Tuesday 1 November 2011

Two days in the Life of - A narrative in three parts - Part II


The story did not come out in one burst. Over what seemed like a never ending supply of cappuccino, he learned something about this woman who had changed his day irretrievably. Learned that she was unmarried and was supporting her unmarried sister and aged parents. She came from a small town in the Tehri (that explained her high cheekbones and the doe eyes or did it?). Her sister was in the same city, working at a bank and had a boyfriend who was not quite right in the head and so was going crazy. She had wanted to separate from him. Being the responsible older sister, she had gone to the boyfriend’s house to talk it over with him. What had followed was a true horror story where the boyfriend, doped out of his wits, had raped her. She could not divulge the truth to her sister who had made up with the boyfriend and so the shameful secret remained with her. The blood was from the stitches in her tongue where she had bitten through during the episode. The stitches had reopened partially at the hospital where she had learnt that she was pregnant – the report that she had been carrying.
After this revelation, she suddenly seemed to regret having told him. Visible signs of withdrawal accompanied a retreat into her shell as the silence stretched out between them like a rubber band stretching to eternity. He could not bring himself to look at her and confined himself to staring into his coffee cup while she fought her battles alone.
After what seemed like an eternity, he looked up from the dregs at the bottom of his empty cup and stared into eyes that opened up into a blazing hell. Anything he would have said at that instant would have been inane and woefully inadequate. He just reached out involuntarily and put his hand on hers, the touch seeking to offer solace and warmth. No pity, just understanding. After a moment, he suddenly became aware of his indiscretion and pulled his hand away. Her hand still lay there, an opened flower that was seeking the warmth of the sun. She turned her hand, palm upwards as if enquiring why he had taken his hand away. He suddenly noticed her skin was pearly and the green veins shone as they travelled up the inner road of her hand to her elbow where they disappeared beneath the cuff of her kurta. He tore his eyes away and turned his glance to her face only to find that she had bowed her head and her hair hid her face.
Not knowing what to do, he jammed his hand into his pocket and came up with his keys. He stuffed them back in. More despair at what to do with his hand as the urge to put it back on hers was mounting. Finally, he clasped one hand with another – almost like using one hand to hold back the other from doing what it wanted. His eyes were drawn back to her hand – still lying there, now like a crumpled, used piece of cloth. The word ‘used’ brought a surge of anger at what had happened to her. That surprised him. He was not a selfish person but had never felt so strongly emotional about anyone other than family or very close friends. Why then was he getting so affected?
He glanced at his watch – it was almost 1 PM. No point in going to work now, he thought. Besides, he felt hungry. He mustered up courage and spoke to the bowed head in front of him about lunch. No answer was forthcoming. He signaled the boy behind the counter to give him the cheque and paid for it. He then gathered up her things and stood up, only to realize that she had not lifted her head, leave alone being aware of his actions. He did not know how to stand her up, and finally touched her tentatively on her shoulder. The head swung up and she drew in a racking, shuddering breath in counterpoint to her raw and agonized eyes. He asked her if she wanted to go. She stood up uncertainly and walked to the door and beyond, to the car park.
In the car, he asked her where she wanted to go. He encountered the wall again. He then tried a different tack, asking her what she wanted done about her car. She mentioned a service station but did not have the number. He called his secretary and almost cut the call when she started yelling about his missed appointments and the fact that he had not responded to any of her frantic calls and that half of the office was searching for him whereas the other half was gloating at his having got into so many people’s bad books. Finally, he got her to stop and asked her for the number of the service station. He called them and asked them to pick up the car and gave his contact number. Turning to ask her if she wanted to be dropped somewhere after that, he found her asleep. Head tilted and resting against the window, hair shielding her face and jaw line strong in repose. He felt the urge to smooth the hair away from her face and controlled himself. Instead, he started the car and drove slowly, taking care not to jolt her in her sleep. He drove to the point where her car had stalled and handed over the key to the maintenance engineer when he came.
Getting back into the car, he realized that he did not have a clue of what to do next. The day was nearly over. In another hour, he would be stuck in the reverse crawl of traffic as the millions of worker ants furiously fought their way back to their anthills. He decided to drive close to his apartment. If she woke up, he would put her on a taxi and send her home. He could then reach home quickly without having to endure traffic again. He reached his apartment in about 20 minutes without encountering anything on the way. As he turned the car into the apartment parking, he realized that his original plan had failed. She had not woken up and he had not put her in a taxi and sent her on her way. He stopped, wondering what he should do. He could not move her from the car and neither could he let her sleep in it. The problem resolved itself miraculously as she woke up with the car bouncing on the speed breaker at the entry to the parking. She looked at him strangely as if she was trying to figure out why she was with him. Then something clicked into place in her mind and she smiled. It was like the sun had come out from behind clouds. His heart did a crazy tilt.
She spoke, voice husky from sleep. The voice sent goose bumps along the length of his spine. “Hungry” was what she said. And he smiled and said “OK” in response to the childlike response. Reversing the car out of the parking lot, he drove to a nearby restaurant. She ordered a mammoth meal and he ordered just a salad. No conversation happened, she looked outside the window and he studied the tapestry. But the silence was not strained or uncomfortable. The food arrived and he watched her wolf it down without apparently stopping for a breath. She stopped midway, feeling his eyes on her. An embarrassed smile and a muttered “Sorry, I am hungry” punctuated the return to eating. He smiled his acceptance. She finished and pushed her plate away at the end, signing completion with a soft burp. One more ‘Sorry’ and a half smile accompanied that.
He ordered some coffee to wash down the food. She declined – too much coffee was bad for the baby. And besides, her digestion was not as good with her present condition, she had heartburn easily and coffee was the worst support for those. She rambled on, seemingly lost in a recount of her present predicament to her own self. He felt that it would be intrusive to respond and so remained on the fringes of the conversation, listening and making the correct noises to encourage the flow. He thought as he listened, she really cares about this baby, in spite of the circumstances in which it was born. And with that realization, a small flower in his heart took bloom, stretching to full flowering with a power to almost grip his heart in one big squeeze until he felt that he could neither breathe in nor out.
As suddenly as the verbal flow had started, she realized what had happened and stopped – as suddenly as a bull hitting the wall of the ring and coming to stand still. Conversation or what was actually a monologue died out and suddenly the silence became uncomfortable. She sensed this and said “Sorry for having just rambled on.” He smiled his okay once again, not finding the right words to respond. Finishing the coffee, he signaled for the check. Putting his card into the folder, he made up his mind that he would now drop her off and get back to his sane and regular life, ignoring that sharp tinge of regret that the thought brought. So, he raised his head and asked “So, where can I drop you?” She suddenly looked lost, the clouds took over the sun again and temporarily her world turned gloomy and overcast. He tried to probe gently, interrupted by the return of his card and the charge slip. When he finished signing and keeping the tip money in the folder, he saw that the seat opposite was empty.
While he was taking care of the check, she had left, silently. He ran outside the restaurant trying to wildly catch a sight of her. There was no sign of anybody that remotely looked like her on the roads as far as he could see. He suddenly felt like a child who had dropped its candy on the road – an insane urge to sit down and cry. He did actually sit down on the steps of the restaurant and put his head on his knees, breathing ragged and forced. After a couple of minutes, he heard a tentative foot step and a gentle, tentative touch on his right shoulder. Lifting his head, his heart started a series of cartwheels as he saw her standing next to him. He finally managed to draw his senses together and stood up. She smiled and said “I had to go to the restroom.” He felt like a complete idiot at that. Yet another instance when he could not muster up any response. But it seemed like a response was not required.
They left the restaurant in the car, an unsaid accord that she would go with him. It seemed the most natural thing to do. He stepped in front and opened the door for her – an idiotic throwback to a chivalry that he had not felt in a really long time. And he walked to the other side to find that she had opened the driver’s side for him. For some reason, that made him grin and then immediately stop as he thought he might be looking like the circus clown with a wide grin. The car wound it’s way down the roads as the traffic crept it’s way home. He drove back to his apartment – it needed no asking. The security guard at the gate hurriedly opened the gate for him as he drove back over the speed breaker – this time more carefully. Parking the car, he got out and found that she was still sitting in the car, lost in her own world.
He walked around to her side of the car and stood there wondering what to do. Clearing his throat would not have helped with the windows rolled up. Finally, feeling like a teenager, unsure of what he should do next, he knocked on the window. It drew the instant response of her resurfacing into this world and an even more unexpected one of a smile lighting up her eyes. His world which had been in a crazy tilt all day, suddenly righted itself. He felt his involuntary response of a smile. He opened the door for her, thinking that he would be travelling back to the Knight’s age, what with all the chivalry that he seemed to be getting back to. She seemed to think it was natural and accepted it without a comment, gathering her things and walking out of the car.
They walked upto the elevator and stood silent as it glided up to the heights of the building. It stopped at the 13th floor and they got out. She looked at him, an unspoken question. He seemed to get it without the word and said, “13 is my lucky number.” She smiled her answer. Walking down the corridor, her smile widened as they came to a stop in front of number 1313. Now, he did not have to explain. He felt his pockets for his keys. In a weird pantomime of a dancer performing a series of steps, he patted down all his pockets, not once but twice but could not locate his keys. Thinking he must have left them in the car, he asked her to wait there while he went and checked it out. Stepping back in the lift, he found himself getting strangely impatient at every stop the lift made as it wound it’s way down in a seemingly endless journey to the basement. He ran to the car and found the keys where they had fallen out of his pocket onto the seat. He ran back to the lift and stood there impatiently drumming his fingers on the doors while he waited. He realized that he was actually running back to her and wondered at what had happened to his calm, cool and collected existence in the last few hours - a millpond that had been swept into a maelstrom by the simple breeze that had blown in.
He stepped out of the elevator and saw her sitting down in the corridor, her back against the wall. He ran towards her and stopped short as he noticed her head thrown back against the wall and eyes closed. Her breathing deep and even, she must have slid back into that tired sleep which had her in it’s grip earlier, he thought. He stood there for a while debating on what to do and finally decided to open his apartment. He let himself in and kept his things in the usual places, the man of routine that he was. Everything in it’s place and a place for everything, his favourite saying seemed to mock him now given his current situation and how he was finding it increasingly tentative and unchartered.
He walked back to the door, hoping by some miracle of fate that she would have woken up. However, the gods were smiling somewhere else that day. She continued to slump against the wall, a sack of potatoes that had been heaved around too much, slightly worse for wear. He looked up and down the corridor and saw the elevator doors opening. He suddenly did not want any of his neighbours seeing her sleeping in front of his apartment like this. What would that Mrs. Sharma say to Mrs. Khanna over their morning cup outside their balconies loudly exchanging gossip? He would be the favourite topic of all conversations until the next spicy topic came up. His mind made up in a split, he swooped down and braced himself. Sliding one hand beneath her knees, he used one hand to pull her away from the wall. He tried to lift her in a jerk and found that she was heavier than he expected, the sudden weight caught him by surprise and he almost dropped her onto the floor. Catching himself by sheer willpower that seemed to work against gravity for once, he stood slowly and carried her into the apartment. He crossed the threshold carrying her and kicked the door shut behind him.
He stood there trying to decide on what he should do next, where he should put her, when the doorbell rang, a strident noise that cut through his thinking like a knife through butter. His reactions turned involuntary as he quickly made his way into his room and put her gently down on his bed. Drawing up the covers over her, he noticed that he had not taken off her footwear and that it would leave dirt marks on his white sheets. He smiled at his sudden tolerance for dirt and finished pulling up the covers. He turned off the lights and then suddenly thought that she would be scared if she woke up suddenly in a strange place. He had never favoured a night lamp. Finally, after an endless period of thinking how to light up the room, he turned on the lights in the toilet and left the door slightly ajar. A second loud buzz from the doorbell drove him to quick action. He quickly shut his room door behind him and went down to the front door. Peeking into the peep hole, he saw that it was Mrs. Sharma. Had she seen him carrying her in? His stomach suddenly became an endless horizon filled with butterflies of all shapes and sizes as he opened the door. Mrs. Sharma smiled sweetly at him as she asked what had kept him from opening the door. He muttered a reply about an office phone call. Then to his utter relief, she extended a bowl at him and asked him for some sugar. He filled it up with more than usual generosity and gave it back, glad to see her go without any further questions. Just as he closed the door, he heard her turn and ask whether he was entertaining any guests. He chose the safe path of not replying. She came waddling back and told him that she had seen him with a “woman” in his car. He murmured something about a relative knowing full well it was only going to add fuel to this fire. He refused to be drawn into a conversation and she finally gave up after persistent worrying – a dog with a bone which she could not get a handle on. Finally he bolted the door shut behind her, heaving a massive sigh of relief.
He shed his jacket and loosened his tie putting it back neatly folded in his closet. He took out a change of clothes as silently as he could, taking care not to disturb her. He felt that looking would be an infringement of personal space and stoically refused to glance at the bed. Changing into his normal tee shirt and track pants in the guest bed room, he caught sight of himself – an up and coming executive pushing 35, more of a rat than anybody else in the rat race and proud of it, a workaholic by choice, evaluating his achievements in the bonuses he made every year, wishing he had the time to return his mother’s innumerable calls and rationalizing that she would understand his pressures. Physically he was fit with a surprising high energy level as his colleagues had often told him – he took pride in rubbing their faces in it when at the end of a twelve hour work day, he was sharper than they were in the meeting. And yet, today, for the first time in his working career, he had not even thought of office, to the point of regarding calls from office as a distraction! What was happening to him?
His musing was rudely interrupted by a crash from his room and went running in with his tee half pulled down over his head. He stopped short as he found her still sleeping, her arms akimbo and head turned to one side as her breathing fell shallow and ragged. Her arm had hit his bedside clock which had fallen and hence the crash. He stood there watching, feeling like a voyeur in his own home, rooted to the spot, unable to move. The clock lay on the floor, it’s digital hands ticking time away as it moved resolutely forward. However, for him, time stood still, it’s moments frozen as he stared unblinking at this stranger who had landed with hob nailed boots on his ordered existence and thrown it into complete disarray like a child scattering the toys that the maid had just neatly arranged. She was hardly a child though he reminded himself and neither was he. And he had no business standing there and staring like that. He turned to leave and was arrested in motion by a sob.
He turned to look, half afraid that she had woken up. He found her still in some semblance of sleep but caught up in some private hell of her own. She had started fighting something in her sleep, fists bunched up, body curled into a tight little ball, head whipping about, and repeating only one word – “No”. She had started sweating and a thin sheen shone about her face and arms. Unsure of what he could do, he watched and waited. The storm continued unabated as she fought uninterrupted for a while. Then, slowly, like the calm after the storm, her breathing eased, gradually, like the gentle breeze that refreshes after the gale has spent its force.  The feeling of intrusion returned to him once again, cold and hard in its presence. But he felt that if he left her alone, she would wake up in the strange room, all alone and get scared again. So, finally, he got himself a glass of water and settled down in the reclining chair opposite the bed with a cushion to keep him company. At first he found himself watching her as she slept. Catching himself for the umpteenth time, he decided to bring a book to read. Finding the last book that he had tried unsuccessfully to read at a stretch, he started on the page that he had bookmarked.
He suddenly woke up, the book still in his hands, realizing that he must have fallen asleep reading, as usual. He looked at the bed and found that she had woken up too and was sitting watching him, much the same way that he had watched her. Except that there was no intrusion in her gaze, it was an open study. She smiled at his look and said “Don’t worry; I just woke up a few minutes ago.” He smiled sheepishly and muttered about not wanting to leave her alone, thinking he should explain what he was doing on a chair in the same room. She interrupted him with a “Thanks”. That took the wind out of his sails and he settled back again. He looked at his watch and realized that it was past 3 AM. He must have been asleep for the past 5 hours or so. Hearing a rumble from his stomach, he realized that he had not had dinner or anything remotely resembling food after the cafĂ©. Being the pathetic cook that he was, his only hope of satisfying his crying stomach was to fix a sandwich. He stood and asked her if she wanted something to eat. She nodded and watched as he made his way out of the room.
He walked through to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator searching for the cucumber, the tomatoes and the bread. After a few minutes of searching he realized that he did have bread but very little else. He pulled his head out of the refrigerator and closed the door only to find that she had followed him into the kitchen and stood there smiling and shaking her head disapprovingly. He asked her what she found so funny and she replied that it was his kitchen – designed as a show piece but of little practical use. Her mockery of his grade A, top of the shelf, Italian modular kitchen roused his pride and he asked her what she would have done instead. She only replied that she would have to take a hammer to this one to show him and that would cost him a pile of money. He decided not to pursue the subject, not trusting his wayward tongue at keeping itself under control, liable to vent out his ire in some bitter sarcasm.
He took the loaf of bread to the counter instead and started spreading some jam on it with a knife. After seeing him successfully disintegrate a third slice of bread with his efforts at spreading the jam, she stepped up right next to him and took the knife and slice of bread from his hands. He was forced to step back as she took over, quick and efficient, the knife moving in long, easy strokes as she spread the jam on the bread effortlessly. After she had created a pile of jam sandwiches, she asked him if there was any milk. He wordlessly took out the tetra pack of milk and gave it to her. She smiled as she took it from him, nodding her seeming disapproval at yet another facet of his life. He was quickly back on the defensive and asked her what was funny only to be met with a disarming version of the same weapon which was accompanied by a single word “Nothing”. She insisted on boiling the milk and poured it out of the saucepan into two glasses and took the plate and the two glasses out into the hall. He was left with no choice but to follow her.
She had settled herself on the carpet, leaning back against the diwan’s cushion that she had brought down to the floor. She was already halfway into one of the sandwiches as he came into view and stopped only to nod him to join her on the floor. He picked up a spot opposite her and stretched out on the carpet, wondering when he had ever used the carpet this way last. Biting into one of the sandwiches, he found her continuing to study him. Uncomfortable at being the object of so much attention, he looked away. Not finding anything worthwhile in the whole room to keep his gaze on, he finally looked around for the remote of the TV and switched it on, inevitably on one of the Money Market channels that he watched while he ate. He looked back at her and found her openly smiling at his attempt at escaping her. He smiled back and resolutely focused back on the TV. The lady on the screen could not hold his attention as his senses seemed to be attuned to the person sitting opposite him. His glance kept getting drawn back to her as she tried watching the TV for a while and then gave up and got back to looking at him. Once or twice as he looked at her, he caught her looking at him. But he was the first to look away as she refused to.
After several unsuccessful attempts at concentrating on what was happening on the TV, he turned to look and found her still staring at him. This time she asked a question “Do you intend to bore yourself to death or can I watch something interesting?” He could only muster a weak “Be my guest”. He watched as she flipped through a series of entertainment channels, finally settling on a romantic movie running on one of them. Her gaze was off him now as she sipped on the milk and watched the romance unfolding on the screen. That gave him the opportunity he needed to study her in turn. He watched as she mirrored the emotions on the screen, the love, the laughter, the tears. Finally, as the movie drew to a close about a hour and a quarter later, she realized that he had been watching her and embarrassed, gathered the plates and glasses and walked back into the kitchen. 

Stepping Out


I saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel,
It’s warm yellow glow beckoning and inviting,
Holding out the last lamp of hope before I fell,
My mind and body one big mass of pain, tiring.

Is it a portal through to where I want to go,
Or is it a mirage, a whisper of a promise,
So enticing that the heart does not say no,
To fall into an elephant trap, an endless abyss.

I will never know until I step out into the light,
To see my shadow as it stretches out at my side,
A valley, lush and green, stretching out into sight,
A paradise regained, the start of an endless ride.