna Di -she was the youngest daughter of my mother's colleague from work and was older to me by about 4 years. We have been playmates for as long as I remember and our age differences made it suitable for us to play "ghar-ghar" (housekeeping). She could be the parent and I her kid...it gave her an opportunity make me what she had been for her elder sisters.
Compared to our middle class status, she came from a rich family. I was too young to make out the differences in monetary terms but then the contrast was vast in all possible terms. My parents or for the matter hers, never let us feel about it but everything about them seemed nice and picture perfect while everything about us seemed dull and lifeless. Be it the quite spacious locality they lived in, their big bungalow complete with a garden, a huge swing and an artificial waterfall. Or be it Aparna didi's dresses or she, herself. She was pretty, as white as milk, had long hair and was good both in studies and badminton, besides being an extrovert. I have no memories of seeing her parents screaming at her over low marks. Rather she always did well and to reward her, her parents took her to different cities for vacations.
Contrary to their's we lived in an apartment building that housed 10 other families. My evenings were never quiet-they were filled with the sounds of children playing cricket in the neighbourhood or the cooker letting off its steam somewhere. I might have been pretty but the mirror refused to say that - thanks to the number of hours I spent playing in the mud.My dresses seemed cheap and lacklustre in comparison to hers. My marks were equally good but they came after a lot of screaming, complaining and crying. As for the reward...a chocolate or a picnic at the local hilltop temple was the maximum I could dream of. I was an introvert, scared of any kind of active sport(s) and instead found refuge in the library-which did not help much.
Almost a year earlier, Aparna di had insisted on marrying one of her gudda (boy-doll) to my gudiya (girl -doll). She had taken a special liking for the "bride" whom I had acquired after several months of collecting hard earned pocket money. Initially I was delighted about the marriage - which "mother" will not be when the offer comes from a rich family. I was on seventh heaven because friends in our circle were jealous that it was my doll which Aparna di had chosen. But like all other brides my Amy was supposed to go and stay forever at the in-laws place-as per Amy's to be mother-in-law. After several debates in my head I refused to this arrangement - that had led to the two of us not speaking for several days, even as our parents had laughed in the background and tried to make half hearted agreements on our behalf over samosas and tea. We hardly ever spoke after that...in a few months Aparna di entered her teens where normal dolls were replaced by Barbie dolls . Maybe she even forgot about the fight we had....maybe even her super cute gudda did not hold her attention anymore. The attention had moved to other things...boys, perfumes, Michael Jackson. That was another of those differences that were becoming apparent with time...the likes of her raved about Michael Jackson while I and the rest of the middle class neighbourhood could not follow a single word of what he sang and danced to.
Coming to the birthday party...I wanted to go over to her place right after school- after all I had several year load of happy memories of the time spent on the swing in her garden in winter sunshine, or being sprawled on the floor of her room on summer afternoons. She would also come to my place sometimes...but then it was the other way round more often - probably because of the lack of space and toys at my place. It does not mean that we did not have fun- we had different kind of fun. I would take her out and we would play gully cricket or if nothing else would just wallow in the mud or draw "finger art" on dusty walls and car windows. She would take to these activities as eagerly as to the girlie ones I took to at her place- for her all this was "different" and highly adventurous. If her parents thought that their pretty doll looked like a black cow after each visit to my place, they never mentioned it-atleast to me. But I often saw my mother running after the two of us asking us to get inside the house - something she never did if I played with my other friends. Anyways, who caes?
My mother restrained and urged me to finish off my homework. I was restless and kept following my mother as she ironed the dress I was supposed to wear that evening. I asked my mother if I could wear the pink one instead of green and then red one instead of pink but nothing satisfied me. Each time I looked into the mirror my mind did a quick analysis of what Aparna di would look like on her birthday as against me(like the Barbie doll, you scrawny little kid, said the mirror). I got so agitated that I could not concentrate on a single thing. End result: I got a screaming from mom.
Finally the clock struck 6:00 PM and I was allowed to go. As I stepped out neighbours came over to say that I looked pretty and "beautiful as a princess". I basked in the attention but knew that it was short lived. The moment I would step into the party no one would even look at me, much less praise me for anything or talk to me. It was a good thing that another friend of mine,Smita was also invited - atleast we were of the same age group and the unsaid word from similar financial status.
The summer evening was cool and calm, atleast in Aparna di's locality. I loved walking there - no traffic, so calm, so quiet and the smell of jasmine- it took me straight to heaven. As we neared her house I could hear loud music and cheering. The party was on- a typical teenage party. I knew at the first sight that all those doubts that has nagging me all through would come real - noone would talk to me (and I would not talk to anyone), noone would look at me or my dress and Aparna di who had been my such-a-good-friend was lost to other people- Parul di, Shalika di, Suraj bhaiya, Shazia di and Kushagra bhaiya - her age mates from her locality.
I quickly looked around and spotted Smita who was hiding in a corner. Not that, if she would have stood in the center of the dance floor would anyone observed her. Aparna di was busy, surrounded by friends, gifts and looking more pretty than usual in her white and pink Barbie princess dress. I slipped my gift below those of others - suddenly I was ashamed of my dress, of my hair braided into two tight ponytails of the gift I had brought and everything about me. Along with Smita I chose the darkest corner of the garden to sit even as Aparna di's mom insisted that we sit with the whole group and play games with them. Sit we did and we played housie also but the conversation it seemed was bound by age groups. When it was time to cut the cake, Aparna di's mom insisted on making me and Smita stand right in the front since we were the smallest of the lot. Aparna di was furious...she wanted her pictures to be clicked with her best friends and not some kids who did not know anything about the big big world. Ultimately we did get to stand right in the front but not beside Aparna di but at the far corners of the half circle we had formed around the cake.
The party seemed boring to us in every context and as the evening wore off I wondered what had I been excited about since morning. For the whole evening, Smita and I were commenting non stop on "these people". "These people" who kissed each other on cheeks to say happy birthday(not before confirming that their parents were not around to see). "These people" who danced in a funny manner (its called moon walk,idiot). "These people" who wore the shortest skirts and frocks in the town. If our parents would have listened to our talks they might as well have kicked us right then and there in the party.After all we were sitting and gossiping like 60 year old ladies-where had this habit come from?
I wanted to use the toilet and since the other one was occupied chance took me to the one in Aparna Di's room. And wow!! it almost seemed that some magic had taken me to the room of a fairy princess. The ceiling had painted clouds, stars and the blue night bulb exaggerated the effect of a late twilight. One corner was occupied by the Barbie's...not less than 20 of them...while the bed side table seemed to be the mecca of soft toys of every shape and colour. Wish I could stay there forever...I stood staring at everything around me for a long time. Suddenly I felt someone else's presence in the room- it was Aparna di's mom. "You like it?", she asked pointing to nothing in particular. I nodded a yes and she continued, "...this renovation to the room is our gift to Aparna for the birthday...". Wish my parents would do the same....was my first thought. But I did not even have a separate room much less a personal sky to stare into each night.
Dinner time. All through the evening I had heard excited voices coming from the kitchen, with words such as "experiment", "first attempt", "Chinese" floating around with some new smells. Parties in those days meant a standard fare...puri-chola, rice, achar, papad and raita. Here it was something different. We were served soup....soup meant tomato soup /chicken soup but here was something else.Most of the kids around did not like the taste of what they in their lives would remember as the first taste of not-so-well-prepared(maybe due to the non availability of all the ingredients in the small town) Chinese food. I remember seeing Aparna di's parents going around...trying to convince us to atleast try and taste the food-most of the kids had decided to give up the food after the first spoon. If the soup was a big time failure, the manchurian did not fare too well either...the fried rice did find a lot of mouths...so much so that it fell short. The slow eaters like me could hardly get anything beyond the first small helping. All in all it was hardly an evening I had looked ahead to so eagerly.
It was getting late and Smita asked me to stay back for a while...her dad was about to come to pick her up and he could easily drop me home. I refused....for I wanted to walk back home. Despite repeated requests from Aparna di's parents and Smita I literally ran away from the party, promising to call once I was home. After a wasted evening, I wanted a few peaceful moments all to myself. As I took the road home, the smell of jasmine surrounded me-making me forget the bad taste of the food. The stars, far above asked me to forget the false ones on the celing and the slight wind took away the bitterness of the evening-of lost friends, because they had grown too old. It was an evening when there were many firsts...a first time when I realised that my best friends will not remain the same as I and they grow up, a first time to eat Chinese food and a first time to realise that there was something called a money divide
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
From Victim to Offender - III
Time Jump....45 days later
It was a weekend and for some reason weekends seemed harder to go by than normal work days. As usual she was taking a walk in the twilight on the roof, watching those planes go by- wondering... if he ever thought about her. As if by voluntary action she checked the mobile for any missed calls, his calls. None. It has been 40+5 days but the situation had showed no signs of improving-maybe she was an exception to the principle of "A habit is formed in 40 days". She still felt all that - intense love, intense hate, desire to call, desire to kick him. The same rawness of not just one but a whole gamut of emotions.She still day dreamed about them being married and things being all right. Pages after pages in her diary had been filled up and when she looked back she suspected that the action of writing was more directed at killing time and preserving her sanity; than as a reflection to her thoughts. A particular phase she had written often caught her attention
....ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बहुराष्ट्रीय संस्था में कार्यकारी हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गई हूँ जो अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गई है....
That was probably the only sentence(if not only than maybe the first) in Hindi in her diary. She had taken all that trouble to find the Hindi words and then print them out correctly in a neat handwriting when all of it could be written in English easily.
The wind carried traces of television playing in the neighbourhood and kitchens being invaded for the preparation of the evening meals. Suddenly she heard क्यूँ आज कल नींद कम ख्वाब ज्यादा हैं...लगता है खुदा का कोई नेक इरादा है...कल तक फकीर आज दिल शैज़दा है...and it almost broke her heart. All over again. How many times had she and Aashray sat and listened to this number because...Because it reflected their emotions, what they felt. Her emotions...she thought bitterly. For him, it was just a song. Things would have been so different if he would have thought of it something more than a foot tapping number...But then that was a mere song...she should not expect such things from a guy who dumps his girlfriend....
The next day being Monday was a busy one. There were new joinings in the office and she was to handle the induction of those 10 guys. Huh!! These software engineers they would ask a thousand stupid questions about salary, tax, earnings, benefits and leaves. Most of them were just out of college maybe with a year or two of experience and were earning nothing less than 20 lakhs/annum and yet all they could think was....did they not have anything else to think of? No heartbreaks? No affairs? Lucky them...
During the induction meeting she could not help but look at a particular guy. His name was Jatin and he had that poetic air,around him (no no...that was not the right word. The right word was मजनू-even though on the surface he was smiling, was shaved and dressed in formals). More than once they held each other's gaze and there was nothing intimidating or flirtatious about it. Infact it was a comfort...a comfort that generates from a similar loss...as if he was saying......ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बैठक में हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गया हूँ जो तुम्हारी तरह अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गया है...
Over the next few days they saw a lot of each other...more by design than by chance. He would come to her often with questions and she would drop at his seat just to check if he was comfortable in the new environment. They would talk a lot about work and while they did the eyes carried a conversation of their own. Something like:
जतिन : बहुत दर्द होता है ना जब कोई अपना चला जाता है?
एकता : हाँ...तुम्हें भी ना?
जतिन : हाँ...पता नहीं कब मैं आगे बढ़ पाऊँगा..उसको भुलाकर.
एकता : मैं तुम्हारे आंसू कैसे कम करुं...मैं तो खुद ही अपने रस्ते से भटक गई हूं
Then one Friday, some 2 months while she was working late and everyone else had left...he walked into her room. Without a preamble or as much as a hi, he asked her if she would like to join him for a coffee the next day..so that they could share something that he felt would make things better. She agreed instantly and did not even ask what was that something. She knew...no "they" knew the pain...the pain when a song stops being a song and becomes a memory lane. When familiar roads become an unbearable sight for they hold too many emotions. When....
The next morning she woke up happier and excited than in several weeks. She questioned herself on her "status" Was she still the "torn lover" or was she the one who could sniff love in the air? After several seconds of deliberation she decided she should get ready for the meeting. The question could be answered later..at night.
It was good to talk to him. Plus there was no awkwardness...it was as if they had known each other all along...thanks to those random "eye conversations". He never asked her if she had a boyfriend...instead he asked "so how long it has been?" Her question could have meant anything...but she answered "4 months...he left me because his parents did not want him to marry in another caste....maybe" That set it off...the conversation had finally moved from the eyes to mouth...and their was no looking back...they shared stories, they held hands and consoled each other for what had not been their fate.
In another couple of days they were "seeing each other".Kind of. No, they have been too hurt to express love openly...after all love was not a verbal thing, it was in their silence, their eye to eye conversations. Then one day while they were walking in the Lodhi Gardens, he kissed her, gently on the cheek. She did not restrain his moves, for she was busy crying. It was as if some dam had just broken and had flooded the world...her eyes, her heart....For a moment, Jatin thought, he should not have done that and even said "Shit...I am sorry...I did not intend to do this...oh please stop crying....forgive me" bur she just drew him closer, while her body was racked with sobs. Jatin still unsure asked "Did I hurt you?" She nodded in negative and hugged him tighter even as the crescendo of the wails increased. So Jatin let it be....his heart knew she was trying to spend as many as tears as possible so that they do not come in the way of her life, so that they do not blind her anymore in between important meetings, so that she can link new memories to old songs, so that she can start all over again.
For Ekta, life was finally moving. Jatin had not said a word about the particular incident, nor had he made any further moves. He still smiled and their eyes still carried out conversations (more cheerful ones) but for one reason or another they could not meet each other over the next few weekends. Then one day when she came to office she saw a mail from Jatin. To say she was surprised was an understatement.
Dear Ekta,
A thousand thoughts run as I write this mail, sitting at the airport. As you might be aware, I am not in office today. I left...left the company, left the country...left you. I should have but did not tell you that I had applied for PR in Australia. I can give a thousand reasons why I did that but then I will give none...Choose the reason that suits you best...maybe because you were the HR and I could get into trouble if I told you all this, maybe because I did not want you to be lost in the ocean again...when you had just managed to emerge...maybe because there was someone else in my life...maybe....
Take good care of yourself. You shall always be in my prayers.
Jatin
She did not know what to make out of it. She did not even know how should she react to this mail. Should she write back (if at all) saying "take care, bbye...it was nice knowing you" or should she write a mail full of obscenities? And why did he leave...like that? What reason should she choose from the ones he had provided?
Several hours later when she was in her bed and sleep refused to come after 2 pegs of neat vodka she decided that the problem was not of Aashray or Jatin or any Tom, Dick or Harry. The problem was with...what did they call it? मर्द जात. साले सब के सब **** होते हैं. As sleep enfolded her, her last thoughts were of jotting down "some things sound so much better in one language than another".
But then was she filling the pages more to kill time and to preserve her sanity than as a reflection to her thoughts?
(to be continued)
It was a weekend and for some reason weekends seemed harder to go by than normal work days. As usual she was taking a walk in the twilight on the roof, watching those planes go by- wondering... if he ever thought about her. As if by voluntary action she checked the mobile for any missed calls, his calls. None. It has been 40+5 days but the situation had showed no signs of improving-maybe she was an exception to the principle of "A habit is formed in 40 days". She still felt all that - intense love, intense hate, desire to call, desire to kick him. The same rawness of not just one but a whole gamut of emotions.She still day dreamed about them being married and things being all right. Pages after pages in her diary had been filled up and when she looked back she suspected that the action of writing was more directed at killing time and preserving her sanity; than as a reflection to her thoughts. A particular phase she had written often caught her attention
....ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बहुराष्ट्रीय संस्था में कार्यकारी हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गई हूँ जो अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गई है....
That was probably the only sentence(if not only than maybe the first) in Hindi in her diary. She had taken all that trouble to find the Hindi words and then print them out correctly in a neat handwriting when all of it could be written in English easily.
The wind carried traces of television playing in the neighbourhood and kitchens being invaded for the preparation of the evening meals. Suddenly she heard क्यूँ आज कल नींद कम ख्वाब ज्यादा हैं...लगता है खुदा का कोई नेक इरादा है...कल तक फकीर आज दिल शैज़दा है...and it almost broke her heart. All over again. How many times had she and Aashray sat and listened to this number because...Because it reflected their emotions, what they felt. Her emotions...she thought bitterly. For him, it was just a song. Things would have been so different if he would have thought of it something more than a foot tapping number...But then that was a mere song...she should not expect such things from a guy who dumps his girlfriend....
The next day being Monday was a busy one. There were new joinings in the office and she was to handle the induction of those 10 guys. Huh!! These software engineers they would ask a thousand stupid questions about salary, tax, earnings, benefits and leaves. Most of them were just out of college maybe with a year or two of experience and were earning nothing less than 20 lakhs/annum and yet all they could think was....did they not have anything else to think of? No heartbreaks? No affairs? Lucky them...
During the induction meeting she could not help but look at a particular guy. His name was Jatin and he had that poetic air,around him (no no...that was not the right word. The right word was मजनू-even though on the surface he was smiling, was shaved and dressed in formals). More than once they held each other's gaze and there was nothing intimidating or flirtatious about it. Infact it was a comfort...a comfort that generates from a similar loss...as if he was saying......ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बैठक में हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गया हूँ जो तुम्हारी तरह अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गया है...
Over the next few days they saw a lot of each other...more by design than by chance. He would come to her often with questions and she would drop at his seat just to check if he was comfortable in the new environment. They would talk a lot about work and while they did the eyes carried a conversation of their own. Something like:
जतिन : बहुत दर्द होता है ना जब कोई अपना चला जाता है?
एकता : हाँ...तुम्हें भी ना?
जतिन : हाँ...पता नहीं कब मैं आगे बढ़ पाऊँगा..उसको भुलाकर.
एकता : मैं तुम्हारे आंसू कैसे कम करुं...मैं तो खुद ही अपने रस्ते से भटक गई हूं
Then one Friday, some 2 months while she was working late and everyone else had left...he walked into her room. Without a preamble or as much as a hi, he asked her if she would like to join him for a coffee the next day..so that they could share something that he felt would make things better. She agreed instantly and did not even ask what was that something. She knew...no "they" knew the pain...the pain when a song stops being a song and becomes a memory lane. When familiar roads become an unbearable sight for they hold too many emotions. When....
The next morning she woke up happier and excited than in several weeks. She questioned herself on her "status" Was she still the "torn lover" or was she the one who could sniff love in the air? After several seconds of deliberation she decided she should get ready for the meeting. The question could be answered later..at night.
It was good to talk to him. Plus there was no awkwardness...it was as if they had known each other all along...thanks to those random "eye conversations". He never asked her if she had a boyfriend...instead he asked "so how long it has been?" Her question could have meant anything...but she answered "4 months...he left me because his parents did not want him to marry in another caste....maybe" That set it off...the conversation had finally moved from the eyes to mouth...and their was no looking back...they shared stories, they held hands and consoled each other for what had not been their fate.
In another couple of days they were "seeing each other".Kind of. No, they have been too hurt to express love openly...after all love was not a verbal thing, it was in their silence, their eye to eye conversations. Then one day while they were walking in the Lodhi Gardens, he kissed her, gently on the cheek. She did not restrain his moves, for she was busy crying. It was as if some dam had just broken and had flooded the world...her eyes, her heart....For a moment, Jatin thought, he should not have done that and even said "Shit...I am sorry...I did not intend to do this...oh please stop crying....forgive me" bur she just drew him closer, while her body was racked with sobs. Jatin still unsure asked "Did I hurt you?" She nodded in negative and hugged him tighter even as the crescendo of the wails increased. So Jatin let it be....his heart knew she was trying to spend as many as tears as possible so that they do not come in the way of her life, so that they do not blind her anymore in between important meetings, so that she can link new memories to old songs, so that she can start all over again.
For Ekta, life was finally moving. Jatin had not said a word about the particular incident, nor had he made any further moves. He still smiled and their eyes still carried out conversations (more cheerful ones) but for one reason or another they could not meet each other over the next few weekends. Then one day when she came to office she saw a mail from Jatin. To say she was surprised was an understatement.
Dear Ekta,
A thousand thoughts run as I write this mail, sitting at the airport. As you might be aware, I am not in office today. I left...left the company, left the country...left you. I should have but did not tell you that I had applied for PR in Australia. I can give a thousand reasons why I did that but then I will give none...Choose the reason that suits you best...maybe because you were the HR and I could get into trouble if I told you all this, maybe because I did not want you to be lost in the ocean again...when you had just managed to emerge...maybe because there was someone else in my life...maybe....
Take good care of yourself. You shall always be in my prayers.
Jatin
She did not know what to make out of it. She did not even know how should she react to this mail. Should she write back (if at all) saying "take care, bbye...it was nice knowing you" or should she write a mail full of obscenities? And why did he leave...like that? What reason should she choose from the ones he had provided?
Several hours later when she was in her bed and sleep refused to come after 2 pegs of neat vodka she decided that the problem was not of Aashray or Jatin or any Tom, Dick or Harry. The problem was with...what did they call it? मर्द जात. साले सब के सब **** होते हैं. As sleep enfolded her, her last thoughts were of jotting down "some things sound so much better in one language than another".
But then was she filling the pages more to kill time and to preserve her sanity than as a reflection to her thoughts?
(to be continued)
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