She went to the bathroom and washed her face and hands several times, as if she needed to wash off the pollution of the past hours. The satisfaction of touching a fresh towel... Of feeling fresh.
She made tea in the kitchen and began to feel like herself again as she sipped it. That dream was a taste of what was to come. The same strong hand on my purse, reaching for me. I should have gone to the police station, I should have had it reported. But there was no scope for that. If I had a pocket torch, I could have at least caught a glimpse of the faces of those uniformed men. The driver and cleaner were party to it.
Perhaps I can look for my clothes in the Sunday bazaar. That’s where they’ll be sold. Right there on the pavement. On the other hand, the brothers would have been disappointed on opening the suitcase. Three pairs of clothes. A shawl, a jersey, two files in the bag, and just a thousand in the purse. And the rebate card for senior citizens.
You’re forgetting the keys. That’s your biggest headache! That’s not safe. You’ll need to get the lock changed. The running around, apart from the expense involved...
She gave a start as she saw a shadow behind the window pane. It’s the breeze. The abundance and the poverty of life showing up at once. Be quiet! This is hardly the time to unveil secrets.
Look for the tumult in the silence within yourself. That’s where you’ll find your story.
Maybe, but I feel a deep satisfaction with myself, quite apart from any relationship or friendship.
Then why do you call out to those deep within, those who lie in ambush waiting for you?
There are several editions of me. They can’t be seen all the time. But when they resurface, they take aim at me with lost weapons.
Perhaps some enemy.
No, sometimes friendships with opposites don’t call forth friendship.
And Ishan.
An intense, aware relationship.
How come I saw that hand! I was in the air. Not on the ground.
Her feet felt warm. Sticking her legs out of the blanket, she covered herself up to the neck.
A room exactly the same as in her own flat. The same map, the same size, the same shape … but new all the same.
What’s new about it?
Try and take it easy now.
Leave the taxi incident behind you. The voices of the night, woven out of dark, subtle, sounds. The car starting. The brake of the car as it came inside the gate, the noise of the guard’s shoes …
The deep grey stillness of Ishan’s guestroom. A stillness distinct from her own place in its clarity. Who knows what the dense, deeply knotted grey of her flat has absorbed in itself.
We are so different, the two of us.
Everything in my house is detached from itself, free from routine, while everything in his is in the grip of discipline, order and system.
A dusky light suffused the room as she opened her eyes. The key dangling from the door consoled her. Mine has been lost, but I can still see this one.
Ishan is humming something—reciting ancient Saundaryalahri verses. How different this is from the beginning of my day.
May we be blessed
by the streak of vermillion parting your dark hair
breaking loose from its bond of hostile tresses,
flowing from your beautiful forehead
like the ray of the morning sun.
I bow to Shri’s dance of creation
in concert with the nine rasas of Shiva’s dance of destruction
emanating compassion, enabling existence
I acknowledge in you Lord of the World, father and mother.
The hymn to Durga resounded through the stillness of the morning. With her head resting on the pillow, Aranya thought of her usual craving for a cup of tea and smiled. But for that, no other daily ritual for you.
We belong to two different species, jatis. Those with rites and those without rites.
In that comfortable haze, she sensed some activity, following which, the front door clicked shut. Ishan left for his morning walk.
She’ll need to wait till he comes back.
As she lay there, her gaze wandered to the key again. I could open this door, go out and try opening the door of my own guestroom with this key. It won’t work, of course, if it is bolted from the inside.
Aranya stood up. She made the bed and pulled the bedcover over it. Folding the blanket, she placed it at the foot of the bed. Then she took the key to Ishan’s guestroom and, locking his flat, went across to her own. She turned the key in the door of her guestroom, which had a separate entrance, and it opened.
A long sigh of relief.
She took out the key, turned it into her side of the keyhole and let it hang there.
Keys get snatched. They get lost. And then, somewhere or the other, they turn up again.
She shook out the cover of the diwan, doubled the pillow, and pulled the duvet over herself. The fragrance of her own house rose from the bed linen, and she fell asleep.
Home.
four
Hello.
Ishan was on the phone.
We haven’t met for quite a while. I knew you were busy, so I felt I shouldn’t disturb you. How are you?
I am well. Aranya laughed. I eat turmeric with my milk, just as you told me.
Really! Have you been doing it all these days?
No, not quite, but lately, eating green turmeric has become an important part of my daily routine.
Waah! But have you forgotten about everything else?
Not at all. First you peel the turmeric and grind it. Put it in a cup. Add the milk. A spoon of honey to top it off. The bottle cap needs to be opened, too. Only then can the spoon reach the mouth. A mercy that it doesn’t have to be ground in the pestle.
You’re very lazy, it seems.
Yes, indeed.
Half the pleasure of food lies in its preparation.
I’m sure. But I stay far from it.
I like doing everything with my own hands; it gives me great pleasure.
You’re truly modern. Otherwise, like ancient Indian householders, you’d leave all the work to someone else. You can keep your status only if you have ten pairs of hands working for you.
Too much tea isn’t good for your health.
Why don’t we drink to each other’s health with turmeric milk!
They laughed for a long time.
Ishan reminded her. Your telephone bill has arrived, hasn’t it? If you haven’t paid it yet, leave a signed check in my mailbox. I have to go pay mine tomorrow.
Many thanks, Ishan. That’ll save me a big headache.
Does it really need such a huge adjective?
As long as my carelessness continues, yes. The bills arrive; I see them and put them away carefully so that I don’t forget them. Then I forget them, and later I have to queue up to get another copy.
Tag it and stick it on a wall. If it stays in front of you, you’ll remember it.
I’ll try that out.
Have you had breakfast?
Not yet.
It’s already eleven. It’s important to take breakfast seriously.
You’re right, but it’s far too late now for me to get rid of my bad habits.
Aranya was out buying fruit in the evening. Ishan showed up just as she was ready to leave.
He picked oranges, limes and chikoos.
I’m buying some for you as well.
By all means. Aranya offered him paper bags. I’ve also bought pomegranates in two separate bags. One for you and one for myself.
Thanks, Aranya. I’m not simply returning a favour, it looks like we think alike. Our dates correspond, don’t they?
Aranya said mischievously: Not dates, just one date—the date of birth.
We’ll take it as an effect of that, then.
Aranya couldn’t help joking when she saw Ishan’s hands full with bags of fruit: Bapu said, buying fruit with a free hand means true saving.
As they walked to the gate, Ishan said: I’d
like to go and see Kishore. He’s just come back from the nursing home. Will you come along? He will like it.
She felt anxious all of a sudden. The end of the journey.
What if we went there after tea? Why don’t we go to my place and dump these bags there? I have some fresh murmuras. I just have to switch on the kettle.
Seeing Aranya immersed in thought, Ishan said: There’s some sandesh at my place. I know you like them.
He opened the door, went into the kitchen, washed and dried the fruit, put them in the fridge and brought tea to the table.
That was fast!
Just let it brew some more. In the meantime, let’s phone Mrs Kishore.
This is Ishan speaking. How is Kishore? We could come meet him, if you think it won’t inconvenience him? And yes, Aranya is also here. How would it be if she also came along?
Certainly, do come. He’ll be glad to see you both. For some reason, he’s taken to just lying there silently.
We’ll start in ten minutes.
Aranya was making a second cup of tea for herself.
So much hot tea isn’t good for you. It harms the liver and the teeth. It must also make other old ailments crop up again. Health culture has developed enormously. I’ve been reading a lot on it lately. I could give you some good books.
I know relatively little about these things.
It’ll be good to boost your knowledge now. You can cure some minor and even major ailments without the help of a doctor.
I’ll go put something warm on. Will be back in a couple of minutes.
Draping a shawl around herself, she climbed down the stairs. She looked at her watch and, in rapid strides, reached the flower-seller. Bright flowers covered the pavement. If only flowers could speak, would they allow themselves to be sold like this? To be sold. Without uttering a word. Mutely. Perhaps not. They would object to our excesses.
Bouquet of flowers in hand, Aranya almost ran back.
Ishan was walking in her direction. He signalled his silent approval to her on seeing the flowers.
They found Mrs Kishore seated in her drawing room. She gave a detailed account of all that had happened in the nursing home. Then lowering her voice, she said: I’ve bought a wheelchair, but he won’t use it. He doesn’t say much. Just lies there silently. He perked up a little when he heard you were coming. He got himself ready to come to the drawing room.
The male nurse stationed the wheelchair near Ishan.
Hello, Kishore! Ishan bent over him and touched his hand.
You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?
Aranya rose to present the flowers to him; Mrs Kishore took them and said to Kishore: They’re for you.
Kishore was looking intently at Aranya as if trying to place her. And then in a voice from some unseen world, he said: How are you? Glancing at the flowers, he said: Thank you!
Mrs Kishore said: We’ve bought new shoes for him. One of his legs has shrunk a bit. Only physiotherapy can heal it.
Ishan leaned over to Kishore: Yes, some activity will boost your blood circulation. I’ve brought some books for you. There’s no need to exhaust yourself. Read slowly and only as much as you can.
The old Kishore returned from somewhere: Have you finished reading them?
No, I just bought them. I thought I’d read them after you.
A deep tiredness came over Kishore again.
I can’t read them now, Ishan. You read them first.
He isn’t interested in anything, Ishan. Leave the books here. I’ll read them out to him.
Ishan looked at Kishore: I can send you Krishnamurti’s cassettes if you like.
Kishore did not say anything.
Our daughter and son-in-law have looked after him so well. The surgery was successful. The bone has healed. There’s no need to be so depressed.
Kishore is going to try. It’s important to get up and keep moving your foot. All right then, I’ll call you. As they moved towards the door, Aranya glanced back.
Kishore was looking neither at Ishan’s and Aranya’s waving hands, nor at the footsteps moving away from him. His gaze was fixed at a point far away, beyond the door.
Perhaps he was looking at his near and dear ones, carrying him away on their shoulders, to a place from which no one returns. The last scene in this world, which one doesn’t see oneself, though everyone else sees it.
What body language is that?
Someone looking for himself on that road, just before the game ends.
Aranya and Ishan climbed downstairs in silence. Neither of them spoke as they moved towards their respective lifts.
Three days later, Ishan was on the phone.
Kishore is no more. We’ll have to go to Nigambodh ghat. Do you want to come?
No, Ishan, I won’t go.
Ishan hung up the receiver silently.
Aranya read the manuscript, corrected some mistakes, sealed the envelope and wrote the address. New traits are manifesting themselves. Why has it begun to seem so hard to write addresses on envelopes? What could be the reason for such laziness?
Are you looking for excuses to buy a computer? Will you be able to manage the new machine? Work on it? It’ll strain your eyes and neck.
The bell rang. She opened the door and handed the envelope to the courier.
Thank goodness she had taken care of this work.
She glanced at her watch—four o’clock. Lie down for an hour. Tea after that.
She picked up the book by her bedside.
The body rides on the wings of change in order to live.
With each breath, we pull in hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen. The stomach, the heart, the lungs and the brain are engulfed in air.
The skin regenerates itself every month, also the lining of the stomach. Every five days, the liver, and in six weeks, the entire frame of the body. Even so, we feel that change is unusual, while ninety-five percent of the body’s cells are being transformed, growing and continually regenerating the body.
In its subtle form, the stock of cells is connected to a powerful cosmic computer. Cosmic computer, with ultra sound signals. And the wonder, that nothing happens unexpectedly.
Our body is evidence of all the experiences we have known and lived. I am not only me. I am also all that I have assembled in myself.
Ishan’s bookmark lay in the book. Aranya stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. How much had changed. How did it happen? Where did that heap of time go? Multiple decades? Time doesn’t gnaw at the body; it is absorbed by the body. Along with all its dirt, mud, whirls of dust.
She asked herself suspiciously: Are you just collecting the rage of the years? No, also the pleasures and excitements. Bits of memory, not easy to return or untangle. As if all that was learnt by heart is being said in a single word, in sentences flashing with words and maxims that sparkle with meaning. The exponentiation of existence.
Do you see anything beyond this? You use the pretext of having no one to carry on after you, to devolve into yourself, into the writing of the beauty of this world, sunlight and shade, wind and water, moon and sun. How much there is to see! Aranya stretched her arms and opened the window: Keep blowing, sun-drenched winds, as long as I am alive. Keep reaching out to me. I wish my time here to be vibrant. All that bears fruit, all that is created—I wish to mark flowerbeds of words with that.
No one is excluded from the pressure of existence.
Fire lives off the death of Earth
Wind, off the death of fire
Water, off the death of wind
And Earth is kept alive by the death of water.
Aranya pushed away the blanket covering her.
She glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Time for tea.
She went into the kitchen, then turned back, lifted the telephone receiver and dialled Ishan’s number.
Have you saved some time to waste? There seems to be little room for that in the way you manage your life.
Ishan laughed. You’ve wrapped up your work
for the day, it seems.
I’ve entrusted the envelope to the courier. This evening is for relaxation, only relaxation.
Then come over, you are being invited over to tea.
Aranya perked up. Changing her clothes quickly, she felt fresh. She had just moved towards the door when the phone rang.
She decided she was not at home and let the phone ring. She cut two pieces of cake, packed some savouries and shut the box. The phone kept ringing for a long time.
The lift was not working.
She took the lift from the next block and rang Ishan’s bell.
The bell rang for a long time. Then Ishan came to the door.
Didn’t you see I had left the door open, Aranya?
Aranya came inside, shut the door and said gravely, We read the newspapers everyday, don’t we? You can’t just leave your door open like that. Whoever is at the door can wait.
If someone else were to come thundering in … You can’t really ignore this, Ishan. It’s dangerous.
She instinctively looked at her own hands. Oh, where is my key? Have I left it hanging at my door! I’ll come right back.
Aranya went out swiftly and back to the flat the way she had come. The key was hanging from her door. As she locked the door, she decided to look inside. She checked all the rooms, both bathrooms and the kitchen. She felt lighter as she shut her door.
This time, Ishan’s door was locked.
He smiled as he opened it: It’s all right now, isn’t it?
Yes, you have to be vigilant, day in and day out. I’m going to have a second automatic lock put on my door.
It’ll be difficult if you forget your keys.
I’ll keep a duplicate copy with you.
I wouldn’t advise that.
Why not?
For your own convenience. Our timings don’t match.
Aranya pricked up her ears.
Why not?
I rest when you work and you rest when I’m working! We’ll both be inconvenienced.
I understand.
They looked at each other, fearful of some unknown intimacy that hovered between acceptance and non-acceptance.
Aranya reflected in silence.
Shall we make tea?
Two cups.
The Music of Solitude Page 5