Time Warp

The gleaming disc of the sun seemed to turn the leaves in patchwork of colours; scorching yellow, lava reds and burnished browns. Somehow  rain was promised and the wind already unleashed: but there would be sunshine and warmth by morning. Time to rebuild and repair. 

The leaves of the gulmohar tree, waved happily upwards greeting gale which started to gather pace. An unwanted stray dog with light brown coat seemed to dart away , probably looking for a shelter. Attimes cry of few birds could be heard. Maybe they were distressed and worried for their young ones in the nest. Continuous croak of the humorous frogs attimes got unpardonable, as it widely meant harbinger of deluge. One or two daring and curious squirrel climbed down the tree but then vanished rapidly again in the leaves, sensing that the rain would last long. Shamita, sat quietly by the window in a small stool. The stool belonged to her grandmother. Kalbaishakhi, or Nor'westers during April, is nostalgic.

The gentle patter of the raindrops grew louder. During the afternoons Shaamu, as grandmother lovingly called her would affectionately would sit on the floor and her grandmother gathered herself on the stool. She narrated stories of Indian Freedom Struggle or read out famous stories from popular Bengali book, “Tuntunir golpo’’ or “Thakumaar Jhuuli.” Shamita, would live those stories even long after. A strange unknown insect like creature popped out its head from a nearby puddle, probably waiting all tiny water bodies to merge and be one, or so Shamita thought. Her life has been the same, she is waiting to connect the dots, attimes looking up dreadfully to find out a way. Love , hate, anger, desperation, all formed a volcano of emotions. Always known to be composed and measured in gesture, her nature somehow is defying her reputation now.

Advik, her six year old son remained asleep in the other room. She now can afford to view and review the past. He keeps Shamita busy, always. Today she asked her maid to go early, she wanted some space. Feisty journalist at some point, is now a school teacher, but this suits her requirements, as she can give time to her son. Besides, Aniket is no more. Capt Aniket Raheja is a martyr.  He eliminated three terrorists before he breathed last in the valley…miles away from Mayur Vihaar, Delhi, where Shamita lived with their son.  Advik then two, was cutely notorious to the extreme.  He took hours to eat and favoured late night sleeping. He had the potential of breaking anything any time. But, he was his papa’s favourite. Aniket loved to hear his son’s lisping over the phone. He waited every moment to come back home. He was toying the idea of taking premature retirement from the army. He wanted to spend time at home. He was tired of the uncertainty of his life.

Shamita, leaned against the wall, put the cup on the saucer very slowly so that it would not make any sound, who knows Advik might wake up! She spotted an odd bird, probably a mayna with its wet and  heavy wings flew from a nearby tree to the other. She remembered the day, 9^th July 1999. The telephone rang, with bated breath she picked up the receiver to hear Aniket. During those days either she watched the news or waited for her husband’s call. "Ani ", …she couldn’t hear her husband’s response, instead a husky voice  introducing himself as the Commanding Officer of Major Aniket’s Unit, spoke. Her heart pounded heavily, she couldn’t listen to Colonel Mohan’s voice properly. The words, fatal injury….brave..true soldier, incoherently moved in her ears. Words receded as a distant dream. She fell on the floor. Her looks were vacant. After a few minutes a shrill cry filled the air.

 Everything followed. Media coverage, relatives pouring in, sympathies and everyone made her realize repeatedly that she was the widow of a martyr, therefore not entitled to cry. Aniket’s parents who came down from Gurdaspur, went back. They did not stay with Shamita as she expected. After their tumultuous love marriage, where a lithe yet intelligent Bengali girl married a dashing Punjabi Army Officer, Aniket’s parents kept away. They never could agree to the match, and Shamita’s parents were equally unhappy.

She moved to Kolkata after a long wait. Wait for Aniket’s remains. His body couldn’t be recovered. Advik, till date wanted to see his father, though he doesn’t have any faint memory. But now actually he demands a father! Shamita prefers to keep Aniket in heart more than the wall. She actually hated to put up pictures of Aniket, it pained her more. Her son was growing up hearing stories of his father’s bravery and some how the little mind visualized that one day his father would turn up and proudly he would take his papa around. He would show his latest minions and hot wheels car collections. Advik’s papa in uniform would command respect and even the friends who bullied him, will never dare to do so! He shared his secret vision with Shamita. She maintained quietude thinking it would be cruel to crush her son’s dreams but ardently prayed for the day to arrive when he would understand the reality. It’s difficult to rear up a child alone.

 Shamita didn’t stay with her parents in Dhakuria, though she is their only daughter. She stays in a two bedroom rented flat in Alipore, near her school named Morning Glory.  She was trying to build her life again….until Rahul called her.

Thunder rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the world in half and reveal the fury of Gods. The violent wind made way through the window and whipped her black wavy hair around her face. A numbing coldness gripped her heart.

So how come, after so long, Rahul found her? This question rattled her. He alienated himself during Aniket’s and Shamita’s marriage. This made Aniket curious but he preferred not to speak about it. She never heard from him even after Aniket’s death. She hated him every minute, her every breath cursed him. She would never forgive Rahul, or rather Colonel Rahul for Aniket’s death. Today after four years of her husband’s death, he called up. He did not ask  her address, but quietly yet resolutely mentioned his time of arrival. Shamita’s voice quivered and she switched off the phone.

She took a sip; the tea by that time didn’t taste good. She liked hot tea always. Her mind floated back to the 90’s when all three, Aniket, Rahul and herself were at Delhi University, and termed as best buddies by others. Gradually Aniket and Shamita got closer day by day. By that time Aniket had joined army and hailed as a hero in the university. Rahul harboured strong feelings for Shamita but never let her know until the day he got heavily drunk and came over to her hostel. He cried holding her hands. It was strange for a young man to do so. Shamita was equally flabbergasted. She regained her composure blurted out..“Rahul, you must go…and we are not even friends from now…,” said Shamita. But somewhere she did not want to. Rahul joined the army and got commissioned in the same Unit as Aniket. Relations between the friends strained but only Shamita and Rahul were aware of the reason. Aniket could only speculate. But he never demanded answer. Kargil war broke out, and both were posted in the same region. As some story goes, on the fatal day, Rahul and Aniket were scaling steep hill, which was captured by the terrorists. While Aniket got hurt and eventually died, Rahul escaped unhurt. 
Shamita believed Rahul could have saved Aniket, but he wished otherwise. The fact that Rahul never called all these years, repugnance against him took a deep root in her.

Shamita was so engrossed in the past, she could not even hear the footsteps halting right inside the room. Major Rahul Sinha, entered. Suddenly a familiar fragrance filled the air, Shamita turned around. The Armani perfume was always Rahul’s favourite.

 She became oblivious of Advik sleeping in the other room. She remained bemused for a moment. Bit her lips in a way to control the long pending outburst.  But eventually her composure gave away, barrage of emotions let loose.

The storm outside brewed on the horizon brewed promising nothing but winds to level the mightiest of the trees to the soil. The damp air threatened to  devastate every roof.

"Killer”...she shouted, as tears welled up in her eyes, hysteric anger engulfed her. “Why now? Why have you come to ask for forgiveness after four years?…You hated Ani so much...you couldn’t get his body, even . Why did you snatch Advik’s father from him? Can you give him back?” She dropped on the floor…Rahul remained quiet. He let her cry

 

The rain was cascading in diagonal sheets in full glory. There was a certain rhythm to the downpour. Fierce yet pleasant. Probably the smoldering earth was quenched, the unrestrained brutality of the sun was answered and every raindrop was welcomed.

Few minutes passed. It seemed like years. Slowly, Rahul came to her. He sat beside her, placing his barret on the table. Cupped her face. He narrated the incident of the day of Aniket’s death. “Shamita”..he cleared his throat, “Aniket’s body was battered beyond recognition…had we tried to recover his body we would have lost more men. I never cared about myself, you know that”, he continued, “when the terrorists were gunned down, the bunker caught fire. Nothing was left to bring back. But I could understand your feelings about me, so I never dared to face you. You were wrong but it took me four years to come to you, to muster enough courage and make you understand the truth.”

Whistling and shrieking, the wind raged though like a vexed bear. The noise enveloped the room and  its surroundings. It demanded to be heard.

 

“But you hated him…you …” her voice choked.

 Yes. I did, initially. As luck would have it before the final assault on that day, I told him the truth. He was not much perturbed or angry. Perhaps he knew it. He trusted you and cared for you and Advik beyond words. He just smiled at me. We shook hands and hugged.”

Rahut stopped and took a deep breath. “ I saw myself as a loser there, probably  I couldn’t have given you such selfless love. Somehow I couldn’t face you all these years. But after getting my posting order in Kolkata, I decided to come to you the day I land here. I was dying each day, I couldn’t take it anymore,”…he looked at her …as tears rolled down her eyes like the unremitting rain outside.

With muffled voice, the man in uniform continued, “ Shamita, I have lost many things, too. I lost you, lost my best pal, lost my parents a year back in an accident in Mumbai. Probably you heard about it. I live with memory now, atleast you have Advik. I just want that…,” he tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. “Your son, should not hear stories of hatred about me, it’s not true.”

Shamita looked up. Somehow hatred and anger against Rahul lost its intensity. She felt relieved, rekindled and happier, after a long long time.

“You must know something…,” Rahul cleared his voice, looked into Shamita's eyes deeply and spoke with some authority, “I am a true soldier, I would have saved my fellow brother officer if I could have at any peril. But this truth will be buried with me. ”

He stood up to leave.

She knew Rahul. She knew he spoke the truth and his veracity cannot be questioned under any circumstance.  She didn’t need any validation. Little Advik stood at the door wondering about the man in olive green. There was wonder in his eyes. Was he dreaming?  Rahul, turned towards him and ushered the boy but he remained nonplussed. Too overwhelmed with awe to respond.

Shamita wiped her tears.  The rain had stopped. The bright yellow beams of sun, teared through the dark clouds and softly touched everything. A slice entered the room through the open window. The flecks of golden sunshine mixed with a few wispy clouds in the sky, gradually wore the look of an azure sea overhead. All signs of rain and storm vanished into thin air. There was no struggle to be seen.  

Shamita whispered to her son...

Meet your Father.

 

 

Love peeps...

The morning rush was on. I scurried around the house for meeting various deadlines. Making sure bread pieces do not get an overtime in the toaster, pulling out my son from the shower, looking for my daughter’s school diary as she was unable to find it and all the time straining my ear to hear the first beep of her school bus.  My husband was completely aware of the conundrum between 6 am to 7 am. When at times he called during that period my so called “Love You, ”seemed to be like a howling on the phone.

“B—Y—E ..”..I said aloud from the kitchen as I heard a loud thud. My daughter left for school.  So now I geared up for Act II. V-r-o-o-m v-r-o-o-m ..aa-cc—ii---dd-e-n-t…my son screamed as he was busy playing with his hot wheels car. He was quite unawares of the time schedule. Its so natural for a five year old, yet I try to bribe God by offering extra ladoos and in return ask Him to make my son grow up fast.

It was almost 7 o’clock.  I had to keep pace with time. I fed him with one hand and buttoned his shirt with another. Well as you grow in the vocation of “Motherhood” you can master many such things. I call it Art of Motherhood- it just makes me feel better.  Next moment I was almost dragging him through the door and just then in the doorway the smell of rotten flowers hit me. I grabbed the bunch of yellow roses from the vase and prepared to throw it in the dustbin, just adjacent to the corridor.  

“Mumma…no don’t do. Papa sent those roses, you cannot throw them. You have to keep it,” pleaded my son. “But dear, the roses have withered away now, and we have to put them away,” I said as I firmly walked towards the dustbin. “No. Papa will be sad. ..if you throw it then I am not going to school. Those are papa’s flowers..my papa…,” he almost started crying. I was startled and in a fix. My husband sent the bouquet of beautiful yellow roses to me four days back. We celebrate every little event in our lives starting from the day we first held hands or first kiss. ( I know it sounds clichéd...) But now in such bustling life these have become a mere calendar events. Where we say things or just perform but neither hear or feel.

“Okay, I wont,” I told my son. He wiped his tears and almost instantly his face beamed with joy. As I dropped him at the bus stop my mind raced through different phases of my life.  I walked back into the house and placed bouquet where it was. The flowers have faded away, the stems have taken a brown colour from green. I looked at the flowers for an extra minute. Not even I enjoyed the sweet fragrance or marveled at their beauty when they were fresh.  When I received the bouquet I diligently put it in the vase. Ensured that my crystal vase should be kept in a safe place out of my children's reach . Every day we focus on living life, rearing up children, and even expressing love or making  phone calls - with a dash of perfection and sense of duty.

Until a voice , here my five year old son- urged me to feel the love he felt in withered away flowers.

Journey of a Love Mug

          

We all do crazy things when in love! I did too. Once I bought a white mug and secretly took the same to the bathroom. Reason - my mom was still unawares ( I deliberately kept her in dark)  about my whirlwind romance. 

              I diligently and meticulously took pencil, rubber, paint, brush, nail polish, cotton and hair dryer inside the loo. I wanted to put a personal touch to the mug. Special gift to be sent to Kashmir and that too from Kolkata. I drew lips (indicating kisses), painted hearts, wrote love messages with nail polish and dried all quickly with full blow of hairdryer. Under wraps I kept it in my bag and en-route my college I halted at Post Office. 

 Contrary to belief the postal department helped me! The hard cardborad box was stuffed with cotton, and newspapers. As I mentioned on top as fragile glass item I sealed it with a kiss...and glue too. 

With assurance it would not break on its journey I set off for my class. 

After a few days an excited and happy voice from the other end of the phone confirmed the receipt of the love mug in one piece. I was delighted. Mom took notice of the same!

We got married. As true to belief in Infantry we got transferred to almost six stations in nine years. Created a happy family too with two additions. A daughter and a son! 

While shifting trunks I stumbled upon a hard stuff very patiently put inside in pair of socks. I felt it so that I can judge it and not take the trouble to take it out. Accordingly either I will keep it or throw it and reduce the junk which keeps on mounting during every posting. Failing to guess, I took it out and to my utter surprise IT WAS THE LOVE MUG. 

My daughter asked if she could keep it on her desk and my son wanted to play with it. I politely said 'NO'...I looked at my husband and said." we must keep this in the showcase in our bedroom...so that everyday we can feel the warmth of our love.." My voiced trailed as I went back to past. "Hey but it has crack and to better keep as a pen stand. It must be used.." my romantic husband sounded practical..." It can be a spoon holder too, didi..".wisely commented by my house-keeper...I retired from the scene placing the mug on table.  

Next day morning I went to brush and surprisingly saw the Love Mug as a proud tooth brush holder...It's been put to practical use after nine long years! Its the first thing in the morning I can see. I felt cheerful that at least it is in prominence and out from oblivion after so many years. But Bathroom! May be Every Luv Mug has its own fate..

Packed the moments in the trunk, too

Mountains kissing the sky 

 Day started as usual and my approach was even more casual. All changed with a phone call.

‘Hi pack up Darling’, my husband sounded excited on the other side of the call. I gasped to listen to the place of our new posting as it was due. He played with word before uttering the most coveted word and destination for next two years. My mind rehearsed all the names to my knowledge which only attimes I find Army wives know of. The finally he said, ‘Arre stop thinking about Timbaktoo, we are going to DELHI’...I could only reply with ‘aaaah..how come, serious?’ He assured me that he was.

My mind raced through many things. We were expected to move as my husband’s ‘unit ki naukri’ as they term it, was over. But Delhi! Too much to digest. Huge trunks are a threat as again its time to reopen them and pack according the numbering and list. Though every station I vow not to increase my items and to husband’s horror, it does. Well I am still thinking of items I missed out which marks “as exclusive Pathankot stuff” and only bad news it’s just the middle of the month!! Afterall these days I visit the market and try to sound like a localite though the shopkeepers could point out but I discovered or rediscovered shops which gave better discounts and I take pride in that. All army wives do.

Family outing

     Well, after the initial excitement ebbed away, I somehow felt a bit dejected. Now this is also too hard to handle. As an infantry officer’s wife half the house always remains in the trunks, we move with our husbands wherever possible and surprisingly leave the heart there.

Juhi and Jai at their favorite spot 

Even in the remotest places where initially nothing else but serious cribbing takes all time, the day we hear about the posting we suddenly discover the hidden love for the place. When I came to Pathankot, last year in July, though with others I appreciated the scenic beauty of the place yet I actually compared it with Kolkata all the time and spared no aspect to prove it insignificant and uninteresting. I complained about the weather (though Kolkata was sultry and humid), the condition of the house I found pathetic (though I got one of the best houses in the station) the people ( here people do care) at times limited variety of fresh vegetables, (vegetables in Kolkata are more rotten) market ( distance and cost are  more in Kolkata) -well every thing seems to be exorbitant, the schools appear to fall below expectation ( class I studies are manageable anywhere) and above all the working class seemed to be incorrigible as well as irregular ( this story is same everywhere). The heap of utensils and husbands office hours seems to rise every day. Juggling the needs of a 6 yr old and an infant every thing seemed to  be appalling.

But....

When did I fall in love with the place? I have grown fond of my Mamun Cantt address. I got so attached to the house that if  MES ( Military Engineering Services) dosen’t turn up even after repeated complain I laugh it off and resolve the trouble with some other alternative. (This was unthinkable at the beginning as MES was at the receiving end).

Juhi and Jai at Go-Carting

I roamed around the house recollecting wonderful moments. I touched the wall which supported my son for his first step. I found the green paint splashed on the cream coloured wall of my daughter’s room and the corner where she once stood for hours since I berated her for some mischief, all these are part of their growing up. The small balcony presented the scenic view of the mountains afar and at times we raced who would be the first to see the mountains today! The terrace is where we spend hours sitting together or even secretly dance in the rain.

Its a huge Military Station and love hate likes and dislikes amongst ladies continues, but where it dosen’t? And I am just carrying the goodness of everybody in my heart. The place, the people all seems to be a part of me. The Mess Functions, Officer’s dining in or dining out, Dinner Nights, Raising day, Social gathering, Ladies Club , Family Welfares, picnics, movie outings, small gestures, funny discussions, altercations and mild misunderstandings all seemed to instantly flash and melt in a bigger smile. As an army wife I learned to love the place where I live. Like the trunks, I open a small closet in my heart and keep all in here, to relish and cherish them forever. Pack up and move to a new station for more fond memories.