Cafe Nostalgia

It was a moderately pleasant winter morning, traffic buzzing by and the bright winter day-star filtering the chilliness in the morning air. I was however, ignorant to all these happenings around me as I lounged in a café, relishing on ice-tea. The space was naturally air-conditioned and the aroma was coffee crept into my senses. I felt unusually sleepy… might be the comfortable temperature or just the gloomy interiors. I had a quite corner, parallel to which a large display showed news and a magazine stand stood under it, carrying the weeks used and read magazines and the days gazette. On my other side sat a lady with a menu card in her hand, earnest in deciding what to order for. Apparently, she must have varied tastes and was craving for something new. She appeared to me like a silhouette due to the sun falling on her other side. I could vaguely make out her skin texture and complexion, neither fair nor dark but smooth. The morning light filtering through the white, sheet covered window fell diffused on her. Maybe, for once I felt if I could touch and feel what she was made of. I grabbed a magazine and perched right in front of where she was, still struggling with the menu. Doing so served me with some unintentional attention from the young college lads but I felt light. Right then, all of a sudden she came up ecstatically and finally ordered for a “lady boy” drink without wasabe vodka in it. It sounded like a double cheese pizza, without the cheese in it.

She had ebony hair, dark as they begun with hints of a lighter shade as each hair graduated to its tip and rested on her crimson-black, woolen wear. I still urged to get a direct glimpse of her eyes but I could certainly make out what they were like, vitreous, glittering in energy, dark and deep eyes outlined in “kajol”. Her face was evenly lit by a tender, golden glow.

I flipped through a few pages of my magazine while she received her ordered drink. The ‘clearing throat’ way, I put forward if she was waiting for someone. She looked up and waited to confirm if I was referring to her. I then discovered that it wasn’t her very well carried bodyscape that appealed to me, but her very pleasant and inviting aura. She seemed to be a nice person, shy, with a pleasing attitude and probably a bright smile--- will make a perfect housewife, thought I. She looked familiar though. She kept looking at me while I tried to figure out if I looked funny or if we’ve met earlier. Her frown followed a smile and she asked me “do I know you?” as soon that sentence ended, an image floated in. I could now remember that we had worked together in a Wills Lifestyle Fashion meet where she was a designer and I was assigned to cover the campaign portfolios. I am a fashion photographer by profession. I replied back in a generous tone “I guess we attended a fashion meet in Delhi some while ago, did we?” she frowned deeper and her smile widened as she exclaimed “Shubho! So how’ve you been all these days!?” I suddenly got happier on discovering that she remembers my name, my nick-name though. “And you are… Ravi”… “Roshni Ravi” she marked. Of course, how could I ever forget working with one of the most celebrated designers in the country? She was endowed with charming manners, just like other ladies in the industry but what made me remember her was her typical nature. To be precise, the aura around her was something unexplainably inviting and generous, unlike other important looking hot-shots in fashion. She told me that she was waiting for a friend and that they’d travel to Landour, where her friend’s parents live. I took the risk and inquired curiously, if her friend was a guy. She raised her eye brows and her eyes laughed when she relieved me by telling me that it’s her college friend, Ria. Roshni and Ria graduated from some university in Kolkata. I know Mr. Bose, Ria’s father as a writer since my early school days. I used to visit Landour frequently as I simply found peace in her soothing ambience. Ruskin Bond lives there, so do Victor Bannerjee and Pronoy Roy, just like other celebrities spend their retired years not in Las Vegas, but in the silent and peaceful lap of Mother Nature.

The day was emerging, I sipped deeper into my ice-tea and she continued with her drink.

I tried to generate a new conversation and started describing her how Landour is and how the beautiful hills astound me. Landour is a small British settlement around three kilometers above Mussorie. Large White hoses with red roofs and wooden floors. Walls generally covered with ebony-green creepers and a feel of ancient English integrity. Landour is a picture-postcard town, with the Oaks on one side of the cantonment and the Deodars on the other. I told her about my last visit to the place, during the previous winters. It snowed through the night and when I woke up in the morning, I found that the vicinity lay under a glistening white blanket… how beautiful, Landour as a crystal.

This picturesque little hill-town is possibly the most romantic of places I dream to spend my later life. She was listening to me carefully, half smiling and half in her minds picture, dreaming an unknown fantasy… dancing with her love. The air stood still as we built castles in the air… her friend appeared breaking through the silence, frolic to see Roshni after a long absence, maybe. She looked at me, we knew each other well and she tried to relate me with Roshni but failed, until Roshni told her about how we met.

Ria wanted me to come along as uncle Bose had wanted to see me since he got the news of my arrival in Dehra from maybe my in-town relatives. I was readily going to agree but realizing my credibility as a calm and sensible human,  I cooled down my desperateness and told her that I’ll see if I could, confirming my schedule for the weekend. I knew I had nothing much to do except maybe finish writing a book which was for now, a diminished priority.  So I pretended to cancel my client appointments and informed my parents that I’ll be visiting uncle Bose. I finally sighed and we made a move. We crossed the Mussorie diversion from Rajpur, beside which is a Buddhist monastery and the Sai Baba Mandir, and through the zigzagging roads, reached straight to sister’s bazaar. The Landour church warmly welcomed us with the noon bells and I once again, traced my memory back to my first visit, a never-forgettable. The church bell also reminded me of the bells of the Doon School, where I was born and educated. I gave up to this nostalgia and did not want to come out of these sweet memories of schooldays. I could hear the Chota Hazari bell like pins dropping in total silence, once more I was sunk in those memories with form mates, when we lunched after the never ending practical of our physics teacher, Mr. Mann. And as soon as the main building bell rang, we felt hungry all of a sudden, but to our stupefaction, found Rajma-Chawal.

It has been a fine journey, considering the fact that Roshni’s throwing up was quite natural- a girl from the plains. I felt terribly hungry and as we neared Ria’s house, I could smell something cooking, something extremely tempting. I asked Ria if it was fish, she said teasingly “indeed it is bong babu”… and I smiled at her… as if she wasn’t. The cottage is what I might describe as- my dream home. Begins with a lawn and opens into the view of a series of mountain ranges, diminished into invisibility. The entrance is built into the shape of an arch with vines all over. The lawn has tall trees which have covered the ground below with a yellowish-orange blanket of autumn. It does not mist during these months, unlike monsoons, when the whole vicinity sleeps under the cover of mist, which imbibes within it endless mysteries. Throughout my adolescence and adulthood, I have wondered why, did I always want to spend my entire life living in this house. It’s not because of the people inhabiting it presently, perhaps not even the breathtaking views in the outside. Maybe, more of a material cause like the integrity of construction. The rooms were well managed, space concern and were less decorated unlike the conventional houses where living rooms boast of one’s achievements and the walls speak of culture from around the globe. This house had none of that. It was different from all other houses. Might have been this reason why I considered it as home. The living room had sofas, plushy and comfortable. It’s walls were painted grey, a smooth and light shade of ash. And on those walls were nothing but a painting each, lamps and perhaps, lizards peeking from behind them. All the rooms are equipped with fireplaces, to liven frosty nights and out of which I clearly remember the one in the living room. There lies a shelf on top of that which carries empty, but elegant, glossy bottles of wine. I have spent my early years in this house, almost every weekend. The guest bedroom is my favorite. It is nothing less than the room of my dreams. Yes, I’ve dreamt about a room too. It’s the attic. The walls are painted pure white, smooth and glorious. It was re-fabricated by a modern designer. The room’s most appealing point is the see-through ceiling above. The sunlight, which shows occasionally, billows in to the room and the white walls enlighten the whole interior. The day thus looks happy and light-filled. I taste different flavors of mood in different seasons, and the room has a certain flavor to offer every time I visit it. In the summers, the window on top showers pliant radiance under which, I sit and imagine all the good things about life. In the monsoons, I like to be alone, the day remains dim and I love to lie in this room, looking at drops raining above. I just love to think, to imagine endlessly. It doesn’t take much to do so, just a mind full of memories, expectations, unanswered questions, a full stomach and all the times in the world. In vacations or weekends, I’m equipped with all these. In winters, the room is a completely different space. The roof is generally covered with snow, white, fluffy and sparkling through the day, but making the room chilly at night. And it was this time of the year, winters had not fallen yet but were about to, anytime now. I showed Roshni the guest bedroom and we decided that there could be nothing better to live in. I bagged the bed right under the glass opening and she kindly accepted the one away from it. But then Ria said in a rather teasing voice, that they were to join the beds and I was to sleep on a lower bed, away from my very own glass canopy. I knew, this was for their late night chit-chats and I didn’t mind. I’ll eventually sleep better, getting bored listening to their discussions about metropolitan shopping and old memories of college. I haven’t mentioned earlier but floating in the very aesthetics of the lady and the environment together, I find myself, in love again.

Alas! All this while I have been busy describing aesthetics in detail but the most interesting person here is Mr. Bose. I call him uncle, although I never wanted to ‘cause virtually that makes Ria my sister, fantasizing about whom would be a sin then. Uncle Bose is an ebullient person, always full of excitement and energy. He was a journalist till his early 40’s when he got into writing full time. It was soon, after about three years he found success through a book on life in Ladakh, “lame Ladakh”. I generally prefer not reading books written by people I’ve met. I like reading books by authors unknown, their ideas and style of writing appeals to me.

Thinking about my new love, I was in dilemma… what could define it better- infatuation or simply True love. I didn’t have enough arguments to support either side. There are days to come and winters to spend with her, right here and we’ll then decide- I said to myself. Infatuation is like spring to me, spring that brings lush green fields, spring that arrives like a life giver and is fed by the monsoons. But just as infatuation is temporary, spring disappears and autumn takes its place. Trees shed their leaves; the air whistles through the empty hedges and thereafter, silence prevails. But love, true and unconditional is like spring throughout the year. It imbibes itself within our instincts and exposes us to varied colors and flavors of life, and all this while, lets us be with her to experience the joys and despairs alike.

The only people in the house were me, Roshni, Ria and two maids. It was evening now and two maids. It was evening now and the sun had gone down. I was hungry again. There was some fire wood collected at the fire place and as the temperature started to deteriorate, we had to light it up and it brought life into the room. Ria remarked that it was unusually cold. “It might snow”- and later it did. Our corner of the room was quite warm while the air felt cold everywhere else. We shifted our mattresses close to the fireplace and the situation became even more pleasant with garlic bread and soup served as supper. Mr. Bose had called, to check if everything was fine. I spoke with him and said that he was missing out on the winter fun. I said that I regret his absence and aunt’s chocolate cookies too. He laughed at that.

I had fallen asleep quite early. But the other two kept chatting late in to night, as I had expected. I woke up early next morning as the fire had died away and my feet were freezing. To see if the sun had risen, I walked up to the large window on the second floor and peered outside. I ran down the stairs in excitement and woke up Roshni. She too, like me felt really cold. She was surprised, half asleep and curious as to why I’m waking her up that early. I told her I had a surprise for her. She did not resist, she stood up and I covered her with a blanket and climbing up the stairs we reached the large window. I hadn’t drawn the curtains. I made her face the window and covered her eyes with my palm. I then drew the curtains and uncovered her eyes for her to see. She opened her eyes slowly, on which rested her heavy eyelashes, fine and intricate. The air stood calm and as she perceived what she saw, her heart began to thump noisily. The dawn sky was darkest blue, and beneath it lay a Landour covered in white snow. Snow fell and settled like cotton. I for once felt as if I were in heaven. She stood there with her eyes and mouth wide open, observing how my described fantasy came to life. I felt really light- in love. For it was the first time she saw snow in real and I was with her, responsible in floating her into ecstasy. She was unable to put into words her precise feelings. I assured her that I knew exactly of the emotions running through her. She seemed to be quite thankful that I made her feel that way. I looked deep in to her and asked her to turn about. Once again, we stared at the snow fall happening in the wide, before us. I stepped closer to her and hugged her from behind. My emotions were not that of lust, the whole feeling can be described as beautiful, comely, but erotic. Apparently she did not mind my doing so. I whispered close to her ears that if I could astound her with such moments for the rest of her life. She said “only if you keep up with the deal and snore a little less while sleeping”- and we burst into laughter. Those words were the clearest speech ever heard, clearer than euphonic notes of a piano struck in absolute silence. Her voice itself seemed to be music to me, and her ringing laughter filled my heart with honey. I was now “officially” in love. I hadn’t expected such a pleasant reaction from her. Everything happened like a series of unplanned events but all went well, surprisingly well. I sat down on the floor below and relished what I had just achieved. It seemed a bit unnatural to me, my acting so romantically but rather absurdly and then, her accepting my love was even strange. This wasn’t anything amorous. I had always tried to avoid such thoughts of generating a relation between us because frankly, I always knew of it to be impossible. However, here I stood with the presently so-assumed love of my life.

The sun had started to show from the east horizon as the dawn broke in to one more mesmerizing moment. Neither of two of us wanted to go back and sleep. I had much to talk about but was a bit reluctant in risking matters, like asking her about the reasons why she accepted me. Were we acting quixotic? –I wondered. But then I did not want to let her give it a second thought as she might have changed her mind then. Alas! Right then she herself broke into the topic. She told me that she was a great admirer of my works in photography. She loved my sense of appreciating aesthetic values as it was very much in rhythm with hers. I was relieved, glad to know that indeed, real reasons existed. I wasn’t imagining, this was reality, I sighed.

A decade back, my first relation continued for four long years, not long enough though. Her name was Sarah Wayne. She was from the Trinidad Islands. I would prefer to avoid details as otherwise I’ll have to knit a whole network of happenings through these four years, which is rather not that interesting. Maybe for a romantic individual, it’s paradise but not for the average reader. My breaking up was dramatic. I would wishfully state that I was fortunate to experience some thing that makes hurting, sentimental and the “lived happily never after” movies. A drastic break in relations is precisely what I’m talking about.

It was raining that night, and I was celebrating my four years of a stable relationship, a bond now kept for four years, unlike the commons, in whose lives relations are made and broken each day. I wanted to see Sarah but my school walls restricted me. I had however, busted these bounds as the night grew grave. I tottered on to Sarah’s house, which was quite a distance to cover on foot. But my will was no less; it kept me going for the one I loved, for the one I lived. As I reached her house, my heart drummed a rock tune. I wanted to see her as happy as a sunflower smiling under the sunny sun. But, her parents weren’t home, and neither was she. Dripping in the rain I sat and awaited these sentimental moments when suddenly, a car stopped at a distance. This wasn’t her parent’s car; I knew they owned a different vehicle. I could vaguely make out the color, it was pink, rather raspberry pink. Who could own such a car? This wasn’t Las Vegas or Hollywood…This is Dehra’s little town! The only person belonging to Dehra who could own it could be the son of the Graphite Industrialists, the Malhotras- the city Romancer, “the rich and spoiled” as they say, behind him. I cared not to walk up and see who it was, but then I heard Sarah’s voice. Huh? -Was my first reaction. I could hear her clear through the rain; I was hyper sensitive to her voice as I found it distinctive, but not odd. I was sure she was not with her parents, and I hurried down the track to check if it was really her. No wonder it was the town romancer, Malhotra, making love to someone… how erotic! But as he moved, I saw her eyes, her face and she herself, lying below him, sunken deep in pleasure. A shiver ran down my whole body, I trembled in alarm. It was her!

There I stood in the rain, realizing reality. A moment back, I was celebrating, and here I was, looking at my life rip apart. I couldn’t help, but cried. She moaned, while I groaned. I did not have words, but felt my heart fall off my chest, which once beat the symphonies of pride. I did not react, but my eyes leaked a million tears, which dripped and blended into the rain pouring from above. I thumped on the glass windows, asking her what went wrong. I thumped harder on the window, but they cared not, if I existed, since such cheap pleasures had absorbed her sanity. I returned wet that night, less in the wetness of rain and more in the melancholy, which love offered in return. As a child then, I always thought being committed makes life harmonic. But I guess I was wrong. Love has eyes, sometimes blinded by lust. I feel obliged to pass this on to my fellowmen, who I believe were always smarter than me, they were the “commons”- Relations are made and broken each day, I was now a common. Metaphorically, I looked at it as a building being constructed. It took four years to build four stories and a moment to scatter in to a ruin, a demolished mass of memories, moments and all that love that I had for her. After all, it wasn’t who I was, but who I wanted to be like. I now wanted to take such relations as mere ways of recreating time. But I had no time now, I was to build my career. I recovered slowly, and in to a drastically intelligent lad, who found pleasure in observing aesthetics, but not touching them. School was tuff, but I had marked where I stood. I hated the opposite sex for a while, and this misogyny routed me to the study of Santayana’s philosophy, the sense of Beauty. I studied why, when and how beauty appears, what conditions must a being fulfill to be beautiful, what elements of our nature make us sensible of beauty, and what the relation is between a beings constitution and the excitement of our susceptibility.

Today I’m happy about what happened, as my parents stated that “we’re glad to see it happened within your early years, you would otherwise have been more attached mentally and such matters could even worsen and hurt you more”…

Roshni and I knew each other well, as we had worked together on different occasions for years. We had argued, quarreled but also understood each other. We knew how a relation needs to be founded and nurtured. I was less of an optimist now, I still assume that this new relation could break any moment, but I was to make it immune to external forces like lust, fortune and power. Today I had these three essentials and I was ready to sail and sink in love. With my mind struck in quandary, I touched to see if she was for real, indeed she was- I sighed. What a great day!

We woke Ria up and served he bed-breakfast. The fireplace was put to work again and we sipped on coffee. Ria was not exactly aghast on learning that me and Roshni were now in a relation. She was always like that, calm, idealistic, unlike her realist father, a journalist thus. The coffee was great, the air was light to breath, and everything else seemed equally beautiful. I shared all such feelings with her and she agreed of feeling the same. The crucial part was that we had loads to talk about. To talk about our lives, occupations, likings and dislikes, lifestyles we favored… and things to consider and compromise for harmony in our relation. At noon, we walked out into the sun filled sparkling lands of snow and went hiking up till the top, from where the green valley was visible on our front and on our rear was Dhanaulty, another hill station. On our way down, we observed the beauty of the Sun’s rays let in by the canopy tops of trees, cutting through the mystical haze and glittering on the snow below.