StAtIoNs…

 

As we live along some images, still life and most often emotion elating circumstances hold onto your memory while others blur into stupor. They recur habitually in split seconds at an inappropriate moment, forcing you to hold your current stream of thought. Some images seem to nudge you but they fail to articulate and others make you pensive. I think writing them down now would stop those tongue-tied images that demand my attention while others would give me company till my time arrives.

I was about five years old. My brother four. My mother had bought two tiny tea mugs. She displayed them in the usual persuading manner that parents do to their children cajoling and flattering reaping awe and affection in return.  They were white enameled mugs with pictures on them. One had an orange bell flower designed in a Chinese fashion. The other one had a seated blue panda with large roundish smudged black eyes holding a shoot of some plant. I liked to have the panda and as I was inspecting the details my brother was no longer interested in the bell flower. He eyed for the panda and stretched his hand for the same. My parents laughed at the comic situation as my brother was mumbling hard to express his intention. My mother asked me to give it to my brother as he was now almost wailing. My parents tried to comfort me with lies that the flower is better than the panda. Perhaps they were quick to gather my thought on that and soon started to inculcate the doctrine of what an elder brother means and stands for. I complied and satisfied myself with the flower mug. I am running thirty and those mugs still stare at me when I glance across the shelf.  They take me back fresh to that moment… that cold weather, that evening, that kitchen, that laughter, my parents still young, I don’t remember my youngest sister though …

Back then I also remember there was a picture calendar in my room. It hung on the wall opposite my bed. I remember the stack of periodicals and magazines in the left corner of my room that almost reached the same height of that calendar. The house felt serenely empty during siesta hours. My mother was very strict and particular that we all went to sleep beside her. She often used to use force if we resisted.  And I could never sleep during day time nor can I recall a moment of sleeping during daytime. I used to pretend and wait till everyone went to sleep. I used to think about my father at work and recall TV programs.  But my favorite pass time was to locate faces and pictures on the ceiling. I still do though more often in toilets, floors and public walls when I have time or have to wait for something. It was a huge surprise for me to read a short story called The Face on the Wall in our English syllabus in my tenth standard. So I used to slip out softly after everyone went to sleep into my room. The picture on the wall always used to draw me like an enchantress. The picture was the only life enriched object in the room that sought my attention apart from a silver cross bearing a nailed Christ nailed on the wall. It was a picture of a watercourse amidst tranquil forest. The water poured downstream tumbling and splashing over rocks and water plants. When it used to rain outside the picture grew more alive! I always yearned to go there and very often my eyes closed imagination took me there. Later in my life when I came across such scenery I could not much disagree from my imagination!

It was in the year 2004. I was a graduate and unlike my other friends who sought to study further I decided to work first. In fact, I was waiting for this day to happen because I did not want to burden my parents anymore with their investments in my studies. I wanted to save my own sum for my further education and wished to support my family in my own small way. All in all I wanted to shape my life on my own and strive to become someone. I was heading for New Delhi. I packed my belongings and for the first time my mark sheets sent a sore shiver up my head. Anyways my father handed over my ticket and accompanied me to the station. Numerous thoughts, pangs of separation, love, my dreams, brother, tears, sister, hope, mother, city life, all boiled robustly in the pot of anticipation! I boarded the train in the evening and watched my father outside waiting for the departure. It was getting darker and wondered why he had bothered to see off when he was the one to be left alone to return home. I sighed! I would have done the same thing. The train started to move all of a sudden and for one moment I hated those grilled window between us. He crouched down to wish me good luck and we shook hands for the last time. I passed my regards to my mother and held my voice from choking. I watched my father diminishing and trailing behind, disappearing and reappearing against hustling people and objects until we left the stinking platform behind. This time I could not stop my tears… I just brushed it off and took a deep breath staring straight into my future.

After a year or so my mother came to visit me during summer time along with my brother. I still cherish those days when I took them for sightseeing particularly in the old city of Delhi and the famous shopping areas like Janpath, C.P, Sarojini Nagar, South Ex., Lajpat Nagar Central Market, etc. We took a lot of photographs and once by chance got to see the film shooting of Rang de Basanti happening at India Gate. After the shoot Aamir Khan climbed upon the roof of his car and waving his hands to his fans drove off after completing a circle. The crowd cheered in high spirits. Later while watching the film I figured out it was the protest sequence at India Gate. After few weeks we decided to leave my brother at my care and it was time for mother to leave us. It’s so wrong of life these sad departures... I wanted to accompany her in her journey and come back but I was helpless. There was a huge traffic jam on our way to the station. I can’t say we reached the platform on time because the train started to move as soon as we got there. So we just rushed trying to locate my mother’s coach. I got furious with everyone around and just shoved people away from our way. God I would have smashed faces… I was in total rage! I jumped in and gave my hand to mother. She hopped in and almost slipped. My brother passed her luggage from outside. I found her berth and just asked people to move away. Luckily they were passengers from my place. My mom panicked because the train was gaining speed and asked me to rush. I shook hands and jumped out just in time. We saw our mother in teary eyes waving byes from the speeding window. The window sped away and got lost in the dark. We watched the remaining end of the rattling train scuttle by our side.  I cried and each time I tried to hold back it hurt my throat. We returned home in silence. There was rain outside and it was welcome by all means!

I think it was after a year again when our father visited us during the month of December. I had quit my former job (a skin practitioner at Kaya Skin Clinic) and had recently joined IBM (call center) after taking a break of about a month. When I look back and reminisce about my first job I think I was naïve and innocent at heart considering the way I got into it.

My roommate’s friend had come to visit her and had announced about possible job recruitment for a clinic in the neighborhood. We gave it a shot and got into it. The pay was good for a fresher, a day job and within our vicinity. We were trained to use different machines, groom ourselves and sharpen our soft skills. There were very few men and later I was to learn that for each branch one male practitioner was to be posted. It took me quite a while to understand the sham of skin treatment under the supervision of the dermatologist, us included and the promising expensive products and packages! But it was amusing to watch mostly socialites, celebrities, politicians, mulla wallas and who’s who of Delhi arriving at our clinic with all pomp and glory in their high class apparels and alarming perfumes in their swanky cars to be duped while they showed off saying, “You know I am at Kaya…I’ll call you later”. A high class insignia!

The best memories at Kaya were with my lady colleagues. They were a good bunch and I got caring affection from them because most of them were older to me and some were married. That’s where I got to dwell in their otherwise carefully guarded shells. Slowly I began to have a better understanding of the womenfolk. The way they are! Especially in the collective sense!

As opposed to my mother whose restless eyes contented more in shopping areas and busy market places my father preferred the historical places and monuments of Old Delhi. He was very pleased to find our place peaceful and far from the usual humdrum of city life. I remember he particularly liked to watch and sometimes feed the squirrels in our community park. After a month it was time for him to go.

Monday.16^th Jan, 2006. New Delhi Railway Station. It was the other way round this time. The window separating us again. I feel utterly uncomfortable at stations except when I am travelling alone. To me it always gives me a sense of a chapter being closed. My eye reels involuntarily in fascinating speed with bygone visuals of togetherness. It hurts me and God knows how I always struggle with my tears! The trains always slither along undetected startling you to exchange niceties’ in a hurry. We shook hands and hold them long till time could spare. I sighed as the chained machine rattled on and disappeared widening the immediate space of the platform!

There is nothing I would not give to replay one more time this particular moment at the station with my girl back then. I don’t think my action would have made any difference but I still regret for not following my heart then. She was returning home alone for the first time. During this period our life together had reached the point of unbearable suffocation. And her going away was a huge respite for both of us! We both were aware of it. Sadly she probably had a notion for the first time that I was relieved to send her home. The way she hid this truth behind her smiling eyes still makes me melancholic. We had been watching our love drifting afar right before our eyes and I think that’s the worst part of being in love. As I ruminate I think I was forced to let misery dwell in our lives owing to my positioning on the checkered board of life!

I carried her luggage and left it under her seat while she sat crossed legged in her shorts. I felt bitter as she acted joyful like a child in a train. After checking the bags I clasped her foot in my hand and rubbing my thumb on her toe nails I looked into her eyes and saw those slight swollen lines that develop with tiredness. I was worried and my dos and don’ts met with an equally opposite repartee that she always enjoyed at every given opportunity… Like I said my eye reels involuntarily in fascinating speed with bygone visuals of togetherness… it did again and stung was I in continuous helpless implosion after implosion! I didn’t want her to travel alone. I wanted to go along with her and return back after dropping her home although I did not have a ticket of my own. I thought of bribing the official in charge. Nothing mattered more… just wanted to be with her forever. I forgot all the things that I disagreed. And I did not regret a single day. The train slithered again undetected and I watched her dreaded look in her eyes. Times were hard but she almost shoved me to rush out while I prolonged my stay in hesitation. Finally I gave up and hopped out of the moving train. She waved goodbye by the trailing window while I gasped in want of air and my blocked nose made it all the more difficult. Tears blurred my vision and it cleared when the rim of my eyes could no longer hold!

As we live along some images, still life and most often emotion elating circumstances hold onto your memory while others blur into stupor. Some images seem to nudge you but they fail to articulate and others make you pensive. I think writing them down now would stop those tongue-tied images that demand my attention while others would give me company till my time arrives.