On The Subway (Part 4)

October 23, 2003

“We’ve been through so much. When I look back, everything seems incredible”, she said, as the car hit the turf of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“And still, you have not let me free from your grasp”, he chuckled.

“Shut up”, her face turned into a frown, and then an innocent smile.

A few minutes of silence followed. She was still looking out of the window. The Statue of Liberty was visible in the distance. She turned back and looked at him. Her thoughts went back to the time when she had first met him – a simple man clad in white shirt and black trousers had accidentally walked into his office. She mistook him for one of the waiters from her hotel downstairs, only to realize that he had come to interview for the position of her personal secretary – a job he never got.

As she looked at him now, he realized how ambition had fueled and propelled him into becoming the man he was. He had struggled in his life, fought hard against the odds. He had left his country – the very country he had never vowed to leave, to achieve his goal. She knew he would return some day – but not before doing what he had come to do. And she felt proud sitting beside the most celebrated realtor in Manhattan, who still retained the boyish charm of waiting for her by a city street.

“I’ve seen too much in my life. The spate of betrayals has shattered me from inside. I can’t bring myself to trust anyone. But I want to trust him. He has been through his share of challenges. And he is a broken man too. And still, he stands strong”, she thought to herself.

He adjusted the rear view mirror. A blue van was visible in the distance. As he turned the silverware, his eyes fell on her somber face. He could read her mind.

“Sometimes, two broken pieces can fit together to form a complete whole”, he smiled.

The van inched closer.

September 27, 2003

“Madam, your tickets for New York have been booked”, the secretary’s voice echoed from the speaker phone.

“Thanks Margaret”, she disconnected the line.

“I’ll finally meet him, after two years”, she couldn’t stifle her smile as the thought possessed her.

She opened her drawer. A dark red book lay unobstrusively in the corner. Red had always been her color, even for diaries. The cover of the diary bore the emblem of the chain of hotels she owned, the flagship of which was housed in the 13 floors beneath her feet. She took it out and opened it to the page titled September 27, 2001.

“He’s leaving today – leaving this city, this country, this place. I could have never imagined my words could have hurt him so deeply. I never knew my intemperance could bruise his ego so badly that he would not think twice before abandoning the road we had set foot together on. But I had never meant to hurt him. I never could, and I never will. Maybe this is all for the good, maybe he deserves something else. Or maybe I needed this. But somehow, it seems wrong. I’m sad and I don’t know how the future will unfold. Will it ever be what it was like?”

“Yes, it will be now”, she exclaimed as she closed the diary and replaced it.

The phone beeped again. She pressed the speaker button. Margaret’s voice reverberated ,”Ma’am, Its them again. Should I put you through?”

She paused for a second. “Yes”, the time lagged affirmative came in a heavy voice.

After a while, the phone buzzed, “Madam, the matter is really serious now. This is the second warning…”

On The Subway (Part 3)

October 23, 2003

“Does this look ok?”, she asked. He didn’t hear her. His mind was preoccupied with something else. “I said”, she raised her pitch, “Does this look OK?”. But he was lost. As he turned, a projectile sandle met his forehead. . The train of thoughts which was about to change tracks had met with an accident.

“You never pay attention to what I say”, she complained.

“Who are you, by the way?”, he chuckled.

Another projectile sandle approached him. This time he was attentive enough to dodge it over his head.

“You look great. Can we go now?”, he said.

“You are good for nothing”, she said and went in to change. Five minutes later, she was back in a new dress. Before she could open her mouth, a voice reached her ears.

“You look phenomenal, out of this world. Can we go now?”, it was him, standing on the window sill, muttering those words with his back turned towards her.

She stamped her feet and went in again.

“How do I make her understand that she looks phenomenal in everything? How do I tell her that a diamond – whether engraved in a ring, shielded in a museum, pendant on a necklace, or unpolished at a jeweller’s store – was still a diamond – precious, beyond measure”, he heard her footsteps again.

“You look mindblowing. Can we go now?”, he pleaded, as he turned around and caught glimpse of a man in a dense turban, with thick moustaches and a flowing beard. His drink almost fell out of his hands.

“Does this look OK?”, he heard the childlike voice from behind the hairy tangle.

“Oh my God”, he burst into laughter, beating his fists onto the wall. Then he fell over, rolling on the floor, a fresh burst of giggle deluding him everytime he looked up at her in the disguise. The moustache, beard and turban clad princess began to laugh too.

Sanity returned by the time they took their seats in the car. As he was turning the keys, he said, his voice gruff, “You know what?”

“What?”, she questioned, her eyes turned towards him.

“You are the only girl who has ever made me laugh”, he pressed the accelerator and they were on the road.

September 30, 2003

1 PM – his watch read. Funnily enough, it had been reading the same for the last eleven times he had seen it in the last sixty seconds. “Where is she?”, he thought to himself.

As he was about to turn his wrist for the twelfth time, the sight of a black limousine caught his glance. He followed its track as the vehicle slowed down and parked itself in front of him. The door opened, and there she was.

“Hi”, he muttered, not knowing what else to say, and lent his right hand forward to shake, not knowing what else to do.

“What a fool? I’m meeting him after so long and he can’t even hug me”, she thought to herself as they shook hands.

“So, where do you want to go?”, he queried.

“Should we eat something first?”, she asked, knowing that he wouldn’t have had breakfast. He had only woken up by her call an hour ago and knowing him, she knew he would rather go hungry than be late.

“Ok, let us go to this Italian restaurant – The Tavern”, he motioned towards the north with his hands.

“No Italian, Only Indian – South Indian”, she argued.

“You’ve come all the way to New York to eat Indian food?”, he was baffled.

“No, I’ve come all the way to New York to meet an Indian man”, she smiled.

On The Subway (Part 2)

October 19, 2003

“It is in moments such as these”, he whispered, “that I feel the loneliest”. As he stood with his hands stretched on the terrace hedge, the expanse of Manhattan was lit before him. The glittering lights of the concrete jungle were mesmerizing.

“How can you feel alone in the most happening city of the world – the city where even loneliness doesn’t feel alone?”, she questioned, taking a sip from the glass.

“It’s not the din outside that defines internal peace”, he turned his back to the city of dreams, “A good package can’t make a gift out of garbage”

“Why do you feel alone, when you have me?”, she put her hands into his.

His eyes welled. “All this time, you have always lived with the belief that I was there for you. And you never take credit for being there, for me”, he said.

“Ssshhh”, she whispered. He went quiet, as he always did.

October 05, 2003

“Sir, your phone is ringing”, the housekeeper shouted at the top of his voice. He woke up with a start, and heard the familiar ringtone.

“Hello”, he mumbled, his throat still dry.

“I need to talk to you”, her voice was unmistakable.

“Then what are you doing right now?”, he managed to force in his banal sense of humor even while in sleep.

“Shut up. When are you coming here?”, she demanded.

“Will be there next week”, he answered, as the line got disconnected.

He stood up and went up to the window. It was raining outside. The spattering of water on the window sill was the only sound audible. He closed his eyes to think about her. Dating a princess was not easy. And her behaving like she wasn’t one, didn’t help.

“Sometimes, I fondly recollect the days when I possessed something called ego”, he thought to himself.

On The Subway (Part 1)

October 12, 2003

“Okay, so the first place we go is…”, he stuttered in the middle of the sentence.

“The Tavern”, she completed the blank, as always.

The name brought a smile to his face. As they climbed their way into open air, the bright sunshine hit them in the eye. He placed his hand on her forehead to shield them from the sun. Apparently, no chivalry was too much chivalry for him.

They began to walk on the kerb. She noticed the troves of men and women walking beside them, past them, with them. She loved New York for this. You never felt alone in this city. A strange pulsating spirit seemed to run through the veins of this city at any given moment. Walking, which she had hated as a chore back home, had come alive as a pleasure in this city of walkers. And walking beside him was a pleasure greater still.

She tightened her grip on his arms as they were about to cross the street. She knew it was not necessary. New York was no Delhi – When the white man on the pedestal lit up, pedestrians could walk with all the élan in the world. And the country’s notoriously large lawsuit claims had infused a perpetual fear of any walking object, in the minds of automobile drivers.

But this gesture was a signal – she needed him, and she wanted him to know it. And he did.

October 12, 2003

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please”, the announcement echoed in his ears as he saw the door-halves approaching each other in perfect unison and meeting with an ever so gentle thud. The train began to move.

As he pressed his face against his palms, he could feel the moisture that had welled up in his eyes. He wiped it with his shirt sleeve and began to look around sheepishly. The compartment was unusually empty for this hour of the day. “Loneliness stalks you everywhere”, he thought to himself.

The sound of sniffles interrupted his train of thought. He lifted his head to decipher the source of the sound. It was originating from a lady at the other end of the compartment. A man seated beside her was mumbling something to himself, apparently in great anger. He strained his ears to listen to what he was saying.

“One man’s agony is another man’s pleasure” – he had learnt one of the fundamental dictums of human psychology, during his graduation class on Human Behavior. The realization that he wasn’t the only soul bereft of joy on this planet was sadistic, but pacifying. The propensity of New Yorkers to wash their dirty linen in public provided ample opportunities for this decadent activity.

“Nothing remains the same. Everything changes. Nothing’s forever”, the words came out intermittently between the sniffles.

“True”, he thought to himself, as he ran his fingers into his pockets and felt the cold metal inside.

The girl in the rain (Part 6)

Scene 16

“You don’t understand. I’m not used to this”, her voice was getting ballistic now.

“I don’t understand what you want me to understand. How does it really matter?”, even he was beginning to lose his temper now.

“Does nothing get into your head? I have been shouting my head off for the last half an hour. My friends dislike me”, she was exasperated.

“Wait a second. How can your friends dislike you? Isn’t there an apparent contradiction in what you are saying? The people you are talking about are just jealous of your success. And frankly, my dear, you shouldn’t give a damn”, he twisted the last line into his baritone voice, and smiled.

“Everything is a joke for you. You have never understood me. And never will”, her voice was calmer now.

This sounded the alarm bells. He was more somber now,” I’m sorry. We are different people. We think about things differently. But our friendship has been so tightly knit for 15 years, because of that, not despite that. I know you are perturbed because some people are not happy that you achieved something they did not. But that doesn’t take away from your achievement. You are the one who achieved it. They may or may not like it. But why do you care about them? Just remember the reaction your parents gave when you told the news to them. Or your brother. Or your sister. Isn’t that worth so much more than what the others feel?”

A long silence followed. “Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter”, he lowered his voice as the waiter placed the bill on the table.

“But how can you not care about people’s opinion?”, she pleaded.

“I do care. But the one person whose opinion I care about is sitting right across this table, spoiling a nice hot cup of coffee by not drinking it”, he smiled.

.

.

.

Her mind returned to the present time. So much had transpired since this meeting. She remembered the fortuitous phone call that she had received the next night. The words from the call still rang loud in her mind - “Hello? It seems your friend has met with an accident…”

Scene 17

“Mummy, where is Dad?”, cried the little girl from the doorstep.

“He’s gone out for some work”, a feminine voice reverberated from inside the house.

The girl looked down on the floor, and her doll lying on it, split into two. The sight drove her to tears. She picked up the pieces, embraced it to her chest and began to weep. The sound of her sniffles was interrupted by the screeching sound of friction. She lifted her head and saw the boy. Her crying rose by another decibel level at the sight of the culprit who had led to the massacre of her beloved toy. She had tripped over the steps while running to escape from the interfering fool’s intrusion, and fallen over the doll, splitting it into two. As the scene played back in her mind, she was repulsed even more by the ignominious creature and the hideous sound his shoes were making against the ground, as he inched closer.

“Oh. I’m so sorry”, he uttered, peering over her shoulder, catching a glance of the broken toy.

“Get lost”, she shouted, throwing her doll back onto the floor, and ran back inside to seek medical attention for her bruised elbow.

Having cried her heart out after the burning sensation of the antiseptic had played its part, the little girl’s concern for her treasured toy returned. As her mother was placing the first aid box back, she ran towards the doorstep. She couldn’t believe what she saw. The doll was in one piece. It was a miracle. She picked it up, and embraced it, an innocent smile adorning her face. As she turned to go back, her eyes fell on the boy who was sitting at the neighboring house’s doorstep, rubbing his fingers against each other in an attempt to take the adhesive off.

Scene 18

“What did you say?”, I urged, despite her having spoken the words with crystal clarity.

“It means you should not care about the approval or disapproval of others. If you always carry the fear of disapproval from the other person in your mind, you would never be able to be yourself, whether the other person is a man or a woman. Why do you care what I think about you? In all likelihood, we are never going to meet again in life. So, for these few hours of interaction, why be what you are not? Why just not be what you are?”, she asserted, weighing each word.

As the strange girl took another sip off the glass, I was finding it hard to digest the beamers she had hurled at me. Word after word had hit me. After two minutes of embarrassing silence, I finally found some sanity returning to my sense of speech.

“May be you are right. But all this is so logical. Why has no one told this to me earlier? Or why hasn’t it occurred to me by myself”, I expressed my bewilderment.

“Its uncommon to be common, difficult to be simple. And sometimes, we need someone to walk into our lives, and shrug us off from our slumber, to flesh out what matters for us and what does not”, her voice went into a low pitch.

I was again at a loss of words. A long lull followed. The blaring of a car’s horn came to my rescue. Some sound is better than no sound. I turned my head and saw my friend Nitin waving at me from his car. Whatever was blocking the roads had apparently been taken care off. I was a little disappointed at a sight at which I should have been pleasantly relieved. Nonetheless, it was time for me to go.

“My friend is here. I should leave now”, I loathingly asserted, getting back on my feet.

“Great. Nice meeting you, Hiten. All the best”, she had finally managed to remember the name.

I walked up to the car. As Nitin took hold of my bag and went back to place it in the car’s rear, I turned my head to catch a final glance of the great teacher who had shaken me from within. She had taught me something so simple, yet so profound. I found her wiping her tears again. I shouted ,”Can we drop you somewhere?”

“No, thanks for the offer. The rain has stopped. And your friend's arrival shows the routes are open again. I can walk now”, she said, evidently making tremendous effort to stall her tears to raise her voice.

“Where exactly are you going?”, I queried.

“To meet a friend. He died today after three years of coma”, she turned her back towards me and began to walk.

Thanks for bearing with me for almost a month, and having reached this far. In case you hate the story, or like it, appreciate it or want to trash it, compliment it or criticize it, please leave your comments. The author would be highly obliged. :)

The girl in the rain (Part 5)

Scene 13

“Yes, Mummy. I did it”, she exclaimed. “I’m proud of you gudiya. You’ve achieved what you truly deserved”, her mother shared every bit of the adrenalin rush. Fifteen minutes of happy conversation followed.

As she disconnected the call, she realized she had strolled into the balcony. She noticed the half-moon. It was close to midnight. She had called her parents and her siblings – the people who had been the pillars all her life. She looked at the dimly lit screen of her phone. Speed dials 4,5,6 and 7 had all been dialed in the last hour. It was time for speed dial 3. It was time to let him know.

The phone rang for the full duration but there was no response. She knew it never took him more than a couple of rings to pick up the phone. She called again. This time, response was brisk.

“Who is it that disturbs me at this unearthly hour?”, his baritone voice beamed, still dowsed in slumber. “Get up you lazy fellow”, she shouted. “Oh, its you”, the response indicated his sleep had vanished in a fraction of a second. “What happened?”, he asked. “Remember, I had told you about the masters program I had applied to. I got through it”, she screamed at the top of her voice, for the fifth time this evening. “Oh. That is absolutely fantastic. Congratulations. Wait a second, who had told you were going to do it when you were not prepared to even see the solutions online?”, the excitement seemed to have been teleported through the phone. She stayed mum for a few seconds. “You”, she said, an air of finality riding on the word.

“I’m coming to your town next week. Can you please look up your diary and fix up an appointment for me?”, he chuckled. “I’m sorry. All slots are already taken”, she smirked, thinking – two can play this game. “Ok, then I will meet up with all my girlfriends in the city”, he announced. “You can meet your imaginary girlfriends sitting there. Why waste time coming here?”, her onslaught was relentless. The phone went quiet. She knew he could never argue with her for long. And it gave her a strange pleasure to see the national debating champion go mum when she started to speak.

“Café Coffee Day, near my university, 11 AM”, she asserted. “Done”, he smiled. “And no need to bring your ugly umbrella along. The rains here are not as erratic as they are in your city”, she whispered into the speaker.

Scene 14

“Will you play with me?”, the boy’s voice beamed from one end of the see-saw. The community park was empty save for the two of them. The little girl wanted to pay no attention to the hideous creature. She heard him climbing down and walking towards her. She tried to act preoccupied with her doll. But this wasn’t enough to curb the uncouth. “Will you play with me?”, the boy shouted as he hovered over her head. She looked up, and declared, “No”.

“But why?”, was the boy’s injunction. The girl wanted to get rid off him. “Have you seen how fat you are? We can’t play see-saw, you idiot”, she lost her temper. She wasn’t used to playing with boys. She hated their rowdiness, their brutally physical sports and the way they were mean to each other during any game. But this boy had a unique quality about his stupidity. Not only was he coaxing her to play with him, he was well beyond shame in asking her the same question repeatedly, despite the rebuke.

“Some other game, then?”, he argued. “No. I’m not playing with you. Get lost”, she screamed and ran with her doll, towards her house.

“How about a board game?”, the boy ran behind her, undeterred, unabashed.

Scene 15

“So, what do you do Hemant?”, she asked, taking a sip from the glass. The awkward silence that had been pervading, save for the drizzle trickling off the plastic shelter covering the tea-stall, was finally broken. “Its Hiten, actually”, I corrected the lady whose attention span now seemed questionably low to me. “And I’m an investment banker”, I proceeded to answer the question, which seemed to have been born out of the urge to fill the silence, rather than any genuine curiosity.

“That’s good. And sorry about the name”, she apologized. “Never mind”, I tried not to look her in the eye. My dislike for her was beginning to grow. And seeing her appraent disinclination to divulge, I was not going to ask her about her profession or her purpose of visit to the city.

“Why are you so uncomfortable with girls?”, I could scarcely believe my ears as the words pierced through them. “What did you say?”, I lifted my head up to confront, but could not look her in the eye, still. “Yes, just like the way you cannot look me in the eye right now. Just like the way you practiced saying “Tea” ten times before you said it. Just like the way you did not proffer your overcoat the second time”

“Excuse me”, I could barely feel my throat as I spoke. “You seem like a nice person. And you are not an introvert. I could make that out from the way you talked to the tea-stall owner. Then why this change of disposition for someone else, just because she is not of the same gender”

As much as the words were chipping away on my already shattered sense of self respect, I could see some degree of veracity in them.

“How can you say all of this, having known me for all of sixty minutes?”, I tried to reason. But evidently, she seemed to be beyond all reason. “Is it untrue?”, she smiled. My silence gave me away.

Here I was, sitting half-drenched on a cold damp November night, with my conduct being put to the butcher’s table. I had lived all my life with a toothpick stuck inside my throat, which flared up everytime I interacted with a girl. And this girl seemed to have caught hold of the obstruction and was moving it about, inside me. I started sweating. In another vain rush of indiscretion, I found myself uttering,” So what do I do about it?”

“Those who matter don’t mind, and those who mind don’t matter”, she lowered her voice.

The girl in the rain (Part 4)

Scene 10

Her mind was transported back to that fateful night, a fortnight ago. Brimming with anxiety, she was standing on the edge of the cabin, clenching her fists, as her friend Sherlyn impatiently typed one numeric after another into the blank text box on the screen. “Girls, it is getting late, I need to close the cyber café”, an elderly man’s voice beamed from behind. “Just 2 minutes, uncle. Only me and her results remain to be seen”, Sherlyn uttered in a pleading tone, with her head tilted towards the girl. “Fine. But the rest of you clear out”, the man said in an exasperated voice, eyeing the group of girls surrounding Sherlyn, and pointing his finger towards the exit. “All the best”, numerous dreary voices echoed as the door’s clamp creaked for seven times in succession.

“Let’s go for it”, Sherlyn mumbled as she entered her roll number. Her companion joined her hands in prayer for her friend, and for herself. “We’re sorry to inform but you have not been selected for admission this year” – the message flashed on the screen, as she opened her eyes in disbelief, at the fate of her college topper. Sherlyn got up and went through the door, without a word to her friend who still stood in shock.

It was only when the elderly gentlemen broke her reverie that she realized she had been standing in front of an open portal that held her destiny in the wraps of uncertainty. She fumbled inside her purse to take out her admit card, and entered the digits, not even caring to seat herself. The progress bar on the browser window seemed to move at a snail’s pace. She was getting impatient. Suddenly, she was reminded of a quote that he had told her the day she had missed her college scholarship by half a mark – “God doesn’t always give us what we want, but he always gives us what we need”. The thought calmed her mind. She was now prepared for whatever message the idiot box before her would display, which had been the same one for eight times in succession that night.

“Congratulations, You have cleared the entrance examination. Please click the link below for details on the admission process” – the screen displayed.

Scene 11

“We don’t think that way, dear. Infact, no one does. Whether your skirt is smeared with ice cream or chocolate sauce, we’ll love you all the same”, the father whispered, as he laid his hand over his daughter’s head.

Ding-dong. The bell rang. “Honey, I’m busy in the kitchen. Can you get the door?”, the mother’s voice echoed from a distance. “Sure”, the man said, and made a move towards the living room. The little girl gave up on the skirt and followed him into the hall. Arrival of guests always excited her, and it nearly always meant a chocolate or a doll. As the man opened the door, he saw an elderly gentleman smiling at him. “Hi. We’ve just moved into the neighborhood. Can you guide us as to where we can catch a bus for the town hall from?”, the man’s voice shook as he spoke. “Sure, take a right down the road and then the first left. The bus stop is right at the corner of that street”, the man said, stepping out of the doorstep, while motioning the direction with his hands. “Thank you”, the old man said.

“Who all do you have in your family”, the man enquired, as the little girl was now trying to wrap herself around her father’s feet. This seemed to be an act of disapproval for the guest who had brought neither chocolates nor dolls. “Just me and my grandson, who I guess is about the same age as your pretty little daughter”, the old man smiled.

“Let us go, grandpa”, a little boy’s voice beamed, as he came running down to the door. “Aah, there he is”, the old man smiled again. The little girl’s eyes fell on the boy. He was unkempt and looked as if he had given up on bathing as a yearly ritual. “Thanks again. See you around”, the old man wished in his gentle voice. “See you”, the man smiled as he began to push the door close. The little girl caught one more glance of the boy as he tugged on his grandfather’s shirt. He seemed to be the ugliest creature she had ever seen. She cringed.

Scene 12

I had been born with a disposition that made me uncomfortable with women. Irrespective of caste, color, age or situation, women always managed to make me fidgety. And a crying woman was akin to juggling balls while walking the tightrope. Here I was, in front of a woman I barely knew and I had seen her wiping her tears. I did not know how to react. “Tea” now seemed to be the most heinous three-lettered word I had ever uttered. I regretted my indiscretion.

“So, how come you are trapped in this hideous weather?”, her question broke the silence. I could not miss the silent swallowing of tears she made before uttering the sentence. But I was happy nonetheless. Some sound is better than no sound. “I’m not from this town. Came down for some office related work”, I finally found some sense returning to my statements. “Ditto. I would have carried an umbrella had I known the weather in this city changes so quickly”, she said, the tone a little more cheerful. A lean boy placed two glasses of tea on the table. The hot steam was a pleasant relief from the damp coldness surrounding us. The lady’s potential cheerfulness and the hot tea put me a little at ease. “I’m Hiten, by the way”, I uttered, lifting my glass and blowing into it. “Pleased to meet you, Hiten”, the lady smiled back at me, and copied my act. But the lifting of the glass and the blowing was the extent of it. Her name wasn’t forthcoming.