Chapter 6 I was lying in my bed. It was a hot and humid night. I have a weird habit from childhood. I use sirak (quilt), no matter if it is a hot summer night, or a chilly winter one. There’s one more thing. I can’t stand kambal (comforter). It just doesn’t work with me. I don’t know why. I feel stifled being inside it and I suffer nightmares. As if I’m entombed under it dying for breath. I feel someone is smothering me from outside. No matter how hard I try but I can’t come out, until I chant Hanuman Chalisha in the end. Then when I wake up, my body is like as if I have just come out of a pool of sweat. All drenched. This happens to me all the time when I sleep under kambal. But nothing like that happens when I’m with sirak. A few times I had run this experiment even after I was conscious to this, but the result was the same. When I talked to my parents about it later, dad said it was just my psychology, and asked me to use sirak if I’m fine under it. But mom was worried and she took me to a few clairvoyants that went futile though. Later I ended up with dad’s idea of using sirak forever. It was eleven already. On usual days, I’d be chatting with Kunja. I was not feeling well. I had a terrible headache right after I returned from the theatre. I abandoned my dinner too. I was in no mood to talk to anyone. I never mentioned what I saw to Big Ass. I merely confessed that all I’d seen today was nothing but a hallucination. My senses had deceived me because I badly wanted what I saw to happen. That’s the truth now. It was not Sarvesh whom I saw. It was someone else who looked like him. And if it was him, the girl was Kunja. That’s what I had to presume now. And after this presumption, my headache suddenly weakened. Inside the theatre, I tried hard to ignore people around me. I felt it was the longest movie I’d ever watched so far. No offense, the movie was awesome the next time I watched it on TV, under a different circumstance. Things around us change so easily sometimes, don’t they? Things around me too changed, after what I saw that day in the restroom. Kunja was online while the movie was toward the end. Queen-ja: wat kinda question is dat?? Graceful Gyan: jst tell me kunja. How much do u luv him? Queen-ja: u seriously want 2 know? Graceful Gyan: yes I do Queen-ja: I luv him a lot Graceful Gyan: how much is a lot? Queen-ja: a lot is a lot, a lot lot lot I dunno why u r asking this now? Graceful Gyan: wat will u do if he leaves u 1day? Queen-ja: he is nvr going 2 do dat I trust him Why r u asking dis gyan? Graceful Gyan: bye bye Kunja I’m in the middle of a movie I didn’t appear in the morning class the other day. Everyone in the room had gone except Gyan, the idiot. The headache seemed to be totally vanished though. Despite the fact my eyes had already opened at six when guys were leaving, I lay in my bed till eight. I found that the battery of my mobile was dead, and so I put it into recharge. I went down to the kitchen for tea. Kitchen Didi, who worked in our kitchen, asked me how my headache was doing now. She had given me some of her aspirins yesterday as it turned out that the hostel had run out of the stock. She said she had to use it now and then, so she always carried a lot of them with her. She was a loving woman. As I was having my tea, I thought talking to her for a while hoping that would refresh me. “Didi, how long have you been working here?” I asked taking a small sip. She was sitting on a small pirka on the floor chopping onions on the chopping board wiping her eyes once in a while. “Me? I’ve been working her for last four years,” she replied with a smile. She was a chubby woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She wore the same lungi and same faded t-shirt most of the time while working. She had appeared with a beautiful kurtha salwar on Mahanayak’s birthday though. Her teeth shone white under her dry brown lips when she smiled. Her hair looked to be oiled with coconut hair oil for it smelled like that. She had a habit of moving her hand in air while talking. “And how much do they pay you?” “Don’t ask, babu. I’ve been doing all the works here alone, for last four years and all they pay is just forty-five hundred bucks per month.” She finished chopping the onions and started chopping a large cabbage now. “What happens with forty-five hundred bucks today? And after I pay my rent, I have almost nothing left. And over that, I’ve to work even when I’m sick.” “Where do you live here?” “Just a ten-minute-walk from here. It’s not very far,” she said pointing frontward. I said nothing for a while. Just took some silent sips. “Do you want some biscuits with the tea?” I shook my head. “Don’t worry. Your headache will be fine in the next few hours,” she said as the size of the cabbage was decreasing on the chopping board. “Mine is never going to be though. I don’t know what’s wrong inside my head. I don’t get them every day, but can get them any day. For three days regularly. Sometimes at this part,” she pointed to the left side of her brain, “and sometimes at this part,” she pointed right. “Haven’t you sought a doctor ever?” I asked swallowing a mouthful of tea. “Yeah, I had once. The doctor had given me the same medicines I take every day,” she said in an exasperated tone. “I think I need to do an operation.” “I think it is migraine. The symptoms are similar as you’re experiencing.” “Yes, migrane. I think the doctor had said the same. I could not understand though. Do you know about it, babu?” She stopped chopping and looked at me. “Yes. A little bit,” I said, as there used to be an essay in our English text book in class eleven. All I knew about the disease was that it was genetic, could not be medicated easily, and gives such a terrible pain that the patient wishes to die but the disease does not kill him. “Don’t worry, Didi. Migraine is not going to kill you. Just keep taking medicines when you have one.” “What will happen to my kid if I die,” she grieved and resumed chopping the same cabbage. I always felt creepy when someone talked about their own death, and would not know how to react or how to console them. So I kept silent, hanging out with my tea. “How many members do you have?” I said after about fifteen seconds. “I’ve a son. And a drunkard husband,” she uttered the final word in pure disgust. “How old is your son? Does he study?” “He will be six the next month. I’d just admitted him in a local government school the last year.” Silence appeared in the room for some while. The thudding of knife on the chopping board and some occasional slurps of my sips were the only prominent sounds. “I should never have married that man,” she spoke all of a sudden. “Why?” I asked. There was a momentary pause. Her face had started to look different. An emotional one. “Are you alright, Didi?” I said. “Yes,” she started chopping faster. “Why do you say you shouldn’t have married that man?” “It’s a long story,” she said smiling reluctantly at me. “Well, if you want to tell me, then I’m ready to listen.” I’d almost finished my tea now. I took a large gulp and put the empty cup on the table behind. “Why would you want to listen to my boring story,” she said, taking another cabbage. “Why wouldn’t I?” I sat on a chair. “Please tell me your story. Maybe that’ll remove my headache,” I said. “I still say it’s not that interesting.” “Doesn’t matter.” “I’ve never told it to anyone. I don’t know how to tell stories anyway.” “However you tell it, it’ll be okay for me.” She kept chopping for a bout without replying. “Well then,” she stopped her knife and kept it aside on the board. “Why don’t you sit here and start?” I said pointing the chair nearby. She kept looking at me for some while with a smile. Kitchen Didi appeared beautiful all at once to me. I knew that I was going to listen to a real beautiful story now. I somehow knew that she was actually not the one she looked. There was someone else too inside her, way different from her. “You are a different boy I say. During my tenure here, I’ve served many students, but none of them appeared to be as frank to me as you are. You are a real good boy, babu,” she said as she wiped her hand with a towel kept on the table that was dirty already. And she sat on the chair. “So, shall I start?” She looked as shy as a lover. “Please, go on,” I said presenting my hand forward. “He loved me so much in those early days,” she started. “It was not that he didn’t booze, but he only did it only on occasion. And even when he did, he still loved me, cared for me, in fact more than when he was sober. “I belonged to a high-cast family in Pokhara, and my parents were very opulent. Both in prestige and wealth. I was born and raised as a rich girl. I know it might wonder you now, looking at the condition I‘m in. But never mind, it’s my own fault. “He lived in the same colony I did. His house would fall on my way to the school. So I’d see him almost regularly, while leaving for school and while leaving from school. He’d be looking at me with those lovely eyes, you know, that could entrap any girl. My friends would mock me, saying that he had fallen in love with me. And I’d ridicule. One day as I was on my way back home, I saw him throw something at me that fell right in front of me. My friends started giggling. I picked it up, he had thrown a crumpled off paper with a stone inside. I threw the stone and unfolded the paper. It only said ‘I love you’, and nothing else. As if he didn’t know anything else to write than those words. And looking at his handwriting, I bet any kindergarten kid could have written better than it. I was so embarrassed when I read it; my friends were looking at my blushed face, chuckling. I ripped the paper into pieces right in front of him and walked away even without looking at his absurd face. But he didn’t give up. In fact, what he did the next time was even crazier. “I was in my bed. Why to lie now? I too was thinking of him actually. It was a hot night, so I’d left my window open, and the light was off. Then I heard a clank on the grille of my window. I ignored it at first. Then after a moment, I felt something fall on the floor. I turned on the light. I looked on the floor, and found a pebble there. Before I could pick it up, another pebble entered inside. I was scared at first you know, so I kept standing trying to think what it was and wondering if I should go out and check. Another pebble struck on the window grille and created a soft clank. Then I realized the pebbles meant no harm to me. I went outside on the balcony and looked down. The back part of our garden lied below the balcony. It was a quarter moon night, so it was not that dark down there and not that bright too like in a full moon night. Just enough to see a boy, standing there, looking up at me. Enough to see his excitation he got when he saw me. He called my name in whisper. “Sharmila,” he said. That’s what my real name is. But of course, I’ve become a Kitchen Didi now, you know.” She smiled like a sixteen year old. “It was him down there. I was up there. He was whispering my name and I was listening to him. I was thinking of him a few moments earlier and as if whishes granted, he was standing down right there. I couldn’t believe my eyes, my ears. But it was him. How did he come inside when the walls were all fortified by glass splinters, and we had Shilpa too.” “Shilpa?” I asked. “I’ll tell you later.” “Okay.” “He asked me to come down. Come down? Why? I whispered with my hands speaking their best.” Noticing she knew some literature too, I reckoned she must have remained a good student and a lovely girl of her time. “Sorry to interject, you didn’t say which class you studied in then?” “I studied in grade eight. I was sixteen then. They said I was a brilliant girl. And I surely was. But not a thing like that matters when you are in love. You give up your study. You give up your family. You give up your dreams. Everything.” “And you did the same, didn’t you? What was your dream by the way?” “Haha,” she gave a short laugh. “I wanted to become a nurse. Like all the girls today.” I imagined her in a nurse costume for a while. White apron instead of faded lungi and t-shirt. Syringe in her hand instead of kitchen knife, a patient on bed in front instead of cabbage on a chopping board. Nurse Didi, instead of Kitchen Didi. “I told him that I could not come down and asked him to leave instead. But he was like the father of obstinacy. He wouldn’t budge till I went down. The house was large and I had to check if everyone was asleep. Six people lived there including me. My parents of course, my big-brother Sharman, my paternal grandparents, and Sharmila,” she giggled. “We had two servants too but they returned to their homes after the job. And we had a small puppy too. Well, she was my puppy. I’d found her injured on a road one day. Probably hit by some vehicle, her left forelimb was badly injured. I brought her home with me. She was cute and dainty. I nurtured her with great care, also took her to an animal doctor my father knew. And after a few weeks she regained her vitality and started barking happily. Ah, I already said its name by the way, didn’t I?” “Shilpa?” I said with a derisive laugh as the name was more of a girl than that of a dog. “Yeah, Shilpa was her name. I just couldn’t think of any other name as beautiful as it. She always barked at strangers, so loud that could awaken even the deepest dreamers. I don’t know why she didn’t bark that night. I thought the boy had entered the house from a different place deceiving the little dog, but he later told me that she always saw him when he entered from the gate, as silent as a caterpillar. And she seldom barked at him, just wagged her tail. I thought it could be because he was her master before I found her. But he said he didn’t remember having any pet dog. I still find it strange though. Well, I walked down that night, trying my best to keep the rooms stay dark. And I succeeded, and after some minutes, I was right there. In front of him. At the back of our garden. Fidgeting my nails. “I even didn’t know his name. Weird, isn’t it? But he, of course, knew mine. I asked him why he had come. He casually replied because he badly wanted to talk to me. So we talked for about next thirty minutes, assuring that no one could see us. The soft moonlight was spilled on the earth; I noticed our shadows were so close, not even an inch apart. He was a tall, robust, good-looking and well-mannered man. He could speak forever without even making you feel bored, without even letting you divert your attention. And once he started, you wouldn’t want him to stop. His name was Mukesh. He talked about him, asked about me, I talked about me, and we talked about each other. And before I knew, he made me fall in love with him. Or I think I was already in love with him from the first time I saw him. When he’d be looking at me with those lovely eyes, and that smile on his face that could entrap any other girl too. Sometimes I asked with myself, why me? Was I that beautiful? And I’d be judging my beauty standing in front of the mirror without the knowledge of time, decorating myself, making faces.” A schoolgirl-bashfulness appeared on her face, and she looked like an innocent girl who was in the early days of her first love....
Posted on: Wed, 24 Jul 2013 12:16:25 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015