In love with the rains

The broken bits of music wafted into the kitchen early Sunday morning as Nandini read the morning paper, waiting patiently for the coffee to get ready. She tapped her feet to it, filling up the broken bits as the radio coughed and skipped parts of the raga. She didn't mind, she knew the piece well and sang along with her mother's honey-like voice, never looking up, engrossed constantly in the paper.

By the time the sound of steam escaped the coffee maker, the sky was dark and it had started to rain. The radio was playing well now, the music was inter-spread with the sound of falling water, some hitting the mud outside the house and making a thumping sound, some screaming in joy as they clashed with the tin roof of the garage, while the rest found other homes and made numerous other sounds. The wind chime joined in soon, as the cold wind from the river found a path towards the land. It was all a beautiful melody together, unusual sounds mixing - Nandini, her now deceased mother, the rains, the wind, the chimes.

With the cup of coffee ready she walked into the study, looking for Manoj. She followed the music, still swaying to its beauty, her mind constantly humming the tune, her heart playing along and egging her on for some mischief. Manoj was already dozing off with the book half open and a half smoked cigarette kept in the ashtray, small wisps of smoke still escaping from its half lit end. He was trying to quit and smoking only half a cigarette was the latest in his list of efforts.

She took a small puff from the almost dying cigarette and let it work on her. Slowly dipping her finger into the hot-sweet cup of coffee she let her finger slowly spread it over his lips and week-long beard, her other hand played with his hair. His nap broken, he opened his eyes slowly and smiled as she sat on his lap and struggled with his already haphazardly worn mundu.

It was over within seconds, as her body erupted into spasms of ecstasy, while he held her tightly. The coffee was lukewarm as they enjoyed it together lying on the floor, still looking mischievously into each others eyes, the mundu entwined with their bodies, even as Nandini's mother reached her own crescendo and the piece finally ended.

Image ref - www.corbis.com

A night to remember

As the sun set and the cool breeze started blowing, we decided to walk back home crossing the bridge over Sabarmati. I looked sideways to see Sudha smiling and talking animatedly, yet never looking at me.

'So have you ever tried the filter coffee at Sridarshini?'
Karan laughed out loud and said, 'That's not exactly fair, am just a day old here and all I have see so far is you, though still not enough of you!'
Sudha pondered for a while and said, 'You men, all are just the same!'
She complained, though her cheeks flushed and she fumbled with words.

We all went silent after this, I tried to pretend that I was busy looking down at feet, while they got busy looking at their hands and nowhere in particular. I knew this moment would pass and we would get back to our composed self soon. Somehow it was always left to me to make a humorous remark and break the sudden conversation barrier, but this time I decided to let it linger on for a while more. I wanted her to feel my pain, or whatever unusual emotions I was going through for the past two days.

We walked in silence for the rest of the journey. Maybe Karan already felt guilty about what was going on, and was happy to be away from conversations, or perhaps he was just happy and content with the breeze, but he remained silent. I knew we were finally reaching a point where we needed to talk, and have a conversation where I was also involved. Karan was leaving in the morning and I could feel an odd tension building up between the three of us.

I broke the silence and asked them if they wanted coffee, they both nodded. We were already in the new part of the town and so decided to go to the nearest posh new coffee place, sit in the open and enjoy the weather. The rains in the evening had ensured that the air was cool and extremely pleasant. Karan lit a cigarette and after a couple of drags, offered it to me. As I took my first puff, he started talking. I could see he was waiting for the moment, but somehow I panicked. I was not yet prepared for what I knew was coming, and when the words did start flowing, my world vanished.

I walked back home alone that night with the promise that my world would be returned back to me tomorrow. I wasn't sure anymore; Karan was my best friend and Sudha my wife, yet these promises somehow meant so little now.

Thanks to Vikram Tej for the superb illustration, read and know more about him here and here.

Closure, an end

Ref: www.redbubble.com

I lit one another cigarette, and was yet again engulfed in the dark cloud of smoke and despair. I knew it was senseless to wait anymore, but it was impossible not to. I continued to wait, staring out from the closed window into the dense darkness and the feeble fog of the listless night. There was smoke coming out from the house on the near-by hill, perhaps the man in family had just come in and food was getting ready for him, or maybe it was just the smoke of death coming out from the abandoned house.

We had agreed to meet here a few years ago, as we walked along the river on a cold moonlit night. She had her head on my chest and was humming her favorite tune - a jazz number from the era gone by, about lovers separated by time. The small town down the hills was already sleeping and we had absolute silence around us. As we sat right there, looking at the stars after making love slowly under the moonlit sky, she asked for this promise. It was not something she would normally do, she was just not the sort; perhaps she was just happy and content then. We cuddled into each other and agreed to meet at the same place, ten years from then. Maybe she already knew then that we won't be together for long; however, for me it was a promise in blood, and I always thought we would come here again, together...

The coffee was ready now, my fifth so far. Smoke and coffee don't always go well, but I was savoring its bitterness today; it helped me kill the time and also relive the past. I had buried it with much struggle a couple of years after she suddenly decided to leave me. The end was as torrential as our brief spell of togetherness, but the parting always remained incomplete, open. But she moved on, and eventually so did I. 

For the last one year, the itch was growing again to meet her one last time and seek answers for all my unanswered questions, or perhaps just to hold her like I did in our moments together. I often looked into blank spaces, flickering lights, and slow moving fan and wondered if she would even remember the promise she had taken from me. I knew that she would, just as I was sure she would come and meet me one last time today...

The sound of the chirping birds woke me up, and I got up with a start. Warm early sunlight was filtering into the room through the wooden blinds; somehow I had dozed off after my nth cup of coffee. Was there a faint familiar smell lingering around my chair? Had my coffee table been moved and the cigarettes collected neatly and kept in the makeshift ashtray by someone else? Everything looked just the same, but my heart was not ready to believe that nothing happened while I was living through hell in my sleep. Maybe she was here last night as I slept off on the rocking chair, maybe it was just my imagination. My heart struggled with more questions...

Already late for my train I rushed out quickly. It was finally time I moved on, seven years is a long while, and for once I was willing to start all over again. This was finally closure for me; or so I thought...

Unexpected...

The most unexpected thing happened last night while I was watching an almost action movie, I thought about love.

The young and the innocent love. The boy and the girl meet, but can't look up into each others' eyes. They want to touch, feel...but to make the first move is almost impossible. The heart beats fast, often skips a beat. The skin tingles lightly, the throat goes dry. The lips quiver, eyes almost wet with tears of anticipation. As they stand still, the time also stops with them. The uncontrollable chaos within, and ripples of anguish all over.

The first touch, ah the first touch. The fingers open up and the skin curls. The eyes close, and the skin burns some more. A sheath of cold covers the skin and the lips open up...

My Sassy Girl

Kiran is home and he has been insisting for a long long time that I should watch a movie called ‘My Sassy Girl’. Right in the beginning he also informed me that it’s a love story. Being me, that in itself was a humungous put-off and I kept delaying the day I would have to start it. However, Kiran being Kiran, soon I was left no choice and was forced to start seeing the movie a few days back while I was trying to chat with friends online late in the night. His sentimental gibberish worked and I decided to ditch my dear old friends, who were dying to talk to me, and started watching this super-hit Korean movie, also known ‘Titanic of the East’.

Every day I would see only about 15 minutes of the movie, and then fall asleep or go online or generally talk on my phone. With my delays Kiran’s emotional blackmails also increased and it finally became a matter of Kiran versus any other thing that I might want to take up after office.

Finally, today is the day I saw the movie completely and earned some brownie points from Kiran. He already finds me cold and selfish and I was extremely keen on getting into his good books. I think that’s one major factor why I finished it today, the other reason being that I can spend my evenings doing other things as well. It was tough in the beginning to relate to college romance, especially for me, but the emotional quotient of the movie was high and I was drawn into watching the complete movie without much efforts.

Bhavin has so far dodged it successfully; he saw ‘Harishchandrachi Factory’ instead (which was also given by Kiran), which made Kiran give a little bit of respite to Bhavin. But I am hopeful now that the second cold and selfish being in the house will also be forced to see the movie and become nice and worthy of loving. Bhavin has zero escape routes available now, unless he decides to watch some other Marathi movie downloaded by Kiran and win some more time. Kiran is a big promoter of Marathi movies and so watching Marathi movie over a Korean love story isn’t exactly a sin and may be very much acceptable!

Some more on Bhavin's blog here.

Love Story in Jungle follows us in the mess!

There are two stories I would like to recount before they fade into oblivion...

Story I - Meneka & me

Yesterday was the first day in mess and I had dinner with Bhavin and Dang (Nidhi Dang and not Dr. Dang). And surprise, surprise...she comes and sits with us (not Dang who is already there but Snowhite) and Bhavin's heart skips a beat (many beats actually, but nevertheless) and my story became more interesting (was it because of the Meneka-Meghna confusion). The only one who appeared to be happy and interested in my story was Dang, or at least she appeared to be! Bhavin was of course already visibly palpitating with the distraction but trying to show that all was well with him!

So this is how the first story goes. Meneka came down from heavens and seduces Vishwamitri and as result of this sin (baby born to an unmarried woman) our heroine Shakuntala is born. At this crucial juncture in the narrative Dang is confused between Meneka (Indra's muse) and Meghna (who was eating dinner with us), and it took some effort to iron out our differences. By this time Bhavin had also visibly become uncomfortable because we were screaming 'Meneka' and 'Meghna' rather openly!

Anyway, Shakuntala likes to go to the jungle to collect berries and feed her baby goat and on one such excursion she meets King Dushyant (who was there to kill an antelope, but kills a rishimuni instead as there were no antelopes and obviously gets cursed). They (not the dead rishimuni and King Dushyant) fall in love and she gets pregnant (I guess it runs in the family and also society at that time used to be much more open in responding to such acts). However, due to the curse our King forgets her and goes back to his harem.

Shakuntala has a ring which belongs to King Dushyant and she feeds it to a hungry fish (rohu actually) and with that fishes out the last hope of our King ever recognizing her (apparently the ring was the sole connection between them, sex notwithstanding). She gives birth to Bharath who counts the teeth of a live lion and gives our country its ancient name. He (Bharath, not the dead rishimuni) also loves fishing and kills a big river shark (who had eaten a small baby shark who in turn had eaten an even smaller rohu). And when mama Shakuntala opens it up for cooking she finds the now infamous ring. She takes the ring and Bharath and off she goes to meet our King Dushyant.

The harem is demolished and a new Queen's palace is constructed. Defying family tradition, Shakuntala even marries the King (it seems Meneka goes back to the heavens to improve her dancing skills). Of course, they live happily ever after (maybe) till Shakuntala is reborn in 1980s and comes to study in an (in)famous college in Ahmedabad. The rest of the story shall follow in later posts...

We finished our dinner and still waited for the new age Shakuntala, but she never came. Out of despair we shifted our attention to mundane things like the Hindi word for floating/ gliding in air! The night passed on peacefully thereafter...