by Pankaj Dubey
Sanam has had it till her teeth by then, ‘And who put you in charge of my safety?’ She is screaming now. ‘Are you my bodyguard?’
He keeps quiet.
‘You do this for your fan club. No need to bother about me. Get it.’
By now three more riders have joined them, including the instructor who dismounts and comes over to check that she’s all right.
‘It’s okay, I can walk,’ she informs him. ‘Nothing bruised except my ego.’
The instructor then takes the horse and departs with the other OTs, leaving the two behind.
Sanam turns to Aamir who is still standing there by his horse, waiting for God-knows-what, and says, ‘Next time, just let me fall.’
And giving him no chance to reply, she takes off for her hostel.
14
Sanam’s tryst with the runaway horse becomes the breaking news that keeps trending for quite some time on the academy grapevine. Her objection to being rescued drives the OTs insane. They bandy hundreds of reasons why she might have done that, each more outrageous than the other. Though the other riders arrived at the scene only at the tail end of her eruption, they give free rein to their imagination and generate enough fodder for their gossip-famished community to chew upon.
Some call Sanam a he-woman for she was trying to be unnecessarily macho. Some a fool. Most agree that she is a drama queen, spoilt silly by her Rank One status.
‘She walks like she’s entitled,’ points out one. ‘And now rides like one too. But the horse didn’t know this!’
At this, the assembled OTs almost roll over the floor laughing.
‘Highly selfish and immature!’ That is the general verdict.
Sanam tries to shut her ears to this talk. Yet it filters through. Every slur. Opinion. And their verdict. Until she decides to give all this negative press an ear and take a good hard look at herself. Be her own judge. She feels, indeed, knows, she was wrong. But how wrong? The academy is making her out to be a selfish and brainless supervillain.
She goes to the library, seeking some peace and quiet; to ponder and to question.
‘I just heard,’ Sanam overhears someone say, ‘of that horse adventure in your batch.’
Sanam swivels around to see who is talking, but finds no one.
The voice came again, from behind the bookshelves—the poetry section.
It’s a girl. And yes, she knows that voice—it’s that senorita of his!
Her antennae go up; she is curious about how he sees the whole fiasco. For not one word has he uttered since their adventure. And the academy was abuzz, speculating why he was keeping mum. He chose not to answer that too.
Here too, in the library, there is silence. She heard no reply from him. Did she miss something? Sanam strains to hear.
‘Why did you save her?’ the senorita’s voice floats out, just then, insisting.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ he asks in return.
‘But why did she abuse you after that?’
Silence. After almost a minute, Sanam hears Aamir reply, ‘She didn’t. Stories. That’s what it all is . . . just stories.’
His declaration surprises her . . . confuses her . . . and drowns her in bottomless guilt. She runs out of the library then, breathing hard. What had she done! Classes were over for the day. Instead of sitting with her notes or with Dheeraj sir, discussing some topic or the other, Sanam decides to clear her head and takes off on her own. Walks out of the academy gates, out into the open expanse. Wanting to lose herself. And also to find herself. The road winds down to the historic Library Chowk where stands the Father of the Nation in all his stony splendour, looking down upon the maddening line of cars, honking incessantly and belching toxic fumes that choke both the hills and its people. Not wanting any of this touristy madness, Sanam takes the path going up, away from the busy Mall Road, teeming with its shops and noisy tourists, up and up, towards Landour. She opts for the narrow track that the locals favour, the one that climbs up the scrubby wooded spur of the ridge and then winds its way around the hilltop. The pine tops, swaddled in mist, look so inviting. She walks on, feeling the release of pent-up emotions as she treks.
And then it begins to rain, all of a sudden, like it always does in Mussoorie. It is a soft drizzle and the clouds cuddle up to her, hugging her so softly, making her feel like she is floating through a film of water. Things get a bit hazy. And then the drizzle stops as quickly as it had begun. Visibility improves and the peaks emerge from behind the clouds. Sanam inhales another refreshing lungful of mountain air and continues walking. The heights have soothed her. So have the rains. Cleansing much that clogged her mind and heart. She is at peace once more as she trudges up the winding road, until she reaches a tiny dhaba (roadside stall) famous for serving the best Maggi noodles in India. Sanam orders a plate. Sits not on their rickety chair, but by the rocky edge of the road and digs her fork into the slippery, runny wonder. The noodles are hot and spicy and fire up her insides. The lush green slopes stretching before her, fill her with joy, adding to her hearty meal. The last noodle inside her, she clambers up the hilly road, enjoying the beauty of the tall misty deodars and drinking in the lush silence around her. Till a flood of abuses breaks the calm.
Around a bend in the road is this potbellied, overdressed tourist furiously tongue-lashing a skinny, scared candyfloss vendor. Also, kicking at his box of candyfloss, calling it pink-poison-full-of-ants. From what she can see, the tourist’s family of three has surrounded the hapless candyfloss man, who stammers and stutters, trying to explain and exonerate himself, but getting no chance.
Sanam goes red hot and jumps into the middle. ‘Stop it!’ She puts out a hand—like traffic police do—to stop the attacking tourist. ‘Even if there were ants in the candy,’ she screams at the fat tourist, ‘I’ve not seen, so don’t know . . . still . . . you got no right to hit this man . . . or destroy his products!’
But the agitated customer is in no mood to listen. He holds onto the vendor by his collar and keeps glaring. The poor man is visibly shaking.
Sanam snatches the portly tourist’s mobile then and screams, ‘I swear I’ll chuck this down the hill right now, if you don’t take your hands off him!’ At this, the tourist lunges towards her and tries to prise his mobile out of her hand.
Out of nowhere, Aamir steps in and jerks the tourist’s hands off Sanam. Grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck, he advises him to back off in a cold but deadly voice that proves effective.
Gathering his family and his mobile, the tourist walks away without another word.
Walking back to the academy, Sanam can’t stop herself from asking, ‘How come you suddenly landed up in Landour . . . that too, on this lonely stretch of road . . . and just in time?’
He remains silent. When she repeats the question, he admits, ‘I saw you walking alone, away from the bazaar, towards the hilly road, so I followed, just to make sure you were safe.’
Sanam is confused.
‘Yes, I even watched you have Maggi, but stayed away, not knowing how you would react.’ She finds no words to reply, and the two enter the academy in silence an hour later.
Sanam enters the Mess hall that night, not to eat, but to watch Aamir covertly from a corner. He sits sandwiched between Badal and Anita, pecking at his food. Something seems to have ruined his appetite as well.
Just then, Kuldeep calls out to her, ‘Sanam! Why’re you sitting there by yourself? Come on, squeeze in.’
She shakes her head and continues her perch.
Aamir looks up, as do the others. Sanam stays rooted, the OTs go back to eating, not making much of it.
Except Aamir. He keeps glancing at her, unable to figure out why she was just sitting there in a corner, by the window. And why isn’t she eating?
Next time, he looks up, she motions to him ever so slightly. Her eyes slanting to direct him to the desserts section. He follows and gets up to go where her eyes told him to. She is already there and spoons him some puddling into a bowl, an
d hands it out to him. With a sorry. He seems quite taken aback, even as he takes the bowl.
‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ she tells him and leaves the Mess hall. Aamir is left holding the bowl, a zillion questions zinging through his mind. Wolfing down the caramel pudding in less than a minute, uncaring of its taste or content, Aamir puts down the empty bowl and rushes out. To her. Outside, she had said.
So, he steps out of the admin block that houses both the Mess and the lounge and not catching sight of her, makes his way towards Peak Point, which is a short distance away. A sightseeing point on campus from where one can get the best view of the mountains when the weather is clear. Crowded during the day, the place is abandoned once it is dark as there’s nothing to see then. She is probably there, he feels. And he is right.
Sanam is waiting for him. Just there.
He slows down. His steps as well as his heart rate. And waits for whatever the night brings now.
Two steps she takes towards him and she is there almost till his shoulder.
Aamir’s heart rate increases again.
Sanam takes his hands into hers, looks into his eyes, and says, ‘Sorry.’ Her eyes say that too. Her heart confirms it.
And it touches him. In ways he never knew anyone can.
They stand there, holding hands. Not knowing where to go from there.
Aamir finds his voice again.
‘How many times will you say it?’
‘What?’ she asks.
‘Sorry.’
‘You want it again?’ she asks, a mischievous edge to her voice.
Aamir shakes his head not knowing she is now teasing him. ‘You already said it. Inside.’
‘Oh! That!’ she sings, letting go of his hands now. ‘That’s gone with the pudding na . . .’ And she smiles. Making him smile. The stars seem to smile too, twinkling down at them.
‘Coffee?’ Aamir asks tentatively.
Sanam smiles and nods.
Ouch! All these smiles were killing him. So many in one night. There’s only that much a man can take.
Asking her to wait right there, he sprints down to the Plaza Café to fetch. And minutes later, reappears with two cappuccinos. He guides her to a bench under the deodars then. The campus is full of these conifers. Towering over all of them with their drooping branches and sharp blue-green needles. They sit down with their coffees, suddenly find it difficult to get talking again.
Sanam begins after a while. There’s so much she needs to get off her chest. ‘I was a brute that day.’
Aamir raises his brows to question.
‘That day . . . when you saved me from the horse,’ finishes Sanam.
He brushes it off. ‘Forget it. It’s over.’
‘No. I was falling. Would have crashed my head.’
‘Despite the helmet?’
She looks at him. He is grinning. She punches him lightly with her free hand, ‘Aamir, I’m serious.’
‘I don’t want you to be,’ he tells her.
‘Okay, tell me . . . why were you so mad at me that day?’ she asks.
‘When?’
‘When you saved me,’ she replies. ‘You were furious.’ That is one thing that she hasn’t yet been able to figure till now. Aamir is normally unflappable. Then what happened that day?
‘I was scared for you,’ he says quietly, looking out into the darkness of the night.
‘But how could you be so monstrous to me . . . yes, monstrous,’ she confirms, when he looks mortified. ‘When I could have just gotten killed!’ Her laughing eyes tell him she isn’t serious. Sanam has thrown that in just to lighten the mood.
‘Okay,’ he concedes. ‘I’m sorry too. Now are you happy?’
She has won. His eyes are twinkling again. That’s what she wanted. And they sit in comfortable silence, considering the dark cones scattered around them in the grass.
‘Will you teach me to ride?’ Sanam asks after a while, looking away; suddenly shy.
‘Sanam, look at me,’ he commands. And she does. ‘D’you mean that?’ He’s dead serious now, the playful twinkle gone from his eyes.
‘Yes,’ is all she can mumble. And he reaches out to squeeze her hand, the free one.
‘Have your coffee,’ he prods her. ‘It has gone cold.’
‘Yours too,’ she gives back. And sinks her face into her glass, gulping it down. The less-than-lukewarm coffee is tasteless, but it matters not to her. Or to him. The coffee has done its job, got them together, sitting companionably, for the first time.
‘Let’s go in, it’s late,’ he suggests after another moment of silence. Nodding, Sanam rises so quickly that she almost trips. An arm immediately comes up to steady her.
‘Easy,’ he says, as she regains her balance. They walk back to the hostel blocks, not talking much. And when they reach the point where their paths separate, Sanam asks for his number. Saving the digits on her phone, she dances back happily to her hostel room.
In bed, twenty minutes later, sleep is the furthest from her eyes. She reaches for her cell phone.
Goodnight.
Goodnight, Rank 1, he promptly texts back.
And so it goes on, back and forth . . . until Aamir forbids her to send any more texts even though he himself succumbs to texting her again.
We’ve got that trek tomorrow . . . go to sleep.
She sleeps.
He scrolls back to the top of their chat. Reads it again. And again. Before dropping off to sleep too.
15
You don’t just learn to administer, you also learn to crib and complain. The academy rolls out master cribbers with every batch. The PT sessions have probably been included for this express purpose.
Sanam is no different. ‘Why do we need PT when we’ve got a trek today?’ Sanam’s morning alarm once again fails to deliver and Neeti had to violently shake her roommate awake this morning.
Ten past five already! She races through her morning routines and scrambles down to the polo grounds, joining up at the rear end of the queue just as the session starts. Fortunately, the PT instructor spares them the daily torturous workout.
‘Only warm-up rounds and some stretching today,’ he booms.
That sets off loud cheering. Well . . . as loud as the drowsy OTs can manage at that ungodly hour.
‘And here I was thinking he wasn’t human,’ Sanam mutters to the person beside her.
One and a half hours later, after a super light breakfast, the batch reassembles at the same grounds for a briefing about the trek. It is to be a day trip to Lal Tibba.
‘Form groups of five . . . it’s easier to move that way,’ the trek leader instructs.
Utter chaos ensues with the OTs running helter-skelter to form groups. The popular OTs are in high demand while others are in mortal dread of being left out and then compelled to join a group of not their liking. An outsider looking would despair at the thought of these headless chickens running the nation tomorrow!
Kuldeep and Neeti gravitate towards Sanam. Kuldeep pulls in his roommate Rohit as well.
Gayatri and Palak both want to be in Aamir’s group. With Badal, Anita and one more girl already in, there isn’t enough space for two additional girls. Sanam, now feeling a little proprietary, bristles at this catfight. Aamir looks on entertained.
At long last, they are on their way. The path looks deceptively easy and the groups amble along the sloping road towards the Bhilaru pump house. From there on, the trail gets treacherous. The ground beneath them is slick with algae and it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain one’s balance.
The trek instructor drones on and on about the history of the place. But other than the majestic trees around them and the clouds scudding overhead, no one pays any attention to this fountain of wisdom.
What Aamir is sharing sounds fascinating but. ‘That’s Banj . . . it’s a kind of oak.’ Sanam edges closer to listen in. ‘In winters, when there’s no grass, animals feed on its leaves.’
‘Ouch!’ exclaims Anita, afte
r trying to pluck a leaf. ‘They’re so sharp!’
Aamir chuckles. ‘That’s just to discourage you and the animals from getting too close.’
Anita punches him. Playfully.
Sanam stiffens.
‘No . . . it’s true,’ he says. ‘They’ve got spiny leaves to ward off predators.’ He carefully plucks one to show. ‘And the best part is . . . only the leaves at the base of the tree are prickly . . . the ones at the top are not.’
‘Why not the top leaves?’ Anita wants to know.
‘Banj knows there aren’t any giraffes here and so the leaves higher up are safe,’ he laughs.
‘Did you Google all this?’ asks Gayatri.
‘Google will have to live here to know this,’ Aamir replies with a smile. He’s right. None of the stuff he has said is on any search engine.
Sanam sidles even closer to not miss anything and unwarily steps on a patch of moss.
‘Slow down!’ cries Kuldeep as Sanam skids on the mulch and dense undergrowth. She manages to hold on somehow. Aamir hears Kuldeep warn Sanam and scampers up to her to check.
This riles Kuldeep who has become possessive about Sanam. ‘I’ll manage,’ he informs Aamir, dismissing him as both land by her side almost at once.
Things were getting too dramatic. Sanam sticks back with Kuldeep. After all, she is in his group. And Aamir darts back to his.
The next bit of drama comes in the shape of a fallen log across the narrow path. It is huge, about four to five feet in diameter, and blocks their way. The path is narrow, so there is no getting around it.
‘Climb up from this end and slide down it!’ instructs their trek leader. And he goes down first to show how it is done.
This is now getting a bit too much for these babus of tomorrow and many flatly refuse to slide down the log. But heading back to the academy, alone, without their trek leader seems a deadlier option. So, they fall in line. And resting their bottoms gingerly on the unsuspecting log, they slither down, one by one. One or two literally tumble down the last part of their journey. But for most, it passes off without a glitch.
Sanam prays fervently as she sits on it, but cannot muster enough courage to slide down. Neeti has gone before her and Kuldeep is right behind her. He eggs her on, but her bottom seems jammed to the slimy piece of dead wood.