Up the Down Hill
“Can one fall in love with the same person all over again?” Engrossed in my book, I knew my niece had been aiming sporadic comments my way, half lying on the divan at my feet. I was curled up in my old armchair by the bay window which overlooked the garden with its flowering trees. Rinki no doubt was talking about her current tormentor with whom she had fallen violently in love to fall as suddenly out of it and in again, by the looks of it. From the stray bits which registered, I gathered there were chances of a dramatic reunion. This time round Rinki would not be fobbed off with my silence. Trusting puppy eyes looked at me, chin resting on palms, flat on stomach, legs flailing in a criss -cross motion somewhat akin to the wipers of a car. I leaned forward, running my hands over her glossy black hair, resting my chin on her head so that she could not see my face. “Yes dear,” I said, “absolutely.” Comforted, she turned on her side and with the resilience of youth, drifted off to sleep, satisfied. Though I would not see the right side of thirty again, she attributed me with the wisdom of Methuselah. As I looked out the window at the swaying branches, I was hit by a pang of familiar longing; a whiff of mountain air seemed to assail my senses and I was back once again in the hills I had left long ago.
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I stood at the bus stop, shivering in the chilly morning breeze. It wasn’t really a bus stop as the rickety bus stopped there only for me, where I took up place like clockwork every day, six days a week. Vir, the driver, was not ‘driven’ by punctuality but in order to be one up on him, I reached well in time. He was always marginally late but I didn’t want to give him that one chance of leaving me and rumbling away the day he turned up earlier than I did. It was like a game to occupy myself with in my solitary existence. This morning, the bus was unusually late. I had reached somewhat late too and began to worry as my eyes hunted the hilly roads for a glint of yellow metal. So immersed was I peering downhill that I dismissed the white car which passed by, not seeing it pull up ahead.
I almost jumped when I heard the words, “It’s already gone," spoken over my shoulder. I looked back into a pleasant grin. My anxiety and anger levels at Vir were such that they rendered this innocuous comment objectionable and I turned my face away rudely. “Look,” he persisted, “I’ll drop you to the school. Your bus went way too early today.” This sunk in…but how did he know? “But…” I started off, to hear in return,” Hop in. You don’t want to get any more late, do you?” This logic beat me and I acceded silently, stoically looking ahead as the one sideways glance had met with a smile that seemed to gauge my discomfiture. To my mortification, he seemed to read my mind. “’I’ve seen you board the bus often and since I go further than you I have also seen you get off at the school. That’s how I know,” he proffered unbidden. Out of my depth, I slithered off hastily once we reached but not before he had the last say. “By the way, I’m new here. Could you guide me somewhat? After school, tea at the café, what say?” I could hardly be ungrateful enough to refuse him this help, and neither could I refuse the offer for tea for we could hardly sit on the roadside. As for a conversation in the close confines of his car, that was highly avoidable too judging by my immediate reactions to this close proximity! So, to my stupefaction, I nodded meekly on my way out, walking off without a backward glance. All the while, my stiffening back felt his amusement following me.
What was I, an outsider doing on my own in the hills at an age which seeks the company of friends? There is a history which you have rightly sniffed out. There had been extended partying, enough of merry making, and immense betrayal before I had opted out. I had banished memories of those indolent summer days spent with friends, spent with Raghav, immature, treacherous Raghav. Leaving friends, family and my life behind, far, far away, I had taken up this assignment almost at the drop of a hat. Luckily, my academic credentials had suppressed apprehensions about the suitability of my age for the job. Looking ostensibly mature and composed, my confidence had impressed the interview board. Little did they know this outward veneer was borne of a desperate and steely determination to get away. Raghav’s pleas, my friends’ reasoning, my family’s dejection- nothing had deterred me. “Once a cheat, always a cheat” I had told a crestfallen Raghav , a Raghav who I had trusted, who had tried to prove it was a slip up that meant nothing. For me, it was always all or nothing. I was emotionless, cold; nothing could reach me. Raghav, possibly true to form, had given up after some time. One part of me had wanted to weaken but the other part had goaded me on and won. That other part was the quintessential, ‘no going back’ me, the part that had driven me up here.
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Accommodation at the school was available only for the senior teachers though the lodgings they had arranged for me were more than what I had hoped for. All I yearned for was the solace of solitude, somewhere where I could hug my pain to myself, falling apart if I wished, muffling my sobs and soaking my pillow with my tears, could let the pain on my face hang as there would be no one to see.Yet it was not all bad. The school was perched on the hillside with a picturesque view of the valley. The grandeur of this scene never failed to uplift me. The staff was friendly and the children disciplined and eager. In these small enjoyments I dissipated my heaviness and sorrow. By the time I’d go home for the holidays, Raghav would have left for further studies abroad, my friends would have moved on with their lives and my story would remain nothing more than a nine days’ wonder. And then bang in the middle of having learnt to hold my head high, came this disturbing presence, knocking at doors holding emotions safely locked away as safely as a child stacks his favorite toys away from prying eyes. If these doors should way, it would all came tumbling out.
As school gave over and I walked towards the gate, a part of me hoped he would not turn up but a bigger part hoped he would. He was there, leaning against the gate casually, engaging our sour puss gardener in an animated conversation. He had that easy way about him that could strike up a conversation with anyone. Raghav had been diffident…. Why on earth was I comparing him with Raghav? All I had to do was spend a bit of time with a pleasant stranger, sipping tea and sharing information. ‘Pleasant or charming?’ I was musing when I was caught on the wrong foot, gaping at him. He was standing, hands at waist, looking straight at me when I thought, “What the hell, let’s give it back to him,” looked him straight in the eye and flashed him a brilliant smile. I guess I hadn’t lost the old sparkle as he seemed to do a double take, widening his smile into a big grin, acknowledging the cat and mouse game.
I thought he would stop at one of those fancy tea shops in the bigger hotels but we went past to pull up next to a small by lane. From there we walked it to this small but pretty looking café run by an elderly couple generous with their smiles. Our table looked out over the valley. A profusion of flowers grew in the patch of green outside and I kept shifting my gaze from the gaily nodding flowers to the vast sweep beyond. He had chosen this table, almost as if he knew the view would mesmerize. I sat there wordless, wondering what to say when he spoke up;”I like this view too. I always sit here.” He was doing it again- stealing my thoughts. “What kind of help do you need?”I asked. “I think you should know my name” he said, “it’s Nealle.” And while my mind tried to work out whether that would be ‘Neel,’’ Neal’ or even’ Neil,’ he did that annoying thing again. “It’s none of them,” he said, spelling it out as ‘Nealle.’ “My mum’s fancy for lingering memories of some Irish ancestors.” “I’m Mimosa” I said dreading the comeback. This time the grin was replaced by a sudden burst of laughter that almost dislodged the teacups the old lady was about to set on the saucers with their dainty white doilies. “I should have guessed,” he spluttered,” prim Mim.” “No, that’s going too far” he said as he caught my strangled look, surprisingly contrite. How could I explain that what hurt was not the liberty he had taken, but that I was not prim, had never been? I was plain hurt Mimosa, cringing from pain Mimosa, wary of nice strangers Mimosa.
“I’ve come here a few times,” he said quietly, eyes lowered on the table, an unspoken apology in his demeanor. “My dad’s building a hotel, been at it a couple of months.” “Oh ho! There it is,” my thoughts pounced, “The rich kid syndrome.” To my discomfiture, he looked up as if dying to grin and completed his words with, “Dad’s a consultant to the people responsible for setting up the hotel.” He was playing me like a yo-yo. “I’ve been helping him out back home at the office but he wanted me to have hands on experience”. Innocuous words really, yet why did I immediately fixate on his hands- strong and manly but soft enough to caress? “Oh horror!” I thought and felt myself blushing. But he didn’t let on anything this time, which made him a gentleman. He could have worn a tag proclaiming ‘paragon of virtues.’ An obedient son, ready to offer lifts to helpless strangers, takes them for tea to the prettiest of places, opens the car door for them, pulls back chairs to sit on and even shakes out serviettes for them. “Actually,” he warmed up, “I need you to help me buy something to take back for my mum’s birthday.”Stopping short of slapping myself on the forehead, I wondered what other act of goodness could be left that denied him sainthood. “All I’ve taken back so far have been flashy stones which turned out to be fakes, and scarves in what mum declared as ‘blinding’ colors, out of my hearing. This time I laughed in sheer understanding of a woman I had never met.
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We walked through the mall area though what I had in mind was somewhat further away. I felt incredibly light, as if I was with an old friend, comfortable and at ease.He showed no impatience at the umpteen shops I stopped at along the way to look at the knick knacks , the shoes I knew once bought I would never wear and most of all at the precious stones I knew I couldn’t afford. “What’s that?” he asked as I handled a beautiful bracelet- gold sandstone linked together, each oval stone embedded in a bed of gold surrounded by an ornately filigreed delicate frame. “It’s sandstone,” I whispered, “My favorite. I can’t take my eyes away from the minute flecks of gold the stone reflects.” “Neither can I, “he said. When I looked up, his eyes were not on the bracelet but on my face. “What?” I asked stupidly. “Look away,” he said and we walked on in silence. When we came to the shop I was looking for, I was, once again, excited. The diminutive old lady in traditional clothes wove designs in tapestry. They were not the usual patterns widely available but reflected her love for the hills. She chose vantage points with sprawling views which her fingers nimbly reproduced. This time I located something which seemed captured from somewhere really high up on a bright sunny day. “This has to be it!” I exclaimed, quickly correcting myself to, “that’s if you like it.” “I’ll take it,” he said, looking straight at me. “I couldn’t have chosen better.” “I have to get back,” I said, the dawning darkness casting a shadow across my heart. And when he replied with “sure,” my heart sank like a stone, ‘plop’ into the water. I didn’t care how transparent I looked to him though when he added, “Till next time then” as my heart crawled out of its watery grave, setting my face alight as it saw the brightness of day.
Nealle never asked to come up to my pristine quarters. Every time he walked me to the doorstep with its short but steep climb up a flight of stairs, my heart did double somersaults but he was always off with a smile. In hindsight, I realized he had read me so correctly; he knew that had he invited himself in, my perverseness would have labeled it an opportunistic move. No doubt he read the message in my heart but it was my call. He came to know about Raghav; in a moment of forlornness I babbled it all out to him. Toying with his teacup in ‘our’ café, he nodded gravely, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. We sat there like that, his hand on mine for how long I can’t remember but then he withdrew it to pay the bill and the moment was lost. I began to panic-the school would give over for the winter holidays soon and I would have to go back. When would we meet again? Being me,I couldn't ask." It was he who brought it up. “Looking forward to going back?” he quizzed me. “What stupidity!” I thought. “Here I am telling him how the tragedy of my life took place back home, and he asks me this?” “Your parents must be anxious to see you again” he said, in the face of my rising agitation. He deflated my billowing self pity in an instant and I knew he was right. They would really be looking forward to seeing me again, especially after the way I had left- distraught and non-communicative. “Learn to live,” Nealle urged; “There’s so much more than the past. Don’t cage yourself in your artificial world. It’s not worth it. I’ll see you in spring.” Spring with its promise of something new- was Nealle promising me something?
So it was that I, who had had some wild thoughts of going off elsewhere, found myself home, in my parents’ arms. They didn’t cry or make a fuss as if almost afraid I would fly away like a startled bird at the slightest wrong move they made. “What have I done to them?” I despaired as I saw them bustling around with an assumed cheerfulness that could not hide the gauntness that had set in. I did my best to show them I was fine and they relaxed, slowly. Inside, I was determined I would get over the winter of my life and go back to Nealle in spring. Thankfully, Raghav indeed was gone. Traces of him lingered on in my friends’ conversations which they valiantly tried to change at crucial junctures. However, when they saw I seemed unaffected they became more natural. Nealle was right, I exulted. I had needed to fight my battle right here to get over Raghav, get over the pain, the ignominies and the uncertainties and get on with my life. But had I really changed deep down inside, or was it that I had learnt to cloak my reactions with a veneer of assurance, hinting at superficial victory?
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Sadly, when I went back there was no Nealle for a long, long time. Every day my eyes scoured the hilly roads for a glimpse of his car; I looked into the crowds for his familiar face. It’s strange how our romance existed only in the hills. Neither of us thought of taking it back home as if there was a magical quality which only this place could sustain. I had no idea when Nealle would come. My old insecurity nagged me not to go to the hotel to find out- what if Nealle was there but had not sought me out? Wouldn’t I look all kinds of a fool? I hadn’t been to the café too as I would have had no answer for the owners. Today felt different though as I found my steps taking the well known path to the café. I sat and looked out at the serenity, bereft of any emotion. There was just a quiet sense of belonging. Just as he had come up unawares on me the day we had met, Nealle’s voice broke into my reverie. “Bet you missed me!” While I gulped like the proverbial fish, Nealle drew up his chair, sitting down to face me while signaling for his tea. “Well, that’s all right; no need to look apologetic if you didn’t,” all with a mischievous smile. Relief gave way to anger and I was caustic; “As much as you missed me while you were having a rollicking time somewhere I’m sure!” The old Nealle would have turned this into a joke but there was something in his eyes that shook me. There was sadness and suffering and only then did I realize how tired he looked. “Nealle?” I ventured softly. Looking out at the same view I had been engrossed in, he said slowly as if weighing every word, “I have a friend who’s been ill. It started out as nothing much but then suddenly things went out of hand and it was touch and go. I rushed back here as soon as I could.” There was silence; he did not need to tell me why he had rushed back. There was no recrimination in his voice, just weariness and exhaustion. That night I invited him in to my room as he stood outside my doorstep, somewhat forlorn, to say goodbye.
Next morning, as I looked at his sleeping face beside me, I don’t know why I tried to etch into memory every detail, desperately. I had never seen this side of Nealle, like a mischievous child asleep in all innocence. As he woke with dawning realization where he was, and encircled me in his arms, there was no more time for dispassionate study, just a crescendo of heightened feelings. This reverie was broken abruptly by the ring on his phone. He listened with deep concern, ending with, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I thought I had heard the shrillness of a girl’s voice at the other end and Nealle confirmed this. “That was Sheena,” he said,” the friend I was talking about.” Little alarm bells started chiming in my head as I asked hesitatingly, “Um, is she worse? Do you have to arrange for doctors or something?” Oblivious to my turmoil he said,” No, it’s just that she needs me a lot. She must have realized I’m not near and so the call. Anyway, let’s talk about the rest of the day, it’s Sunday! Shall we go out or shall we just…? “he left it open with a wicked glance. An urgent voice in my head hammered out” Find out who this Sheena is. How well does he know her?”I needed to go somewhere where I could be matter of fact, which was definitely not this room with its lurking possibilities. Knowing Nealle’s proclivity to read me like an open book, I ventured cautiously, “Let’s go out for a short while. It looks real nice outside and then the whole day’s there.” “Will do!” he said as he got up with a bounce. I couldn’t gauge anything from his face.
The intermittent Sunday crowd was yet to trickle into the café. Cutting incisively through my memories of just a few hours ago rose this need that would not be denied, the need to know more about Sheena. I didn’t have to do anything. As soon as the piping hot tea arrived, Nealle took a long sip before setting down his cup. “Sheena,” he said, gazing into the distant blue sky with its fluffy white clouds, “is a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together.” There it was - the catch in this perfect scheme of things. “She’s always depended on me for advice, for rescuing her from unpleasant situations, for well kind of everything.” “A kind of big brother” I said with a bright smile. To my dismay, he did not affirm this. “She’s practically been brought up in our house, always in and out. I was told to guard her, like a shield of some kind; she’s not very strong as a person.” What was Nealle trying to tell me and why oh why had I let yesterday happen? I’m not aware of the range of emotions that flitted across my face but at some point I realized his words had faltered off and he was looking intently at me. Though I had filled the gaps in his monologue with timely rejoinders, they had obviously not done the trick. “You haven’t really been listening, have you?” he asked, taking both my hands in his. But my guard was up, my hackles were raised. His touch, which had been so warm and comforting, now held in it the threat of unknown pitfalls. There was a sickness in the pit of my stomach; I took my hands away. “Your one track mind has taken over, hasn’t it?” he asked calmly. “It’s not always the same. People can be different, situations can be different. And yes, I did cared a lot about Sheena but never the way I do about you. She will never be you; you are my reality, my life, while she is a fading memory.”
I sat across him, my mind receding, taking backward steps, one at a time. A perverse voice that told me it was starting all over again silenced the small one that was asking me to trust my heart. Ironically, that’s what Nealle was saying- “Trust your heart; trust me.” How strange, he had even begun to pick words out of my head. The backward steps became a grotesque dance taking their cue from every word he uttered- one word said, one step back, till I was back in that child’s cubby hole, locking away my emotions from prying eyes. I was cold, literally cold as I hugged myself together. And there was silence for a long time. “I’ll leave today, “Nealle said suddenly, sadly? “I’ll be off late afternoon.” He seemed to weigh his next words; “I’ll wait for you at the car park till 3. If you come, it will be just au-revoir and if you don’t it’s going to be adieu, goodbye forever. Always remember though, I never left you. I want you to come to me. I will be waiting.” I didn’t seem to have the strength to move as he got up and left. He was back, however, in no time. “Here,” he said, gently laying a gift wrapped packet on the table; “I had kept this in the car, to give you tomorrow on your birthday,” and then distantly,” but now my plan’s changed and I may never get to see you ….again.”And then he was truly gone. I sat there frozen, the words’ never… again,’ driving a stake into my heart in a hammering refrain. All I could think stupidly was. “He remembers my birthday.”
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I don’t know how long I sat there but I was in a trance even when I reached home. Would I go? I don’t think that there was any doubt that I would. And I did go, though not to the car park. I hid myself high up behind a tree from where I would have a vantage view of the car. This is the point in time I lovingly crafted my own nemesis. Nealle, always the one to cajole me into doing things, to push me out of myself, would surely come looking for me at the last moment? He couldn’t leave things like this? Seeing him coming, I would run back home; he would find me breathless and tearful and hold me in his arms, promising that everything would be okay, as he always did. Yet, it didn’t happen that way. He came, well before 3, kept his bag on the back seat, shut the door and stood waiting, leaning against the back door on my side. I wondered if there was as raging a storm in his heart as in mine. He waited, oh yes he waited till 3.30 as I slowly turned to stone. I willed him to walk up, my heart pleading silently, but to no avail. Why didn’t I go to him? I wish I knew. The irony was that while I behaved characteristically, he did not. I failed the acid test of my love for him; I could not break those familiar chains. It was one of those things you agonize your whole life through with ‘if only…’ but the reality is that you can’t regain a lost moment, no matter the myriad possibilities you toy with over and over again, afterwards. I stood rooted as he opened the car door, running his hands through his hair in that endearing way. I was too far away to hear the door slam shut but with it, something shut away a part of my life forever. The car wound its way slowly downhill, disappearing in curves and jagged turns. I looked till it became a mere speck in the distance, merging with the dust till what I perceived as movement was probably just a figment of my imagination.
Coming home, there were no tears, no nothing. I was spent, exhausted. Keeping the gift next to me I fell asleep. On my birthday I looked lingeringly at the packet but did not have the courage to open it in case I break down. I had to go to school, merge into the routine. At school, I smiled and accepted the greetings and the small gifts. Nobody invited me out after school, thankfully. I think they all expected Nealle to take up my time. Though no one asked, there had been a tacit understanding of the situation. Little did they know? I came back and placed the packet on the small table against the window with its pretty flowery curtain. I traced my fingers over the ribbon that held the gift wrapping in place and finally, with a sigh, unraveled it. The wrapping paper gave way to a tan leather box- the kind that contains something of value. Lifting the lid, my breath caught in the back of my throat. There, in all its glory lay my sandstone bracelet, gold on dark velvet. It glinted and sparkled under the table lamp. I could almost hear Nealle-“Put it on, silly. You’re not supposed to just stare. Here, let me help you.” And then it hit me. He was not there. He was never going to be there maybe again. For the first time the tears came, welling up in quick succession till I collapsed on the bed, heaving my heart out. By next day I had decided to go back home. My locked up emotions were hanging out. Every place I went reminded me of Nealle, for this was the Garden of Eden where we had played and loved. Once again, I was going to do what I was best at- running away.
I don’t know if Nealle came back before I left. Perhaps he had found an apt replacement to handle his work. The hotel was nearing completion anyhow. Perhaps he was with the unseen Sheena, who needed him so much.The school was loath to let me go but I pleaded with extraordinary zeal. I used my father’s ailing health to bolster my plea. Though I hid my sorrow well, no doubt they put two and two together; thankfully a replacement was found, and I was packed and gone. I never forgot the hills and I don’t think they forgot me either- the mountain breeze swirled around me in my dreams. If my parents found something amiss, my countenance did not encourage them to probe. They were just thankful that I was there, happy to partake of as much as I was willing to give. I found a job soon enough and ensconced myself into a tidy routine. My students touched me with heir joy of life and I learned to laugh with them. Being able to give of myself again, I recovered my self confidence. Emotionally, I may have been a shambles but I held myself together. I don’t know what my colleagues saw me as; ‘something of a cold fish?’ It didn’t matter. I was cordial, though definitely ‘thus far and no further.’ I left them mystified. My previous life was privileged information and I turned stray queries into open and shut cases. As the days retreated slowly and surely, and quiet flowed my life, Nealle became the irretrievable dream that fades as morning comes, hazy and beyond reach, with each passing moment. Every person has a point of no return; I could proudly declare I helped Nealle find his when he was down and out and maybe needed me most.
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As I stroked Rinki’s hair absently, an act she obviously appreciated, snuggling closer to me, I transported myself back to a couple of years after I had left the hills. Nealle had not reappeared in my life. “I will wait” he had said .But for how long? It’s too late, my perverse self constantly reminded, too late to take that step and I taught myself to forget him, or did I? Time slipped by, and I got a sudden call from my old school which left me justifiably disturbed. They had kept in touch with me, both student and teacher alike. Yet I had not expected this- an invitation to attend their upcoming golden jubilee year celebrations with a special slot reserved for me to address the gathering as one of the ‘youngest and brightest’ teachers the school had been privy to. The letter from the principal did not seem to harbor any doubts about my potential participation in the school’s moment of glory. I had brought a semblance of order to my life; I did not want to be shorn of my defences. Yet, in a moment of what I term as ‘my first fit of madness’ I shot off my acceptance and set about writing my speech .This time I would be put up at the school; it was just for the weekend anyway.
It was like coming home. Nothing seemed to have changed. On impulse, I asked if Vir still drove the bus all the way up to the school and was assured among much laughter that this was so. That night I did not venture uphill. Next morning I caught the bus; Vir remained his old erratic self. My ‘second fit of madness’ urged me to get off at my old boarding spot, to try and recapture something of what I had felt on my first day, long, long ago. I had no clue how I was to complete my journey. As I looked down the road I had travelled, I went back in time; in a short while I would be in my classroom with my students milling around me. There was a feeling of déjà vu as I felt a car pull up next to me. As if in a dream I gazed at Nealle’s face in the driver’s seat. He was not alone though. His cheerful companion urged me, “Why don’t you get in? We’ll drop you.” Almost like an automaton I slipped in. “Nealle was just saying he dropped you to your school once. Is that where you’re headed?” Her light chatter gave me time to marshal my thoughts and senses together. “Yes, well, I left the school a year and half ago, but I’m back for their golden jubilee this weekend.” “We’re here for the weekend too!” she said. She was about to add something more when Nealle cut in,” Mimosa,” (how formal, nothing like the loving ‘Mimmi’ I used to hear,) “meet my wife Vinita.”
This couldn’t be happening. My heart was thudding, my world was crumbling. “Congratulations, “I said, with as much cheer as I could muster. Our eyes locked in his rear view mirror. “Not Sheena?” mine asked in bewilderment; “Told you, never was,” his affirmed in deep sorrow. We looked away as Vinita interjected, “We got married sudden.” Nealle broke in with,” Well, I had wanted to wait for maybe forever, but dad was impatient, asking for one good reason, and it’s difficult to come up with a reason when there isn’t any, isn’t it? So he found Vinnie as soon as I gave him the nod.” He put it like a joke but I knew the play he was making on the words ‘wait forever.’ How, in these few minutes, could I convey that I hadn’t wanted to wait a minute, that I was damned if I knew why I hadn’t run to him then? What was the use anyway? Pure agony coursed through me like molten lava. Perhaps to break the stifling silence, Nealle suddenly addressed Vinita, “Do you know, that day I gave her a lift long ago was the only occasion she ever missed the bus?” “Gosh!” replied Vinnie, “what would have happened if you hadn’t come along?” What indeed would have happened? There would have been no Nealle in my life, no ecstasy, no despair. In wonder Vinita asked me, “You mean you never missed the bus again? Wow! I really admire that.”
“I missed the bus once more,” I said, almost dreamily.” I could see it in the distance but I couldn’t reach out to it. “(I’m sure Vinita put ‘reach out’ as a slip of the tongue instead of ‘reach,’ that is if she noticed at all.) “ It waited for me and then I watched as it kept fading away in the distance. It went further and further downhill…. I wanted to catch it so badly, so badly. I remember, it was the day before my birthday…” “Vinita was just puzzling enough to ask,” don’t you mean it was coming up towards you….?”, when the car swerved violently to avoid hitting the oncoming car, skirting the bend ahead. I used to tease Nealle that he held the Guinness record for safe driving. I was awed that my words still held the power to break him out of his mould. This time it was no fleeting glance- our eyes locked in the mirror, each mesmerized by what the other saw. Vinita was too shaken to register anything, diving to retrieve her belongings which had rolled out from her purse onto the floorboard, milling around her feet. “You were coming to me? What held you back? I never stopped waiting.” his eyes agonized. “You knew me inside out. You know I freeze when I need to move. Why oh why didn’t you come for me one more time like you always did?” my eyes pleaded. Vinita straightened up and we came to with a snap.
“We’ve reached’ I quivered, as we rounded the last corner. “Let’s meet again. I’m all shaken,” said Vinita. “I guess that goes for all of us,” I said as I stepped out, pulling my small carry bag towards me, lowering my face to her window, avoiding looking at Nealle. I wanted to treasure the last look we had exchanged, holding it close to my heart as my last memory of him. Like that day long ago when I had walked into the gate and along the path leading to the school, I could feel Nealle’s eyes on my stiffening back, following me once again, this time not with amusement, but with what- regret? And then I heard the car rev up in goodbye and go. .. Destiny had stepped in to help us bare our souls to each other. But where was cruel destiny when I had needed that push downhill? As I walked away, I left behind my crumbling delusions of having put Nealle past me, with each step- leave alone forget, I yearned for Nealle more than I ever did before, much more. What infinitesimal measure of time did it take for that dam in my heart to burst, for the tidal waves of love to knock me off balance, leaving me awash with the headiness of longing? I didn’t take up Vinita on her offer. I never saw Nealle again. I never did wear the bracelet he gave me but I do take it out now and then, gently stroke it, touch it to my cheeks in a gentle caress, living those days over. I then put it back in its box where the stones and my memories jostle against each other gently, telling each other of secrets that once were, that once were.
“Can one fall in love with the same person all over again?” Engrossed in my book, I knew my niece had been aiming sporadic comments my way, half lying on the divan at my feet. I was curled up in my old armchair by the bay window which overlooked the garden with its flowering trees. Rinki no doubt was talking about her current tormentor with whom she had fallen violently in love to fall as suddenly out of it and in again, by the looks of it. From the stray bits which registered, I gathered there were chances of a dramatic reunion. This time round Rinki would not be fobbed off with my silence. Trusting puppy eyes looked at me, chin resting on palms, flat on stomach, legs flailing in a criss -cross motion somewhat akin to the wipers of a car. I leaned forward, running my hands over her glossy black hair, resting my chin on her head so that she could not see my face. “Yes dear,” I said, “absolutely.” Comforted, she turned on her side and with the resilience of youth, drifted off to sleep, satisfied. Though I would not see the right side of thirty again, she attributed me with the wisdom of Methuselah. As I looked out the window at the swaying branches, I was hit by a pang of familiar longing; a whiff of mountain air seemed to assail my senses and I was back once again in the hills I had left long ago.
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I stood at the bus stop, shivering in the chilly morning breeze. It wasn’t really a bus stop as the rickety bus stopped there only for me, where I took up place like clockwork every day, six days a week. Vir, the driver, was not ‘driven’ by punctuality but in order to be one up on him, I reached well in time. He was always marginally late but I didn’t want to give him that one chance of leaving me and rumbling away the day he turned up earlier than I did. It was like a game to occupy myself with in my solitary existence. This morning, the bus was unusually late. I had reached somewhat late too and began to worry as my eyes hunted the hilly roads for a glint of yellow metal. So immersed was I peering downhill that I dismissed the white car which passed by, not seeing it pull up ahead.
I almost jumped when I heard the words, “It’s already gone," spoken over my shoulder. I looked back into a pleasant grin. My anxiety and anger levels at Vir were such that they rendered this innocuous comment objectionable and I turned my face away rudely. “Look,” he persisted, “I’ll drop you to the school. Your bus went way too early today.” This sunk in…but how did he know? “But…” I started off, to hear in return,” Hop in. You don’t want to get any more late, do you?” This logic beat me and I acceded silently, stoically looking ahead as the one sideways glance had met with a smile that seemed to gauge my discomfiture. To my mortification, he seemed to read my mind. “’I’ve seen you board the bus often and since I go further than you I have also seen you get off at the school. That’s how I know,” he proffered unbidden. Out of my depth, I slithered off hastily once we reached but not before he had the last say. “By the way, I’m new here. Could you guide me somewhat? After school, tea at the café, what say?” I could hardly be ungrateful enough to refuse him this help, and neither could I refuse the offer for tea for we could hardly sit on the roadside. As for a conversation in the close confines of his car, that was highly avoidable too judging by my immediate reactions to this close proximity! So, to my stupefaction, I nodded meekly on my way out, walking off without a backward glance. All the while, my stiffening back felt his amusement following me.
What was I, an outsider doing on my own in the hills at an age which seeks the company of friends? There is a history which you have rightly sniffed out. There had been extended partying, enough of merry making, and immense betrayal before I had opted out. I had banished memories of those indolent summer days spent with friends, spent with Raghav, immature, treacherous Raghav. Leaving friends, family and my life behind, far, far away, I had taken up this assignment almost at the drop of a hat. Luckily, my academic credentials had suppressed apprehensions about the suitability of my age for the job. Looking ostensibly mature and composed, my confidence had impressed the interview board. Little did they know this outward veneer was borne of a desperate and steely determination to get away. Raghav’s pleas, my friends’ reasoning, my family’s dejection- nothing had deterred me. “Once a cheat, always a cheat” I had told a crestfallen Raghav , a Raghav who I had trusted, who had tried to prove it was a slip up that meant nothing. For me, it was always all or nothing. I was emotionless, cold; nothing could reach me. Raghav, possibly true to form, had given up after some time. One part of me had wanted to weaken but the other part had goaded me on and won. That other part was the quintessential, ‘no going back’ me, the part that had driven me up here.
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Accommodation at the school was available only for the senior teachers though the lodgings they had arranged for me were more than what I had hoped for. All I yearned for was the solace of solitude, somewhere where I could hug my pain to myself, falling apart if I wished, muffling my sobs and soaking my pillow with my tears, could let the pain on my face hang as there would be no one to see.Yet it was not all bad. The school was perched on the hillside with a picturesque view of the valley. The grandeur of this scene never failed to uplift me. The staff was friendly and the children disciplined and eager. In these small enjoyments I dissipated my heaviness and sorrow. By the time I’d go home for the holidays, Raghav would have left for further studies abroad, my friends would have moved on with their lives and my story would remain nothing more than a nine days’ wonder. And then bang in the middle of having learnt to hold my head high, came this disturbing presence, knocking at doors holding emotions safely locked away as safely as a child stacks his favorite toys away from prying eyes. If these doors should way, it would all came tumbling out.
As school gave over and I walked towards the gate, a part of me hoped he would not turn up but a bigger part hoped he would. He was there, leaning against the gate casually, engaging our sour puss gardener in an animated conversation. He had that easy way about him that could strike up a conversation with anyone. Raghav had been diffident…. Why on earth was I comparing him with Raghav? All I had to do was spend a bit of time with a pleasant stranger, sipping tea and sharing information. ‘Pleasant or charming?’ I was musing when I was caught on the wrong foot, gaping at him. He was standing, hands at waist, looking straight at me when I thought, “What the hell, let’s give it back to him,” looked him straight in the eye and flashed him a brilliant smile. I guess I hadn’t lost the old sparkle as he seemed to do a double take, widening his smile into a big grin, acknowledging the cat and mouse game.
I thought he would stop at one of those fancy tea shops in the bigger hotels but we went past to pull up next to a small by lane. From there we walked it to this small but pretty looking café run by an elderly couple generous with their smiles. Our table looked out over the valley. A profusion of flowers grew in the patch of green outside and I kept shifting my gaze from the gaily nodding flowers to the vast sweep beyond. He had chosen this table, almost as if he knew the view would mesmerize. I sat there wordless, wondering what to say when he spoke up;”I like this view too. I always sit here.” He was doing it again- stealing my thoughts. “What kind of help do you need?”I asked. “I think you should know my name” he said, “it’s Nealle.” And while my mind tried to work out whether that would be ‘Neel,’’ Neal’ or even’ Neil,’ he did that annoying thing again. “It’s none of them,” he said, spelling it out as ‘Nealle.’ “My mum’s fancy for lingering memories of some Irish ancestors.” “I’m Mimosa” I said dreading the comeback. This time the grin was replaced by a sudden burst of laughter that almost dislodged the teacups the old lady was about to set on the saucers with their dainty white doilies. “I should have guessed,” he spluttered,” prim Mim.” “No, that’s going too far” he said as he caught my strangled look, surprisingly contrite. How could I explain that what hurt was not the liberty he had taken, but that I was not prim, had never been? I was plain hurt Mimosa, cringing from pain Mimosa, wary of nice strangers Mimosa.
“I’ve come here a few times,” he said quietly, eyes lowered on the table, an unspoken apology in his demeanor. “My dad’s building a hotel, been at it a couple of months.” “Oh ho! There it is,” my thoughts pounced, “The rich kid syndrome.” To my discomfiture, he looked up as if dying to grin and completed his words with, “Dad’s a consultant to the people responsible for setting up the hotel.” He was playing me like a yo-yo. “I’ve been helping him out back home at the office but he wanted me to have hands on experience”. Innocuous words really, yet why did I immediately fixate on his hands- strong and manly but soft enough to caress? “Oh horror!” I thought and felt myself blushing. But he didn’t let on anything this time, which made him a gentleman. He could have worn a tag proclaiming ‘paragon of virtues.’ An obedient son, ready to offer lifts to helpless strangers, takes them for tea to the prettiest of places, opens the car door for them, pulls back chairs to sit on and even shakes out serviettes for them. “Actually,” he warmed up, “I need you to help me buy something to take back for my mum’s birthday.”Stopping short of slapping myself on the forehead, I wondered what other act of goodness could be left that denied him sainthood. “All I’ve taken back so far have been flashy stones which turned out to be fakes, and scarves in what mum declared as ‘blinding’ colors, out of my hearing. This time I laughed in sheer understanding of a woman I had never met.
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We walked through the mall area though what I had in mind was somewhat further away. I felt incredibly light, as if I was with an old friend, comfortable and at ease.He showed no impatience at the umpteen shops I stopped at along the way to look at the knick knacks , the shoes I knew once bought I would never wear and most of all at the precious stones I knew I couldn’t afford. “What’s that?” he asked as I handled a beautiful bracelet- gold sandstone linked together, each oval stone embedded in a bed of gold surrounded by an ornately filigreed delicate frame. “It’s sandstone,” I whispered, “My favorite. I can’t take my eyes away from the minute flecks of gold the stone reflects.” “Neither can I, “he said. When I looked up, his eyes were not on the bracelet but on my face. “What?” I asked stupidly. “Look away,” he said and we walked on in silence. When we came to the shop I was looking for, I was, once again, excited. The diminutive old lady in traditional clothes wove designs in tapestry. They were not the usual patterns widely available but reflected her love for the hills. She chose vantage points with sprawling views which her fingers nimbly reproduced. This time I located something which seemed captured from somewhere really high up on a bright sunny day. “This has to be it!” I exclaimed, quickly correcting myself to, “that’s if you like it.” “I’ll take it,” he said, looking straight at me. “I couldn’t have chosen better.” “I have to get back,” I said, the dawning darkness casting a shadow across my heart. And when he replied with “sure,” my heart sank like a stone, ‘plop’ into the water. I didn’t care how transparent I looked to him though when he added, “Till next time then” as my heart crawled out of its watery grave, setting my face alight as it saw the brightness of day.
Nealle never asked to come up to my pristine quarters. Every time he walked me to the doorstep with its short but steep climb up a flight of stairs, my heart did double somersaults but he was always off with a smile. In hindsight, I realized he had read me so correctly; he knew that had he invited himself in, my perverseness would have labeled it an opportunistic move. No doubt he read the message in my heart but it was my call. He came to know about Raghav; in a moment of forlornness I babbled it all out to him. Toying with his teacup in ‘our’ café, he nodded gravely, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. We sat there like that, his hand on mine for how long I can’t remember but then he withdrew it to pay the bill and the moment was lost. I began to panic-the school would give over for the winter holidays soon and I would have to go back. When would we meet again? Being me,I couldn't ask." It was he who brought it up. “Looking forward to going back?” he quizzed me. “What stupidity!” I thought. “Here I am telling him how the tragedy of my life took place back home, and he asks me this?” “Your parents must be anxious to see you again” he said, in the face of my rising agitation. He deflated my billowing self pity in an instant and I knew he was right. They would really be looking forward to seeing me again, especially after the way I had left- distraught and non-communicative. “Learn to live,” Nealle urged; “There’s so much more than the past. Don’t cage yourself in your artificial world. It’s not worth it. I’ll see you in spring.” Spring with its promise of something new- was Nealle promising me something?
So it was that I, who had had some wild thoughts of going off elsewhere, found myself home, in my parents’ arms. They didn’t cry or make a fuss as if almost afraid I would fly away like a startled bird at the slightest wrong move they made. “What have I done to them?” I despaired as I saw them bustling around with an assumed cheerfulness that could not hide the gauntness that had set in. I did my best to show them I was fine and they relaxed, slowly. Inside, I was determined I would get over the winter of my life and go back to Nealle in spring. Thankfully, Raghav indeed was gone. Traces of him lingered on in my friends’ conversations which they valiantly tried to change at crucial junctures. However, when they saw I seemed unaffected they became more natural. Nealle was right, I exulted. I had needed to fight my battle right here to get over Raghav, get over the pain, the ignominies and the uncertainties and get on with my life. But had I really changed deep down inside, or was it that I had learnt to cloak my reactions with a veneer of assurance, hinting at superficial victory?
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Sadly, when I went back there was no Nealle for a long, long time. Every day my eyes scoured the hilly roads for a glimpse of his car; I looked into the crowds for his familiar face. It’s strange how our romance existed only in the hills. Neither of us thought of taking it back home as if there was a magical quality which only this place could sustain. I had no idea when Nealle would come. My old insecurity nagged me not to go to the hotel to find out- what if Nealle was there but had not sought me out? Wouldn’t I look all kinds of a fool? I hadn’t been to the café too as I would have had no answer for the owners. Today felt different though as I found my steps taking the well known path to the café. I sat and looked out at the serenity, bereft of any emotion. There was just a quiet sense of belonging. Just as he had come up unawares on me the day we had met, Nealle’s voice broke into my reverie. “Bet you missed me!” While I gulped like the proverbial fish, Nealle drew up his chair, sitting down to face me while signaling for his tea. “Well, that’s all right; no need to look apologetic if you didn’t,” all with a mischievous smile. Relief gave way to anger and I was caustic; “As much as you missed me while you were having a rollicking time somewhere I’m sure!” The old Nealle would have turned this into a joke but there was something in his eyes that shook me. There was sadness and suffering and only then did I realize how tired he looked. “Nealle?” I ventured softly. Looking out at the same view I had been engrossed in, he said slowly as if weighing every word, “I have a friend who’s been ill. It started out as nothing much but then suddenly things went out of hand and it was touch and go. I rushed back here as soon as I could.” There was silence; he did not need to tell me why he had rushed back. There was no recrimination in his voice, just weariness and exhaustion. That night I invited him in to my room as he stood outside my doorstep, somewhat forlorn, to say goodbye.
Next morning, as I looked at his sleeping face beside me, I don’t know why I tried to etch into memory every detail, desperately. I had never seen this side of Nealle, like a mischievous child asleep in all innocence. As he woke with dawning realization where he was, and encircled me in his arms, there was no more time for dispassionate study, just a crescendo of heightened feelings. This reverie was broken abruptly by the ring on his phone. He listened with deep concern, ending with, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I thought I had heard the shrillness of a girl’s voice at the other end and Nealle confirmed this. “That was Sheena,” he said,” the friend I was talking about.” Little alarm bells started chiming in my head as I asked hesitatingly, “Um, is she worse? Do you have to arrange for doctors or something?” Oblivious to my turmoil he said,” No, it’s just that she needs me a lot. She must have realized I’m not near and so the call. Anyway, let’s talk about the rest of the day, it’s Sunday! Shall we go out or shall we just…? “he left it open with a wicked glance. An urgent voice in my head hammered out” Find out who this Sheena is. How well does he know her?”I needed to go somewhere where I could be matter of fact, which was definitely not this room with its lurking possibilities. Knowing Nealle’s proclivity to read me like an open book, I ventured cautiously, “Let’s go out for a short while. It looks real nice outside and then the whole day’s there.” “Will do!” he said as he got up with a bounce. I couldn’t gauge anything from his face.
The intermittent Sunday crowd was yet to trickle into the café. Cutting incisively through my memories of just a few hours ago rose this need that would not be denied, the need to know more about Sheena. I didn’t have to do anything. As soon as the piping hot tea arrived, Nealle took a long sip before setting down his cup. “Sheena,” he said, gazing into the distant blue sky with its fluffy white clouds, “is a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together.” There it was - the catch in this perfect scheme of things. “She’s always depended on me for advice, for rescuing her from unpleasant situations, for well kind of everything.” “A kind of big brother” I said with a bright smile. To my dismay, he did not affirm this. “She’s practically been brought up in our house, always in and out. I was told to guard her, like a shield of some kind; she’s not very strong as a person.” What was Nealle trying to tell me and why oh why had I let yesterday happen? I’m not aware of the range of emotions that flitted across my face but at some point I realized his words had faltered off and he was looking intently at me. Though I had filled the gaps in his monologue with timely rejoinders, they had obviously not done the trick. “You haven’t really been listening, have you?” he asked, taking both my hands in his. But my guard was up, my hackles were raised. His touch, which had been so warm and comforting, now held in it the threat of unknown pitfalls. There was a sickness in the pit of my stomach; I took my hands away. “Your one track mind has taken over, hasn’t it?” he asked calmly. “It’s not always the same. People can be different, situations can be different. And yes, I did cared a lot about Sheena but never the way I do about you. She will never be you; you are my reality, my life, while she is a fading memory.”
I sat across him, my mind receding, taking backward steps, one at a time. A perverse voice that told me it was starting all over again silenced the small one that was asking me to trust my heart. Ironically, that’s what Nealle was saying- “Trust your heart; trust me.” How strange, he had even begun to pick words out of my head. The backward steps became a grotesque dance taking their cue from every word he uttered- one word said, one step back, till I was back in that child’s cubby hole, locking away my emotions from prying eyes. I was cold, literally cold as I hugged myself together. And there was silence for a long time. “I’ll leave today, “Nealle said suddenly, sadly? “I’ll be off late afternoon.” He seemed to weigh his next words; “I’ll wait for you at the car park till 3. If you come, it will be just au-revoir and if you don’t it’s going to be adieu, goodbye forever. Always remember though, I never left you. I want you to come to me. I will be waiting.” I didn’t seem to have the strength to move as he got up and left. He was back, however, in no time. “Here,” he said, gently laying a gift wrapped packet on the table; “I had kept this in the car, to give you tomorrow on your birthday,” and then distantly,” but now my plan’s changed and I may never get to see you ….again.”And then he was truly gone. I sat there frozen, the words’ never… again,’ driving a stake into my heart in a hammering refrain. All I could think stupidly was. “He remembers my birthday.”
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I don’t know how long I sat there but I was in a trance even when I reached home. Would I go? I don’t think that there was any doubt that I would. And I did go, though not to the car park. I hid myself high up behind a tree from where I would have a vantage view of the car. This is the point in time I lovingly crafted my own nemesis. Nealle, always the one to cajole me into doing things, to push me out of myself, would surely come looking for me at the last moment? He couldn’t leave things like this? Seeing him coming, I would run back home; he would find me breathless and tearful and hold me in his arms, promising that everything would be okay, as he always did. Yet, it didn’t happen that way. He came, well before 3, kept his bag on the back seat, shut the door and stood waiting, leaning against the back door on my side. I wondered if there was as raging a storm in his heart as in mine. He waited, oh yes he waited till 3.30 as I slowly turned to stone. I willed him to walk up, my heart pleading silently, but to no avail. Why didn’t I go to him? I wish I knew. The irony was that while I behaved characteristically, he did not. I failed the acid test of my love for him; I could not break those familiar chains. It was one of those things you agonize your whole life through with ‘if only…’ but the reality is that you can’t regain a lost moment, no matter the myriad possibilities you toy with over and over again, afterwards. I stood rooted as he opened the car door, running his hands through his hair in that endearing way. I was too far away to hear the door slam shut but with it, something shut away a part of my life forever. The car wound its way slowly downhill, disappearing in curves and jagged turns. I looked till it became a mere speck in the distance, merging with the dust till what I perceived as movement was probably just a figment of my imagination.
Coming home, there were no tears, no nothing. I was spent, exhausted. Keeping the gift next to me I fell asleep. On my birthday I looked lingeringly at the packet but did not have the courage to open it in case I break down. I had to go to school, merge into the routine. At school, I smiled and accepted the greetings and the small gifts. Nobody invited me out after school, thankfully. I think they all expected Nealle to take up my time. Though no one asked, there had been a tacit understanding of the situation. Little did they know? I came back and placed the packet on the small table against the window with its pretty flowery curtain. I traced my fingers over the ribbon that held the gift wrapping in place and finally, with a sigh, unraveled it. The wrapping paper gave way to a tan leather box- the kind that contains something of value. Lifting the lid, my breath caught in the back of my throat. There, in all its glory lay my sandstone bracelet, gold on dark velvet. It glinted and sparkled under the table lamp. I could almost hear Nealle-“Put it on, silly. You’re not supposed to just stare. Here, let me help you.” And then it hit me. He was not there. He was never going to be there maybe again. For the first time the tears came, welling up in quick succession till I collapsed on the bed, heaving my heart out. By next day I had decided to go back home. My locked up emotions were hanging out. Every place I went reminded me of Nealle, for this was the Garden of Eden where we had played and loved. Once again, I was going to do what I was best at- running away.
I don’t know if Nealle came back before I left. Perhaps he had found an apt replacement to handle his work. The hotel was nearing completion anyhow. Perhaps he was with the unseen Sheena, who needed him so much.The school was loath to let me go but I pleaded with extraordinary zeal. I used my father’s ailing health to bolster my plea. Though I hid my sorrow well, no doubt they put two and two together; thankfully a replacement was found, and I was packed and gone. I never forgot the hills and I don’t think they forgot me either- the mountain breeze swirled around me in my dreams. If my parents found something amiss, my countenance did not encourage them to probe. They were just thankful that I was there, happy to partake of as much as I was willing to give. I found a job soon enough and ensconced myself into a tidy routine. My students touched me with heir joy of life and I learned to laugh with them. Being able to give of myself again, I recovered my self confidence. Emotionally, I may have been a shambles but I held myself together. I don’t know what my colleagues saw me as; ‘something of a cold fish?’ It didn’t matter. I was cordial, though definitely ‘thus far and no further.’ I left them mystified. My previous life was privileged information and I turned stray queries into open and shut cases. As the days retreated slowly and surely, and quiet flowed my life, Nealle became the irretrievable dream that fades as morning comes, hazy and beyond reach, with each passing moment. Every person has a point of no return; I could proudly declare I helped Nealle find his when he was down and out and maybe needed me most.
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As I stroked Rinki’s hair absently, an act she obviously appreciated, snuggling closer to me, I transported myself back to a couple of years after I had left the hills. Nealle had not reappeared in my life. “I will wait” he had said .But for how long? It’s too late, my perverse self constantly reminded, too late to take that step and I taught myself to forget him, or did I? Time slipped by, and I got a sudden call from my old school which left me justifiably disturbed. They had kept in touch with me, both student and teacher alike. Yet I had not expected this- an invitation to attend their upcoming golden jubilee year celebrations with a special slot reserved for me to address the gathering as one of the ‘youngest and brightest’ teachers the school had been privy to. The letter from the principal did not seem to harbor any doubts about my potential participation in the school’s moment of glory. I had brought a semblance of order to my life; I did not want to be shorn of my defences. Yet, in a moment of what I term as ‘my first fit of madness’ I shot off my acceptance and set about writing my speech .This time I would be put up at the school; it was just for the weekend anyway.
It was like coming home. Nothing seemed to have changed. On impulse, I asked if Vir still drove the bus all the way up to the school and was assured among much laughter that this was so. That night I did not venture uphill. Next morning I caught the bus; Vir remained his old erratic self. My ‘second fit of madness’ urged me to get off at my old boarding spot, to try and recapture something of what I had felt on my first day, long, long ago. I had no clue how I was to complete my journey. As I looked down the road I had travelled, I went back in time; in a short while I would be in my classroom with my students milling around me. There was a feeling of déjà vu as I felt a car pull up next to me. As if in a dream I gazed at Nealle’s face in the driver’s seat. He was not alone though. His cheerful companion urged me, “Why don’t you get in? We’ll drop you.” Almost like an automaton I slipped in. “Nealle was just saying he dropped you to your school once. Is that where you’re headed?” Her light chatter gave me time to marshal my thoughts and senses together. “Yes, well, I left the school a year and half ago, but I’m back for their golden jubilee this weekend.” “We’re here for the weekend too!” she said. She was about to add something more when Nealle cut in,” Mimosa,” (how formal, nothing like the loving ‘Mimmi’ I used to hear,) “meet my wife Vinita.”
This couldn’t be happening. My heart was thudding, my world was crumbling. “Congratulations, “I said, with as much cheer as I could muster. Our eyes locked in his rear view mirror. “Not Sheena?” mine asked in bewilderment; “Told you, never was,” his affirmed in deep sorrow. We looked away as Vinita interjected, “We got married sudden.” Nealle broke in with,” Well, I had wanted to wait for maybe forever, but dad was impatient, asking for one good reason, and it’s difficult to come up with a reason when there isn’t any, isn’t it? So he found Vinnie as soon as I gave him the nod.” He put it like a joke but I knew the play he was making on the words ‘wait forever.’ How, in these few minutes, could I convey that I hadn’t wanted to wait a minute, that I was damned if I knew why I hadn’t run to him then? What was the use anyway? Pure agony coursed through me like molten lava. Perhaps to break the stifling silence, Nealle suddenly addressed Vinita, “Do you know, that day I gave her a lift long ago was the only occasion she ever missed the bus?” “Gosh!” replied Vinnie, “what would have happened if you hadn’t come along?” What indeed would have happened? There would have been no Nealle in my life, no ecstasy, no despair. In wonder Vinita asked me, “You mean you never missed the bus again? Wow! I really admire that.”
“I missed the bus once more,” I said, almost dreamily.” I could see it in the distance but I couldn’t reach out to it. “(I’m sure Vinita put ‘reach out’ as a slip of the tongue instead of ‘reach,’ that is if she noticed at all.) “ It waited for me and then I watched as it kept fading away in the distance. It went further and further downhill…. I wanted to catch it so badly, so badly. I remember, it was the day before my birthday…” “Vinita was just puzzling enough to ask,” don’t you mean it was coming up towards you….?”, when the car swerved violently to avoid hitting the oncoming car, skirting the bend ahead. I used to tease Nealle that he held the Guinness record for safe driving. I was awed that my words still held the power to break him out of his mould. This time it was no fleeting glance- our eyes locked in the mirror, each mesmerized by what the other saw. Vinita was too shaken to register anything, diving to retrieve her belongings which had rolled out from her purse onto the floorboard, milling around her feet. “You were coming to me? What held you back? I never stopped waiting.” his eyes agonized. “You knew me inside out. You know I freeze when I need to move. Why oh why didn’t you come for me one more time like you always did?” my eyes pleaded. Vinita straightened up and we came to with a snap.
“We’ve reached’ I quivered, as we rounded the last corner. “Let’s meet again. I’m all shaken,” said Vinita. “I guess that goes for all of us,” I said as I stepped out, pulling my small carry bag towards me, lowering my face to her window, avoiding looking at Nealle. I wanted to treasure the last look we had exchanged, holding it close to my heart as my last memory of him. Like that day long ago when I had walked into the gate and along the path leading to the school, I could feel Nealle’s eyes on my stiffening back, following me once again, this time not with amusement, but with what- regret? And then I heard the car rev up in goodbye and go. .. Destiny had stepped in to help us bare our souls to each other. But where was cruel destiny when I had needed that push downhill? As I walked away, I left behind my crumbling delusions of having put Nealle past me, with each step- leave alone forget, I yearned for Nealle more than I ever did before, much more. What infinitesimal measure of time did it take for that dam in my heart to burst, for the tidal waves of love to knock me off balance, leaving me awash with the headiness of longing? I didn’t take up Vinita on her offer. I never saw Nealle again. I never did wear the bracelet he gave me but I do take it out now and then, gently stroke it, touch it to my cheeks in a gentle caress, living those days over. I then put it back in its box where the stones and my memories jostle against each other gently, telling each other of secrets that once were, that once were.