Tag: Love story

Unusual Places (Part 4)

Posted Mish8 CommentsPosted in English, Karishma-Siddharth, Original

Dear Karishma,

Writing stories is not like writing exams. There are no model answers against which it can be compared and judged. Deviations from norm do not become wrong in story. The improvements have to come from within you. Only if you feel that a character is not quite there, or an expression is out of place, will you be able to alter the writing to make it better. If someone else has to help you improve, he has to know you first.  We would like to bring objectivity into every damn thing in the world. But objectivity is an illusion; particularly when it comes to stories and writers. Stories cannot be understood separately from their writers.

I just repeat what I said earlier. Keep writing.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

“Good evening, Miss!” Karishma mechanically responded with “Good evening” to the greeting as she hurried out of the school gate. But after a moment she realized that it was an adult voice. So, she stopped and turned around to find a tall, fair man whose smiling blue eyes and mischievous grin were unmistakable. “Akash!”

“How are you, Karishma?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Meeting up and surprising old friends. I am back in India.”

“Wow! That’s great. Listen. I have to leave today. Have an appointment I can’t miss. Can we catch up later?”

“All right. Busy woman! Is your number still the same?”

“Yes. It’s the same.”

“I will call you.”

“Sure. See you.”

—

“You look lost, Krystal.”

“I… I’m sorry. Looks like you were working here,” she looked at the table strewn with several loose sheets of papers.

“Yeah. Sometimes it is important to get away from the humbug of office.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled sweetly.

“Krystal. I don’t know your real name, I don’t know who you are, what you do… It’s not like I can ever find you in this sea of humanity called Mumbai. You can’t possibly invite any risk if you talked about your day with me.”

She chuckled, “What do you want to know about my day?”

“Why were you so lost?”

“Met an old friend. Was thinking about the old days.”

“Let me guess. An old boyfriend?”

She shrugged.

“Do I see some regret there?”

“No regrets. We parted on good terms, with mutual understanding.”

“Right!” he smiled and did not probe further. She had an uncomfortable feeling that he did not believe her. But how did that matter?

—

“So, you are an investment banker now?” Karishma asked, as they sipped coffee sitting in the spacious balcony of Akash’ one-bedroom, but posh apartment. The balcony overlooked swimming pool, which was deserted at that time. The carefully architected greenery in the apartment complex, though not natural, was soothing, even from the dizzying height of the twenty-eighth floor on which Akash stayed.

“Yep. And now even Dad doesn’t tell me to join him in his ball-bearings business.”

Karishma chuckled. That had been Akash’ peeve since college days. His father would hear of nothing other than him joining him in the business. Akash had managed to convince him that an MBA from US would be helpful if he were to join the business. That’s what had kept him away from India for last two years. Now he had come back to join the Mumbai office of one of the big investment firms.

“Why did you come back at all?”

“I missed India.”

“Hmm…”

“And I missed you.”

She laughed self-consciously.

“How is the teaching treating you?” he continued the conversation.

“Fairly well.”

“Are you in touch with other people from college?”

“Some of them, yeah. Don’t get much time to meet up though.”

“We will correct that. I am back now. And I’d host enough parties for people to get together frequently.”

She laughed softly. The evening wore on. Akash did the talking for most part. He related his experiences in the US, narrating them in an entertaining, funny way that was his trademark; that had won her heart four years ago.

When Karishma entered her home that evening, she felt strangely depressed.

—

“Why are you calling me now?” she was furious at Bittu.

“I’m sorry K. I don’t usually do it. But your regular has been insisting that he should meet you today. He doesn’t want a lot of time. I told him you are not available today. But he won’t let me off if I didn’t ask you once.”

“But…”

“Please try, K. He has been good, hasn’t he? He doesn’t even want all three hours. If you are okay, he would meet you over coffee. He will pay the full amount.”

“What time?”

“Six or seven.”

“Fine. I will manage. Where?”

“Same hotel as last time. Coffee shop.”

—

“I’m sorry,” he looked genuinely apologetic, as he discreetly pushed an envelope in her hands.

“What is it? This was unexpected,” her annoyance was evident.

“I know. But I just had to talk to you.”

She nodded.

“Let’s get a table and order some coffee.”

She followed him to a corner table.

“I needed to see you because I am going to be away for four weeks.”

She will have to see other clients!

“Oh!”

But she was not his girlfriend. He didn’t need to inform her.

“I know that this is an odd request. And you do not have to agree to it. But I will make it anyway. Can you… not see… others in the meanwhile?”

Odd was the request! She wasn’t doing it for finding love or a monogamous relationship. She was doing it for money.

“I will pay for those eight days, of course.”

Of course?

Her face coloured. This wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation that you learned how to tackle while growing up. She desperately tried to think of a way to answer him. If he is paying…

“I guess… That should be fine by me. But you really want that?”

“Yes,” he was unhesitant.

“I have to leave now.”

“Yes. But wait…” he opened his briefcase and took out a envelope thicker than usual.

“For next eight meetings,” he said as he handed it to her.

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

It took me some time to write again. Because your last mail really challenged me and made me think. You said that stories cannot be understood separately from their writers.  That sounds ominous. For the story writers, as well as the readers. If you need to know the writer to understand his stories, a writer would have a very limited audience. And I wonder what I have been doing as a reader till now. I don’t know you. So, is all I have understood of your stories wrong and pointless? Is reading pointless then? If you don’t know the writer, why read the story? And if you do know the writer, why read the story?

Sincerely
Karishma

—

To be continued

Unusual Places (Part 3)

Posted Mish1 CommentPosted in English, Karishma-Siddharth, Original

“How many hours a day do you work?” Krystal was back to see Siddhartha on Tuesday. He looked exhausted. She offered him a shoulder massage and he readily accepted it.

“Umm… Most of the waking hours… Sixteen… May be eighteen hours…” he twitched a little as she continued to massage.

“O. M. G. And you still make time for…”

“What? What did you say?”

“I… I’m sorry. It’s none of my business how you manage your time…”

“No. Not that. What did you say at first? OMG? What does that mean?”

“Oh! That? Nothing special. It’s an abbreviation for ‘Oh My God’.”

“Why would you want to abbreviate ‘Oh My God’?”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. Everybody does it these days.”

“Everyone?”

“Well… Not you, obviously. But everyone around me.”

“Everyone your age, then?”

“Probably.”

“But why? Is it in the same league as writing ‘u’ for ‘you’, ‘4m’ for ‘from’?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Wow! You really want to find out.”

“I do. You know, I reject many young candidates when they write an e-mail like this for job applications. How difficult it can be to type ‘your’ instead of ‘ur’?”

“Umm… It probably originates from SMS. Typing there is pretty difficult. Every abbreviation helps.”

“Hmm… Interesting. Although I don’t know why would you want to type so much on SMS.”

“How else do you keep in touch with friends?”

Siddhartha laughed out loud, “Why? You think people didn’t keep in touch with friends before SMSes? Even now, using the same mobile, can’t you just call your friends up?”

“Calling up costs money.”

“SMS doesn’t?”

“There are unlimited SMS packs.”

“Ah! So, that’s the culprit.”

“Is it that bad?”

“What?”

“The abbreviations? OMG and likes?”

“I can live with OMG, I suppose. But if you ever write me an e-mail, please do capitalize your ‘I’ and don’t write ‘ur’ for ‘your’.”

“Hmm…”

Siddhartha had expected her to laugh or be amused. But she looked thoughtful. “That would be enough,” he stopped her from continuing the massage, “I feel much better already. Thanks a lot.”

“You are welcome,” she came out of her thoughts and flashed a smile. Then she came around and sat beside him. “How was your day?” she asked.

“Pretty frustrating, to be honest,” the quickness with which he replied told her that conversation and company were indeed what he really wanted. Although why he wouldn’t have sex, when he could, was incomprehensible.

“Why would you be dishonest about it?”

“Huh? Oh,” he chuckled when he realized that she was just playing on his words. “Now that you have asked, there is indeed a reason to be dishonest about it. For most part when people ask ‘how are you’ or ‘how was your day’, they don’t really want to hear the reality of your life or your day. They expect ‘fine’ or ‘good’ as an answer.”

“But your day was frustrating?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There is this government deal I am trying to close. But some people there are just being a pain. And my assistant is useless. I think I need to fire him too.”

“What did he do?” she smiled at him, but felt a chill within. How insensitive was he about someone’s job? If he did indeed fire his assistant, and if that guy had a family to look after…

“Can’t even ensure that a form is filled as per the instructions. Government departments are enough of jerks for insisting on all these antiquated forms. But this guy makes my life difficult by messing up.”

“That’s… odd…”

“Odd?”

“Yeah,” she smiled self-consciously, “I mean… I didn’t think people like you have to worry about petty things like filling up a form right.”

“You sure have not witnessed enough pettiness. Anyway. Enough about my crappy day. How was your day?”

“Mine?” she was taken by surprise, “Mine was fine… I guess…”

“You guess?”

“It was fine, I mean. Like any other day. And I didn’t have to fill up any forms. So… I escaped unharmed.”

“Didn’t you say, you were studying Mathematics?”

“Yes.”

“I think you were lying?”

“Why?” she looked alarmed.

“Because you sound like an English major.”

“Oh!” she was relieved; and then laughed to join his joke.

“I would have loved to be an English major.”

“You aren’t then. Why? What did you study?”

“Engineering, then MBA.”

“Why not English?”

“That won’t have helped running the family business.”

“Hmm…”

“You are not sympathizing at all,” he complained jocularly.

“Sympathize? For what?”

“Umm… that I wasn’t allowed to do what I wanted to do under family pressure?”

“First world problem, they call it, don’t they?”

“Is that what you think it is?”

“I… I don’t know. Who am I to judge?”

“You have more basic problems then? Money, I presume.”

“Why do you want to waste your time discussing my problems? That isn’t the point here, right?”

“No. It isn’t. I’m sorry. I got curious. TV?”

“Sure.”

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I think I need to apologize for my previous letter. It broke all the conventions of letter-writing. But I got so excited on receiving your letter that I wasn’t thinking.

Still, I do hope that you would take some time to give me an honest feedback on my writing. I’m sure it needs some tearing apart.

Sincerely,
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

Your obsession with me tearing apart your writing is amusing. Why do you think I was dishonest when I said that I enjoyed your stories? I did enjoy those.

Keep writing, talk to publishers and seek their feedback. That is what will decide whether you can make a name for yourself in this big, bad world.

Best Wishes
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I apologize if I came across as accusing you of dishonesty in my last letter. That was not my intention at all. I am happy that you enjoyed my stories and did not tear them apart. But those are definitely not an epitome of perfection. There must be a way of taking feedback and improving, isn’t there? What is it?

Sincerely
Karishma

—

“So, what do you do apart from your Mathematics studies?” Siddhartha asked.

“I like reading.”

“You do? What have you read recently?”

“Haven’t gotten much time recently. But couple of months back I read a very interesting book called Dozakhnama.”

“Thanks God! You didn’t mention the best-selling writer of our time.”

She chuckled, “I have read him. Two of his books. But can’t stand anymore.”

“You did stand two books. Bravo!”

“You really hate him?”

He laughed, “For good or for bad, he has changed the publishing and book-reading in this country.”

“He is creating many first time readers. You have to credit him for that.”

“I wonder if they graduate to reading anything else. I doubt.”

“Hmm…”

“What else have you read?”

“Some mystery and crime fiction before that. And a romance novel called One Day.”

“I have read that one. I think it was interestingly written.”

“You also read a lot then.”

“I like reading too. Yes.”

“Funny!”

“Funny?” his brows arched.

“That you should detest the best-selling writer of our time. And still watch soaps.”

“Video as a medium is created for idiots, or for the idiot-moments of intelligent people. Anything they put in a video doesn’t offend me. But written words – that’s different. That should be respected.”

“It’s time for your soap.”

“Yeah. Sit down, here. Let’s see if the spilled milk has been mopped up yet,” he said as he switched on the TV, making her chuckle.

—

To be continued

Unusual Places (Part 2)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Karishma-Siddharth, Original

But he had switched the TV on again, by the time she was back. He made her sit next to him, and put his arms around her. She watched the soap occasionally shooting a curious glance at him. He seemed oblivious of it.

“I need to leave in fifteen minutes,” she informed him when it was time.

“Yeah. I gave you the envelope, right?”

“Yeah,” that’s not why she had reminded him of the time. He was indeed not in the mood, then. Or had she failed? In her first assignment?

“How many days do you work?” he asked.

“Two.”

“Which days?”

“Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Hmm…”

—

“Karishma. Breakfast is ready,” her mother shouted from the kitchen. Karishma packed her stuff hurriedly. She was late by half-an-hour in waking up and was rushing to reach school in time.

“Mummy. Pack it for me. I will eat it in school,” she hollered back.

“What about lunch, then?”

“Pack that too. In some paper or polythene.” There was no spare tiffin box at home, she knew that.

“Didi,” Kunal, her younger brother, appeared at the door of her room.

“Yes Kunnu?” she was impatient.

“Didi,” he looked apologetic and guilty, “Today is the last day for paying exam fees.”

“Oh! Right. I’m so sorry….”

“Do you have the money? I know your salary hasn’t come yet…”

She smiled at him, “Don’t look so sad, Kunnu. Here is your fee.”

“Didi. Can’t I help? I can take up some part-time job…”

“If you do that now, and neglect your studies, we’d always be in such penury. Don’t worry. I know that last couple of years have been difficult. Even my salary isn’t much. But I will manage. Do me a favour though. We have run out of Papa’s medicine, right? Take his prescription with you and buy the medicines while coming back,” she handed him some more cash from her purse. Kunal looked at her curiously, but didn’t say anything.

“What the…” she looked at her watch, “I need to rush, Kunnu. Bye.”

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

There is not much about myself that is worthy of your attention. I am just a huge fan of your books and have been immensely inspired by your writing.

In writing to you, I have acted almost on an impulse. I got hold of your address unexpectedly and then could not avoid the temptation. You might be wondering what could a faceless, nameless girl have to say to you. Not much really. I can only add a bit to the adulation you probably already feel smothered with. So, I won’t do that. I am going to do something more audacious instead. As I said, I am an inspired fan. I am attaching some of the stories I have written. If you ever read them, would you please drop me note about how you found them? Even if you tear them apart, hearing from you would mean a lot to me.

By the time I had discovered your novels, you had already stopped writing. Reading another book of yours would be a dream come true.

Sincerely
Karishma Gupta

—

Krystal couldn’t believe she was to go to Siddhartha Sen again. After their last meeting, on her first day of ‘work’, she had concluded that she had been a disaster. She had tried to be relaxed, witty, and her usual self, as Bittu had repeatedly emphasized. “Sex is just a part of it. What these men look for, really, is company. Make them feel comfortable. But don’t act too subservient. Act like a companion. They don’t want sex-dolls. That’s why they come to us, and not go to someone in Kamathipura. And that’s why you earn so much. It’s all about the class, the elegance.” She thought she had failed. He had withdrawn from her. Why did he want to see her again? Especially when he didn’t like to have any girl regularly.  At least that’s what Bittu had said. “He is a 5-star client. All the girls have only positive things to say about him. He calls only about once a month. But never haggles. And he doesn’t want anyone again. Don’t be nervous. No hanky-panky here.” And indeed, there had been no “hanky-panky”. After coming out of his room last time, she had clutched on to the envelope he had given her. She wasn’t sure she would see any money again. He wouldn’t say anything nice about her to Bittu, would he? What had gotten her thinking that she was beautiful or charming enough for this profession?

But Bittu had sent her a message in the afternoon. He wanted to see her again. And she was on her way to his room in a five-star hotel.

—

“Hi,” he smiled like he was meeting a friend. She was confused, but managed to smile back pleasantly. After depositing the envelope he gave in her purse, she followed him to the couch. The one in this hotel was more comfortable.

“So, you want to watch a soap again?” she spoke with normalcy that she didn’t feel at all.

“Unless you prefer cricket match.”

“There is a match going on?”

“I think so. With New Zealand.”

“I don’t mind cricket,” she said and didn’t ask him what he preferred. ‘Don’t act too subservient. Act like a companion,’ she remembered the diktat well.

“You like cricket?”

“I do. Why are your surprised?”

“Women don’t, in general.”

She laughed, “Same can be said about men and soaps too.”

“Fair enough. Match then.”

“Do you like cricket though?” Not acting subservient could not possibly mean being insensitive, she reasoned.

“I do. A lot.”

The pitch was bad and they were slow to take runs. She didn’t realize when she drifted off to sleep. The couch was too comfortable!

She was woken up by Siddhartha fifteen minutes before his time with her was up.

“I am so sorry!” she jumped out of the couch on realizing what had happened, “You should have woken me up.”

“It’s okay. You were tired, obviously.”

—

Dear Ms. Gupta,

Thank you for writing to me and for sending your stories. I enjoyed reading them. Keep writing.

All the best.
Mathan

—

OMG. You actually read those. Already? Since you have already taken the pains of reading, can I please request you to give me an honest feedback? I am prepared for even the most brutal tearing apart of my stories.

Thanks a lot for replying, and please call me Karishma.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

To be continued

Unusual Places (Part 1)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Karishma-Siddharth, Original

“Hi, Mr. Sen. I am Krystal,” the girl at the door was dressed casually. ‘Stunning’ was not the word to describe her. The right word was ‘lovely’. But Krystal? That was a dampener. Siddhartha understood their need to assume a fake name, but they could do better with that. He would rather have a Seeta, Geeta, Rama – any of those usual names rather than Krystals and Pearls and Natashas of the world.

“Come in,” he stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind them. She was dressed casually. A blue denim jeans and black top. The attire was figure hugging, but didn’t scream prostitute! That’s what he liked about Bittu’s girls. They didn’t come looking ridiculous and inviting suspicion.

She appeared lost and confused once inside, but tried to put up a confident smile when he looked at her. He gave her an envelope, which she deposited in her purse. “Sit down,” he sat on the couch and motioned her to sit next to him. She sat at some distance. Then she appeared to realize what she was there for and shifted closer.

“Shall I get you a drink?” he asked.

“No. I am fine,” she was growing more nervous by the moment. None of them ever accepted drinks. Part of their safe practices. Good for them. “You look tired,” she remarked. Practiced and edgy, Siddhartha thought to himself. Quite unexpectedly, he felt a surge of pity for her. What could have brought her here?

“What do you do, Krystal?”

“I… I am studying.”

“Studying what?”

“M. Sc. in Mathematics.”

“That’s good. But why do this? What’s the compulsion?”

“Who are you? A cop or a reporter?” she chuckled unselfconsciously, unaffected by her nervousness.

It brought a smile to his face, “Neither. Just curious. You don’t have to talk about yourself, if you don’t want to.”

The ice was broken. She no longer looked anxious. “Yes. That’s a given. I am not here to talk about myself. What do you want me to do?”

This sudden transition from anxiety to straightforwardness took him by surprise. “Well…” Get into the bed with me? “Do you mind watching TV for some time?”

“I like TV.”

“What do you like on TV?”

“Movies. Singing and dancing reality shows.”

“Not the soaps?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t get time. Can’t follow them regularly. And they aren’t that good anyway.”

“That’s a pity.”

“You watch soaps?” her eyes widened in natural surprise.

“Some of them. Not regularly. Don’t get time. But they are slow. So, even if I catch a few episodes here and there it works.”

“Wow!”

“Wow?”

“Not many men would acknowledge that they watch soaps, even if they did indeed watch them.”

‘Not to their girl-friends,’ he thought inwardly. “So?”

“Let’s watch a soap. If you find them interesting enough, there is no reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Huh?” he raised an eyebrow, “What does that mean?”

“What I mean is that you are definitely intellectually superior to me. So, if they are interesting enough for you, they should be interesting enough for me.”

“Clever,” he said and switched on the TV. He fiddled around with the remote until he found the channel he wanted. A young woman in heavy saree, jewellery and make-up was getting scolded by a group of elderly women for spilling some milk. Apparently it signified everything from her lack of respect for housework and elders to some calamity that would befall the family.

She didn’t have any context of the show to make sense of the scene. She stifled a yawn. When he emptied his glass, she used this opportunity to get away, ostensibly to get him a refill. He had only been drinking bear. So, no bartending skills were required. A commercial break came and he muted the TV. She felt his eyes on him, but continued refilling the glass. Just as she was returning, she noticed an open envelope on the fridge. She read the name on it and was surprised.

“Is something the matter?” Siddhartha asked.

“Is this envelope here yours?”

“No. They didn’t do a good job of cleaning the room. Must be that of the previous guest. Will you please throw it in the dustbin?”

She appeared reluctant to do so, but obliged him anyway. She looked at the envelope closely for a while before dropping it in the dustbin.

The commercial break was over by the time she sat down again. The scene on the TV screen had changed. And this one made her fidget. Someone was still getting scolded. But this time the complaint was about the girl’s character.  “What have you been doing, you whore?” a man was shouting. “Sleeping around to warm up your purse!”

Siddhartha sensed her unease and switched off the television. She looked immensely vulnerable. He held her and caressed her arms and neck. ‘No kissing,’ he reminded himself as he drew her closer. That was one of the rules Bittu was upfront about. “They are not your girl-friends. They are there to please you. But anything that could even remotely be harmful to you or them is off-limits. They will always carry condoms and if you refuse, the deal is off. No refunds.”

Unknown to herself, she clenched her teeth. She was nervous again. Siddhartha could not proceed. Something inside him was telling him not to. He withdrew and said calmly, “Actually, I am not in the mood. Do you mind if we just talked?”

She looked confused for a moment, but quickly gathered herself together. “Yeah. Why not?”

“You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“No. Why do you like watching the soaps?” she asked to draw his attention away from the drink. Why was he asking for the drinks repeatedly? He was an old-timer with Bittu. Surely, he knew the rules!

He did know the rules. The problem was that he wasn’t sure where to start the conversation that he had committed himself to. Her question rescued him.

“People say that these soaps are unrealistic. Part of it is. The background music, and that makeup and all those jewelleries early in the morning – they are unrealistic. But the basic pettiness of human mind is not. Fighting over spilt milk – that’s pretty much what people do in life.”

She chuckled. “Not people like you.”

“Why do you say so?” he asked sardonically.

“You have important things to do. Those huge companies to run, all the public work, so much depends on you…”

“And yet I am surrounded by people who fight over a little spilt milk. Or worse still, who spill the milk so that they can blame others for it, fight over it, and move up in life after winning that fight.”

She was surprised and impressed at the same time. “That’s so… unexpected.”

“Why? What do you think? That people running companies, or even countries, are somehow above the human weaknesses?”

“A bit at least. I would hope so. That the companies, the institutions, the countries are in capable hands.”

He laughed, “Good for you. Good to have hopes.” He gulped down the remaining bear and stretched his hand towards her. She took the glass from him and went to refill it. “The way you walk,” he said after her, “It reminds me of somebody. I can’t recall who, though.”

“I hope it is someone pleasant,” she replied and wondered at how drunk he sounded. With just two glasses of beer? Probably he was drinking since much before she came. And probably getting drunk was what it took to get him in the mood. She braced herself for the act!

—

To be continued

Ultimate Reunion (Epilogue)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“I will also have coffee,” Sumedha declared excitedly. Mukundo and Piyali had spoken to Debangi. After initial shock and hesitation, she had been on cloud nine. She had sent them out while she prepared an elaborate dinner for them. She refused to let even Piyali help. “He would want to see Darjeeling, right? You take him around. And the child too. The hostels are so suffocating and restrictive.” So, they were spending the afternoon in the city and had walked into a coffee shop.

“Since when did you start drinking coffee?” Mukundo frowned.

“Since you sent me to the hostel and made me eat this horrible mess food,” she replied with mock insolence and pouted.

He looked at his daughter with a mixture of regret and fondness. She was sitting across him, next to Piyali. Piyali patted her head and said, “Don’t worry. No more mess food for you now. You will make me her official guardian, won’t you, Mukundo Babu? She will live with me and be a day scholar.”

“But… Won’t we all just go back to Kolkata?”

“Not until she finishes +2. This isn’t the time to change schools. We will practise together in the morning, right Sumedha? You can also shift here and join us, if you want to,” she gave him a challenging look.

“All right,” he threw up his hands, “I am at the mercy of you two. Whatever you decide.”

The waiter came and he ordered cappuccinos for all of them.

“And French Fries,” Sumedha added and Mukundo nodded.

Sumedha choked on the first sip of coffee.

“What happened?” Piyali asked, alarmed.

“This is so… bitter.”

“Strong,” Piyali and Mukundo said in chorus and then broke into laughter when they looked at each other.

“What happened?” Sumedha was puzzled.

“Nothing. Let’s get you some extra milk,” Piyali replied and called the waiter, barely able to suppress her grin.

“Yeah. The coffee in the canteen is much milkier.”

Piyali and Mukundo looked at each other again, amused at old recollections.

The bill was to be paid at the counter. Mukundo asked them to wait while he made the payment.

“It was some private joke, wasn’t it, Miss?” Sumedha asked Piyali, when they were alone.

“What?”

“Strong coffee?”

Piyali smiled nervously.

“It’s so good to see him like this,” Sumedha continued, “I had given up all hope. You have no idea how much I have missed him. And practising with him.”

Piyali’s eyes grew moist. “I know, Sumedha. I know exactly how you felt.” She held her hands, “I had lost my father when I was your age. Be happy. You have your father back.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “Thanks to you, Miss.”

She caressed her cheek and said, “You can call me, Piyali.”

“Or…” she hesitated, “I know you are not that old, but may be… Ma?”

Piyali was too surprised to react for a moment. Then an overwhelming feeling engulfed her. She pulled Sumedha towards her and pressed her to her bosom. She had reconciled herself to the idea of not experiencing motherhood long back. But here was her chance. She kissed her head.

When she let her go, she realized that Mukundo was standing behind them and had heard them. He bent down and planted a kiss on each of their heads. “I know I have been weak, and inadequate, all these years. I have hurt you both a lot. But I promise that I will make up for it. Your happiness is the only thing I will live and die for from now on.”

“That’s enough, Mukundo Babu,” Piyali looked up at him with her moist, but smiling eyes, “The last thing I want anyone to live with in my family is guilt. Promise me, you won’t think about the past.”

“I promise.” All three of them smiled joyfully.

– The End –

Ultimate Reunion (Part 11)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Piyali was done with her classes. She led Mukundo to her favourite hideout – the spinney.

“Why did it fall apart, Mukundo Babu?” she asked on their way, “Did your wife find out… about us?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Even if she did, it wasn’t her problem.”

“Huh?”

“Because according to her promiscuity was a given with the artists. ‘I don’t care who you sleep with,’ she had said.”

Piyali looked uncertain on how to react to that.

“Do you also think so?” he asked, “That because I am an artist, I go around sleeping with women.”

“No,” she said, “The way you beat yourself up over one, I can’t imagine you would survive sleeping with many women.”

He smiled sadly. “Apparently she had grown up seeing her father’s rather colourful love life. She doesn’t see him with the same lens as I do. Had I been blind with my respect for my guru?”

“That’s possible, right? She was his daughter. She would know more.”

“Hmm…”

“And probably Pandit ji knew that you weren’t like him. And that’s why he had wanted his daughter to be married to you – to a good man. Carrying the legacy was just… an alibi?”

“Hmm… Why couldn’t you learn from Pandit ji, Piyali? What was the problem?”

She gulped, “I… I don’t know.”

“Was it the money? Because he won’t take a student for lower or no fee?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“I just want to know.”

“I don’t know for sure. But that might be the case. When Gayatri Ma had mentioned me going to you, I was hesitant. I told her, I couldn’t afford the fees. She had said that you weren’t like Pandit ji in that regard.”

Mukundo sighed, “He hadn’t started with a silver spoon in his mouth. He can’t be blamed, can he?”

“Not at all. I don’t blame him. If my Baba was half as practical as him, our lives would have been different. I would have performed much earlier. With you…”

“Why didn’t you perform?”

“Don’t judge her for this, Mukundo Babu, but Ma hated the idea. The penury Baba had left us in, she couldn’t trust music to be the source of our livelihoods any more. ‘Even if the money comes,’ she would say, ‘It lasts as long as the fame does. And that can disappear any time.’”

“Can’t blame her. She is right.”

“Yes.”

“But she doesn’t mind now?”

“This job has helped, Mukundo Babu. It has turned things around. She feels much more secure now. Even if I had earned ten-times as much by performing, she wouldn’t have been at peace.”

They stayed silent for a while and then she picked up the original thread again. “It couldn’t have been your decision to end the marriage. What was her problem then, if not me? Your wife’s?”

“That I had stopped performing and was becoming a nobody.”

“Really?”

“Not exactly her words. But that’s what it had come down to ultimately.”

“And she left Sumedha behind?”

He nodded and they grew silent again.

He looked around when they reached the spinney and asked with a smile, “So, this is your favourite place in all of Darjeeling?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you do here?”

“I come here. And think about things, people, who are supposedly not a part of my life any longer.”

“I see. Like?”

“Like I thought about you. Training your students. Enchanting your audience with your performances. Preparing your daughter to carry forward your legacy.”

Mukundo averted his eyes. He had failed her.

“I was so angry at you, Mukundo Babu, when I saw Sumedha here and spoke to her. There was one thing I didn’t want to be responsible for. Taking her father away from her. And you made me guilty of that. I am sorry that your marriage broke down, but did you stop being a father? How could you send her away?”

“I failed you, I failed her, Piyali. But it wasn’t your doing. Why should you feel guilty?”

“You think that is satisfactory enough? Why had you stopped performing?”

“Piyali!”

“Last time it was one week that you didn’t talk to me and put me through hell. This time it has been five years that you didn’t talk to me and put everyone through hell. Why, Mukundo Babu?”

He took a few moments to start answering that, “I also thought about you, Piyali. A lot. I also imagined what your life was like. And I imagined you… Falling in love… With someone your age, suitable for you, who made you laugh, who made you happy, who didn’t rudely turn you away for being late by two minutes, someone whom your family approved. I imagined you as a bride, turning over a new leaf. I couldn’t imagine gate crashing this beautiful party and spoiling it all.”

Piyali got tears in her eyes. “Shut up,” was all she managed to say through her choked throat.

“When you turned up at the guest house yesterday, at my door, I forgot everything and hugged you. And then I felt like an idiot. How presumptuous I was being, after imagining all that through years! What if you were married? Or had someone in your life? Why was I behaving like we were professed lovers and you were waiting for me…”

She frowned at him and turned away muttering, “I hate you.”

“You should,” he came around so that they were face to face again, “Why aren’t you married yet? Engaged?”

“No. I am not,” she cried and showed him both her hands in irritation. There were no rings on any of the fingers, “What’s wrong with you? What do you want to hear?”

“I want to know. Why not? Surely your family would want you to…”

“Among other things, if you need a rational answer, it is this. I can’t get pregnant.”

“What?”

“Something, somewhere is weak and it can’t be cured,” she shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. Mukundo recalled the time when he had dropped her home and she had tried to look as nonchalant – about her poverty!

“Fine. But it doesn’t have to be the end of the deal, Piyali.”

“It is the end of the deal as far as arranged marriages are concerned. And I am not exactly going to fall in love… Again!”

“So, you won’t get married.”

“No,” she replied sounding annoyed.

“What will you do then? Become the mistress of a promiscuous artist?”

She didn’t see him smiling and reacted angrily, “I am not going to be anyone’s mistress.” Then she looked up and realized that he was teasing her. She bit her lips and started looking down.

He held her shoulder, “Piyali. I…”

She stepped back. “Don’t. Sumedha wants her mother back. She will never accept me.”

“But she wants me to propose to you.”

She looked up to find him smiling, while his eyes were moist. “You are not serious!” She was incredulous.

“She asked me if I loved you.”

She stared at him agape.

“Yes. That was my reaction too,” he chuckled slightly, “But she is old enough to understand.”

“What did she say?”

“She said that she had been stupid to expect her mother to be back. And that what she really wanted was… a family… A complete family. And she was all praises for you. More than I could ever have been. She loves you, Piyali. You have been so supportive to her. You have won her heart.”

Piyali’s eyes grew moist.

He smiled in amusement as he continued, “And she assured me that the gossip engine in the campus is strong enough for the students to know everything scandalous about the teachers. So, she was sure that you weren’t engaged, nor had a boyfriend.”

That made Piyali laugh. “This has to be the weirdest match-making possible.”

“You can’t imagine how weird it was for me. But I am not complaining. I have to be sure though. Will you marry me, Piyali Banerjee?”

“Yes,” she was laughing and crying at the same time.

“Will your mother agree?”

“She will have her issues. That’s her right. But if she came around for music, you are very eligible groom, Mukundo Babu. And anyway, when she knows…” She suddenly grew silent and thoughtful. She knew that once her mother gets to know about her problem, she would agree to any groom she could find, but…

“What happened?” Mukundo asked, worried.

“It… It was so stupid of me… That inability to get pregnant was not a joke, Mukundo Babu. Why did I assume it won’t matter to you…”

“I am curious. You had already known it when we had… That’s how you were sure that you won’t get pregnant.”

She nodded and recalled how emotionally he had reacted to the idea of their having a child. Her heart sank at the thought of his disappointment.

“That’s convenient, then, isn’t it?” he joked, “We don’t have to think about if, when, how many…”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be crass. If you want a child, we will have one. Adoption, test-tube baby, surrogate whatever you want. But this isn’t the moment to be spoiled by thinking about all that, Piyali. I want you before anything else in life. Once I have you, I won’t need anything else in my life. Not even a child. I am not stuck up on carrying the legacy. It has wasted too much of my life.”

She leaned on him, hiding her face in his chest and he encircled her in his arms. He could already imagine the three of them practising together – him, Piyali and Sumedha. At five in the morning. Like old days. He smiled with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

– The End –

Ultimate Reunion (Part 10)

Posted Mish3 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Piyali had checked on Sumedha. She was busy with her friends in the preparation for evening’s programme. Other teachers were helping with preparation of costumes and stage. Piyali figured that she could take a break before the final round of stage practice for musical event. She walked to the nearby guesthouse where Mukundo was staying and rang the bell with trembling hands.

Mukundo opened the door expecting it to be Sumedha and got the surprise of his life. Wordlessly he took her appearance in. She had changed. At twenty-five she looked like a mature woman compared to the twenty-year-old girl he remembered. Age and a more prosperous lifestyle, where she didn’t have to eat stale food for three of her four meals, and run around entire day between college, tuitions and music practice, had filled her up just right and it was accentuated by the warm clothes cold Darjeeling weather demanded.

His face contorted with overwhelming emotions. “Piyali!” he barely managed a whisper as a lump formed in his throat. Against his better judgement, he hugged her right there, at the door. She didn’t resist. The corridor was empty and no one was around.

“Oh my God,” he said as he released her, “I don’t know what am I doing. Will you… come in… Of course… Please come in…” He let her in and locked the door behind them. “Let me see you to my heart’s content,” he held her at arm’s distance, “You look well, Piyali.”

“But you don’t,” he was clean-shaven and well-groomed as usual. But years of neglect and depression was showing. He looked weak. His cheeks had grown hollow and there were dark circles around his eyes.

“I am just getting older,” he evaded.

“Hmm… Older indeed!” she didn’t know how to start talking to him about things that really mattered.

“Are you the music teacher, then? Was it your idea?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The thought had occurred to me once. Darjeeling. Residential school. But I didn’t think you would be teaching music.”

“I am the Maths teacher actually. Filling up for the music teacher, because we have none right now.”

“Hmm…”

“Why did you stop performing, Mukundo Babu?”

His face darkened.

“So much happened, and you didn’t think it right to talk to me at least once? One letter? I had left you my address.”

Mukundo stayed silent. He wasn’t prepared for this meeting. He didn’t know where to start.

Piyali sighed and made to leave.

“You are going?” he asked miserably.

“I have to go right now. Mukundo Babu. I am planning to perform tonight. For the first time on stage. I am nervous, obviously. If you come on stage with me, it will make me very happy. This is a charity show; so do not expect to earn your usual remuneration. But I am still asking.”

—

Sumedha’s performance was over and she was sitting with her father in the audience. Piyali walked on the stage. She sought out her mother first. She almost looked happy today to see her on the stage. If her father had only been a little practical about life, Debangi might not have hated music after all. Then she sought Mukundo out. His eyes were glued to her.  She started the performance after silently seeking blessings from Goddess Saraswati, her father, her teacher Gayatri Devi, who was no longer alive, and him. There was a loud applause when her song ended. She sought him out again and saw him saying something to his daughter. Then they got up from their seats and started walking out. Her heart thumped like it had in the initial days of meeting him. She lingered around on the stage and surely! There he was. Walking on to the stage. She picked up the mike and made an announcement.

“Ladies and Gentleman. What I am going to announce now should result in voluntary doubling of revenue from this event.” It drew a chuckle from the audience and she continued after they were silent again, “The music lovers amongst you, even if you can’t recognize his face right now, would not fail to recognize his name. Today you are going to listen to the performance of Mukundo Thakur.” Piyali could feel the excited murmur of recognition from the audience. And then they broke into a louder applause than ever earlier during the programme. The other organizers were looking at each other is surprise.

She offered him the mike in case he wanted to say something. But he refused and took his seat on the stage. “You must stay,” he told her and she nodded. Putting the announcement mike back in its place, she sat down beside him and the performance started.

—

“Baba!” Sumedha ran excitedly to him and hugged him, “You are performing again?”

“Yes,” he ran his hand over her hair and replied with a smile.

“Will Ma come back, then? Can we go home?”

Mukundo blanched visibly and Piyali’s happy countenance also stiffened. She broke the awkward silence.

“You can’t just leave school in the middle of the term, can you Sumedha?” Piyali put up a smile.

Sumedha was old enough to know that she had reacted hastily. She changed the topic, “You are taking me out for dinner, aren’t you Baba? I am tired of the mess food.”

“Of course Shona. We can go right away,” his eyes silently apologized to Piyali for not spending the time with her. She blinked in assurance.

“You must also come, Miss,” Sumedha surprised them with her offer.

“Oh no! It’s your father-daughter time,” Piyali refused graciously.

“Please come. Without you…”

“Please,” Mukundo also added and Piyali could not refuse.

—

“Sumedha. Come in. What brings you here early in the morning? I thought you would be with your Baba.”

“I had just come to say thanks to you.”

“What for?”

“For making him perform. Now that everyone knows about Baba, I am suddenly a celebrity in the school. For being his daughter,” she smiled.

Piyali chuckled, “What did I do? You brought him here.”

“Yes. But you made him perform. It changes so many things…”

“Yeah… But Sumedha. About your mother…”

“I know. It was stupid of me, wasn’t it? She isn’t coming back.”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just miss having a… family.”

Piyali’s heart went out to the girl. “Come here,” she gave her a tight hug. “Don’t worry. Things will be all right.”

“Miss. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think it was Baba’s fault that this… happened? This breaking down…”

“I don’t know what exactly happened, Sumedha. And I don’t want to judge your mother either. But I know that your father is a gem of a person. Even if it were his fault, in your place, I will forgive him.”

She smiled and nodded. “I will leave now, Miss. I am having breakfast with him.”

“Sure. Run along. And don’t bunk your classes.”

“I won’t. Bye Miss.”

—

To be continued

Ultimate Reunion (Part 9)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

5 years later.

Piyali was surprised to hear her sing. That was Mukundo’s favourite way to use vivadi swar in his compositions. The school was organizing a charity show. Their music teacher had left before the term started and so for the time being she was filling up for her and auditioning students.

“What’s your name?” she asked after the girl finished performing.

“Sumedha Thakur.”

Piyali forgot to breathe for a moment.What was she doing here? Why would Mukundo Babu send his daughter to a hostel and not train her with him?

“You are well-trained in classical music,” she said hoping that she sounded casual.

“Thank you, Miss,” she replied. From their practice sessions, which she sometimes joined, Piyali remembered her as a vivacious child. Why was she looking so sad and sombre? Growing up? Homesickness?

“You have joined in this term?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Which class?”

“Standard eleventh.”

“That’s a tough one. So much to study. But I would really like you to perform a solo classical piece. You will need to practice a lot…”

“That won’t be a problem, Miss.”

Piyali smiled. Her father’s daughter! But what on earth was she doing here?

—

“Music doesn’t leave you, does it?” Debangi complained when Piyali returned to her house in teachers’ quarters. The house was a perk that came with the job. Debangi’s complain wasn’t like earlier. Now that Piyali had a stable job, which supported them fairly well, she wasn’t as insecure about music ruining their lives as she used to be. Piyali doubling up as the music teacher had made her days hectic; that was the only reason she worried about her.

Piyali smiled at her, “It is a Godsend, Ma. With the extra money, I can buy Priyendra’s laptop without digging into savings. Let’s pray that they don’t find a music teacher for the entire term.” Priyendra was now staying in Pune, pursuing his engineering degree.

“Hmm… And what about you? Do you plan to spend your entire life slaving for us?”

“What are you talking about? Who will I work for, if not you?”

“For yourself. Your own family.”

“Do I have a secret ‘own’ family tucked away somewhere?”

“You know what I mean. If your Baba had not left me so helpless and destitute, you would have been married long back, and I would be playing with a grandchild or two by now.”

“Ma. You can never stop worrying, can you? Until I had this job, you were worried about money. Until Priyendra had gotten admission, you were worried about his future. And now, grand children? Can’t we just be happy for a while? Life is good, isn’t it?”

“And we need to ensure that it remains good. You would need a partner, a support, family…”

“We will see when I feel the need for one.”

“It might be too late…”

“Then I would have learned to live on my own. Ma. Let this be final. I am not planning to get married. So you can cut short on your phone calls. I know what all of those have been for. But please. No. And even if you feel it is your responsibility to pester me, do not do it until Priyendra has finished his studies and gotten a job. I am not leaving you to your sewing and mending again.”

—

Piyali saw her sitting on the stairs in a less used part of the school building.

“Hello!”

She was startled and stood up abruptly. “Miss! Good morning, Miss.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I.. I was just going to the class.”

“Fourth period has started. Almost half-way through now. You have already bunked a class.”

She gulped. “I… I am sorry, Miss. I just didn’t…”

“Relax. Let’s sit down.”

She looked at Piyali incredulously.

“I am not encouraging you to bunk classes,” Piyali clarified. Damn the duties of a teacher! “But you have already bunked one. So, let’s sit down. I wanted to talk to you.”

Piyali sat down and Sumedha followed her gingerly.

“How is Mukundo Babu doing?” Piyali had checked her records and was now completely sure about who she was.

Sumedha was startled. “You know Baba?”

“I had known him. Some years ago. How is he?”

“He is… okay.”

“Did he come to drop you here?”

She shook her head, “Thakuma did.”

“And your Ma?”

Sumedha looked miserable at the question. Then she said slowly, “No. She didn’t come.”

“You miss home, don’t you?”

She nodded and grew emotional.

“Sumedha. What is it?”

She stayed silent.

“Tell me, darling. It’s all right,” five years of teaching and dealing with young students had given Piyali mature, motherly manners. Mukundo would have been surprised to see her like this.

“Nothing.”

“You would have been assigned a counsellor, right?” The school did that for all students.

“Yes.”

“Think of me as one too. Anything you tell me is strictly confidential.”

“How do you know Baba? Does he know you?”

Piyali smiled, “You know me too. You probably don’t remember. You were young. Your Baba and I used to practice. Early in the morning. At five. You were also there very often.”

Sumedha looked at her intently. “I remember… vaguely. Baba used to say you were very hard-working.”

“Like you. And I’m sure your Baba won’t mind if you shared your problems with me.”

She nodded. But before she could say anything, the bell rang.

“Next period. Don’t bunk this one. But will you meet me here, when the classes are over?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Good then. See you. Take care.”

—

Piyali comforted the sobbing girl and walked her to her hostel. She would need some time to come to terms with things herself. She stepped out of the campus. A mud path on the western side of campus led to a spinney. It was a secluded place and Piyali’s favourite spot to spend some quite, contemplative time. After seeing Sumedha off, she needed this time. Things had turned upside down in Mukundo’s life. He had stopped performing. His wife had left them. He still had students, but except for the practice time with them, he kept to himself, drinking and listening to records. The gloominess at the home had gotten to Sumedha, who had slipped into depression. She didn’t do well in her board exams. After that her grandmother had decided that hostel would be better than such home. “At least she would have some cheerful company of her friends,” she had said. Mukundo had been devastated, but he hadn’t objected. “I’m sorry. But your Thakuma is right. Study well,” he had told her when she was leaving for the hostel.

“Why?” Piyali had exclaimed more than questioned.

“I don’t know,” Sumedha had replied.

But Piyali knew – she thought so. How could you be so self-destructive, Mukundo Babu? She cried out loud when she was in her safe, secluded abode.

—

“Ask him to come here, Sumedha. Even if he doesn’t agree to perform, tell him to come and watch you perform.”

“He hadn’t agreed to come to drop me. He said he won’t be able to leave me behind.”

“He will come for the performance. Try it. Seeing him would make you happy, won’t it?”

“Shall I tell him about you?”

“No. Let that be a surprise.” Piyali was afraid that if Sumedha mentioned who her music teacher was, who wanted him to perform for charity, it would only deter him from coming.

“Miss,” Sumedha came back excitedly after making the call, “He is coming!”

Piyali hoped that she didn’t give away too much of her own emotions.

—

To be continued

Ultimate Reunion (Part 8)

Posted Mish7 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

She stood at the door, motionless. She wasn’t surprised that he was there in the practice room, and not in some other city. Holding a Tanpura. He started singing, and then stopped. He tried again and was unsuccessful. He grew frustrated and pushed the Tanpura away. He got up abruptly, but froze to his place on noticing her.

Her face was expressionless. So expressionless that it said volumes about how hurt and angry she was. She was breathing so hard that she had to bite her lips to keep her mouth closed. They stood staring at each other for several minutes. Then she broke the eye-contact and looked away. Keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, she started stepping back.

“Piyali!” he found his voice.

She didn’t heed him though and turned away to leave.

He gathered himself together and rushed after her. “Piyali. Please wait.”

She stopped for a moment, but started walking again.

Left with no option, he grabbed her hand to stop her from walking away. She pushed him away so ferociously that Mukundo barely avoided a fall. But he did brush against a bare pillar and got a scratch. It wasn’t too bad, but due to the suddenness, he let out a slight cry.

That little cry made her forget her anger temporarily. “Oh my God! What… What happened? Are you… hurt? Mukundo Babu…. I can hardly see anything here,” the corridor was not well-lit. She dragged him to the room and he followed quietly.

He stopped her when she bent down to check his injury. “Hurt me all you want, Piyali. But… you must not be hurt.”

“Yeah?” she grew angry again and was sarcastic, “And this is how you do not hurt me?”

“What happened… How do I… I cannot do the right thing by you. My wife… She is Pandit ji’s daughter.”

Piyali looked sideways to conceal her hurt. Of course, she didn’t measure up to the credentials of his wife. She was no Pandit ji’s daughter.

“He was my Guru. This marriage happened because he wanted it. Whatever happens, I won’t break it. It might be an irrational devotion, but…”

She looked back at him and smiled sadly. “And what did you think I will do? Was I going to blackmail you? Break your marriage? Make your life difficult?”

“Piyali!”

“Did it occur to you even once that I cannot hurt you? Ever? It wasn’t like I was going to get pregnant. And If I did, I would rather abort it than create trouble for you…”

“Don’t you dare!” he grabbed her arm so hard that she flinched in pain, “Don’t you dare talk about abortion if you are carrying our child.”

She fell speechless. He came to his senses and realized that he was hurting her. He let her go and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I have been an idiot all these days. But can’t you see, Piyali, how I feel? You are better off staying away from me.”

“No. I am not.”

“What do you want then? You want to become the mistress of another promiscuous artist?”

“Why are you talking like this, Mukundo Babu?” she was on the verge of crying.

“Go away from me. You are young. And I am not a good influence on you.”

She bit her lips, controlled her tears and said, “Yes. Your wish will be fulfilled. I am going away from you. That was the news I had for you on that fateful day.”

“What?” Mukundo had been pleading her for this, but when she said it herself, he panicked. “What do you mean? What news? Where are you going?” She wasn’t getting married, was she?

“I got a job. In Darjeeling. It’s a residential school. As soon as my final exams get over, I’d be going there. That is, in five weeks.”

“What job?”

“Teaching Mathematics. And possibly some responsibilities for running the hostels.”

He was at a loss for words.

“I’m going away, Mukundo Babu. You won’t be bothered by me. All I wanted was to spend some of this time with you. Singing, practicing, learning whatever I can in this limited time.”

“You can’t just go away. You can’t abandon music. You can find a job in Kolkata.”

“Nothing I had here paid well enough.”

“You… can’t… just… go away… like this…”

“You have put me through one week of hell to impress upon me that I should go away. And now you are saying this?”

“I’m selfish, am I not? When I had pushed you away, somewhere deep down, I knew I could have you back. I would have – sooner or later… But now… now that you are saying you are going away…”

“It is for everyone’s good, isn’t it?”

He sighed and changed the subject, “I haven’t been able to sing at all in last one week. Would you like to practice?”

She brought the Tanpura and asked him if he had set the alarm.

“Not needed. Nobody is coming yet.”

—

“Why haven’t your other students started coming?” she asked after a three-hour-long practice about a week later.

“I have only four more weeks with you, right?”

Piyali smiled sadly. “If it matters so much, why have you thrown away your mobile? How will I keep in touch with you?”

“Don’t. Don’t keep in touch with me.”

“That’s so unfair, Mukundo Babu.”

“May be when you come here. During holidays or…”

“If I settle down, Ma and Priyendra are going to shift there too. I won’t be coming here, Mukundo Babu,” her eyes grew moist.

“That’s even better,” he said and tore his eyes away from her. He couldn’t be this cruel to her, and to himself, if he looked into those eyes.

“I don’t want to break your marriage. And even more importantly, I don’t want to take a loving father away from a daughter. But we and all these other things in your life need not be incompatible. I might be going away. But I am not abandoning us. You just have to call me…”

“Forget about all this. Move on in your life. Just… don’t abandon music. Ever!”

“Let me know when you move on. I will also do so then.”

He chuckled sadly, “What do I move on to?”

“Same here.”

—

And there were times when he grew desperate and faltered on his resolution of sending her away.

“If it’s just the money that is taking you away… All you have to do is agree to perform.”

“I can’t, Mukundo Babu. If I could, I wouldn’t have suffered your anger earlier.”

“Fine. Don’t. How much are you earning there? What if I managed that much for you…”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“Money is something I can easily help you with.”

“I am not going to be your mistress.”

“Piyali!”

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Probably… you are right. Don’t listen to me. Don’t. Just… Do take care of yourself, Piyali.”

“I will. And you should too. Promise me.”

“Okay… I will,” his promise sounded much less certain than hers. And then he asked anxiously, “You won’t be pregnant, would you?”

“No.”

—

To be continued

Ultimate Reunion (Part 7)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“I have never felt this way about anyone, Sonali.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. Because I have never seen you this reckless.”

“I will leave now.”

“Have breakfast with us.”

“No. I will go home.”

But as soon as she came out of Sonali’s house, she received his message. “Where are you? No college today, right?”

A smile formed on her lips as she replied. In the next message he sent her the address of the place where they would have breakfast. It was nearby and she walked up to there.

—

She didn’t have a new dress to wear on her birthday this year.  So, she was surprised when he wished her. “Happy Birthday, Piyali.”

“You… you remembered?”

“I haven’t grown senile yet,” he said good-humouredly, “I have a decent memory.”

“Who said anything about senility?” she flushed.

He didn’t notice the tinge of sadness in her voice. “Come with me,” he motioned her to follow him. They were going to his personal room again.

He set his alarm for 5.45 and brought out Pandit ji’s Sitar. She sat down with it, but could not proceed. Tears started flowing down her cheeks.

“Piyali!”

Hearing his voice made it worse and her silent tears turned into sobs.

He went forward, took the Sitar away and held her. He tried to wipe off her tears, but lost control of himself. It didn’t help that she didn’t resist and gave in willingly, when he gathered her in his arms and lowered her on the carpeted floor. Touching her pliant body, feeling the goose bumps on her skin, licking away her tears and crushing on her quivering lips was intoxicating. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings, nor was she. Later he would only have vague memories of when it happened, when he collapsed on top of her and when they drifted off the sleep in each other’s arms. It was his alarm that woke them up.

“Oh God!” he muttered as he sprang back from her. He looked at her with confused expressions. She closed her eyes and he put on his discarded clothes. “Everyone will be here soon,” he said still not expressing exactly how he was feeling. Probably he himself didn’t know. With that he left. He would need washing up before he went before others, if he didn’t want to give away…

Piyali’s feelings were a strange mix of fear and fulfilment. It was disastrous, reckless, as Sonali would say. And yet… She considered going to the regular practice room to be there with others. But she looked at her clothes and her matted hair. It would be like declaring to the entire world what had transpired just now. She got dressed and smoothened her clothes and hair as much as possible. Then she quietly walked out of the house, unaware of Aporna watching her from the garden. ‘Mukundo Babu was unwell,’ she would explain to her mother. Debangi would grumble as to why he could not have informed earlier instead of making her wake up at four for no reason. But that was fine. She could live with that. Tougher would be to concentrate on teaching students, and listening to professors in her classes.

—

She had almost given up on hearing from him and was thinking of calling him or sending him an SMS, when her phone rang. It was a landline number.

“Mukundo Babu wanted me to call all his students to tell them that he is going out of town for a while. So, there will be no classes. He would inform once he is back.”

“What… Where is he going?”

“I don’t know, Madam,” it was some house staff who was tasked with informing everyone. Including her!

She immediately tried his number. It was switched off. What was she to make of it?

—

She had spent last seven days obsessively sending him messages. She was tired now. Of trying to make sense of things, and of people who constantly asked her what was wrong. Was it the time to admit to Sonali, who always looked at her with questioning eyes, but never said anything, that she had been right? It was a disaster.

Her house didn’t even afford her enough privacy to cry. She had learned to control it. But when she woke up that morning, she felt like she would go mad if things continued this way. She went out and looked for Salim Kaku. He wasn’t yet asleep and readily agreed to drop her.

“Mukundo Babu is back?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes Kaku.”

“Now, I think you would smile again. You seem to be withering away without your morning practice,” he teased her. She managed to smile back without bursting into tears.

—

To be continued