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.
But only sometimes.
