A love ahead of time - II - Plizz to bear with me! :P

So about an year and a half back i had written a short "love" story. (Read it HERE) Yeah, I know the probability of me writing a love story is same as the probability of RJD and SP coming out in support of Women's bill but I wanted to write the story from Narayan's perspective (many people also suggested I do) and I had written it but not published it. Found the document lying deep in the recesses of my C: drive so thought it was time to subject you to another one of my hopeless love stories! :P
So here goes! A love ahead of time - Part II! :P

Please do let me know what you think of it. Honestly! So if you don't like it please say so.

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Narayan took his spectacles off to wipe them, cursing Pittsburgh’s weather under his breath, quickening his pace. Damn the frost which frosted his spectacles blurring his vision. Damn the cold which found its way to each and every crevice and bone in his body making him shiver. Narayan was walking with Shyam from the university to his quarters inside the campus. Fall had just gotten over and winter was setting in. The landscape was beautiful and all the trees had shed their leaves leaving a lovely carpet of red yellow and orange leaves on the ground. The students enjoyed this season. Every bench on campus was occupied with couples holding hands, whispering and giggling with the soft glow of love evident on their faces.

“Bloody hell. Defiling every inch of the campus by sitting and doing all kinds of nonsense on the benches. Love it seems. Bah!!” Shyam growled. “There should be a rule against this”.

“They are just students Shyam. This is the age to fall in love. You wouldn’t understand. You have obviously never been in love” said Narayan with a soft smile

“hah!! Like you have a lot of experience Narayan. You aren’t even married”

Narayan smiled. If only Shyam knew. Married with a wife and 2 kids for 26 years Shyam had seen less love that Narayan had in one year with Lakshmi!! That one wonderful year of his life

Lakshmi. Involuntarily he smiled at her memory.

The first time he saw her she was singing some Bhajan for the Golu at their house. He hated these customs. The Golu, the ladies visiting their house for Golu, all that money which amma and appa spent to do the various archanai’s at all the temples in trichy, the money they spent on feeding all the greedy kurukkals who came to do the “pithru kaaryam”. Narayan was sure Thatha would have been infinitely happy if appa had used all that money to feed the poor people in Trichy than spend it on these kurukkals for his devasam. It was ironical. The more he questioned these customs the more number of archanais amma did asking god to give her son “nalla buddhi” or good sense. Narayan was 22 years old. Angry, confused and agnostic he spent most of the time in the public library reading books on theology, sociology, anything he could lay his hands on and trying to find answers to his never ending questions and when at home he spent his time reading his thatha’s books. Leo Tolstoy, George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, poems of Edgar Allan Poe and Pablo Neruda. He found solace in their writings.

He had a bachelors degree in Mathematics and with Appa’s influence he could have gotten a respectable job as a professor in Holy Cross trichy. But the rebel that he was, he had chosen to sit at home and read, discover himself and then go on to get settled in life. How he wished he had taken up that job. How he wished he had been well settled when he met Lakshmi. If only… if only..

He would never forget that day. The first time he touched her. It was pouring. As usual he had had a fight with appa and had picked up his umbrella and left home in a huff to walk to the library to spend some quality time reading. He was walking on the pavement when he suddenly saw someone walking right in the middle of the road and a car’s headlights flashing close behind. He realized that if he didn’t intervene the person would be hit. He reached out to the person’s arm and pulled her to safety even as the car whizzed by and it was Lakshmi. Those big beautiful kohl rimmed eyes staring at her with a gamut of emotions ranging from fear to apprehension to relief to confusion playing in them.

Are you crazy?” he shouted at her as soon as he found his voice

She turned around and started blubbering “Th…Thanks. I..I..didnt hear the car. It was raining and…”.

He had offered her his umbrella, still holding her arm and she had pushed it away determinedly preferring to go by bus and he had offered to wait with her.
In the past 30 years he had replayed that scene in his mind a 100 times, playing the hopeless what if game

What if he had just said “ok” and left her. She would never have come into his life then. He would have carried on with life, married someone his parents had chosen for him and been one of those innumerable human beings on earth untouched by the power of love.

But it was not to be. He had chosen to wait with her at the bus stand. Why? That was a question he couldn’t answer. Maybe he was bored, maybe it was hormones, maybe he had a foreboding that they were meant to fall in love or maybe he just wanted someone to talk to.

That day at the bus stop it was appa who had come and disturbed the perfect moment that he had shared with her. It was amazing how appa had spoilt some of the things he valued the most in life. That perfect moment with Lakshmi, his future,his life with Lakshmi…

“Narayan” shyam’s voice pierced his reverie. “Where are you going? We have reached our apartment”

Narayan entered his apartment glad to be alone with his thoughts and reveled in the warmth which it provided. How he missed the warm Trichy weather. He removed the layers of clothes on top of him, the gloves, the cap, his shoes and changed into a cotton shirt and veshti – his only connection with Trichy. He switched on the coffee maker and grimaced at the black color liquid it spewed forth. Black decaf, these Americans called it. What was coffee without a generous dose of fresh milk, prepared with fresh decoction, two spoons of sugar and shaken till the froth formed? He settled down with the coffee and his thoughts switched back to Lakshmi
That one wonderful year of his life.

When had he fallen in love with her? He couldn’t really say. Maybe it was that first sarcastic reply of hers. He was a very judgmental person and had thought of her as just another air head who went to college just so that she could put “B.Sc graduate” on her “marriage” resume. He was wrong. She was intelligent, innocent and willing to learn which was an endearing combination. He remembered how he would wait for her to come to the bus stand after college and would keep peeping out of the window in the library to see if she had come. Those endless conversations which he had with her, those long walks home, the smell of jasmine in her hair, and mysore sandal soap on her self, the tinkle of her anklets and bangles, the sound of her deep laughter, her intelligence, her inquisitiveness, the expression of wonder on her face when she spoke of the authors whose books he loaned her…. These were some images and sounds which had become ingrained in his memory. She was everything that he ever wanted in a woman. He always thought she was his and they were meant to be.

That day when she had told him that they had started groom hunting for her, THAT was the first day when fear had crept into him that she might not be his and he would have to do something if he didn’t want to lose her. He had proposed marriage and the happy tears in her eyes had been answer enough.

The same day he had broken the news at home. Amma had started crying and Appa with a melancholy expression on his face had asked him a question which had sealed Narayan’s fate because he didn’t have an answer. “If you were the father of a daughter would you assent to give her hand in marriage to a person like yourself who doesn’t earn and doesn’t seem to make any efforts at doing so?”

He had just assumed that Appa and Amma would agree because of the friendship between them and Lakshmi’s parents. He had been terribly mistaken. Appa hadn’t even allowed him to explain things to Lakshmi. He guessed that things at Lakshmi’s end were even worse because no communication came from that side too. He had sent her a letter explaining how things were and why they couldn’t get married because of society’s silly constraints. He never got a reply. She must have had a very low opinion of him.

Within a week, news of her marriage came. He had wanted to attend but Appa wouldn’t hear of it. To prevent him from doing anything brash they had gone to Coimbatore for a week to Perima’s place. By the time he came back the one person in the entire city who he cared for no longer existed. He had heard she was in Madras now married to a successful bank officer. She never came to Trichy after that and 2 years later appa had gotten a transfer to Madurai and they had moved. He finished his Post graduation in Coimbatore, finished his MS and Phd and had moved to Pittsburgh – unable to forget her. He had chosen to remain a bachelor. He didn’t think he was capable of loving anyone as much as he had loved Lakshmi. Amma had tried everything to convince him but he was determined. If it wasn’t Lakshmi it wasn’t anyone.

He drained his mug off the last few drops of the bitter liquid and stood for a long time at the window watching the falling leaves and the beautiful campus and thinking about Lakshmi and his fate.

Fate, thought Narayan was a cruel thing. It makes you meet and fall in love with a person who in ur heart of hearts u know can never be yours and yet in a strange inexplicable rather stupid way instead of wishing that u had never met them, you feel glad that they were a part of your life.

It had been 20 years since he had moved to Pittsburgh and yet he hadn’t gotten used to the country but he hadn’t wanted to go back to India. He had cherished the anonymity and freedom which this country had given him. That combined with the fact that Pittsburgh wasn’t swarming with “well wishers” wanting to get him married.
But now at the age of 52 he doubted if anyone would try to get him married.

It was time to go home. Time to go back to Trichy. Time again to spend the rest of his life as a bachelor, sitting at the public library and trying to answer elusive questions.

Life, had come a full circle.

Ok. So following is what i wrote for a mystery story writing contest in office. Please do let me know what you think of this because i didnt like it much when i read it the second and third time around. anyway. here it is!! :)

brickbats welcome!! :P

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December 12th 2007
He sat on the cold stone slab inside his cell, his head bent down, breathing heavily even as he felt a warm sticky liquid, his blood, trickle down the base of his neck and drip on his jail clothes. He winced as he thought of how the brutal jail barber had inhumanly shaved off all his hair with a few quick strokes of a rusted blade. But not a cry had escaped from his mouth as he had sat through the ordeal.

A grating sound came as an aluminum dish was crudely pushed into his cell and the warden said “khana kha le. Khuda jaane phir kab tujhe khana naseeb ho –Eat your food, lord knows when you will see food again”. He picked up the dish which consisted of rice in a yellow color liquid and sighed as he saw the little boll worms in the rice. They didn’t clean the rice even for the prisoners on the death row he thought as he pushed away the plate disgustedly. But then again food was the last thing on the mind of a prisoner on the death row.

Its funny how they say your entire life flashes before u just moments before you are about to die. He now closed his eyes and saw Tasneem, his beautiful Tasneem standing in front of him, smiling a shy smile and wearing the gorgeous pink salwar he loved so much, her head bent, looking just the way she had looked the first day when he had gone to meet her. For him it was love at first sight. It was a standing joke between them and Tasneem would say that it was the pink salwar he had fallen in love with at first sight and he would be quick to assure her that it was Tasneem in the pink salwar that he had fallen for – hook line and sinker. Tasneem. Charming, beautiful, intelligent, playful, a perfect mother, wife and daughter in law. She was too good to be true. The smell of jasmine in her hair, the faint smell of her favorite rose perfume from her clothes, her twinkling eyes, her laughter, the comfort of her arms. He would never feel them again. He would never see her again.

16 year old Sohrab. An adolescent now. He remembered how his neighbor qazi Aslam had held the baby in his hands and said “Inshallah khoobsoorti aur dimaag pe yeh baccha Tasneem aur sirf Tasneem par hi jaaye - God willing, I hope the baby is blessed with the looks of Tasneem and the brains of Tasneem” and laughed. He was glad Aslam’s prophecy had come true. Sohrab with his handsome face and pleasing demeanor was the kind of son any father would love to have. Playing chess with him and losing miserably, going on drives with him, laughing defenselessly when Tasneem and Sohrab ganged up against him. He would never experience all that again.

His parents. So much they had done for him. So much he had to learn from them. His mother’s chicken tikka, his father’s stories, their beautiful house by the river. Never again.

His closest friend. Major Enthu. Called so because of his infectious enthusiasm. Tall, Smart and extremely intelligent. At the age of 24 he had been a major in the army. He could liven up the coldest of days and the bleakest of atmospheres on the war front with his jokes and enthusiasm. They were best buddies despite the difference in age and ranks. Extremely fun loving and a never ending reservoir of jokes and anecdotes.

Operation Vijay during the Kargil war. Being shot in the right leg and being incapacitated right on the enemy lines. Enthu again. It was Enthu who had come back for him when everyone else had retreated to the safety of the trench. It was Enthu who had carried him over his shoulders for almost 8 kms to the safety of the Indian camp braving enemy shelling and firing and the extremely hostile weather of Kargil. It was Enthu who hadn’t given up on him though he had lost his senses because of immense blood loss and though Enthu himself had suffered minor injuries. It was Enthu who had arranged for him to be admitted in the army hospital in Srinagar. Enthu who had given him a new lease of life. Enthu who had enabled him the luxury of another 8 years with Tasneem and Sohrab.
He always wondered if he would ever be able to repay Enthu. Not any more.
He would never feel Enthu’s slap on his back, never hear another enthralling anecdote from him. Never again would he hear his comrades laugh saying “Major Enthu, maaaajor enthu”. Never again.

“Chalo chalo. Waqt aa gaya hai – Time is up” the heartless voice of the warden broke his reverie.
He got up, rudely pushing away the warden’s grip on his limp shoulders, staring right ahead at the empty wall, refusing to look into the gloating eyes of the warden.
“Vikram Rathod ji” read the warden sarcastically from the tag dangling from his arm and smirked. “Koi aakhri khwaish aapki? – Any last wishes?”

As a last act of defiance he spit on the floor.

The warden hit him hard across the shins and he bore it unflinchingly.
“Chalo Chalo” the warden spat out and pushed him roughly towards the exit of the jail to the open ground where the gallows were waiting for him.
He refused to look at anyone, he refused to look at the triumphant faces of the Pakistani army general and prime minister, refused to be intimidated by them, refused to be overcome by emotions. He had eyes only for the gallows which in some time would envelop him and release him to heaven. It seemed like the only friend he had now, in this foreign land.

There would be no 21 gun salute, no Indian flag draped royally over him, no medals for his bravery, no rewards for his wife and son, but it didn’t bother him.
He stood on the trap door, dispassionately facing the gallows and not uttering a sound as the black hood descended over his head and the noose was tightened over his head. It was ironic. All through life man is afraid of death, the inevitable, but in the last few minutes before facing death a deep calm descends over him which overpowers any feeling of fear.

Click

The trap door opened, the noose tightened around his neck and the body of the condemned man twitched for a few seconds before periodically swinging like a pendulum from the gallows.

October 15th 2008
Detective Farzana was at a loss. 10 years as the best detective of the Pakistan ISI and this was the first time such a case had presented itself before her. “Either this case only seems uncomplicated or age is finally getting to me” she thought as she got up to have her nth cup of coffee from the vending machine and sat down to read the case history for the 100th time.
She had been appointed to investigate the death of Top Indian Spy and Best intelligence officer Major Vikram Rathod who had been hanged until death about an year back without a word to the Indian government. Though this fact irked Farzana she became mechanical because she knew how scrupulous the Pakistani bureaucracy was and she got down into the details of the case even as she reached the fag end of her coffee, the bitter part which she liked and which helped her think.
There was something not right about the case was all that had been told to her. The man, Vikram Rathod the top Indian spy and a prize catch for Pakistan had however turned out to be a damp squib because he had refused to reveal any information despite being subject to acute torture. Farzana winced for she knew the kind of torture techniques which were used by the Pakistani police. And finally out of frustration and just to spite the Indian government he had been hanged to death in front of all the leaders of PPP. Though these facts had been hidden from the India, they had told the Indian government that Vikram Rathod had been accidentally blown to bits when he had ventured unwittingly on Pakistani soil and had sent back his belongings as a sign of maintaining good will between the two countries.

The Indian Government had been surprisingly silent about the whole thing and the intelligence seemed stronger than ever and there didn’t seem to be any chink in india’s armor. Though India’s resilience and the inefficiency of its politicos was well known, their hardiness was too good to be true and it rankled the Pakistani government and intelligence and with the ISI reports that Vikram was still alive and working undercover they had issued a probe into the issue and assigned it to Farzana, easily their best.

But Farzana was at her wits end. It seemed like she was groping blindfolded in the dark. She had no evidence, she had no leads, hell she didn’t even have a case. All she had was the Pakistani government’s and intelligence’s intuition that there might be something wrong in the death of Vikram Rathod about an year back. Sigh!!

“Salaam alekum Farzana jaan. Working so late? Want some tea? Not this vending machine one. Like horse piss it is I always say. People say that you haven’t lived if you haven’t drunk Rahim’s tea” said Rahim the night watchman who had come to check on her.

“ha ha. Walekum-as-Salam Rahim chacha. Thanks a lot. I could do with some. This case is eating my head”

“And what case is that?” asked Rahim chacha as he returned with a cup of tea

“Nothing. You wont understand.” smiled Farzana as he sipped the “special tea”

“Ah!! You are underestimating my intelligence Farzana jaan. Bol ke to dekho – try me”

“Ah!! well” began Farzana condescendingly. “Can u please tell me what is so strange about Vikram Rathod’s death Rahim chacha?” she smiled as she pored over the case history again

“Vikram Rathod??” whispered Rahim chacha

Farzana looked up and saw that all the color had drained from his face.

“Are you ok Rahim chacha? Here have some tea” she urged him. “Did u know him?”

“Did I know him? Of course I did. Or at least I knew the man who pretended to be Vikram Rathod”

“What??? What are u saying??”

“I will tell you one thing Farzana jaan and may Allah strike me and my family with lightning if I lie but that man who was hanged an year back was not Vikram Rathod. I don’t think he was even Hindu.”

“B.But how do u know?”

“He recited verses from the Kuran everyday, he would do namaz silently when he thought no one was watching. He had the faint almost unnoticeable scar on his forehead which every staunch Musalmaan who does namaz regularly has and he never responded to the name Vikram Rathod when woken up in the middle of his sleep.”

“But ho-how do u know all this”

“I was the warden who was with him night and day. I got a chance to observe him closely and deal with him. It was recently that I quit that job to take up this less demanding one”

“But if u knew he wasn’t Vikram Rathod why didn’t u tell the higher authorities? Why didn’t u tell them when u saw him doing namaaz?”

“We have a law among us Musalmans Farzana jaan” said Rahim. “A man while he does his namaz and recites the Kuran is the son of god. And no son of God can be wrong. And there was something about that fellow. I don’t know what. He wasn’t a criminal. After 20 years as a jail warden I can tell the difference between a criminal and a good man. A criminal’s guilt settles around his shoulders, giving him a tense, wary and shifty look.” Said Rahim chacha
“But this man!! This man had this calm and quiet face. He had no fear, no guilt. Just blank, deep staring eyes which never looked at anyone, never spoke to anyone and just waited for an absolution to come. To be honest I was scared of him. If I had told on him Allah would never have forgiven me. I will leave you to do your work Farzana jaan but be rest assured that Vikram Rathod never stepped on Pakistani soil and we hanged a Musalmaan last year. Khudahaafiz”

Farzana’s head was spinning. If she were to believe Rahim chacha, the case was getting thicker and thicker. Who was the man who had been hung a year back? And where was Vikram Rathod if not dead?
She quickly logged on to the internet to read more about Vikram Rathod. “The late Vikram Rathod”, it said “was a sterling army officer and a gem of a man”. The website was full of praise for him and she quickly scanned the page till her eyes fell on a title named Awards. “Vikram Rathod was awarded the President medal for bravery for having saved the life of a fellow soldier Abdul Mohammed in the Kargil war in 2001. Abdul Mohammed was declared missing and later dead around the same time when news of Vikram’s death reached the Indian government and his body was never found”
Farzana quickly checked the date when the website had been updated and the date was around 6 months back. Which meant an year back Abdul Mohammed had been declared missing. She ran a search on Abdul Mohammed to find out that Vikram Rathod and he had been very close friends and he had been declared missing around the same time when news of Vikram Rathod’s death had reached the Indian government. And in a little family photo of Abdul’s she saw his face and her heart skipped a beat and she looked up from the computer to her confidential case file – given exclusively to her, which had a photo of the man who had been hung an year back.
They were the same.
The overwhelming truth dawned on her and the weight of the fantastic deception crushed her and she slumped into her chair and sat numb as she let the facts sink in.

Two months later Farzana closed the case on the basis of insufficient and lack of incriminating evidence and quit her enviable position at the Pakistani intelligence

December 12th 2008
Vikram Rathod, popularly known as Enthu among his friends, lifted his hand up to salute the brave martyr Abdul Mohammed as a 21 gun salute for him rang through the air. It had been an year since Abdul had died in an unknown land at the hands of ruthless extremists. An year since Vikram had been wounded very close to the LOC while escaping with extremely sensitive information from Pakistani soldiers. An year since Abdul had taken him to safety and told him he would tackle the Pakistanis. If Vikram knew the way Abdul was going to “tackle” the Pakistanis he would never have allowed it. Maybe that’s why Abdul never revealed the plan he had in his mind. Never breathed a word because he knew Vikram would never have allowed it.

Abdul knew that it as only a matter of time before the Pakistani soldiers caught up with the wounded Vikram, took him into their custody, tortured him and got the information which Vikram had guarded more securely than his life. Keeping Vikram alive and the information secure was vital for the success of their operation and realizing this Abdul had quickly stripped Vikram and worn his clothes. In his unconscious state Vikram hadn’t felt anything. Abdul had told Lieutenant Srivastav of his plan and asked him to take Vikram to safety and despite protests from Srivastav had gone ahead and ventured into Pakistani territory, deliberately gotten caught by the soldiers who had captured him, discovered his identity as Vikram Rathod, the top Indian spy, tortured him and killed him thinking he was Vikram.

It was the ultimate deception or the ultimate sacrifice depending on which side of the border you were on.

Vikram wiped a lone tear and felt the hair on his neck rising as he thought of Abdul and saw Tasneem bhabhi and Sohrab collect the compensation, Abdul’s medals and the posthumous Param Vir Chakra awarded to him for exceptional bravery and exemplary camaraderie as a sterling officer of the Indian army, from the President.

As he watched them the words of Srivastav about Abdul kept ringing in his ears.

“Not for a moment did he think or even reconsider his decision sir. He just jumped at the opportunity to repay you. He said if you had been there you would have done the same thing for him. I can say only one thing sir” Srivastav had paused as he swallowed the constriction in his throat. “I wish I had a friend like that”

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P.S: Concept "inspired" (Read: stolen shamelessly) from one of my favorite Archer novels and written by me to suit an indian audience!! :P:P.

P.P.S: Mystery for the readers!! :P. Find out which Archer novel i lifted this concept from!! ;)

A love ahead of time!!

a "romantic" short story i wrote for a contest in office.
a lame albeit sincere attempt at "ROMANCE" :D:D
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Lakshmi got up and one hand of hers mechanically reached out and turned off the alarm lest it rang and disturbed Gopal who was sleeping peacefully. Even without looking, even before it rang she knew what time it was. 5 o clock. Every night when she set the alarm Gopal would joke saying “your body’s alarm is more reliable than Orpat. Why waste time setting an alarm?”

She got out of bed, brushed her teeth and went about her ablutions in a mechanical manner. Getting the milk, cutting open the packet, emptying it into a vessel, adding a little water to drain the packet of its last drops of milk, setting the vessel to boil, boiling the water to make the coffee decoction. After making herself a cup of hot frothy filter coffee, she retreated to the swing in the balcony to watch the break of dawn as the dark blue of the night gave way to the cerulean sky of the dawn and a gentle breeze tickled her senses. Somehow the dark blue of the sky always made her think of him. His eyes. Those deep dark azure eyes of his eyes which spoke volumes though he was a man of very few words.

Lakshmi closed her eyes and it all came back to her like it had happened yesterday. She was 18 and it was the Navratri season. Lakshmi and her sister Vijaya had gone to Sarasu maami’s house for golu. She was the best singer in the neighbourhood. “MS kurral. Truly gifted you are Lakshmi” Ranga mama, Sarasu maami’s husband would say with a nod of his head. That day she sat down to render a Bhajan in the kapi raagam. She always closed her eyes while singing. Her concentration wouldn’t divert that away. That day as soon as she finished singing and was met with thunderous applause, she opened her eyes and he stood before her and for the first time her innocent eyes met his cynical ones. There he was standing with a smirk on his face with a book in his hand and his hands crossed across his chest while everyone else in the room used their hands to applaud her song.

“Nara, did u hear that?” Sarasu maami asked him. “How well she sings doesn’t she.”
He smirked some more and made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a cough and retreated into his room

Oh!! How she hated him.

Narayan was a black sheep of their Agraharam. “Iconoclast. Too much of education and spending time in the public library has made him like this. Disgrace to Sarasu and Ranga, such nice god fearing people” appa would hiss when he spoke of him. “Ayyo naastheekama (atheist)?? Shiva Shiva” her mother would chant. He had radical ideas and “is way ahead of his times” Sethu anna would say. None of this made any sense to Lakshmi. All she knew was that she hated him because he refuted religious customs, thought too much of himself and was a pompous ass who loved to smirk at her.

And then the rains came. She would never forget that day. The first time he touched her. It was pouring cats and dogs and she had missed her last bus home from college and as luck would have it, she had forgotten her umbrella too and was walking towards the shade of the bus stand to wait there till the rains abated. It was pouring so hard it was impossible to see anything in front of her or to see the road or make out if she was walking on the pavement or on the road. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and someone pulled her to safety as a car whizzed past her. “Are you crazy?” she heard a voice. She turned around and found herself staring into those eyes again. “Th…Thanks. I..I..didnt hear the car. It was raining and…”. “Never mind” he hushed her. “Here take my umbrella and I will walk you home”. He was still holding her arm. She pulled it away determinedly and said “No, Thanks. I will wait at the bus stand and take the next bus home”. There. There it was. That irritating smirk again. “Ok. I will wait with you” he said. She was extremely glad he said that but said “Suit yourself. It isn’t my bus stand for me to prevent you from waiting there”.

“So? College eh?” he said after an uncomfortable silence of 10 minutes

“No, I enjoy walking in the rains at 6 in the evening, getting drenched and getting hit by cars frequently” she said sarcastically even as her heart beat like 100 drummers were working overtime. She moved away afraid that he might hear it

He smirked again and she wanted to scream.

“ok. I am sorry I spoilt your hobby of getting hit by cars by saving you. Won’t happen again” he said

She smiled and looked up at him and time froze. She didn’t remember how long they kept looking at each other. He later told her that, that was when he had fallen in love with her. A car sped by and splashed water on them and screeched to a halt. “Nara, Lakshmi what are you doing here? Get in the car” Ranga mama’s voice came through the sheets of rain. Ranga mama dropped her home and that night she for the first time she thought kindly of him.

The bus stand became their constant meeting place. Maybe it was co-incidence, maybe it was providence or maybe it was how Narayan planned things but everyday when she stood in the bus stand he would leave the public library opposite the bus stand and walk up to her. They spoke about everything under the sun. Slowly she started looking forward to their daily meetings. She realized that contrary to what appa said he wasn’t an iconoclast but was just agnostic and liked to question things and just had un conventional ideas on many things, things about which she had been taught to think in a particular conventional way . He was like no one else she had met. He was eloquent, extremely well read, kind, sensitive, had an amazing sense of humor and she enjoyed talking to him. What she felt for him she had never felt for anyone. He completely changed the way she looked at life and the way she thought. He gave her life a totally new perspective. The first books she ever read were the ones which he loaned her, books which when she saw in the market reminded her of him. She read and re read those books and marveled at how beautifully they had been written. She was only existing till she met him. After he came into her life she started living.

After an year when she had finished her B.sc they started “maapilai hunting” at home for Lakshmi and she realized that she didn’t want to be with anyone else except Narayan. That evening when they met at the bus stand, their last time ever, she told him they were looking out for a groom. She still remembered how he reacted. They were sitting side by side and when she told her he gave her one long serious look, those azure eyes boring into her and said “Marry me”. That was that. They decided to tell their parents

That evening she confronted amma and appa and told them she loved Narayan. Appa blew his top.

“what??? That iconoclast? See savithri. Look at what your daughter has done. I told u not to educate her. You educate women and this is what they do. They think if they can read the paper, they can rule the world. Keep them at home and marry them off at 18. Look at what she has done. I cant show my face anywhere now”

“Appa, please. He is really nice. And you know Ranga mama and sarasu maami so well” she pleaded

“so?? Do u have any idea what he does for a living. How he will take care of you?”

She was stumped. She had known him for an year and not once had she asked him what he did for a living

“See. You don’t have an answer. You want to marry a vagabond, who doesn’t believe in God, who doesn’t have a job. Shiva shiva. We have found a nice boy for you from Kumbakonam called Gopal. He works for a reputed bank in Madras…”

And that was the end of it. She shouted, she screamed, she pleaded, she threatened to kill herself but Appa wouldn’t budge. She never saw Narayan again. He tried writing to her and the letter was intercepted by Appa and he tore it without reading. She wasn’t allowed to go out of the house. She hoped Ranga mama and Sarasu maami would come and talk but nothing happened. Gopal’s parents came approved and appraised her, a date was fixed and she was married
That was 30 years back. A lone tear escaped her eye and fell into her cup of coffee, gone cold now. Gopal was a good man. He was a decent husband, a good father, a very good son, brother and son in law. She had no complaints. Regrets? Yes. She had those. Her 26 year old daughter had visited last month from the US with her American husband with whom she had “lived in” for an year before deciding to get married. Gopal and Lakshmi hadn’t said anything or rather weren’t able to say anything. In their heart of hearts they were glad she had married someone of the opposite gender. They had a Brahmin style wedding and an American style wedding. When she looked at Priya, her daughter, she wished she had been born at a different time. At a time when falling in love wasn’t taboo, when a job in a reputed bank wasn’t the only thing parents looked at. If only, if only…..

She never heard from Narayan after that. After marriage she had moved to Madras and her parents made sure she never visited Trichy, making it a point to visit her when she felt home sick. Conversation was always careful never steering towards Ranga mama’s family. Once she had discreetly asked amma and she had promptly gone and told appa. That was the end of it. Narayan was like a chapter of her life which had existed only in her imagination. No record of him existed anywhere. She didn’t even have a photograph, a letter. Nothing. Just memories of a man who had taught her to think and now existed only in her thoughts.

“lakshmi” gopal’s voice echoed. She quickly wiped her tears away and responded to his call.

The sky was orange now, the sun high up, the beautiful dark azure shade completely gone.