She could spend most of her days by the
window, staring at the snow-capped peaks of Kanchenjunga, feeling a sense of
happy alienation from everyone and everything. A moment lost in time, a moment
when she could just be herself…but this morning, she felt so blue, the wind
whispered sending a shudder down her spine. She wrapped the shawl tight around
her shoulder, trying to keep the warmth in and to keep the sadness at bay.
Often on a beautiful morning when the sky is clear and blue, and the wind
caresses the pine trees, and the clouds float like puffs of cream, she felt the
old sadness again, tugging at her heart. She had been living in a small cottage
by the edge of the road leading to Ghoom for about a year now. Giving up her
worldly ties was the easiest thing she could do and she didn’t regret doing any
of that! When she learnt she was terminally ill and it was a matter of few
years, she knew she had to do what she wanted to do for so long. Leaving
everything, the hustle bustle of Calcutta and the busy life of a retired
schoolteacher and a grandmother, it had been too long since she followed her
whim and fancy…first there was her husband to worry about, then the children
and the job, her family, his family, their incessant demands…. sometimes she
wished to get away from it all and finally she could at the end of her journey!
Life is funny like that. One realizes at the end of the fraying rope that this
is it, and to make the best of it all! People thought it was crazy when she
explained how she would like to spend the last few of her functional days, her
son was flabbergasted and her daughter-in-law smirked a little, her grand kids
were too young to understand and maybe they thought they could come over for
holidays! Oh silly silly children! She would be going for a permanent vacation
soon, but she didn’t really care. “Second
verse same as the first” the Beatles sang and she listened resting her palms on
her cheeks and feeling a deep sense of melancholia.
Her silence was broken by a loud grunt and hum of a
commotion outside. She forced herself from the favourite spot and went towards
the door. A small crowd had gathered surrounding a car, a blue Maruti Swift, a
tire had burst and stalled it. She saw him coming out of the car; the crowd had
parted in a way that she could look at him. In a moment of despair and hope she
looked at him, it was him! He had aged, salt and pepper hair and a fuller face,
wrinkled but genial, it was him! She thought of going back inside her safe haven
and to shut the door on him, but he saw her too. Saying something gruff to the
driver about fixing the tire, he slowly walked towards her. Did he recognize
her? After all these years, she felt elated and sad at the same time. Seeing
him made her ache in places she had forgotten existed, a film of tears was
blurring her vision, she swiftly wiped them away, she still felt uncomfortable
expressing herself. After everything she had been through she didn’t expected
to be surprised by anything at all, but life does that at times, punches you in
the guts and lifts you to the stars! What could they say to each other? She
wondered her hands trembling at she clutched at her skirt.
He was
hoping to reach the hotel by noon. The road was steep and winding, he felt a
little car sick, the little car grunted as it climbed up the hills. He had a meeting with a local tea estate
manager the next day and wanted to enjoy some sight seeing before. On one of the hairpin loop near Ghoom, a small
town before his final destination, Darjeeling, the car jerked suddenly nearly
falling into the ravine. The driver was a local man with nerves of steel it
seemed, he swerved the car to safety, missing the edge by an inch. The car had
stopped; smoke coming from the engine, one of the tires had burst. His heart
was pounding now, beating hot blood to his face and neck. It was a delayed
reaction to the near fatal crash. He made his way out of the backseat, his
knees trembling, his whole body shaking. The driver was putting some water on
his face his forehead was cut. A crowd had gathered. His head was dizzy and
walking in a daze. At the far left of the road, a little cottage nestled at the
side of the hill. He found himself looking at it’s front door, white curtains
with blue flowers fluttering in the wind, his eyes rested on a woman standing
at the entrance. For a moment it seemed he must have been hallucinating. Was it
really her? His vision cleared and he saw her in the bright April sun, her face
old and lined but still beautiful. His legs gave way and he fell down on his
back. People crowded around him, humming words and supporting him on his feet.
He gently brushed the hands away, mumbling thanks. His feet seemed to be made
of rubber, wobbly and weak. He slowly walked to her. She kept looking at him,
curtains billowing around her, sunlight streaking through her grey hair.
He held her hand, smiling at her innocence.
They were 17 and in love, life couldn’t have been sweeter. She pursed her lips
and asked again, “why do you love me?”
“Have you ever stood
near a precipice and felt the call of the void?”
She looked at him puzzled; he tried to explain
himself,
“ Sometimes you just
can’t help yourself. It’s like gravity…”
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