THE STORM IN HER LIFE

THE STORM IN HER LIFE

The sun had gone completely down the horizon when I got on to the railway coach. Raindrops fell on the carriage like bullets from a machine-gun, while darkness set in to its full shade. I braced myself for a peaceful night after the excitement I had been through. A young lady, in the bloom of womanhood, was already seated on my berth, she politely made some space on the seat for met to sit. Her eyes were swollen and red, as if with persistent weeping.

Destiny had placed us so close to each other that I could almost hear her breathing. There were suppressed gasps of passionateness accompanying the signs of life. The incumbent situation was obviously more unfortunate for her than for me. The sobs were not enough to bring out her pent-up emotions. She needed something more strong to survive beyond the point. The other passengers, only half-awake, began looking closely at the pantomime being enacted next to me. I began to feel uncomfortable as I seemed to be responsible for her convulsive sobs. I watched her closely as she arose from the berth; she seemed to feel ashamed at the way everyone had been staring at her. I found myself following her to the door of the coach where the deluge of tears finally emerged.

The melody of shattered dreams struck a fresh chord at that moment. She winced for a moment, as if with some physical pain. She was brought up in an era when the popularity of facebook had taken over that of orkut, but beneath the veneer of contemporary education, lay several old fashioned ideas and principles. She still honoured the sanctity of an engagement for marriage, and her simplicity and innocence made her believe in the faithfulness of the other party. The formal ceremony had left her with tons of dreams, hopes and aspirations, besides a ring symbolic of the bond.

Meanwhile, none of us realized the significance of the elements of nature around us. The storm was still raging in the world around us. There was a  storm in her life too. It had been enough to create a difference between her fiancé and herself. He had ditched her at the last moment. She wasn’t in love with him, but the depth of emotions and passions young girls put into such attachments was obvious from the way her blood-shot eyes looked at me. Apparently, she hadn’t slept for several nights, she had been weeping. I wanted to console her, but I had been conditioned to avoid any form of physical contact with the opposite gender. After a lot of deliberations, I let my hand over her dark tresses.

I persuaded her to return to the berth. She felt quite better after relieving her heart. She agreed to accompany me to my destination. I sometimes with I could transform the train journey into the journey of my life. I badly wish I could capture the essence and beauty of the night. Today, I thank Allah for the romance the young lady brought into the railway coach and into my life.

To this day, I look forward to meting her again whenever I board a train. I know it is just not possible to meet her again, she must be happily married by now, and she must have forgotten all about the storm that night and even the one that once threatened to blow her over. Some storms do bring some happiness.

WEATHERING A STORM

WEATHERING A  STORM

There was a natural instinct to drop our voices as we talked. This made the roar of the imminent storm a bit louder. Something seemed to overweigh us. There was something more than the natural sadness of a parting, although both of us knew it was not to be of a permanent nature. We would still be in touch, there would still be the pleasantries exchanged, but everything would be different now.

She would cease to have a tangible existence for me. She would no longer be the goddess of love I was once inclined to worship. Her presence would fade into the ether like a spirit; she would be like a sweet dream, or a frenzy of thoughts and emotions. She would disappear from my life like a sweet aroma. I didn’t relinquish her hand till the very last moment; I wanted to hold on to the last hope of happiness for a long time, I wanted to keep holding forever.

I could feel the ideal of ‘love’ flitting stealthily from my conscious world to another, even while we were together. We were together probably for the last time as lovers. Things would be very different now. Indian customs and traditions prohibit any form of platonic contact between a bachelor and a married woman. Even thinking of her would be a taboo for me now. The storm was still in the making, but it would blow over all our connodling, and all our strong and warm feelings. The patriarchal society we live in would take her to a different city, to a different culture, or it might even bring several nations between us.

She was headed for a journey. It wasn’t to be a short trip or tour, the adventure was to be a never ending one. I wasn’t going to be a part of it, I could be sure. It wasn’t to be anything like the premeditated drama we see in the media; its flow would depend on how The Great Dramatist has scripted it. Both of us would have to accept the fact that our future lies in different spheres. It would give me a chance to appreciate her importance in my life.

She was the one who had fetched me out of the abysmal abyss of depression I once found myself in. We had been together when the sun beat down mercilessly on me, and even when it rained. She is still by my side as I prepare for the gusts of wind that would blow us apart. The gusts of wind would make her a part of my history. I would certainly feel better with the passage of time, while she would soon forget all about me.

The only point I can console myself with is that she had always been faithful with me in one form or the other. She had had many embodiments. There have been countless instances when my heart stopped beating for a while and resumed its journey after a while. They could be given different names, but all seem to be merely a transient condition representing her. She reigns supreme over all of them. Perhaps this was the last time my heart missed a beat. I still see a typical divinity in her.  She might be a mere conception, a light of the eye, or a parting of the lips. She is indescribable.  But the important point is that she would now be a friend to someone else, and an alien to me. She would leave a huge gap in my life, and proceed to fill the voids in someone else’s life.

Every new day would bring fresh challenges for them. I don’t doubt their capability in countering the tides of time and fate, but I hope life deals in a manner different from what it has been with me. Life is never easy for anyone, but I hope they don’t meet the problems I faced. I badly wish I could be a part of their happiness. I wish I could pack myself in a suitcase that would accompany her. The distant rumbling of the clouds has come quite near, and it has, at length, brought what it promised by these vagaries---rain.

A ROAD TO CROSS

A ROAD TO CROSS

A horde of cultural symbols declared her marital status. There was a tint of the early dawn on her cheeks, the light of the stars in her eyes, a tinge of the rain cloud in her tresses, and a bindi and sindoor on her forehead. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw her. It took me a while before I realized that some of the most sublime moments of my life were passing before my eyes. The austerity and peace of the moment would gradually and surely fade behind the curtains of time, but for a while, I was taken aback by her very presence. The clink of her bangles brought me back into the world. The red bangles were symbolic of the partnership I had to forego, but someone luckier than me had been able to cash on.

I wasn’t sure if I was really happy she had found bliss in someone’s company, or should I curse my fate for it. She seemed to be very happy. I’m glad I vacated my seat in the Delhi Metro for her. Her very presence seemed to fill the entire coach with romance.

The glee and happiness of marriage were clear on her face. This was an ocean whose depth I wanted to measure. But I realized I wanted to fathom the depth of the ocean I couldn’t possibly sink into. The intensity of the experience would gradually disintegrate into commonplace experience, but I can still feel the warmth exuberated by her very presence. Her demure gaze swept the floor of the coach ignoring my presence. Obviously, she couldn’t fit me into the picture of her life anymore. The equations had changed now.

 She had moved on in life. Life deals in a fair manner with those who are consistent and persistent in their efforts. I sometimes wonder why life chose to be different and difficult with me. Perhaps it is a matter of perception.

I was an integral part of her past, but her present and future belonged to someone else. The bonding was highlighted by the symbols she decorated herself with. But these were the very conflicting points that had wavered us apart.

The redness of the bangles didn’t match with the red colour of her lips, but they spoke the language of her heart. Her heart beat for someone else now. I had no choice but to accept my fat---I wasn’t a part of her anymore.

I badly wanted to be a pat of her. I wanted to be with her as she crossed the roads of her life. Her company would have made me forget the wickedness of the world. But all this is like a beautiful dream that turned into a sad and dismal episode. We could have crossed several roads together, but for her orthodox religious moorings. To this day, I wonder if religion exists as a binding force or one that fosters separation.

As I brace myself to cross a road everyday, I realize the experience on the Delhi Metro has given me the power to cross the roughest roads of my life. She had moved on in life, and it is time I too moved ahead. The Delhi Metro moves on in its endless quest for a junction everyday, and so do I.