reclosion et al.

The Howrah Hatia Express 8615 sneaked in, through the smoke, from the coal ovens of the railway quarters and the tea stalls. The coolies (porters) , hopped onto the still moving train and pushed their red uniforms through the almost empty compartment (most passengers disembark at Ranchi). The softness of your eyes, smiled at me as I waved back at you through the rust of the window railings. We stuffed the auto rickshaw with our baggage and after some gyrations of reckless maneuvering, found ourselves at the new place in the HEC Colony.

This house was better – more room, lots of sunlight and a train of dahlias woven around the perimeter of the property, like a garland. While the rest of the family got busy with conversations and interruptions, I followed you along the red soil driveway. I can still smell your khadi kurta (home spun cotton shirt) and the early morning air, as I held on to you tightly, perched on the back seat of the Vespa – en route to the dudhwala’s (milk man). For the next few days, I was the devoted nephew, absorbing every bit of intellectual conversation feasible between an adult and an adolescent.

The days bloated with constant chatter of the family. The evenings were calm, and that is when, you and I used to go for our walks. Stepping away from the colony walk ways, onto the main road and then bridge over the skinny brook. Our daily little secret was the daal vada (lentil dumplings) from the dimly lit kiosk run by the tribal couple. Any evidence of this atrocity, was neatly wiped out on the greasy square cut out from the daily newspaper, that the vadas were served on.

Somewhere along the path, you  pointed at the lights from the houses, behind the eucalyptus trees and mentioned how there was a son/daughter from each one of them, studying in one of the élite engineering/ medicine schools of India. “This is a great neighborhood ” – you had said, “a great place to build confidence and feed ambition !! ”

That was in the summer of 1994……

After that, the last time we met, was at the hospital in Bhowanipore. You lay there among strangers putting up a brave fight. I could see, that you noticed how much I had strayed. I was not going to be the protagonist of the success story – of your vision. Shame caught me unawares, for a few moments of true self appraisal. My life, as it was then, was clouded with superficiality and restlessness.

Over the years, change (for the better) picked me up on its way We spoke long distance and not too often. You got better but then it started getting worse. I prayed. There was a guilt of not spending enough time with you, when I had the time of your day. And then one day the phone call happened. Our conversations were over – for good !!

That was a year into the new decade. ……2001.

Almost another decade later …. this summer (of year ‘09) ….

He walked out on a relationship, one which he had believed would find him happiness!!  As brave as he is, he survived her lack of commitment and fought back to find himself at a better place. Professionally !! Now, the two hour commute to his desk, finds him at peace with his new life –  the cafeteria et al.

His likes are strong and his dislikes stronger. Over the weekends,  he devours the works of the best and the worst of authors , some in and others from out of town. He critiques with brutal honesty,  silver screen creations of the famous and the infamous. I can imagine how his apartment has not been cleaned in ages. Some days, when mischief pokes him,  the building plummets into  total darkness, thanks to his ancient iron box from the past. His laughter is loud, like that of a  child and his advices are crisp, like those of a good lawyer – one just like him !! That is all I can tell about his day job, almost like the Friends, about Chandler Bing’s.

We talk about everything, from Tarentino to family gossips, from shaadi.com to thin crust pizza, about our days near Nona’s Corner to the cheap vodka, that we downed during our last reunion. He confessed that he was jealous and often times, wondered what his father and I talked about, during those walks, several years ago. Back when he was a kid drowned in books and I was a teenager oblivious to his existence.  We speak to our memories for details and try and put the pieces together. We speak almost every day – me buried  under the Atlantic snow storms and he resonating from a local train in Bandra.

And  in my heart, I realize that our conversations are not over. When I talk to him,…… I talk to you !! You are gone …….but he is here for me –  as I am for him. I know I have to make up for lost time. We live in a cynical world and it is not every day that we know and love someone ……who can complete our sentences in a seemingly intellectual conversation!!

Someday, when I can get myself to see him again, on that balcony, somewhere in  Navi Mumbai, we are going to look up at you ….. and we know you would softly smile back at us ….and say – “Go ahead , ……take that walk….. down that road, ….over the bridge….. from behind the eucalyptus trees !!”

Photo Courtesy: here

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