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.

The girl in the rain (Part 3)

Scene 7

Over years, she had learnt to hold back her tears. But years of practice seem to be failing her at this juncture. And she was surprised that an incident as tiny as this had managed to shake her from within. Or maybe, it was because it was coming on top of what had transpired in the past few days. She wiped her face and strolled towards the window. She could see the half moon gleaming in the distance. A sniffle found its way through her throat as she reminisced over how happy she had been the last time the moon had been that way. She crawled towards her bedstand, opened the drawer and took out the book that was lying in one of the corners. She wiped the dust off it with her hands, and gently turned over the cover page. A small note was stapled on the inside. A couple of sniffles found their way again as she went over the text – “Always believe in yourself, because I will always believe in you”. The note had a small subtext at the bottom – “From your best friend”. She threw the book onto the floor, mumbling under her breath –“But that is not enough”

Scene 8

As they approached the doorstep, he put the little girl down. Back on her feet, the little girl hurried into the house. Caught by surprise, the man bellowed,” What happened, princess? Where are you off to?” But no reply was forthcoming. The man followed her track, all the way to the wash-basin where he found the girl rubbing her skirt with water. “What happened?” he uttered, in part-surprised, part-pampering tone. “Ice-cream fell on my skirt. I don’t want to look shabby”, she cried, looking up at her father with an innocuous face. The man burst into laughter – “But why do you care? Who’s here to see your dress?” “I don’t want anyone to think I’m shabby, not even you or mama. Because I’m not shabby”, the little girl’s voice went into overdrive as she spoke the last sentence, and she started rubbing the skirt even harder.

Scene 9

“Tea?” I could barely hear my own voice as I made the offer, after the ten minute awkward silence had made me fidgety enough to trade that discomfort with the one I was experiencing now. She turned her head in my direction. The eyes were no longer prying. But I now realized that the awkward silence was a better deal than having been thought of as the guy who hits on girls on dark rainy nights. “OK”, her feeble voice broke the silence – an antithesis of what I had heard after the puddle fiasco. Some sound was better than no sound. We proceeded towards the tea-stall where the radio had been playing. I pulled out a chair, or rather a bench for her, as I motioned the sleepy stall-owner to bring a couple of teas. As I took the bench opposite hers, I noticed her wiping her face with a handkerchief. And it didn’t look like rain water.

The girl in the rain (Part 2)

Scene 4

“Come out, it’s party time”, the shrill voice of Sherlyn was audible even in the midst of all the din and the concomitant banging of the door. She decided to ignore it, hoping that the absence of response would cause the noise-mongers to get back to their ways. But the bang and the appeals only got louder, and sharper, “Come out, you rural girl. Learn to live in the city.” She threw aside the book she was reading, on the bedstand, got up and unbolted the door. “Sorry, I was asleep. I’m not feeling well. You guys go ahead and enjoy”, she made a plea in the sincerest and calmest tone possible. “Don’t be a spoilsport, gal. Come out and have fun”, came a drunken voice from behind. “No, please. You guys go ahead, I’ll rather catch some sleep”, she was trying harder than ever to subdue her bubbling anger. “Leave her man, we don’t need bores like her to botch our party”, a third voice echoed. She turned to see that it was the same guy who had made a pass on her the last time such a dinful night had graced her hostel. He had seemed charming on that night, and she had even thought of finding out more about him – him, the same person who was now eyeing her with blood red eyes brimming with scorn. She could not take it anymore. “Stupid girl”, she heard the congregation of voices filter through the narrow slit, as she stepped back, and banged the door into the face of the alcohol dowsed crowd.

Scene 5

“Dad, Can I have an ice-cream?”, the little girl mumbled, sensing the opportunity the rush of affection from her father had thrown open. “Sure, why not? Lets go to the ice-cream parlor”, the man got up and flung the princess over his shoulders. “Honey, we’ll be back in ten minutes”, he called into the other room as the door closed behind him.

“Dad, Can you pick me up again?”, the little girl cried in her ever so feeble voice. The man was suddenly aware of the fact that while he had been carrying the girl on their way to the parlor, he had let her walk by his side on the return journey. “Sure”, he said, as he picked up the girl. He had taken but a couple of steps, when his daughter’s inquisition reached him – “Dad, why do I always have to ask for things I want? Can’t you know what I want, without me saying it?” The man was bamboozled by the innocent question. As he continued walking, with his daughter’s ice-cream melting and dripping all over his shirt, he took a deep breath and said,” Princess, you remember the toy I gave you on New Year?” “Yes, the fridge stickers”, the girl replied, licking the cold stick. “Yes, it had a magnet behind it which makes it stick to the metal of the refrigerator door. And if you bring two magnets together, the opposite ends also stick. You see, every relationship has two ends to it, just like a magnet. There is a giver and there is a taker. And the roles are not fixed even within the relationship. They may change with time. When the giver is perfect, he’ll know what the taker wants before the latter saying about it. That is what we call unsaid communication. But nobody is perfect. We are all givers in some sense, and we strive towards being the perfect giver”, the man babbled, little realizing what cosmic bouncers he was throwing at his daughter. But the girl was surprisingly attentive.

“Who’s the giver and who’s the taker in our relationship?” ,she retorted. The man looked at the innocent inquisition perplexing her face,”You decide”.

Scene 6

The rain had reduced to a drizzle by now but the wind had got gustier and colder. November wasn’t the month you typically expected rains in this part of the world, and when they happened, they wreaked havoc. I turned my wrist and found the minute’s hand trying to play catch-me-if-you-can with its shorter, slower counterpart. It was quarter to nine, and I was hungry. In a vain sense of hope, I strained my neck again, for any signs of an approaching car. But a vain attempt it was to be. As I was turning back, I noticed a moving object, barely visible through the corner of my eye. My neck stopped in its stride and took reverse gear to discover the girl shivering. “Please, take my coat. You are cold”, I earnestly appealed as I motioned to let loose the sole raiment sheathing me from the chill outside. A pair of prying eyes turned towards me. The people of this city were more hostile than what I had imagined before I had arrived here a couple of days ago. I was unnerved, and I couldn’t believe what I heard myself saying,” I meant you must be feeling cold. Not that you are a cold person. You seem like a cool person. I only meant to say that you might be feeling cold, as you were shivering. Not that you are a cold person…” The eyes got even more prying, as I secretly pleaded to be buried a couple of miles below the concrete my feet were grounded on.

“All passages leading to Cantt Road have been blocked due to the crashing of electric poles in the area. Residents moving towards Cantt Road are advised to curb their movements. Residents of Cantt Road are well advised to stay put in their homes till …”, the crackling voice from the radio sitting on the tea-stall behind me, turned to be the saving grace. The announcement had apparently caught the lady’s attention. I was liberated from the prying eyes and the consequent ignominy my following jabber had engendered. As I strained my ears to listen to the remainder of the announcement, I saw her face turning pale. It took me another moment to realize – We were on Cantt Road.

The girl in the rain (Part 1)

Prologue

Raindrops pelted hard on the roof. As people scampered for shelter in the fading twilight, I could see a dim silhouette running towards me. Like the train approaching a station, the figure that had seemed to be crawling from a distance, now appeared to be sprinting as it came closer to me. As the hooded figure’s feet splashed into the puddle a couple of feet away from me, the water defied gravity and covered me from head to toe. I was flabbergasted. The figure lifted its hood and a feeble ultrasonic feminine voice reached my ears – “Oops, I’m so sorry.”

Scene 1

“How many times will I have to tell you? 10 rupees means 10 rupees. I won’t give you a paisa more.”, the words were loud enough for all rickshaw-pullers in the city to hear. “OK, behenji, Give me 5 rupees, but please stop shouting”, the rickshaw-puller was reduced to exasperation. “No, Why should I give you 5 rupees. Your labour is worth 10 rupees, you deserve to take 10 rupees”, the voice was calmer and reassuring now. “OK. OK. Give me whatever you want, just let me go”, the man was at the verge of breaking down as he left. She flung her bag over her shoulder, blew on the two hairs that had dared to cover her eyes, and started walking briskly. Only if drums could have played in the background. “Stupid people. Nobody understands the value of money these days”, she mumbled under her breath.

A loud din greeted her as she entered the hostel. Another of those weekend parties was on, the ones that started early and lasted late. She liked them, save for the booze and the after effects it brought on, especially on members of the opposite gender, who seemed to become overtly friendly after downing a few gulps of amber liquids. But today, she was not in the mood. She had work to attend to, and fast. A battle-hardened warrior, she was not one to be swayed by such nuisances. She walked up to her room and bolted the door from inside.

Scene 2

“Dad, I want to be a teacher”, cried the little girl as she climbed up the sofa to be by her father’s comforting side. “Sure, but can you teach?”, he casually commented as he turned the daily’s page over from business news to sports news. “I can take attendance”, was the innocent comment as the kid finally managed to climb her Everest. He put aside the newspaper, took the girl into his hands and kissed her on the forehead, “You will become a great teacher someday”.

“Yes, I will”, whispered the girl.

Scene 3

“Its OK”, was what came out from my mouth, when my mind was uttering, "Stupid girl, you’ve botched my week’s work-wear. Who’ll pay the extra laundry bill?” As the rain pelted even harder, she took shelter by my side. Her hood was no longer covering her head. I turned my head in her direction, not to look at her, but to catch sight of the car’s noise I could hear approaching. I was waiting for my friend Nitin to pick me up. I was disappointed to find it was only a taxi. As my gaze turned, I avoided looking at her but could not. Either she had a malfunctioning raincoat or it was some new vogue that my old fashioned eyes had failed to catch. Her hair was drenched with water and it was dripping onto the rest of her dress. As a gust of wind blew over our heads, she started to shiver. Not that I was any particularly chivalrous, but I offered her my overcoat. “I’m alright”, she politely refused. I wore it back. The wind blew again.