"There comes a time in every person's life when she believes she must have been in love."
An excited wave of murmers ripples through the small audience punctuated by a few giggles arising from the younger ones. I feel as I always do at the beginning of Aunt Maria's story telling sessions - eager, curious and impatient to hear the rest of the story already.
"Aunt Maria has quite an imagination, can't wait for what she cooks up this time!", Nancy whispers excitedly and winks at me.
"Nancy, Latha, stop that giggling or you are doing the dishes tonight!", Aunt Maria warns, waggling her finger at us, in mock anger. I smile back at her. She has always been Aunt Maria to all of us. Aunt Maria who baked delicious, warm cookies for us, the quintessential apron tied around her, her chubby hands working deftly to feed several eager mouths. Her silvery bun was always tied high above her head and her eyes did not betray her age - young and twinkling, those of a child about to eat a candy.
Her stories were always reserved for Saturday nights or when there was a powercut, which was every other week. We light candles in the patio and cuddle around Aunt Maria. She sits in the hammock and surveys her audience shrewdly. A gentle breeze disturbs the candle flame and we huddle closer.
"I was a pretty little thing of about eighteen when I met him at the University library. I worked weekends at the library from nine to five. He came every Saturday and lingered behind until it was closing time. He never checked out a book once."
"How did he look Aunt Maria? Tall, dark and handsome? Maybe a stubble?"
"You imp, shush!"
Aunt Maria adjusts her glasses and continues, "He was lanky and tall, tall enough to reach the last but one shelf of the book shelf in the library. I remember because that is the reason why I talked to him the very first time. He was trying to reach a book in the uppermost shelf and I said,
"Sir, would you like me to help you with that?"
He looked amused. Perhaps he thought it was funny that someone as short as I wanted to help him.
"Yes and No, Maria."
The fact that he knew my name irritated me a bit.
"It's almost closing time, Sir. If you need further help, I will be at the front desk."
He said nothing and I walked back to the front desk, annoyed at his impertinence. He left without saying goodbye.
The next morning, he came to the library at noon. I ignored him. He browsed through the different aisles as he always does - fiction, autobiographies, romance, horror - he did not seem to have any preference. Afternoons usually see just a couple of regulars at out library. An old man sat there leafing through a small book, punctuating the silence in the library with his tiny coughs.
Unconsciously, I followed the young man who seemed to be in no hurry to pick a book. He walked casually from book to book, sometimes he would pick a book and smell it, sometimes, he would run his fingers around it, sometimes he would just walk around.
He puzzled me. After what seemed like hours, he picked a thin book and settled down with it, his back facing me.
Inspite of myself, I really wanted to know which book he had picked. So, I held my head high, walked nonchalantly towards him and pretended to arrange the books on the table.
He smiled at me but said nothing. He was reading 'Love Story'. I was happy with his choice. Satisfied, I was about to move back when he said,
"Do you also like Erich Seagal, Maria?"
I did not want to answer him, but it seemed an innocent question and I longed for any conversation that day to get me through the day.
"Yes, I see you took your time to pick the book."
"Oh, I have read it before, many times."
He offered no further explanation. Sitting across him, he looked a lot older than I had thought he was - maybe in his late twenties. He seldom blinked and I found it disconcerting to look into his eyes and talk.
"So, are you a student at the University?", I decided to ask him a few mundane questions so as to not appear rude and then get back to my desk.
"Professor. I teach English."
Again, an awkward silence that he seemed to be entirely comfortable with.
"OK, I better get back to work...", I got up to leave when he said,
"You look remarkably like her."
I don't know why but I sat down again.
"You have her eyes - small but expressive, taking in more than it reveals. Green."
"Look, I don't have time for this kind of..."
"She loved books...this was her favourite book..."
and then suddenly,
"I am David, nice meeting you Maria", he held his hand out to me.
"And that was our first meeting. Now, let me get some goodies out for you kids before it gets too late...", Aunt Maria ambles towards the kitchen and an excited chatter breaks out among us.
"Do you think he will propose to Aunt Maria?"
"Whom does she resemble? his wife? sister?"
"Am sure Aunt Maria can make something up to finish the story. That's probably why she went to the kitchen!"
And we laugh, but a small part of me believes and wants to believe that the story is true...maybe that's why aunt Maria never married, maybe he was the one...
Aunt Maria returns with a large round plate full of chocolate sprinkled brownies. We bite into the warm soft brownies as she continues,
"Our first meeting was anything but normal but his words echoed in my head the following week and I wondered what he had meant and why he had been so cryptic."
The next Saturday, I searched for a copy of "Love Story" and settled down with it, my feet propped on a chair nearby. I was so engrossed in the book, I did not hear the tinkle of the bells tied to our library front door that announced a visitor.
"You have read it before too, haven't you?"
I jumped in my chair and the book fell down.
"David! You startled me!", I said, holding a hand to my chest.
He smiled - the same mysterious smile, always a touch of sadness in it.
"Yes, I have read it before. I can read it again any number of times and I am sure I will cry each time I read it!"
"You are blessed - a book can make you cry. I try and yet I cannot."
Here I was talking to this stranger about things that I little understood. Yet, as he stood there looking into my eyes, this time I did not draw my eyes away. I felt something powerful in the silence that surrounded us. It showed me shades of his past and I felt sad for him.
"When did you meet her?", I asked, about the woman who I knew nothing about except that she looked like me.
"We took the same classes here. I knew I would marry her the day I met her."
"She took a long time to say yes, didn't she?", I ask, smiling at him.
"Yes, she said she knew it had to be me but decided to sleep over it", he chuckles softly and I am happy to see him happy.
We talk about his wife, her life and now his life without her. I don't feel weird anymore, I want to stand there and talk to him for as long as I can, I want to know about this woman that I could not be, whose eyes I had...I don't feel bad reminding him of her, I want to remind him of her.
And a few months later, he just stopped coming to the library, just like that. I always wondered if there could have been something more between us but life is like that, isn't it? Always leaves you asking for more..."
With that aunt Maria gets up and softly blows out the candles one by one. Everyone talks in low voices about her story, a more subdued gathering than before.
I wait for everyone to leave and stand next to aunt Maria as she cleans the dishes.
"Aunt Maria?"
She appears not to hear.
"He did not just stop coming, did he?"
She looks up at me and shakes her head ever so slightly.
"He asked you to marry him, didn't he?"
Again the almost imperceptible shake of the head.
I gently take the dish-cloth she holds in her hands and hold her hands in mine,
"Tell me, Aunt Maria..."
"Oh, I did fall in love with him."
"I knew it! And then, what happened?!", I ask excitedly.
"I asked him to marry me..."
Her voice grows soft, so soft that the wind almost does not carry it towards me,
"He refused. He said he couldn't bear losing her again."
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Aunt Maria's love story.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Chapter 1. The Retirement.
Mr.Raghavan hears every single tick of the grandfather clock. He hears the rustling of the leaves and the chattering of the evening birds, the sounds of dusk. Each heightens his feeling of loneliness. A feeling that he is too proud to acknowledge. Sixty years of life lived as a proud man and that is how he will live the rest of his life, with his head held high. He picks up the Hindu once again and tries to concentrate on what he is reading. The sudden ring of the calling bell surprises him. He walks with small quick steps to open the door, expectation lighting up his face.
"Raghavan, how are you? I thought I would drop by for a quick evening chat!"
The house owner, Gangadharan could not have chosen a more inappropriate time to pay a visit to Raghavan. Within a few minutes, he realizes that the latter is not interested in any kind of small talk with him. Slightly hurt, he leaves the small house, already pondering on his next victim.
Raghavan settles back into the chair and takes a deep breath.
What did that Gangatharan think? That, he had time to discuss the town gossip because he was "retired" now? He would not and would never be a part of the useless old men talk group. No job in their hands and nothing useful to talk about all evening but rumours and gossip! Ask them anything about politics and general knowledge and they would gather their veshtis and disappear from sight! Worthless fools!
The shrill ring of the telephone distracts him and he hollers into the receiver,
"Raghavan speaking."
"Did you have your dinner?"
Parvathi's typical questions. Questions that drove him up the wall but of late, he had begun even to miss those simple conversations with his wife.
He grunts a yes into the receiver because he knows that no other answer would satisfy her.
"Did you turn off the gas? Have you taken your tablets?"
Ignoring her questions, he asks,
"How is the baby? Have the rashes gone?"
"Yes, she is better now. Do you want to talk to Sanjay? He is in the kitchen with Neelima..."
He senses the disapproval in his wife's voice and smiles. Softening down considerably at the thought of his simple, old-fashioned wife stuck in America, he asks,
"How is your leg now? Can you walk easily?"
She had fallen down while trying to get on to an elevator at a store.
"Yes", her voice trembles a little and she says, "By God's grace, as soon as the baby is five or six months old, I will find my way back. What does an old woman like me have here in America anyway?"
Raghavan remains silent for sometime. Somehow, even the thought of making his wife go to America alone did not prompt him to accompany her. He did not have a fascination for cars, clean roads and big buildings - "Oh, these roads are so dirty, mama", Neelima had purred a few years back, "The same dirty roads that you grew up on!" is what he would have liked to tell her - he did not care for an immigrant treatment in America. He was proud to be an Indian and his soil would see him breathe his last. No amount of pleading from his son or wife and half-hearted requests from his daughter-in-law could convince him otherwise.
"Take care of your health. Am sure Sanjay and Neelima can manage once you leave. Bye."
Raghavan feels better after talking to his wife. As he closes his eyes, he thinks of the time Sanjay was born and the thought lulls him to sleep.
The milkman rings the bell and Raghvan searches for his spectacles in the semi-darkness. By force of habit, he looks at the clock and thinks to himself that he is late for work today. As his head clears, a dull realization hits him that he is no longer employed. Old and retired. He moves slowly doing about his morning chores trying as best as he can to spread his activities till mid-day. The temple bell rings heralding a long day ahead for him. His thoughts drift back to the day that Parvathi had dragged him to the temple...was it only six months back?
"It is such an honor! How many people do you know who have been awarded, "an employee of the year" shield?"
"It is not a shield and I know of many of my friends who have been recognized as "Employee of the Year" Why must I spend my time chanting at the temple when I can spend it at office doing justice to my award?"
"Today is an auspicious day. You will have to come to the temple with me..."
And the argument had lasted till the temple steps. Parvathi had insisted on an archanai and she did not let go of him until she had adorned his forehead with prominent Vibhuthi marks - "For Drishti!", she had warned him, when he tried to take it off.
And six months later, here he was, with a so-called voluntary retirement forced upon him by his unctuous boss - "It's like this Mr.Raghavan, we think you would benefit by this proposal...". And suddenly, his sense of importance and pride was gone, without a warning. He was not Raghavan, Vice President of a prestigious company but just Raghavan, retired and biding his time for the end. He had decided then that he would not be a part of any of the religious groups in his neighbourhood, chanting what they little understood, preaching what they little practised. He would still lead a meaningful life...but somehow, his life seemed without any direction now. He was not the bread-winner of the house, but an old man living on his pension. With nothing to concentrate on the major part of the day, he started having unwholesome thoughts about his own old age and death. A sudden noise interrupted his listless thoughts...
He looked up and Gangadharan cleared his throat again. Raghavan decided to put an end to these visits. He opened his mouth to say something acerbic and was interrupted by Gangadharan,
"Raghavan, do you have a few minutes to spare?"
Was he mocking him? Of course he had a few minutes, he had his whole life ahead of him to spare but he would probably not waste it on Gangadharan!
"I need to talk to you about a personal problem..."
Raghavan took a closer look at the other man and noticed tell-tale signs of weariness on his face. He motioned him to sit down.
"We probably don't know each other well enough for me to confide in you..."
Can't this man talk except in circles?
"but I know you are a capable man and I really have nowhere to turn to for some sensible advice..."
And in his own circuitous way of speaking, Gangadharan confided his problems to Raghavan.
"You see, it's not like my son does not love me or respect me anymore. It's just that he has so many responsibilities now, what with the baby and all and I am probably just a burden...but I have nowhere else to go. I have spent my pension money on my son and I cannot imagine living in an old age home. Rangachari and Sheshadri are in a similar situation themselves..."
Raghavan listened silently.
So, the loud old men's club had its own share of problems...
He still did not understand clearly the purpose of Gangadharan's visit but now he had a new problem to solve. His mind clicked to work immediately, a well-oiled engine going about its tasks. He asked a few questions and tried to sort out Gangadharan's problems. Not that he had a solution at hand but two heads were better than one and it was obvious Gangadharan needed someone like Raghavan to listen to him more than anything else.
It would be far-fetched to say that a strong friendship forged between the two old men but a bond did develop. Raghavan began to look forward to Gangadharan's daily visits. He even spoke to Gangadharan's son, who appeared to be scared of him. Gangadharan even went to the extent of suggesting that Raghavan should visit America to see his grandchild. A severe look from Raghavan silenced him, but that night Raghavan did atleast consider the possibility of a trip to America.
Parvathi returned from America with suitcases full of gifts for her husband, her relatives, her innumerable temple friends and ofcourse a load of stories to share with her husband about America, her daughter-in-law and her grandchild. She seemed surprised at her husband's sudden change in temperament since the retirement but did not guess that it had anything to do with Gangadharan. For her, he was just another cup of filter coffee that she had to make every evening and she was glad to do so.
And Raghavan finally made peace with his retirement.
I gave up on the dhtml when I noticed the absolute positioning messes up the display on smaller screen sizes. Also, I had the story written with Raghavan going to America and his funny experiences there but it's way too long for a Saturday morning, so the end folks!
Chapter 2. The phone call.
The next day, a call early morning made Raghavan take the one big step that he had hesitated to take for many years - he decided to go to America.
"Appa, amma's leg has become worse because of the cold. Yesterday, she took a walk outside and slipped on some of the ice on the pavement..."
Raghavan's face clouded with anger and concern...
"Appa, it will probably be good for amma if you also come over. I don't think she can travel back so soon...and you haven't seen the baby yet."
And Raghavan finally made up his mind.
That evening Gangadharan almost danced with joy. "You are indeed lucky Raghavan, you have a son who wants you with him in America!"
"Save your joy! He is only calling me so I can be a nurse to Parvathi while he goes to work! His new wife would have probably complained!"
And they had discussed life in America and what all arrangements Raghavan had to make - visa, warm clothes, Indian music CDs because they would not be available in America...
"Just because I am living in my son's house doesn't mean I will depend on him for anything..."
Gangadharan nodded his head in agreement.
"I will still buy grocery, take my evening walks, go to the library once in a while..."
Gangadharan nodded some more, a little hesitantly this time, "Won't you need a car to...?"
"Car, shmar, I will walk, when I was little, I..."
And several hours later, Gangadharn left with dreams of America.
Chapter 3. The Visa Interview.
The Visa office was too crowded for Raghavan's liking. A round man, around Raghavan's age came panting into the hall, sweating profusely, he seemed to be running for the past fifteen minutes. He looked around for a few seconds and settled down near Raghavan to catch his breath.
"I thought I would be late for my appointment", he offered by way of explanation to Raghavan. He was a retired judge and Raghavan approved of judges. So, he decided to talk to the judge to kill time while he waited for his turn.
"Nowadays, all of India wants to go to America", Raghavan began loudly.
"Yes, yes, my son and daughter are both there for the past 10 years...", the judge nodded vehemently, spreading a few drops of sweat around him, "and they have not spoken a word of coming back..."
"Yes, these kids have forgotten where they hail from, money is the culprit!"
The conversation was gaining momentum and Raghavan was about to launch into one of his favorite discussions when his name was called for the Visa interview.
"And what is the purpose of your visit to America, Sir?", the young American sitting behind the counter asked politely.
Raghavan took an instant dislike to him. Who did this young man think he was? God?
"I have applied for a visitor's visa which means I will be a visitor in America. I am visiting my son."
"And when do you intend to return Sir?"
As soon as possible! Raghavan bit his tongue and said, "You see my wife is in America with my son and she has fallen down and hurt her leg. As soon as she gets better, we both will return..."
"Only son?"
How did this young upstart care if he had 18 sons?
"Only son and I know not why he wants to live in that Godforsaken place, leaving a country like India behind. I think the younger generation need some advice from us - their priorities are mixed up! Everyone can earn money - when I was Vice President of..."
Half-an-hour later, Raghavan waved goodbye to the judge and left the consulate with a visitor's visa in hand.
