One:
‘It isn't love if you aren't
proud of him. Had you ever been? I can’t think of a single instance when you
battled for him or contradicted our statements that mocked you rather, him and
you as a couple. Was this not inevitable? Is this not just? The years shall
unfurl how propitious and wise have been these hours which you scorn for being
so dark.How imprudent you could have been to prod into a world which is so
disparate to ours and catch an ailment that could have jaundiced the repute!Had
you not been a gem and a subject of adoration to many such eyes which find
place in the grander niche? It was undeniably a ridiculous camaraderie.’She had
been silently listening to Dora with her penitent countenance buried in her palms.
Her elbows were pedestalled on the table with a pair of shiny boots resting
next to them and she sat muted and engrossed in the thoughts that had been
pestering her since her conscience rebelled her desires.
Two:
Dora had been a witness to that
companionship since it began but it never found a gesture of appreciation from
her, ever! They had often communed the most intricate and the surreptitious
matters with each other but this never picked much importance to be a topic of
disquisition. It all began when there
wasn't much intrusion of the friends, foes and those detested others who were
often found in her proximity. A summer’s violent moon, engulfed in its silvery
attire had mischievously played the subtle game that day. He had been a
soothing companion to her seclusion and despair, which was later pursued by a
strong infatuation and then…..which wasn’t ‘Love’ .It would have been strange
if it would have happened at all! But it did, violating the conventions that
governed the assortment of a perfect companion.
Rose had looked straight into his
gleaming eyes and had fathomed the earnestness with which he had asked her to
bare her heart. She could have flouted it but she hadn't! Perhaps, it was the virtue
of the intellect of a painter that made her succumb to his unseen immensity. It
was an obscure corner of a balcony owned by a tea-shop that was preferred by
the non –garrulous, self-possessed fraction of the populace. He was a painter
at the nascence of his career and she was a corporate professional. The bounty of richness that brandished her status was quite ungenerous to him.
She had been a woman of means while he was mean, in his etiquettes, his attires
and every social attribute that defines ‘Gentleness’. Yet, he had picked her
curiosity! It was definitely not by mere chance, but by the stars that they
shared the same table that day.
They had conversed, though not
for long but it was enough for her to be seized. The flippant deliberations had
gradually begot a serious tone about the tumultuousness
of life, the perils and her. She had perhaps found the most suitable pair of
ears which could listen without placing forth a single opinion. She could see
his fingers playing with a pen captured betwixt two of them and the rest of his
entire body captivated in her words. She had always been a lonesome child then
a lonesome woman and craved for a voice in her silence.
She was enthralled by the naïve
witticisms, the slovenliness and the ingenuousness that described him. Before
she could speak more, which she desperately coveted to, he stood up with a
jerk, pushing the seat behind and hurriedly spoke, ‘I wonder if I could talk
more but I have to depart. I had a friend who was to make a visit and I should
have been home by now.’ She made no delay in probing into the purse clasped in
her hands and soon they emerged with a small paper which bore her name, a few
more details and a number. She rose from the stool to reach his hand that
extended towards her. He stood upright,
yet small in his full length while she leaned towards him to hand him the
paper. She took notice of the full stature of this man who had amused her with
his brilliance and simplicity. He appeared a little charmer,
basking in his naturalness opposite to her fine daintiness. He grabbed
the paper and he straddled away while her inquisitive large eyes still rested
on the receding man.
It wasn't many days yet, when she received a telephone call. It was her ‘little
man’. They often conversed thereafter, rendezvoused, walked down those long
tedious lanes where they would have rather taken a cab, spent hours waiting for
the bus but took to their heels when they saw one
nearing. Perhaps, they found solace in each other’s presence except when even
the most reluctant eyes watched them with derision while making their way past
them on the streets and in the cafes. Their scornful stares intended sarcasm at
the unlikely couple. She was tall, slender and refined while he, a petite
unkempt imp. How could she have found love in that incongruence?
What made her slip her gentle hands into his’? It was perhaps
the colors she usurped from the artist that probably explained the affair!
The frequent trysts had progressively
found a place in their daily schedules but there was an unspoken discomposure
which had progressively got raised. The sarcastic stares and those
disconcerting remarks of mockery which appeared insignificant some time ago had
gradually gained quite significance. She often appeared quite dejected in his
companionship and frequently passed swift diffident glances at the crowd around
to spot such ridiculing eyes.
Soon she could feel a faint
slackness in her desire to adhere to her little man. It was an enforced
detestation. Yet she yearned for him. But wasn't he an ill-fit gem in her solitude?
Wasn't severance the panacea to all her woes? She was pursued by a
determination to part with him. Ultimately, happiness born of immature whims is
ephemeral!
The sudden intimacy trailed by an
abrupt avoidance was an unjust affair that had ravaged the normalcy of the poor
man. It definitely wasn't an unrequited attraction. The inexplicable avoidance
had made him approach her several times to scavenge for an answer but it
remained unanswered! He could have never perceived the
thought of being disregarded for being that what had enticed her but only when
he received a written note, his curiosity was answered.
The note explained their
disparateness and her naivety to pursue an unlikely communion.
The note was answered by another note. It was the best token of affection that
he could have sent. And the last one!
It was a pair of high-heeled,
grey boots for men and a note was attached to it!
The letter read:
Dear Rose,
Love is an inevitable ailment and
it finds way through the loneliest of all paths. Perhaps I was loved by your
seclusion than by you! The ‘disparity’ betwixt us is an exaggerated explanation
to your conscience to justify thy imprudence. The difference in those insignificant inches
and my flawed behavior could probably be a justifiable reason for the
separation in your ostentatious niche. Hence, I gift you these pair of boots
which cost me all the money that I had accrued over time to procure
something precious for you. But love is often less valued than the luster and
life! The boots might prove to be a better companion in your solitude than me.
Yours loved,
Vimal.
Three:
Dora continued, ‘The idea of
severance is indeed an excruciating one, but you can’t consume which cannot be
digested!’ She lifted her sunken face from her palms and passed a serious gaze
at the garrulous ever intruding and irrefutable friend. Her hands sluggishly crawled over the surface
of the table and grasped one of those polished boots and the crumbled paper and
glanced at those distorted letters buried in the folds of the letter. Was it
not intense impertinence? But was she not deceitful?
She shot up from the chair with
an unexpected swiftness and tucked the shoes into box. The words were rude
enough to malign the egotism and the blow was to be answered. She marched out
of the room pushed the boots into the bag resting at the corner of the table.
Dora stood dazed at the abruptness of her friend. It was rather a sense of
accomplishment that her persuasion wasn't rendered futile.
It was after few months when Dora
received an envelope. It contained an invitation.
The honor of your presence is requested at
the wedding of
Rose and J.Vimal
The seventh of July
Two thousand and
thirteen
At two clock in the
afternoon
The Wedding Hall,
Street-5
Near Café 9, Gurgaon,
New Delhi
