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.16th 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.
