Mish' Fiction

“Rupali,” Asim spoke to Rupali alone before leaving, “I know that I startled you with the proposal of a wedding in Kolkata with me making the arrangements. I am sorry. My idea is not to impose myself on you. So, if you say no, I won’t mention it again. I had been thinking about it for a while. But had not been sure how to talk about it. It just came out on the dinner table,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “The reason I want to do it is…. selfish. It will make me really happy. I had wanted to be a father to you. I genuinely had. Unfortunately, the way the game of life played out, I didn’t get to do that. But that wish, that feeling never went away. You have no idea how I had leapt with joy when you called me after our accidental meeting at the concert. I couldn’t be a father to you in your growing up years. But all through those years, every time I thought about Mou, I also thought about you. In my obsessed mind, I had a daughter. Not that I could do anything for her, but I had her. If you would let me do this, arrange your wedding, it’d make me really happy. However, don’t feel any pressure to say ‘yes’. Do it only if it’d make you happy too, or if it doesn’t interfere with your happiness at least. Okay?”

Rupali’s eyes were moist at his honest declaration. “I am just the luckiest person in the world Mr. Sen, surrounded by so many people who care for me. But for this I’d need to consult Paritosh as well.”

“Of course.”

—

Paritosh hadn’t objected. The winter break had come and they had all flown to Kolkata. The wedding was lavish, arrangement impeccable and the concert was grand. Despite feeling extremely conscious Mouli had sung with Asim once. It was one of the songs she had written and composed herself all those years back. The song had received a cult following in Kolkata in those days. When Asim announced that Mouli was the songwriter, the applause refused to die down for several minutes. All her songs were credited in his albums. With the name “M. Chatterjee”. Nobody knew who that was. And most people did not look for the names of the lyricists.

The newlyweds were not sure about leaving Mouli alone for their honeymoon. But Asim promised to take care of her when they were gone. So, they went on a week-long trip to Mauritius. Mouli had stayed back in Kolkata for that period. She didn’t agree to stay at Asim’s house. But he made arrangements for someone to be always there with her in her hotel suite. Whenever he didn’t have any engagement, he stayed with her himself.

Paritosh and Rupali landed back in Kolkata. They were to go back to Mumbai after three days.

“Ma. You had to get your check-up done the day before. Did you…” Rupali started asking after Mouli’s health as soon as they entered her room.

“Yes Rupali,” Asim replied before Mouli could, “Relax. We got the recommendation for a local doctor from her doctor in Mumbai and we took her there. Everything is in control. No effect whatsoever of stress from the wedding.”

“What stress did I have that it should make a difference,” Mouli said with a smile, “Asim had made all arrangements. I was here like a guest.”

“Come on…”

“She is right Mr. Sen,” Paritosh interrupted with a smile, “That was true for both of us as well. But none of us are complaining. We enjoyed it thoroughly.”

Rupali noticed that Asim’s eyes betrayed more emotions and happiness than his smile or facial expressions did. He was really happy to have played that role.

But it happened that afternoon itself. Her breathing became laboured. “It’s a stroke,” Rupali screamed, “Ambulance. Let’s get an ambulance. And call the doctor for immediate help.”

They had managed to revive her for a while. But even the doctor was bewildered. Such severe blockage. It wasn’t there two days ago. How could it happen so soon? Another surgery wasn’t an option. Too risky.

“You will be all right, Mou,” Asim stroked her hand. She shook her head to the extent she could. “My songs were all I had ever given to you Asim. They are all I will leave you with. I stopped singing, but not writing. Rupa. Two diaries are there in the shelves with his albums. Hand them over to him.”

“Ma. You will do that yourself,” Rupali was having trouble holding her tears back.

“It was my fault Rupa that you grew up fatherless, when you could have had such a wonderful and responsible father. Now, I leave you in his care. Give him the respect you always gave me. Okay?”

Rupali just nodded. A lump had already formed in her throat and if she tried to speak, she would cry.

“Paritosh. You brought Asim back in my life. I can never thank you enough for that. I am dying happy and fulfilled. Try to find the happiness you deserve in Rupa. I have nothing else to give to you.”

“You have given me the family I had lost one by one. I don’t want to lose my family again. You are not going anywhere.”

A weak smile formed on Mouli’s lips, “That light there… It’s very bright. But it doesn’t feel hot. It is very soothing…”

Paritosh looked around. It was clear to all of them that she was hallucinating.

“Mrs. Banerjeee. Ma….” Paritosh tried to bring her back.

Mouli’s hands felt heavy in Asim’s and he looked at her face in shock. It was expressionless. The beautiful, ever smiling face had death’s whiteness all over it. “Nurse,” he shouted.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. Nurse had already told them this. But the doctor was needed to give an official confirmation, “She has passed away.”

Rupali’s silent tears became miserable sobs. Paritosh held her and tried to comfort her, his own eyes betraying his pain and loss. Asim walked to them and patted Rupali’s head, “She died a happy woman, Rupali. Don’t cry and distress her now. She’d be looking at you.”

—

‘Jiboner Jatra’ (life’s journey) became the new best-selling album for Asim Sen. In the beginning of the recording he had emotionally introduced Mouli as the lyricist and reminded people of the songs they had loved. Probably for the first time in the history, people bought the album not for the singer, but for the lyricist. The royalties were all going to Rupali. She had objected at first. But Asim had a reply ready, “You have a right over what you parents earn. You can’t just turn away from it.” He’d be recording more albums with Mouli’s songs.

Rupali sat down with Bengali-English dictionary every day for one hour and read her mother’s poetry. “I wish I knew Bengali better,” she lamented before Paritosh. “I wish I knew Bengali at all,” he laughed, “Why don’t you explain this poem to me in English or Hindi.”

“If the dictionary isn’t failing me, this one means

We are the product
Of our choices
Let’s not blame
Forced sacrifices.

Sacrifices too after all
Are our own choices
World is not responsible
Responsible are our inner voices.

Grow the roots
Or chase the sky?
Decide for yourself
To stay or to fly.

Happiness comes in
Different things.
In growing fruits,
And in growing wings.

You might not have
Both the things.
But you can savour
What one of them brings.

We are the product
Of our choices
Let’s not blame
Forced sacrifices.”

“Beautiful!” Paritosh exclaimed, “And it rhymed in English too.”

Rupali chuckled, “Born to a poetess, married to poet, I had to try it. Rhyming is awkward, but I am trying to translate them in English.”

“Wonderful idea. I’ll get them published.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” he said as he lied down, kept his head in her lap and shut her eyes. Knowing Mouli and having Rupali were the blessings he couldn’t thank God enough for. Rupali kept aside the notebook and dictionary and bent down to plant a kiss on Paritosh’ forehead. She could feel lucky anew everyday with this man!

– The End –

“Rupali!” Paritosh’ alarmed look at the door-bell ringing changed to a happily excited one when he saw who was at the door. He held her hands and led her inside the house closing the door after them. He held her wordlessly before him for a few moments and then planted a slow, sensuous, lingering kiss on her lips. She was smiling shyly when they parted. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered to her and started caressing her back and nape right there.

“Dr. Khanna,” she objected through her laboured breath.

“What happened?”

“Raja…” she referred to the housekeeper.

Paritosh grinned, “Raja is not a problem. He is fast asleep. But ‘Dr. Khanna’ is. We’ll get rid of it tonight. Come.”

He led her to his bedroom. The lavishness of the room was something she was used to by now.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked after she was seated on the bed. She just shook her head in reply.

“Aren’t you going to talk?”

“Ma thought we had fought,” Rupali said with a smile of shared understanding.

He smiled and sat down beside her. “Did we?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“No,” her voice was hardly audible, but she also shook her head. Her eyes were lowered.

He cupped her face and lifted it to make her look into his eyes, “I am sorry. For scaring you earlier in the evening.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t complain to Ma about it,” she chuckled at her own joke.

“Not even about your crumpled clothes?” Partiosh mocked seriousness.

“No.”

“But they will be crumpled again.”

“This is satin. It won’t crumple.”

“You are telling me we are safe.”

“Yes.”

It was only for so long that he could keep himself away from those lips of hers on which a naughty smile was playing. But if their encounter earlier in the evening was like getting high on tequila shots, this one was like sipping a vintage wine slowly to savour the subtle, delicate taste. He went slowly and she responded in the same rhythm. But that didn’t lessen the power he had over her. Her body grew needier by the moment. She arched her back, grabbed at the sheets and literally struggled under his weight with the sensations running through her body. When he could see that she was at his mercy and he himself was on the edge, he whispered in her ear, “You know what I am waiting for. I want to hear your voice, please Rupali.”

She shut her eyes tightly. How she hated and loved him at the same time! He was really going to use that moment to get her to call him by name? She won’t give in. But that resolve did not last long. The only way to not give in was to pull away from him. Otherwise her need would kill her.  And pulling away was not an option for her. He must also know that. What else could explain her coming to him at that hour? Slipping out like a teenager after her mother was asleep?

“Paritosh. Please!!”

She wasn’t the only one who was helpless. He would have liked to make her repeat that name. Again and again! But his own self-control was giving way. He nibbled at her earlobes as the last act of foreplay and entered her making her gasp in surprise at first, but moan in pleasure later.

—

“I need to go back,” she sat up after a while.

“Do you?”

“Yes. It would be awkward if Ma wakes up to not find me at home.”

“She takes her medicines. She won’t wake up before morning, right? I will walk you back before that. Let’s say at three in the morning?”

“What if we fall asleep?”

“I will set an alarm.”

“Fine, Dr. Khanna.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Looks like you are a dumb student in this course. Shall we repeat the lesson?”

“No. No,” she protested, “You were being mean. That was not a fair trick at all.”

“Everything is fair in love and war, Rupali. And I had fairly requested you many a times earlier.”

Rupali smiled in defeat, but still argued, “It is the habit of years.”

“We hadn’t even spoken for over six years Rupali. How can it be a habit? Of years?”

“Habit from thought, if not from speech. Our not speaking didn’t mean I didn’t think about you, did it?”

“No,” he conceded with a smile, “Then let me appeal on the grounds of change. A lot has changed since the time when we didn’t speak to, only thought of, each other, hasn’t it? So, how you address me needs to change as well.”

“I will try. But I feel very awkward. Especially before others. People in the department, for example…”

“Fine. Let’s start with it in private at least?”

“Okay.”

And they talked on. Intimately and comfortably. About their past, other people in their lives, about their future dreams!

The alarm came handy not for waking them up. But for reminding them that she needs to be back at her house.

“You don’t need to come with me, Dr. Khanna. It isn’t unsafe. Stay in bed.”

“Firstly, if you call me Dr. Khanna, nothing you ask for is going to be accepted. Secondly I just want those five extra minutes with you, walking down the road.”

Rupali blushed and grinned as both of them got out of the bed and dressed up to step out.

—

“Mou. You should sing with me,” Asim was back in town after couple of weeks and was dining with them.

“Sing with you? Where?”

“Wherever! On the stage. In an album.”

“Ma sings?” Rupali was surprised.

“Used to,” Mouli replied before Asim could, “Long, long back. In some other era, Rupa. Asim is joking.”

“I am not joking. Because your mother was very promising as a singer and as a songwriter.”

“Songwriter? As in poetry?”

“Do you hear Bengali songs, Rupali? Have you heard ‘Majhir Nouka’ sung by me?”

“Ma has the recording. She has played it several times.”

“Who do you think was lyricist?”

“I… never found out. You are telling me it was Ma?”

Asim smiled and confirmed it with a shrug that indicated that it was obvious.

“Wow! What all do I not know about you, Ma?”

“Nothing that matters, Rupa. It was all a long time ago.”

“Well. It matters a lot to me,” Asim said, “Until I ran out of the songs from the notebook you had left with me, most of my performances and recordings used your lyrics. Only after that…”

“Good you ran out of them then,” Mouli laughed slightly in a self-deprecating fashion, “Because it is only after you picked up other poets and lyricists that you started becoming famous.”

“That is again not true. Do you know Rupali which is my best-selling album till date?”

“I’d do some Wikipedia search on you before we meet next time, but for now – no. I don’t know.”

Asim laughed, “Since I didn’t understand exactly what you intend to do to find out before we meet next time, I will tell you. My best-selling album is one of Bengali songs and not of Hindi as one would expect. It is called ‘Jibon-Dhara’ – meaning ‘the stream of life’. ‘Majhir Nouka’ belongs to that album. And all other songs in that album were also written by Mou.”

Mouli colored. “I had no idea,” she mumbled. She actually didn’t know that ‘Jibon-Dhara’ was his best selling album.

Rupali stared wide-eyed from Mouli to Asim. Then her eyes fell on Paritosh. He had been silent, but was obviously quite surprised by the revelations.  “In a way, I am not surprised,” he spoke when he felt Rupali’s eyes on him, “Her sensitivity is incomparable. It is not at all surprising that there is a poet’s heart behind it. A great poet’s. What is surprising is, of course, that we didn’t know the extent of her achievements and the sacrifices she made…”

“For me,” Rupali added with some sadness.

“No Paritosh, Rupa. I made no sacrifices. I only took some decisions. We all have to choose between difficult options from time to time. And I believe that we are all the results of our choices, not that of any forced sacrifices. And Rupa. You don’t be an idiot. Even if you term that choice as a sacrifice, it was made at a time when you weren’t even born. The choice was made when I had decided to not wait for Asim and move on in my life.”

“But why not continue with music? With writing?” Rupali asked.

Mouli replied in a low voice, “That would have made moving on impossible. Music was too strongly related to him.”

“So coming to my original point,” Asim said cheerfully to make the mood lighter, “You should sing again, Mou. With me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Asim. The number of years for which I have not practiced is more than the number of years I had learnt.”

“You might not remember the technique, but the soul can’t go away. Music is in your soul.”

“Granted. But the audience won’t be forgiving about technique. I don’t want rotten tomatoes and onions on stage or the studio going bankrupt trying to record me at some minimum acceptable quality.”

“She doesn’t leave much scope for me to talk her out of her conviction, does she?” Asim addressed Rupali and Paritosh, “Fine. We’ll sing together in their wedding. You have to accept that, Mou.”

“Sing in their wedding?”

“We’ll have a live concert during the reception. I will sing and you will sing too.”

“You are so adamant, Asim.”

“What option do I have? One has to work hard to get small concessions from you.”

“Right. Right. Make me sound like an evil woman,” Mouli laughed, “If they agree to having a concert for their reception, I don’t have any objection.”

“I don’t see what is objectionable in that,” Rupali said and looked at Paritosh. He nodded in agreement.

“Actually, I have a better proposal. Let’s get them married in Kolkata. We’d have a great musical gathering then.”

“Kolkata? Come on Asim,” Mouli objected, “Who is going to make arrangements there?”

“I will. And you plan to get married during winter break, right? The weather will also be good.”

“But Mr. Sen, it will be too much of a hassle,” this extended proposal made Rupali and Paritosh uncomfortable.

“They are right, Asim,” Mouli agreed.

“Mou please,” Asim was sincere, “I want to do it. Please.”

Mouli sighed, “I understand you, Asim. But it is not for me to decide. Why don’t we give them some time and see if they are comfortable.”

“Sure.”

—

To be continued

“Do you still have that dress with Rupali? The one you had worn then?” Paritosh asked after Asim’s car had picked Mouli up in the evening and they were left on their own. They were in Rupali’s room.

“When?”

“On our first dinner,” he said with some hesitation, hoping that she understood.

“Of course,” she said without realizing which first dinner he was talking about. “I am not a celebrity. I can wear a dress many a times,” she joked, “Where would it go away so soon?”

“Which one are you talking about?”

“The one… Oh! Which one are you talking about?”

“Our first dinner…”

“Oh! Oh God! I don’t know. I don’t remember what I had worn. You do?”

“All too well,” he smiled, “It was a cream dress, with red dupatta…”

She felt guilty about lying. She remembered the dress as well as he did. But she continued her pretence, “I don’t have it now. I gained weight. It didn’t fit any longer.” She had shredded the dress into pieces in one of her depressive fits.

“Hmm…”

“Why were you asking about that?”

“I was just wondering. Never saw you in it again. It looked good.” He also lied. He wanted her in that dress that evening. But there was no point making an issue out of it. “And anyway,” he continued, “It is a thing of past when I had to live with the memories of your dresses, your old exam papers, your project reports, the taste of a piece of fried fish etc. Now I have you, right?”

Rupali smiled shyly and nodded. Paritosh encircled her in his arms and pulled her close. She pressed and ran her palms against his chest. Her eyes were lowered and voice low as she spoke, “I’m probably supposed to resist… at least a little, to act unwilling, to run away, to say that we should wait…  or whatever… But I won’t be able to do any of that Dr. Khanna. I am too much in love to do any of that. I have thought about you, waited for you, and wanted you for too long to be able to do any of that. I don’t know if I am spoiling things for you, but I am just helpless…” Her fingers were toying with the buttons on his shirt and she had unbuttoned one.

“Are you?”

She looked up puzzled.

“I doubt you are that helpless, Rupali.”

The colour drained out of her face. Was so much of honesty a mistake?

“There is something you have been resisting for long.”

What on earth did he mean? Her throat went dry.

“Aren’t you going to ask what it is?”

Rupali was thoroughly confused. She felt like she was being asked humiliating questions in a court. She tried to step back and get away from him. But instead of letting her do that, he tightened his arms around her even further.

She was now forced to speak. She tried to use her saliva to restore some function to her parched throat. “I don’t know what are you talking about, Dr. Khanna. Just now I probably said things that were inappropriate…”

“Of course. Hadn’t I told you long back that among colleagues, we are on a first name basis here?”

“Excuse me?”

“And between fiancées we definitely are so.”

“Dr. Khanna. You…”

“Paritosh!”

“No. I can’t do that. And let me go. You scared the hell out of me. I hate you.” She struggled to be freed. But he was stronger.

“Too much of resistance for one evening, Dr. Banerjee,” he was amused and liked this game.

She stopped struggling, grew completely still. She wasn’t looking at him. He was surprised with his lack of reaction. He continued to hold her with one of his arms and used the other hand to lift her chin. He was surprised to see that her eyes were full of tears.

“Hey! What happened? Why are you… I…” he brought up his other hand and cupped her face with both his hands, “I am sorry, Rupali. I was joking. You know that. Why are you crying?”

“Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.” That steely voice! She assumed it rarely. The last time she had spoken like that to him was when she was worried that her mother’s health would suffer because of him.

“It was just a joke, Rupali,” he tried to explain miserably.

“Do you have any idea how terrified I am of the possibility that you would go away if I did anything wrong? In a moment of weakness I decided to be utterly honest with you and the next moment with you talking the way you did, I thought that I had made a mistake. And I had lost you. Again and forever!” Tears started flowing freely from her eyes.

He did not say anything, but his eyes reflected her pain. He led her to the bed, sat down on it with her and cuddled her until she had calmed down. He repeatedly kissed her hair and forehead and caressed her upper arms soothingly in that time.

“The only thing,” he finally said in a husky whisper, “That your honest confession had done to me was – and I have no better or poetic words to convey it – to arouse me excessively.” She didn’t lift her eyes to him, but he felt her shiver. “Allow me to prove it,” he said as he gently made her lie down on the bed. Rupali forgot all about her tears and her anger at him as he started kissing her face. Gently, but with surety. With the knowledge that she wanted it as much as he did. He paid attention to her neck next and she arched her head back to give him access while clutching on to the bed-sheet to stop herself from thrashing around too much. The sensation was incredible. Suddenly he licked one of her ear-lobes and a moan skipped from her, even though she bit her lips to stop it. “I need to know,” he whispered in her ears, “That you are with me.” As his hands caressed her breasts and belly, she let go of her hesitations and lifted her hands to his head. She dug her fingers in his hair and caressed them urgently. Then she brought her hands to his chest again and restarted the job of unbuttoning him. When she rubbed her palms against his bare chest, he gave out a loud gasp of delight.

“Talk to me, Rupali,” he said as he rolled over on the bed so that she was now on top of him.

“I love you,” it seemed like the words had flown out of her mouth despite herself and her next words almost confirmed it, “Hopelessly and helplessly.”

“Me too,” he replied and let her take the lead in the kiss that followed, responding to her rhythm and pace. Then he rolled over again pinning her beneath him, undressing her to the extent he could without letting her out of his hold. “Let go, Rupali,” he hissed. And she did let go. Their passionate exploration of each other’s bodies was interrupted by the sound of a car stopping outside the house.

“Oh God! Ma is back!” Rupali exclaimed. Paritosh got up hastily, freeing her. Silently, but hurriedly they smoothened their clothes. Rupali had been wearing a cotton top. “This is too crumpled. I need to change,” she said, “You go out in the hall before they come in.” But as he made to leave, she noticed something on the bed. “Dr. Khanna. Keep this,” she handed him a packet of condoms. It must have slipped out of his pocket earlier.

“You can keep this somewhere here. I don’t want to be carrying it in my pocket.”

“What are you talking about? How would this packet look if discovered in my room? She isn’t going to check your pocket, is she?”

“Right,” he mumbled foolishly and went out.

—

Paritosh was in calm enough after stepping out. He greeted Mouli and Asim and they sat down in the hall.

“Where is Rupa?” Mouli asked.

“In her room. She is changing.”

“Changing? Why? Are you guys going out now?”

“No. Actually… I don’t know why she is changing.”

“I see,” Mouli said amusedly and Paritosh’ foolish reply, “You are the most non-interfering kind, is it?”

Asim laughed out loud. Paritosh felt that he guessed what was going on and tried hard not to blush.

Rupali came out by then. “So, why did you change, Rupa?” Mouli asked still smiling. She was in a good mood.

“I had spoiled my top, Ma,” Rupali had thought about it while changing and had the answer ready, “While eating.”

“Okay. So, you guys had your dinner?” Mouli was not interrogating, but it almost outed Rupali and Paritosh because Rupali replied in negative instinctively.

Paritosh gave her a what-the-hell look and she realized her mistake. “We were having some juice and snacks,” she added to explain her earlier insconsistency.

“Okay. Have your dinner then. It is quite late.”

“Yes Ma. Shall I get dinner for you and Mr. Sen too?”

“No. We had our dinner. I just invited him in for a cup of tea.”

“I will get tea for you and him.”

They sat on the dining table together. Asim having his hot and Mouli her iced, unsweetened tea as Rupali and Paritosh had their dinner. Mouli noticed some awkwardness between Paritosh and Rupali.

“Have you fought with Paritosh?” she asked Rupali after Asim and Paritosh had left.

“What? No!” Fight! Whatever happened to her mother’s perceptiveness? But for this misperception she was not complaining. It was for good that she didn’t realize what made them awkward.

—

To be continued

Mouli and Asim were still talking when Paritosh and Rupali came back. They overheard part of their conversation as they walked in.

“Since I come to Mumbai so often, I have a house here too. Didn’t like spending too much time in hotels. I am going to Kolkata tomorrow morning. Have a concert there in the evening. But I will be back after that.”

“A concert tomorrow evening? You should have travelled earlier.”

“Travelling today had been the original plan.”

“You cancelled because of Rupa’s invitation?” she asked looking emotional.

“To be fair to her, she had asked me for Friday night. But weekends were booked. I came for you.”

“You have been an idiot Asim, you know that. You should have moved on.”

“I have been an idiot forever. You know that very well. Else we both know that my family could have supported us initially. My priorities were wrong. Despite all that, despite there being no reason for it, I had a hope. Of at least getting back in touch with you. A hopeless hope, I agree. Because the way it was fulfilled was a pure coincidence. If you hadn’t been dragged to that concert, if I hadn’t noticed you, if your daughter had not been so sensitive, if she hadn’t taken the initiative… Yes. It was a hopeless hope.”

Paritosh smiled on hearing ‘hopeless hope’. That phrase resonated with him.

“They are back,” Mouli noticed Rupali and Paritosh, “Come here. I think she has come to remind me that it is time to sleep.” Mouli looked at her daughter fondly.

“I can relax it for today,” Rupali replied.

“No,” Asim said resolutely, “I also have to travel in the morning and need to be rested before the concert tomorrow. You must go to sleep Mou. Can I… call, once I am back in Mumbai?”

Mouli nodded.

“I will e-mail… no SMS you her number,” Rupali said.

Asim grinned at that. “Do you mind storing it in my phone right away? I don’t know how to use SMS either. And I don’t want to go to my secretary for that.”

Only Rupali got the context and laughed at that. “Sure,” she said and entered the number as Mouli and Paritosh looked on quizzically, not understanding their private joke.

Rupali explained to them later what he had told her about e-mail and they shared the laughter. Paritosh left soon after and Rupali sat beside Mouli, “You are not angry at me, Ma. Are you?”

Mouli affectionately patted her cheek, “No. And I am sorry. I scolded you and had almost ruined the evening.”

“Please Ma. Don’t apologize. I am not sure surprise was a good idea. I didn’t know what the past was like. It could have been horrible, I realized later.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“You must sleep now. It is already later than usual.”

“Yes,” she got up to go to her room.

Rupali stopped her once, “Ma.”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t get angry at what I am going to ask.”

“Just ask Rupa.”

“Do you want to get married?”

“What! No. Don’t be ridiculous. It is your marriage I am thinking about.”

“You have thought about me all your life, Ma. But right now…”

“No Rupa. It’s too late. We are different people. If you want me out of your way, I have your Baba’s house to go to. Your Kaku and Kaki don’t mind.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ma,” Rupali used one of her mother’s pet phrases without realizing it.

“I was joking, sweetie. Have a good night.”

—

Rupali found an envelope at her desk one morning with her name written on it. She knew the handwriting well. Since the time he had graded her answer papers and left comments on her project reports. And only he had the spare key to her office. She smiled as she opened it and her smile grew wider as she read through the note sitting inside.

“Through my dark past,
Through my present insecurities,
Through my misunderstandings,
Through my hesitations,
Thank you, for keeping up
Your hopeless hope.
Thank you, for giving me
A hopeless hope.
Thank you, for fulfilling
That hopeless hope.
Thank you, for giving me strength
To hope for more than hopeless.
And with that strength
I ask –
Will you marry me?

A responsible son, husband, son-in-law, he definitely was. But he had the ability to be a hopeless romantic as well! She thought for a moment and then took out her notebook. She started modifying something she had written a few days back on his encouragement.

“Tranquillity of night
Gives way to
Clarity of day.

Coolness of night
Gives way to
Brightness of day.

Escapades of night
Give way to
Acceptance of day.

Hopelessness of night
Gives way to
Hopes of Day.

Loneliness of years
Has to give way to
Togetherness for life.

Yes!

—

Paritosh read it and then looked up with moist, bright eyes. He went to the office door and locked it. For once, not caring about what anyone would think. He held her and informed that his divorce had come through. She had guessed as much. Then he cupped her face and bent down for a long kiss sealing their fate together. He didn’t let go of her even after breaking the kiss. His hands moved back and dug into her hair. He then directed her head to his chest and put his other arm around her to embrace her. Her arms which were resting on both sides of his chest went around his neck completing the embrace. She didn’t know much about perfumes. But whatever he used had such subtle, intoxicating smell that it must be something costly whose habit he had acquired in his days of extravagance. Between the perfume and his body, it had become his smell. Something she was very familiar with by now. And very much in love with. Desire was probably a better word, she thought truthfully to herself. And then her prayers were answered. He whispered to her in a bold, demanding tone, “I want you Rupali. Tonight.” She shivered at the suddenness of his demand, rather the declaration. He had said that he “wanted” her. But his voice made it clear that he had “decided” that he would have her. Her heart started pounding faster than she had imagined it to be possible. But none of her reactions meant a complaint. She had dying to have this moment with him for years now. She snuggled up even closer to him and that was her reply.

This other-worldly tour in the middle of his office was interrupted by a knock on the door. Paritosh broke the hug unwillingly and looked at the door with mild irritation. “What couldn’t wait?” he mumbled; then looked at Rupali, “I will get the door. Don’t come out unless absolutely necessary.”

She nodded. It was someone from the director’s office. The director wanted to meet him in the afternoon.  “Fine. I will be there,” Paritosh tried to keep his voice as controlled as possible. He guarded the door until the visitor was out of sight. Then he did not close the door again.

“Is Mrs. Banerjee’s plan of visiting Mr. Sen still on?”

Rupali only nodded. She would have to search for words in her throat. They seemed to have deserted her in the aftermath of anticipation created by Paritosh.

“If you don’t have anything important to attend to in the afternoon, let’s go to her before she leaves and tell her about this. After my meeting with the director.”

“Tell her about what?” The shock overcame the anticipation and Rupali found her voice. She was thinking about nothing other than his declaration that he wanted her that night.

“About our decision to get married.”

“Oh!” He was talking about the proposal and acceptance, official engagement, wedding. Of course! What was she thinking?

“What did you think?”

“Nothing. I was just a little lost. Let me know once you meeting gets over.”

“Rupali,” he stopped her as she made to the door. She looked at him curiously. “You weren’t so lost that you didn’t hear me, right? You heard and understood me, didn’t you?”

She gulped and nodded. His insecurities! Will they ever go away? Even if not, she was willing to fight them all her life. “Left to my understanding and preparedness,” she added in a low, soft voice, “we wouldn’t have to wait till now.”

She left Paritosh desperate and satisfied at the same time. Her bold reply had increased his desire for her.  And had also assured him of her desires for him.

—

“I have done it wrong twice earlier. And you didn’t try to correct me, Mou. If I am doing something wrong again, please correct me. But don’t let me suffer for it.”

“What are you talking about?” Mouli asked as she sipped her unsweetened ice tea. Asim had found out from Rupali that it had been the drink of her choice since she was diagnosed with diabetes.

“Marry me Mou. And if you are going to say ‘no’, tell me how to make you say ‘yes’. Please.”

“Did Rupa tell you something?”

“About?”

“This?”

“No. Why would you think so?”

“Just wanted to be sure. Asim, my daughter is planning to get married. I have to think about her wedding, not mine.”

“Let me help you with her wedding, Mou. Let me be the partner to you that I have always wanted to be.”

“You won’t help me if we were not married?” Mouli asked looking amused.

“Words! They are your biggest weapons, aren’t they? I didn’t mean that. You know that very well.”

“Yes Asim. I know that. And you also know that I was joking.”

“Why are you refusing me again?”

“Asim. I never had an artist’s eccentricity. I was never as irreverent as you were. Otherwise I could have waited for you all those years ago, instead of succumbing to my parent’s wishes. I am still the same person Asim. Getting married at this age… I don’t know how to feel comfortable with that idea.”

“It was for your parents’ wishes then. Who are you sacrificing for now? Do you think Rupali will dislike it?”

“Rupa?” Mouli laughed affectionately, “No. No Asim. She is a mature and open-minded girl. She has the conviction to get married to a man many years his senior, a match that is definitely going to cause some raised eyebrows in the society. But she doesn’t care. She, in fact, persisted in her love and fought hard against his insecurities…”

“Something I couldn’t do.”

“She did have some advantage of my counsel. But her own belief was the most important part. She asked me much before you did if I wanted to get married. She is not my problem, Asim.”

“Then?”

“I don’t see myself as a victim of circumstances. I had loved you despite knowing what you were – an artist first, a lover much later; and despite knowing what I was. A conventional girl next door first, everything else later. I hadn’t been coerced into my marriage Asim. It was a result of my own choices. The choice of fulfilling my parents’ wishes, because ignoring them for my artist lover and living an uncertain life was not a comfortable situation for me.  Today too, it is I who is not comfortable in announcing to the world that I am getting married. This old woman has grown from the same simple, conventional girl next door. I still don’t have the irreverence. Nobody would coerce me, my daughter would not judge me, even I would not judge if someone else were to do this. But I… I won’t be able to do it.”

“There definitely is something that I don’t see here. Last time also I had assumed that you were resolutely against marrying me, because you didn’t find me good enough. But it turned out to be something else.”

“The only other thing that nobody other than me sees here is that I am on death’s door, Asim. I have not given you anything all my life. I haven’t been a part of your life for most of it. I don’t want to come in with death now. No.”

Asim sighed, leaned towards her and took her hands in his, “Why have you gotten it in your head Mou? Your surgery has been successful. The follow-ups show great results.”

She did not reply and looked at him with a helpless ‘I-can’t-explain’ expression.  He grew desperate, “Mou. It’s not like I am young any longer. But whatever little time I have left with me, finding you feels like I have gotten another chance. I don’t want to lose you once again… Please…”

“And you have done nothing wrong this time, Asim. That is not a regret you will ever have. I am the one who is lucky. To have found you a third time. I don’t want to squander this chance away either. But the time to be together in a worldly sense is over. We have been star-crossed lovers. Let’s be the soul-mates we have always been. Let’s not try to give this connection a name now and invite all the associated complications. I have been through them and I don’t have any strength left.”

“Fine. So long as you are happy and we are together, I will ask for nothing else.”

“I am. But are you?”

“I have more than I deserve. Name, fame, money, and you!”

—

To be continued

Mouli and Asim sat in silence for a while.

“Does she sing, or play?” he asked after a while.

“Rupa? No.”

“You never tried to introduce her to…”

“No Asim. I deliberately kept her away.”

“Why?”

“She has better control over her life this way Asim. Not like us…”

“You never forgave me, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Asim. When did I ever blame you that I should forgive you?”

“Are you happy, Mou?”

She averted her eyes before replying, “Yes. I am happy. My happiness lies with my daughter.”

“I envy you.”

“Come on. Aren’t you happy Asim? You have achieved everything. Your music has got recognition. You have the name, the fame, the money.”

“Since when did you become so materialistic?”

Mouli sighed and did not reply. If he insisted so much her defences would start crumbling.

“It is obvious,” he said when she did not speak, “That you have raised a wonderful daughter, Mou. She is witty just like you. And she is a sensitive soul. Else I won’t be here today.”

“Asim please…”

“You have done your duty. And you have done it very well. Can’t you think for yourself now?”

“Think for myself?” Mouli chuckled bitterly, “I am at the death’s door Asim.”

“Excuse me?” he was alarmed, “What’s the matter with you? You did look unwell, but…”

“Nothing,” she had revealed something she didn’t want to, “When you have such a grownup daughter, you feel sufficiently old.” She tried to joke it off.

“You didn’t think I was good enough to be a father to your daughter. But now… You don’t think I am good enough to even know anything about you? This is not fair, Mou.”

“Asim please. There is nothing to know.”

“Nothing?” he became agitated, “Nothing to know. Nothing to tell. Nothing to share! Why Mou? Rupali didn’t even know about me?”

“She is my daughter Asim, my baby. Not a sister, or a friend. What would I have told her?” Mouli asked miserably.

Her discomfort brought Asim to his senses. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I came here. I got carried away, Mou. I didn’t intend to trouble you any more than I already have. I was hoping to have a nice family evening. I got carried away…”

They heard footsteps coming out from the kitchen and fell silent. They consciously made efforts to not look as anxious and miserable as they were feeling.

“Tea for you,” Rupali handed a cup to Asim. There was some unsweetened ice tea for Mouli and for Paritosh and herself. “Ma. You can also take your medicine with the tea. Here,” she said as she handed Mouli her juice glass.

“It is not necessary Rupa. I can take it later.” Mouli was annoyed at her daughter and it was so rare that Rupali was visibly startled.

“What’s the matter, Ma? You must take it on time…”

“Leave it, Rupa.”

“It’s okay Mou,” Asim sat up, “Don’t stress yourself and don’t scold her for no fault of hers. You don’t want me to know. I won’t know. Whatever it is, this stress cannot help you. I shouldn’t have come.” He looked at Rupali and gave her a sweet, but sad smile, “I’m sorry child. I should have known better. Really sorry. But take care of your mother. Have a good night.”

Paritosh was mortified at the turn of events. It had been his idea. And it had been such a bad idea. And he could not think of any way to salvage the situation.

Rupali was also stunned for a moment. But she thought of something and ran after Asim. “Wait Mr. Sen. You can’t leave like this.”

“What you had in mind, Rupali, was your mother’s happiness. If she doesn’t want me here…”

“That’s not true. That’s not true at all. Please come with me. Once. Please,” she held his hands and led him to her mother’s room.

Mouli meanwhile buried her head in her hands and cried silently.

—

Asim was surprised when Rupali opened a cupboard filled with cassettes and CDs. She took a few of them out and gave them to him. “If you can tell me a single album of yours that is not in this collection, I won’t stop you from leaving. I don’t know what your story is. I don’t know what went wrong, or who is the culprit. But these… that I have seen her hanging on to since my childhood. And what I saw on the day of the concert… And what I saw today… They tell me a story that should not remain unresolved, even if it is doomed to remain incomplete.”

Asim was starting at the collection all this while. He kept back the ones Rupali had handed him. Then he turned to her, patted her head and kissed her on forehead. “Thank you. You have no idea what you have done for me.”

“What had happened? What went wrong between you?”

“That is not for me to tell you, Rupali. I’m sorry. If your mother doesn’t want it…”

“I will tell you,” Paritosh entered the room just then.

When Rupali had dragged Asim inside the room, Paritosh had gone to Mouli and had kneeled on the floor near her feet. “I’m sorry. It is not Mr. Sen’s or Rupali’s fault. It was my idea and obviously I have gone horribly wrong.”

Mouli had wiped her tears before looking up and had asked, “You were trying to pay me back?”

“Pay you back? No. I can never pay you back. You have given me, Rupali. I had no such audacious intentions. I had felt that whatever be the complications, there was no bitterness between the two of you and I thought you would spend a nice evening in the company of a friend, that’s it.”

She had sighed and sat back on the sofa. Paritosh had gotten up from the floor and had pulled a chair to sit near her. “What had happened? You can share Mrs. Banerjee. Your daughter is grown up. She will understand.”

“I’m sure she will. It’s I who doesn’t have the strength.”

“You can tell me.”

Presently Paritosh narrated what Mouli had told him. She and Asim were in college together. Madly in love with each other and music. Asim wanted to make it big the world of music. That became a problem for their love story though. Mouli’s parents wanted her to get married after college. Asim was still a struggling artist. He couldn’t afford to marry her just then.

“That wasn’t the time and age when girls could endlessly resist the societal pressure to get married. And Mouli was, has always been, a very sensitive person. She didn’t want to let her parents down,” Asim continued the story once he was convinced that Mouli didn’t mind sharing it and had already shared it with Paritosh, “She got married according to her parent’s choice and came to live in that small town near Mumbai, so far from her home. Don’t misjudge her for any of this Rupali. She was devoted to your father.” Rupali nodded in understanding. “I wrote to her a couple of times, just to keep in touch, but she strictly forbade it. I knew where she was, of course. We had many common friends. I had come to meet her twice after your father’s death. Once just after the accident. I wanted to ensure that she was holding up fine. I found that she was. Then I came back after a year. By then I had found some foothold. I could have supported myself and her. I proposed her. But she refused. She didn’t think I’d be good enough a father for you.” Rupali bowed her head. She could easily imagine her mother being so protective towards her.

“That’s not what she thought of you Mr. Sen,” Paritosh interrupted, “What she told me was that she felt insecure in any potential relationship between the two of you. She thought she’d come with a baggage, a past and it won’t work out.” Rupali looked up in surprise. She had used similar words to describe Paritosh’ situation in their relationship. And she had been accurate. From experience?

Asim also looked surprised. “That’s what she told you?”

Paritosh nodded. Asim went out of the room to the hall. Paritosh and Rupali followed, but stopped at a distance. Mouli was slumped on the sofa, looking all exhausted. Asim found the tablet Rupali had offered to her on the table. He picked it up and sat beside here.

“Here. You don’t want to tell me what it is for. Fine. I won’t insist on knowing. But it seems it is important for you to have it on time. Please take it.”

Mouli straightened up a little and took the tablet with trembling hands. She picked up the ice tea glass that was still lying untouched and gulped the tablet down.

“I should have tried harder, shouldn’t I?” he asked with a sad smile.

“Yes. You should have. It was years later that Shivani told me what you had interpreted my refusal to mean.” She seemed to welcome the opportunity to speak her heart out.

“I am sorry. I really am. For myself too,” he continued with the same sad smile.

“You never married?”

“Tried once. Failed.”

“Oh!”

“I could not move on. I think I obsessed about you, about us, about what could have been.”

“That makes a room full of obsessive people,” Paritosh whispered to Rupali jokingly. She rolled her eyes at him and he grinned.

“Excuse me,” Rupali went forward to put an end to the grim mood, “But I have worked really hard for this dinner. Do you mind having it before it goes cold?”

Everyone smiled at her fondly. “Let’s get the dinner,” Asim said cheerfully.

“Ma. Me and Dr. Khanna are going to take a stroll outside,” Rupali said after dinner, “We will be back soon. But if Mr. Sen makes to leave before that, please give us a call.”

Mouli nodded understanding very well their intention of leaving her and Asim alone.

“And Ma…” she added a little hesitantly, “You must take your medicine in fifteen minutes.”

Mouli nodded again, with an apologetic smile.

—

To be continued