A RHAPSODICAL EQUATION
: It is the imperfection and subjective nature of the actions of characters that make them real.
: ‘A rhapsodical equation’ is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any character or incident is purely co-incidental… or is it?
Winter showers can get real chilly. Last night a heavy downpour faded to a slow drizzle towards the morning making the temperature drop four degrees on the Celsius scale and that had left people reconsidering their likings for the winter. It is only mid November but at the rate the temperature is set to touch the bottom of the abyss by Christmas.
I was at the Gauhati railway station, platform number three, and waiting for my train to New Delhi. The station was teeming with people and abuzz with their loud conversations. Each telling the other the same story for the nth time. Those who had to make the platform their home last night were clinging on to their cups of morning tea.
Twenty minutes prior to departure, the train reached the platform. I hunted for my coach and loaded my baggage on to my compartment. I assumed a fleeting glance at the other compartments. Slowly they were being filled with people and things. However, I was the lone one in my compartment. All of a sudden, I realized that I needed to get myself something to read. Maybe some magazine or some book that could give me company through my journey, I thought. Keeping my bag on the upper berth, I got down onto the platform. It was still fifteen minutes to departure.
I bought myself a book by Jeffrey Archer, my personal favorite. That was the only one I had not read. The train whistle blew telling me that I had taken such a long time surfing through the books. I headed back to my coach.
The train picked up speed and I reached my compartment. There, someone’s unanticipated sight swept me off my feet. I went speechless for a whole eternity it seemed. Goose bumps sprang up on my hands.
“Jayish?” I heard the voice call out.
Am I dreaming or is this real, I wondered. I do not booze nor do I dope, so chances of me hallucinating was next to nil.
“Jay-ish!” she called out again. “Now don’t tell me you do not recognize me.”
‘Get up from this moronic trance, you loser!’ I heard my inner being rebuke me. “Hell, no, it isn’t that. In fact, okay-no-I mean it’s your sight. I mean, after so long. I’m just not being able to contain myself, you see! You board a crap train for a bullshit journey and… And heya, what’s up with you!” I finished in one breath. Later I regretted having said so much. Sometimes I am in the habit of adding to my expressions a bit too much, more than the level of sanity permits.
“You have changed. I wouldn’t have been able to recognize you had I not had a look at the name list before I got into the coach,” she said.
“Oh, cool!” I said with a big grin.
Then there was the usual ‘hi-hello’, ‘how’s he-she’ kind of exchanges between us. I felt the urge to ask about ‘him’, but thought against it. Anyway, she was my co-passenger for a journey about two thousand kilometers long. I had ample time to ask her about anything… well, almost!
She introduced me to her cousin who was going for her course in fashion designing in Delhi. There was another small Bengali family in the compartment. ‘Ek jodi, ek santaan’ type mother, father and child.
Panchee still looked so beautiful, I thought. Her beauty squint, the small patch of freckles on her cheekbones, her long straight mane and her slim build, the whole lot was just the same: the right measure of everything that could be called ‘perfect’. Even the small scar on her chest was still there like a mother’s black dot to save the child from the evil eye. However, she looked more mature now. Her gaze seemed to be so much full of questions. And when she was not smiling, she looked so austerely fretful about something, as if something was devouring her happiness out. I hated to admit it but she looked a shade younger the last time I saw her.
I have known Panchee for four years now. However, thanks to complex twirl of circumstances, for the last three years we were not in touch. Even in the first year, we actually started talking only during the last six months. Therefore, logically, our conception about each other was just six months worth. Nevertheless, as is said, you spend your whole life with someone under one roof but you do not actually meet while with someone, you spend a day and it feels as if you have known each other for ages. With Panchee, I bonded very well. Probably because there was an effort from my side and she too seemed to enjoy my company. In the latter days, I tried ways and means to impress her and it did not take her too long to guess what I was up to. She felt flattered, I guess.
We were on our seats, seated. She was sitting opposite me. Her cousin was hooked onto her mp4 player with a Steve Martini’s book on one hand while the Bengali family was feasting on a family pack of chips. Panchee, too, had a book on her hand but she was not reading. Simply fingering the pages, through the window she was looking at the view outside. As for me, I had the book that I had bought on my hand but my eyes were glued on to Panchee. A few moments passed. Suddenly she shifted her gaze and our eyes met. I was caught unnoticed staring at her. I gave her a smile. She returned a much more beautiful one and again assumed the mid-distant gaze outside. Do I still love her? I wondered. I think she, pretty much, too, was wondering the same.
---------------------------------------
In the college, she was a late admission. During the first few days, she never talked to any of the boys. Even with the girls, she was close to only two. The first impression that I had of her could not have been further from the real. While I was very much awed by her beauty, I, somehow, held an opinion that she had a very ghastly attitude hitch. During a dance performance by a famed danseuse, where we were volunteers, when I initiated a conversation with her, she cut it short with her monosyllable answers. After that, my ego restricted me from any such other attempts. Months passed by and it was only during the inter college fest that she came out to be a very pioneering girl. Our college was working hard to perform well. During this short time, we talked… and talked. At first, about work and later we started getting personal. She seemed more open now and a totally different being. We spent a lot of time together. Her beauty intensified with each passing day. And by the time I realized, I had fallen madly in love with her. But love for me is something magnanimous and out of this world. I did not want to take the plunge into it this fast. Besides, I had to convince myself that it is not just any other crush or infatuation or puppy love, which I have had many in my life. After much soul searching, I realized that nothing similar to this I was going to feel for someone again in my life. And I decided to let her know of that, come what may. But my plans were just about to get shattered.
One weekend, she was my date for a show by the famed naval band at the club gymkhana. It was a formal evening and we, too, were dressed for the occasion. I had my favorite black dinner jacket on and she looked stunning in her mauve halter neck dress. Mauve was her favorite color. To the world it appeared that we were a pair of love-birds. Even my friends were hinting suspicions at a clandestine relationship. However, I could only smirk at the truth. Then, I, after many unrelenting self-debates, finally came upon the fact that when the time is right it is not worth waiting. I had no time to rehearse the words for expressing my love.
The show got over at nine o’ clock in the night. We then headed to a nearby KFC where they serve good food. By the next hour and a half, we were done and ready to go. I had brought my mom’s car. It was a lovely silver full moon night. So we decided taking a drive before I dropped her back. She called up her roommates, with whom she rented an apartment, and informed that she might be an hour late. I knew a road where it ran parallel to the river for a few miles. It was a short drive and upon reaching, she showed a desire to get down and walk on the sands. The spot reminded me of Mumbai’s Marine Drive. She took off her pencil-heeled sandals and ran to the water. I followed. The white sand reflected the silver rays and illuminated the whole ambiance. There was a big boulder near-by. I got on to it and watched Panchee as she playfully walked along the river. She came and sat by me after some time.
“Panchee, I’d like to tell you something,” I said.
“Now don’t act serious. I find you funny when you try to be serious,” she said. Maybe she took it as just another tomfoolery from my side. On the other hand, maybe she guessed what I was intending on, and did not want me to persist.
“No, I’m serious,” I retorted, giving an added shot to sound solemn.
“Okay! Tell me what it is.”
Until now, I was acting rigid but the instant she told me that, I became edgy. Trying hard to regain my equanimity, I recollected my words that I had intended to speak. Some days later, I was to realize there could not have been a worse choice of words than what I spoke at that moment. But if one could win hearts with beautiful words, the world would have been a far better place to live in.
Nevertheless, I said, “You know Panchee, the first time I saw you I just felt that you have an attitude problem. But after I’ve started speaking to you and then that I’ve come to be familiar with your inner being, you have made an unfathomable impression in my heart. All this time I’ve been asking myself what is it that is making me go mad at your thought. I think I now have an answer. Panchee…”
“Jayish… Jayish! Before you speak any further, I’d like to say something”, she cut me short just as I was going to say the words that mattered the most. I was stunned for a moment. As if in a stupefied trance, I simply kept gaping at her as she spoke. “I knew this had to come. I had anticipated this but hoped, against all odds, that it might not happen,” she spoke. “I’m talking about the love factor that you were just now going to stress upon. Love is a very big issue, Jayish. Don’t tell me that you love me. Please don’t. It’s my fault. I should have told you some things earlier,” she said. In my haste, I had forgotten to prepare myself for this kind of a situation. So naturally, it almost blew me off my senses. Emotions escaped my face and I kept listening as a wanton school kid caught in the midst of some mischief. “I am committed, Jayish. There is already the presence of someone in my life who I love,” she said.
Those words came like the blow of a thousand clubs. And as if it was not enough, she continued. “His name is Vivek and we were together in our plus two classes. He is really a gem of a person. It can happen that somewhere down the line, I may commit mistakes that can harm our relationship but I can be rest assured that he will be the last person who will do anything that will offend me or bring disgrace to our relationship. I can trust him blindly. And you know what Jayish, I feel lucky to have him.”
By now, I was almost in tears. Tears came to me quite easily. But I was no longer sad. There was a faint smirk on my face. The last few lines she spoke touched me. Panchee was so happy in her love that her happiness was contagious. In my heart, admiration grew towards the Vivek who I had never seen. I felt so small in front of him. He was one who could make Panchee feel lucky to be his girl. It was no mean feat. It was a lesson not just for me.
Panchee was still talking. “You are a very good boy, Jayish. You, too, will find someone who is made for you. And you, too, can make her feel lucky. You and I are still friends. Better friends than we were an hour ago.” There was comfort in her voice. Magical comfort. All my wounds were healed in a moment. Then at the end she added, “I wish I had met you earlier.”
The world was so lovely once again. I looked at the moon, smiled and winked. I wish I had met you earlier, how beautiful those words were! By then, I knew what I wanted, or did not want, for that matter. I got the reply to my question that I did not have to ask. I was happy. Whether it is as fleeting as the sun kissed days of summer or lasts a lifetime, love is always worth it- I know it is!
A week later, she left the city and I saw her off with a bouquet of flowers. That was the last I had seen her. Some days hence, it was her birthday and I had called to wish her. And that was the last I had talked to her. I changed my number and never called her again. I wanted her to be just a part of my beautiful past and not of the ghastly future that was in store. She deserved a special place in my life. I could not have managed to talk to her as someone lesser than a lover. Anyway, her inclusion in my daily life post all that had happened would only have eroded her essence in my life.
When two part, the one who is left behind is more grieved as he is the one who senses the vacuum created by the other in the space where the presence of both brought life. After Panchee had left, the same roads seemed so dull. They kept reminding me of her absence and the days when we walked those roads together. Nevertheless, I knew that life had to move on.
-------------------------------------------
It was nine in the night and I had just had my dinner cursing the railway caterers for the degrading food. I stood near the coach entrance and lit a cigarette. The door was ajar and I was letting the chilly night air gently hit my face. The area must have had a rain some time ago. I felt someone pat on my shoulder. I turned back to see Panchee.
“Hi!” I said. However, it was just moments ago that we were together in the compartment.
“Since when have you started smoking?” she asked me with a bit of domination and care that only your dear ones could command from you.
“Not long after the third summer behind.” I replied. “Wanna have a puff?” I asked mockingly.
“Yah!” she said and pulled the cigarette from my hand and put it onto her lips. Then she took a deep puff and let it go. I was shocked. I could see that she was not a first timer or a casual smoker. She looked eased.
“Panchee?” I exclaimed. There was alarm in my voice. Nevertheless, I sensed some pity and some worry, too, in it.
“Yes, since the last one year. After Vivek died,” she declared.
“Vivek… what?” I almost shouted.
“Yes, Vivek’s dead. Bike accident. Last November,” she stated. I could sense deep-seated agony that never found a way out, but hardly any remorse.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Ya, but I’m out of it now,” she said. Nevertheless, I could guess that she was not ‘out of it’. She was simply trying to act strong. Offence is the best defense; once again, I was reminded.
I stood there wordlessly as she finished the rest of the cigarette. Both of us were staring out into the darkness as the train passed through endless fields.
“Life is very big, Jayish. None is worth your tears. And if someone is worth it, he’ll never make you cry,” she said. “Vivek and I were so much in love with each other. His death shocked me, but it did not make me cry. I will always miss the summer rains when we got wet together. But I’ll never cry. He has given me so much to smile about that tears have got lost way back on our journey through the orange days. Past is like a broken mirror. Your image changes as you move with each different piece. It’s always best never to look back. Just carry on with what the past has given you as a present… as a gift.”
I kept listening to her. I could sense that in the past one year she had grown. Grown both as an individual, and out of the crisis.
After a moment, she spoke again, in her usual tone. “So, who’s new in your life?”
“Nobody,” I replied blandly.
“Now don’t tell me that mister Casanova is not going out with anyone.”
I gave a faint smile at her tug. The truth is that after she had left I have hardly had anything sort of at least a crush on anyone. Suddenly the fact dawned unto me and I gave another faint smile at my latent change.
“How is Sukannya? Are you guys in touch?” she asked me.
“Don’t know. I’m not in touch with her nor I have any common friend,” I replied. Sukannya was a girl from my high school on whom I had a crush. I told that to Panchee once, just casually. I did not expect her to remember that after four long years. Later, she kept digging out surprises by asking me about my dog Pogo, my old Hobner guitar and the most shocking was when she said that she still remembered my first song, “free bird”.
“How come you remember all this? You must be having a super brain then,” I teasingly asked her.
She smiled. “You don’t need a super brain to remember some things that matter,” she said.
“How does it matter?”
“You would not understand,” she replied.
“You can always try to make someone understand. With me at least you can hope that I will,” I said.
“Okay, tell me; what is your opinion on love and commitment?” she asked.
“Love? Commitment? Why, on earth, would you ask me that? I’m no expert on these kinda stuff.” I protested.
“No, I need to know what you think,” she demanded.
“Cool then. Let me try. But one thing. Whatever I say is keeping in view my opinion on what I believe is love and commitment. You may not support my views but I expect that you respect them. To start, they are two different things but related like this: there can be love without commitment but there cannot be commitment without love. Well, let me explain. Love is not just a college affair. Not something that happens in teenage alone. Rather, what happens in teenage is hardly love. Love is unfathomable, really. Take the love of a mother for her child or the love of a painter for his art, each is an example of unconditional love. However, there doesn’t arise the question of commitment. However, when a man promises commitment to a woman, can love be far away? Let’s not go to material commitments presently.”
“Okay, I get it. And do you believe that it is humanly possible to love two persons? Persons as in lovers, no relations,” she asked.
“Depends; what do you have to say?”
“Possible,” she cut it short.
“And commitment?”
“Not possible. What I’d like to mean is that you can love two men as lovers but you can never stay committed to both, because then it would not be commitment at all. I’d rather suffocate my one love for the commitment that I have for the other love,” she said.
“You speak as if you were reading from one of the pages of your life,” I said.
“I’m not trying to make a secret of the fact that is so nakedly exposed, Jayish! You know about my love, or loves, rather, and about my commitment.”
“So what are you going to do now; now that things have changed?” I asked.
“Things have changed very little, Jayish. It’s just that I’ll no longer be able to touch and feel him. It’s just that I’ll no longer be able to kiss and make love to him. But my love is still the same. He breathed his last loving me. Can’t I do the same? I’m always committed to him. I’ll always be his bride, his unwed bride,” she said.
Her words always leave me intoxicated, always. She comes so near to me just to tell me that she is so, so far away from me. That she loves me but will never be mine.
It was getting very cold, so we headed back to the compartment. The Bengali couple was trying hard to make their child sleep while Panchee’s cousin was still reading from the novel. Tomorrow, the train is going to reach Delhi before noon. And perhaps after that I’ll never see Panchee again. The thought suddenly sent a shudder through my body.
Until I knew about Vivek, I had, in some sort of ignorant bliss, desperately wanted, Panchee to be mine. However, after I was ‘enlightened’ about his presence in her life, I wanted to drift myself away from her as far as I could. This led to my desperate attempt to alienate myself from her, and down the line, I was successful in my effort but it never brought with it the elation accompanying a triumphant attempt. Ironical, I thought. Nevertheless, the hard thing to do and the right thing to do is usually the same. However, the past few years were not totally without her presence. She still inspired the writer and musician in me. Numerous poems and songs took birth in lonely nights and rainy winters when she arrived in my thoughts. I never ever imagined that one fine day destiny would make our paths, which seemed to run an endless parallel track, cross.
Not knowing how to kill the odd minutes, I tried to busy myself making my bed for the night. It got over pretty quick leaving me blinking at the people around. Panchee had excused herself for the washroom. The small MP3 player beside her cousin caught my attention.
“Shilpee, can I?” I pointed towards the player.
“Please,” she permitted with a smile.
I plugged on the phones to my ears. Surfing through the collection, I hit upon a track that made my heart skip a beat. It was such a special song but somehow it seemed ages since I have heard it last. “You’re beautiful/ you’re beautiful/ you’re beautiful, it’s true… She smiled at me in the subway/ she was with another man… I saw your face/ in a crowded place/ and I don’t know what to do/‘cuz I’ll never be with you.” How heavenly those verses by James Blunt were. It was all so special because I had gifted this album, Back to Bedlam, to Panchee as a parting gift. The beautiful piano ballad “goodbye my lover” spoke all that I ever wanted to or could have managed to speak at that parting moment.
“What are you listening to?” asked Panchee, suddenly breaking the musical and a tad nostalgic sojourn. I simply offered her the earphones.
She gave me a glance with some mixed emotions, which I could not figure out, continued with the song, sitting by me with her eyes closed. A few minutes later, she switched it off and turned to face me.
“Loveliest song I’ve ever heard,” she asserted. “And the most thoughtful gift, ever.”
“You liked it?” I asked.
“Yes, I sure did. Haven’t I told you that before?”
“You have. I just wanted to reassure myself.” I said.
I did not want the night to end. And there was nothing that I could do. I could not even pray to god to lengthen the night because I had been a hardcore atheist since the last few years. Not that I expected a miracle to occur, but out of the dark closet, I suddenly deliberated a small prayer to the unknown. Yes, a drowning man catches at a straw!
By and by, the people had switched off their lights and now only a faint stream reached us. We sat in the darkness side by side. The Bengali couple and Shilpee had all fallen asleep. We kept softly talking about the few days that we had spent together three years back. In our conversation, we repeated some incidents more than just a couple of times but we enjoyed talking about it each time.
I felt for her hand in the darkness and took it. Some moments later, I found myself in the ecstasy and warmth of her kiss. A kiss in the dark holds a vast difference with one in the light. In the dark, when the stigma-burdened world is not in sight one can be, without any inhibitions, what one wants to be deep down inside. In the dark, one can be oneself.
Panchee suddenly got up and left for the washroom. Coming back, she went to sleep without wishing me goodnight. She did not even look towards me. I sat where I was pondering over whether Panchee kissed the Jayish in me or searched for a Vivek… her Vivek.
That night I could hardly catch any sleep. I tossed and turned on my berth. I tried standing by the open door but the winter wind pierced through the layers of clothing making it unbearable. By and by, the morning sun came into view. I was brushing my teeth when Panchee woke up. I gave her a foamy morning smile.
The last few hours, apart from stealing glances in the other’s ignorance, we barely talked. There was so much to speak, so many unanswered questions hovering around, but there was one mutual understanding: let bygone things just be that- bygone.
At ten-thirty, the train reached New Delhi railway station. I helped Panchee and Shilpee with their luggage. We stood at the platform when Panchee left our company to book a prepaid cab.
“So, when’s your class starting?” I inquired of Shilpee.
“It’s still a month away. Probably from the last week of December,” she said.
“Wow that means you have a whole month at your disposal. Going sightseeing?”
“Well, not exactly. I need to help Ba move around for her check ups,” she said. The next moment she looked regretful at having said that. The moment caught my attention.
“Shilpee, I think there’s something that I don’t know. And I need to know it right now.” However, she was adamant not to reveal anything. Finally, I coaxed her into telling me. Whatever she had told me, I could have never dreamt of such a fact’s possibility. That Panchee was dying. Doctors have diagnosed her with having blood cancer and that too at the later stages. How could it be possible, I asked myself. Then, Shilpee would never lie. Moreover, her apparent deteriorating health spoke volumes. I took the address of the hospital where she had come for medication. It was touted to be the best cancer hospital in the country.
Panchee came back after some time smoking a cigarette. Suddenly, she looked so withered.
She came close to me and said, “Okay Jayish, it was nice meeting you. Bye!”
I did not know what to say or do. However, I ended up saying something I always wanted to. “I love you, Panchee.”
She smiled and gave me a hug. Then turned away and left. I stood there and watched her leave until she was out of sight. She never looked back.
I had always restricted myself from falling into any serious love. And at last when it had happened, it was to be left unanswered.
Few days later, I went to the hospital and found her bed-ridden. She was happy to see me. I tried to spend as much time as I could with her deeply wishing against all odds that she become healthy again. I started going to the temple. But God did not listen to the atheist that I had been. She lived for only two weeks more.
Before dying she said, “Jayish, I’d like to thank you for everything that you had been. And it would not be untrue to say that I loved you; but I have my commitments towards Vivek. So bid me farewell. I’m going to be married again.”
She taught me: love for the pure reason of love without ever expecting your love story to end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’. I take pride in loving a woman so great.
I never stopped to realize
How lonely I would be
I never thought the day would come
When you’d go away from me
Your voice was never sweeter
Than the day you said goodbye
You’ll never know how much it hurt
Because I’m too old to cry
If I knew then what I know now
You’d still be kissing me
Instead there’s someone else’s lips
Where mine used to be
I say hello and wish you well
Each time I pass you by
But you’ll never know how much it hurt
Because I’m too old to cry
You never looked so wonderful
As the day you walked away
I used to say “I love you”
But that I couldn’t say
I can’t forget you darling
No matter how much I try
You’ll never know how much it hurt
Because I’m too old to cry.
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