The main garden, with the prayer hall at the centre, still remained the same, so did the old banyan tree. The vice chancellor’s house, which stood adjacent to the north gate, had been converted into a library now. She wondered what had happened to the old library building, where she’d met Rohit for the first time. It was really odd that two shy and silent people like them had fallen so desperately in love soon after their first meeting!
There was not much left of that girl in this strong and confident corporate manager of today. She was still soft-spoken and reticent, but now the silence had a strength beneath it that had been absent earlier.
Urna never showed any of her traits at her age—always bursting with energy, talking, debating and making friends. The courage, which in Ananya’s case had been acquired while traversing the rough paths of life for years, was an inborn quality for Urna.
Being a natural leader always, Urna led her mother and Ahan towards the famous dhaba, outside the main gate, for breakfast.
On reaching the dhaba, Ananya enquired about Sahuji, the owner from their time. It was his eldest son who ran the place now, and Sahuji, he said, had gone back to his village.
Sitting on the wooden bench outside in the sun and gorging on tasty aloo parathas, the three of them chatted about various issues.
Ahan had overcome his earlier awkwardness and Ananya, too, had started enjoying their youthful conversation, leaving aside the reminiscences of her past.
On their way back to the guest house, Urna reminded her, ‘Mom, you are coming to our class dinner tonight. Earlier, it was for us students only, but now, on popular demand, families have also been included.’ Ahan echoed the plea.
Ananya gave a sigh—this was probably the time to meet her nemesis. Perhaps destiny had their meeting planned this way, for, after watching Ahan closely, she was certain he was Rohit’s son.
Not only his face but his build was also similar. The difference lay in their mannerisms. Ahan had a cheerful countenance, whereas Rohit always bore a serious, almost gloomy face.
But then Rohit had not been lucky enough to have the carefree days of youth Ahan enjoyed. He had had to worry about the situation at home, especially after his father’s sudden demise, which had left the family with very little means. His ailing mother and sister had been waiting for Rohit to get a job soon and improve the condition at home.
Still, in those moments of intimacy, he would smile silently at her, and the love in his eyes would make his features soft, malleable. How Ananya longed to wipe out the creases of worry from his face and bring love poems back to his pen!
On reaching the guest house, Ahan left to make arrangements for the night. Alone with Urna, Ananya decided to have a straight talk with her daughter.
‘Ahan is a nice boy, I don’t remember you mentioning him before. What took you so long to introduce me to him?’
‘Why, mom? You have hardly met any of my friends from college as you . . .’ Urna stopped mid-sentence and looked thoughtfully at her mother. The very next moment, she burst out laughing,
‘Mom, stop it! Don’t get ideas. Ahan is only a good friend, like many others. At present, we are all just shaping our careers ahead! No time for anything else. How could you even think of it?’
Her daughter’s candid confession eased her mind a bit. Then she thought about why it should matter to her at all! Throughout the day, Ananya continued to argue with herself, framing logic and counter-logic, and finally concluded that her daughter’s choice of partner was none of her business!
In the evening, she started to dress for the party. Urna, seeing the beige sari she had chosen, objected rather firmly, ‘Mom, you are not going to wear this dull colour, specially for this evening. You must wear your blue silk. You look gorgeous in blue.’
These were exactly Rohit’s words. He would always insist on her wearing blue.
Anu, you should see yourself through my eyes. Blue suits you like no other colour does. I see a piece of sky meeting the ground when you walk in blue.
Ananya hesitated a little, but then decided to go with her daughter’s wishes. It didn’t matter, really, after all these years. Rohit would be at the party with Ahan’s mother, a proud parent of the class topper. Both the charm of the colour blue and of its wearer must have long faded in those eyes.
As she entered the hall, her heartbeat grew louder. Urna was greeted by cheers from all sides—from her friends and teachers. Ahan was on stage, playing the guitar with a band. Ananya looked around for Rohit but could not find anyone like him among those present. Had he changed beyond recognition or had they not arrived?
Some of Urna’s friends came to greet her and introduced her to their parents. The band was playing soft, pleasing tunes. Ananya started to enjoy the party, which was well organized, with very subtle and aesthetic arrangements. There were some alumni present among teachers and parents. A woman from her junior class, who remembered her well, showered compliments on her.
‘You are still so pretty, Di! Not many changes other than a little extra weight, which, by the way, suits your personality.’
Time passed happily, reminiscing of old times.
The band then started to play the timeless anthem of graduation, a favourite of their times—Papa Kehte Hain. This was Ahan, singing loudly with his guitar.
Ananya looked everywhere but could not see anyone resembling Ahan’s ‘papa’ anywhere. His friends surrounded the stage, clapping and cheering. Urna was leading the noisy crowd from the front. The elders stood a little towards the back, encouraging and smiling. After all, you are young only once!
As dinner was announced, Urna guided her mother to a table and brought soup for the two of them. They had just started when Ahan came to them, with a lady and a gentleman.
‘Aunty, my Ma and Baba. Maayi, you have met Urna already; this is her mother, Ananya Aunty.’
Ananya had noticed this couple earlier, standing quietly near the stage and listening to the music. Ahan’s father nodded at her respectfully and his mother held Ananya’s hand intimately.
Disappointed or relieved?
She was not sure of her feeling—a bit of both, perhaps. They sat together with food on their plates. Ahan and Urna did not give anyone much chance to speak. While recovering from the state of dismay, Ananya could not help but glance at Ahan’s face from time to time for a more detailed look. His likeness to Rohit was uncanny. Nature had played a trick on her!
That night, Ananya dreamt of the Urni river.
She had often taken a walk along the riverside with Rohit. He would talk about his dreams, their future together and read poems to her. She’d named her daughter Urna, as the child’s laughter had reminded her of the river and the joyful memories associated with it.
In her dream that night, she saw the silver line of Urni and the sparkling white sand of the riverbed on a moonlit night.
Rohit, drenched in moonlight, recited Nazim Hikmet to her: ‘You’ll live, my dear. My memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.’
She awoke very early the next morning. Urna was still sleeping. Quietly, Ananya slipped out, past the garden, and started walking towards the river.
The pristine beauty of the river and the surrounding jungle remained intact, untouched by the hand of time. A little out of breath from the long walk, she sat down on the ground. Time, too, went past her like sand, as she sat there, immersed in the stream of memories.
A soft touch of hand brought her back to the present. Ahan’s mother was standing by her side.
‘Ananya, I am Rohit’s sister, Ruhana . . . Ruhi, remember my name?’
The calm in the voice touched Ananya. She stood up and looked straight at her for a few seconds, trying to grasp the meaning of those words.
So Ahan was Rohit’s nephew. Now that explained the resemblance!
Ruhana looked at her hard, as if trying to read her mind.
‘You guessed right before. Ahan is Rohit’s son.’
Confused, Ananya stared back at Rohit�
��s sister. Yes, she was his sister all right; the similarities were distinct.
‘Ahan’s mother died at childbirth. Rohit was very upset. He blamed himself for not caring for her enough—for not being able to forget you, ever. He decided not to marry again and took up a job abroad. I kept young Ahan with me.’
Trying hard to hold back her emotions, Ananya said grievingly, ‘I am sorry. It was my fault that I couldn’t gather enough courage to go against my father at that time. But Rohit was not ready for marriage either, as he had family responsibilities. I, too, have suffered a lot. I have failed in my relationship.’
Suddenly the years melted away, and past and present merged together. The vision of a girl with a dupatta drenched in tears, sitting on the edge of her narrow bed as her father roared outside, came alive in her mind.
How dare she want to marry someone from a lower caste with no proper earning? It will take him years to stand on his own feet and rise to any kind of socially acceptable position. All love will go down the drain when they struggle to make ends meet. This is outrageous! I can’t let my only daughter throw her life away because of a street beggar!
Ananya now felt a surge of pain for the younger Ananya going through the emotional turmoil, praying silently for help.
Oh, she was so young and stupid, perhaps, to believe in those empty threats!
Tell her that if she leaves home to marry that boy, she will not see me alive again. I will prefer to die than bring shame to my forefathers because of her. The status we have gained in society over generations will be dust in one day. If she wants to build her life on her father’s grave, let it be so.
Ruhana’s voice sounded distant. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. Perhaps it was fated to happen. And see how destiny has brought you two on the same road once again. On one of my visits to Ahan, I met Urna and discovered that she was your daughter. She is such a loveable girl, and we bonded really well. I heard of your divorce from her.’ She added tenderly, ‘Rohit loved to talk about you. I feel I have known you all my life. I always considered you a sister.’
Ananya eyed her gratefully. Rohit had never said much about Ruhi, except that her marriage had been a priority for him. It would have been nice to have had a caring and compassionate human being like Ruhana for a sister.
‘I told Urna and Ahan about you two. Kids of today are more mature than us. They are the ones who planned this meeting for us during the graduation ceremony. Urna kept it a secret from you as she wasn’t sure how you would react to the idea.’
Ananya let her tears flow. Ruhana held her tight.
A group of four was seen walking towards them.
‘Here they are now. Rohit landed yesterday evening and took the night train to get here for Ahan’s graduation. He, too, was kept in the dark until now. He is as bewildered as you are about this whole situation. You two have been silently suffering for too long now. We all feel that life should offer you a second chance.’ Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she said, ‘Ananya, don’t disappoint my brother this time.’
From afar, Ananya could see Urna clinging to someone’s arm, happily waving at her. She couldn’t catch the voices over the sound of the river. Then the group halted and one of them started to move towards her.
She stood there, staring at the approaching figure, a repeat act from the previous morning, leading to a similar upheaval inside her, but of a very different sort this time. Tears got washed away in smiles. The sun, the river, the breeze and the trees all cheered in unison at this happy college reunion.
16
Platform 9 . . . and 3/4?
Sashwati Ghosh
Florence, Italy
1750 hours
Amid the flurry of people, the monotonous pre-recorded voice announcing the arrival and departure of trains, her eyes scanned the crowd in a heightened sense of excitement and anxiety.
Where was he?
Indira was standing in the underground passage of the train station, in front of the staircase that led up to Platform 9. All around her, people were frantically rushing into the passage and darting up the stairs to the platforms where their trains were about to leave. It was the middle of December, and chilly winter winds drafted through the station.
Indira pulled her rainbow-coloured scarf tighter around her neck and tightened the belt on her cherry-red coat. Amid the dull grey and black tones of her surroundings, Indira was like the first bloom of spring. She was tall, slim and undeniably attractive, with long, wavy hair that framed her heart-shaped face and wide-set dark eyes that now glanced anxiously at the fluorescent board displaying the scheduled trains.
Her heart began to pound erratically as she saw that the train that would bring him from his office in the outskirts of the city to Florence had arrived five minutes early.
He was here.
Any second now she would see his 6-foot 2 frame cutting through the crowd and making his way to her on Platform 9. From there, they would board the 6.04 train home, to the humble town of Pistoia. And they would have, for almost one uninterrupted hour, conversations that would touch the strangest of topics—and, in turn, her heart.
This had been their routine for a couple of weeks now, travelling to and from Florence together—she to the university and he to work. She was a budding architect, and though she loved her classes and the time she spent with her friends, her daily commute was what she looked forward to the most.
She often thought about how quickly she and Prithvi had become friends. It had barely been a month since they’d been introduced by common friends. She thought about Prithvi more often than she cared to admit. Prithvi was like a breath of fresh air in Indira’s life. He never mulled over things like Indira did, always acted on instinct and never hesitated to say what was on his mind. She loved that he was such a free spirit.
1800 hours
The train was due to leave in four minutes. And Prithvi was nowhere to be seen. Waves of disappointment washed over her as she contemplated the idea of a journey without him. Suddenly, from her left, a soft voice, eerily close to her ear, whispered ‘Ciao, cara!’, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to see Prithvi laughing uncontrollably at her expression. She was still catching her breath as she gave him a playful punch and allowed him to gather her into his arms for a tight hug.
‘I’m sorry!’ he said, the twinkle in his eyes betraying him.
‘Yeah, you look really sorry!’ Indira teased. ‘I thought you couldn’t find me! And, as always, your phone’s out of charge!’
‘Indu, I could spot you from a mile away in that scarf,’ Prithvi laughed, playfully giving her scarf a tug.
‘So I like to wear some colour! I’m making up for the people around me,’ Indira told him matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow at Prithvi’s all-black outfit.
He looked especially handsome that day. She had found herself attracted to him of late, but today, with his long black coat buttoned all the way up over his jeans and his black scarf knotted casually around his neck, she was left quite breathless. Not to mention that mop of floppy black hair she had an inexplicable weakness for.
‘Hahaha! Touché. Ready to run?’
‘Let’s go!’
They bolted up the stairs to Platform 9 to find the train pulling in. Prithvi pulled Indira’s arm instinctively, causing her to step back behind the yellow line as they waited for the train to come to a stop. She smiled to herself—he had no idea how these small gestures made her feel, and it was all she could do to keep it from becoming apparent.
It was a Friday evening, and people were returning to their hometowns after a long week’s work. Even so, the train was unusually full and there were no empty seats left. They stood in the passage between two coaches, as other passengers continued to hop onboard. Prithvi put an arm around her shoulders as the passage filled up completely.
Okay, that’s a first. Indira’s heart beginning to race. Stay calm, stay calm.
As the train began to pull out of the station and pick up spe
ed, Prithvi’s grip on her shoulders tightened to keep her from losing balance. After a few minutes, Indira rested her head lightly against his shoulder and was surprised at how natural it felt. At this proximity, she could inhale his unique smell, which was a heady combination of musk tinged with a lingering trace of what seemed like sandalwood. The overall effect made her transiently giddy. She lifted her head from his shoulder, trying to regain her composure. At this, Indira felt Prithvi’s grip on her shoulder slacken ever so slightly, with his eyes now intently fixed on her profile, wondering what had caused the sudden shift.
1830 hours
The train had covered almost half of its one-hour-long journey. In a few moments, they would pull into Prato. The people in the passageway looked weary now. The train came to a halt and people began to disembark. Prithvi suddenly pulled on her hand.
‘What are you doing?!’ Indira exclaimed.
‘Just trust me! Let’s do this. You won’t regret it!’ Prithvi told her, jumping off the train. Indira still stood inside, looking at him incredulously.
‘You’re not actually going to make me do this!’
‘Come onnn . . . be spontaneous!’
Spontaneity was NOT her strong suit. Indira prided herself in leading a structured life and taking well-balanced, premeditated decisions. Prithvi was casually dismantling all her notions of how she believed life should be. Indira took a few deep breaths.
Okay, relax. This isn’t such a big deal. There are trains that can take you back home every hour. Maybe it’ll even be fun to explore a new town. And you’ll be alone with Prithvi in a new town.
Prithvi hopped back into the train. ‘Are we doing this?’ he asked, looking down at her, locks of his dark hair falling into his eyes.
God, those brown eyes . . . Indira felt the last few vestiges of self-restraint slip away.
‘Let’s do it!’ she finally said.
Prithvi flashed her a smile as they got off the train. They looked at each other and laughed as the train trundled out of the station, leaving them behind.
You Are All I Need Page 11