Random Expressions

A Story By Deepak Jeswal

The serpentine road, with bumps and warts, wound its way through cornfields and stretched beyond the horizon. The car rode over the bumps and warts on the road that the government had forsaken as soon as it had built it. At places, it narrowed to a treacherous single lane, which was so constricted that in case two cars passed that stretch from opposing ends, a non-verbal tussle, fought with blinking dippers, ensued. Almost always the one who lost would let out his futile fury with a string of expletives, which in any case the opponent would not have heard, and even if he did, it hardly mattered.

Over the heated tar, the sky was ready to shower its blessings. Rains, that hadn’t reached there till then, were impending to unzip their black bags over the parched fields.

From Agra to Jagner, this journey of fifty kilometers is ordinary except for the subtle change in landscape beyond Kagarole, a village en route. Vishwas wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary either. In fact he never expected anything beyond ordinary from life now. At 33, he was well settled in life - a cushy job in a multi-national and a mundane but sweet family life. His only worry was to complete the task assigned to him and reach home fast, as his wife had asked him to. The navratras were on, and today was the seventh day, she had kept a fast and an elaborate pooja of Goddess Amba at their house and he was to reach there to light the lamp for the Goddess. He had no interest in the pooja, but he would have to go out of duty. He didn’t believe in prayers. Nor did he expect them to work.

Yet, that day somewhere within he had his dead hope resurrecting itself from the burnt ashes from his life long back. It’s strange how coincidences pile upon each other. Just the previous weekend a long-lost friend from Delhi had mentioned Pooja and informed that the last he had heard her banker husband was posted in the far-off Jagner. At that time the place’s name had barely registered in his mind. Today, unexpectedly his boss had given him an important assignment to be completed there.

That night, after his friend had left, and his wife had drifted off to sleep, for a long time he sat on his fifth floor balcony eyeing the Taj Mahal, accompanied by four empty beer bottles and a half finished plate of chicken-tikka. The yellowing Taj, whose dome and the four minarets were clearly visible from where he sat, was ‘just another building’ , as he often mocked at it to his friends. But deep within, he knew it was a symbol of love and passion.

Nay, he didn’t think so! Those were exactly Pooja’s thoughts, an ultra romantic girl whom he had befriended, loved and lost when he was young. It amazed him as to how much she cared for the Taj! But adamantly refused to visit it – “No, it’s a symbol of marriage, and we shall go there only after we are married!” That was Pooja – always finding meaning into the most commonplace things. “Love is a prayer – which is what my name means!” she would joke – only that when she said it, it didn’t sound like a joke at all.

Those were the heady college days – carefree, wild and enjoyable. He didn’t realize when Pooja transformed from being just a friend to a very good one and eventually his lover. The affair spanned three years of college, two years of MBA and one year into his first job. Six beautiful years spent with Pooja, which he had often tried to erase but couldn’t really do it.

A sudden speed-breaker bumped him out of his reverie. He cursed within his breath, and shuffled in his seat uncomfortably, straightening his blue suit’s arm a little. The suit seemed impossibly incongruous in the rural surroundings he was driving to but then he hadn’t known he would have to leave for Jagner when he dressed up that morning. Another bump, and this time he cursed aloud. The road itself wasn’t all that great, and the innumerable breakers added to the woes. He looked upwards – the clouds had thickened, and soon the tip-tap of raindrops lashed on his windscreen. With his left hand permanently on the gear, he maneuvered his bruised white Santro over the potholes. He looked at his watch. He had to return home soon.

The fields gave way to open plains. Beyond the rain, he saw a few solitary hills, part of the Aravalli range. Jagner was the last point on this stretch of Uttar Pradesh, after which Rajasthan began.

So engrossed was Vishwas in eyeing the hills, he missed seeing the oncoming vehicle, till it was barely a hundred meters away. In a quick reflex action he jammed his foot over the brake, while his hand changed the gears. The car screeched to a halt.

“Bastard!” he exclaimed. He reversed the car in order to make for him to pass it. But before he could do so, his jaw dropped. From the oncoming red Maruti Swift, he saw a lady’s face peeping out of the window, an apologetic smile on her face.

Even through the haze of the rain and the years between them, he recognized her instantaneously.

“Pooja!”

He brought his car parallel to hers, and lowered his tinted glass. “Pooja, hi! You remember me?”

Her brows knitted questioningly for a brief second but recognition swept over it alongwith the rain instantaneously. “Of course, Vishwas I remember you”

Excited, he let out a volley of questions, “How have you been? Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? Do you know I am in Agra now?”

She let out a short laugh. Just like old times. And even after all these years, his heart skipped a beat. Her round and fair face held the power to make him jelly-kneed and even though they were shorter now, he could perceive the luster and fragrance of her auburn hair.

“Wait a second, Vishwas. Let me just park this damn thing,” she said, and immediately turned the ignition on and swept the car aside on the edge of the highway. He did the same, leaving enough gap between the two vehicles lest some one did cross this god-forsaken place.

She wore a light peach chiffon sari with almost no jewelry except for a slim gold necklace and matching earrings – tiny little jhumkas that dangled impishly as she moved towards his car. Her hands clutched a beige purse. Gingerly she rounded his car, and entered through the passenger side.

“Damn this rain,” she murmured, wiping off her face. Vishwas smiled – nothing had changed, not even her ‘damns’ or sudden impulsiveness in disregarding the rain and crossing the road before he could make any move. Age had settled so gracefully on her persona that it held an exquisiteness of its own. In comparison, he eyed his beer-belly with disgust and to his own self he felt conscious of his haggardness.

“How have you been, Pooja? It seems so long ago, no?”

“Well, it has been quite a while now. And I have been perfect. At least, I think so,” she replied, settling down on her seat. “You tell me? What’s up?”

“Nothing much, really” and he gave an elaborate description of his job and his reason to be on this road. There was a brief awkward pause between them. He cleared his throat. And let out another “So what’s new?” Extremely maudlin, he thought! But then, so many years had passed, there wasn’t much in common left. It wasn’t really like old times.

“Just the same. Routine,” she sighed. “Ajay works as branch manager with the State Bank at Jagner, we prefer staying there rather than traveling daily up and down from Agra as many do.”

Of course he knew Ajay Ranawat – the business card was in his coat’s pocket, given to him by his boss. That’s exactly where he was headed to.

“Oh ok,” he replied lamely and after an almost imperceptible cough he asked, “Ajay?”

“My husband,” she said in a low voice.

He knew she was married, yet hearing it from her sounded rather unreal. Seeing her alight from her car running towards him, had made him forget that years had flown past them. It still looked as if she had just jumped from an auto towards his bike, as she did in college. Together, they would then just roam about or sit in the canteen. At that time, they were never short of words, and he tried to pressurize his brain to whip out what they talked about. There wasn’t any memory left. In fact, as he thought it just struck him that he didn’t even remember the reason for their break up. Why had they separated?

It was the second year in his job, when office time began taking precedence over their meetings. Then, voila the most prestigious project doing the rounds landed on his lap. He was so taken up by the motivational talk by his then boss that he completely forgot Pooja’s existance. It was in that hazy period, amidst a slew of meetings, and buried beneath a plethora of late-nights, sprinkled with short telephonic conversations, that Pooja had dropped the bomb. Her parents had selected a match for her. It all came back to him in an instant. He was in the midst of a presentation when his newly acquired cell-phone had beeped a message. It took five more hours before he could yank himself from the office to meet her at Connaught Place’s Nirula’s – their favorite haunt. “But how could you even agree to see that man and display yourself like a mute ware in some shop!” he had demanded angrily. She simply smiled and said, “Let’s say it is my duty towards my parents.” And then sarcastically she added, “If this is the trailer to the damn life that is to follow, I am definitely better off with that man” His blood sizzled in anger, but she simply walked out of the restaurant, and eventually his life, in spite of Vishwas’s attempts to make amends.

“These rains here are scary, they make the road so damn treacherous,” she was saying, and Vishwas came back to the present. “And they never come on time. This year too they are delayed!”

“Yep, you are right, but some of these roads are not even worth calling roads,” he laughed. “You should someday do the Hathras-Aligarh stretch. The road just doesn’t exist.”

She laughed along with him, and he felt a strange satisfaction. With her fingers, she started to wipe off the water from her face. He eyed her intently, watching her slim fingers’ futile attempt to remove the raindrops from her face. He bent forward, picked up a light blue towel lying on the dashboard, and handed it over to her. She smiled and accepted it and continued to wipe her neck.

One arrogant droplet slithered down defiantly from her hair onto her silky smooth neck, slipping down towards the gold chain. Vishwas felt a perplexing tingle in his fingers to touch her. But reason took the better of his emotions, and he held back.

Their conversation continued in fits and starts – first the horrid roads, then the poor infrastructural development, and then about Jagner’s poor social life. It was as if two strangers had met in a boring cocktail party and were trying to pass time.

After a brief pause he said, “So you finally did see the Taj?”

She smiled wryly, “Yeah, you can’t damn avoid it, being so close to Agra!”

“Nice, no?”

“It is – but not really as I had imagined it. After all, it’s just stones stuck together in a damn neat design”

Vishwas laughed. “What a change in thought!”

Ruefully she said, “Yes, time changes, people change. So have I.” After a hesitant pause, she placed the towel back on the dashboard, and sighed, “It could have been different with you. I am sorry Vishwas…”

“No no, Pooja, don’t start off on that…”

But Pooja raised her hand, and said, “No let me say it – maybe then I can get my peace. I am sorry Vishwas I let you down” Their eyes melted and intermingled into a warm pool of love and longing.

Vishwas felt a lump in his throat. “I missed you Pooja.” On impulse, he pulled her and gave a tight hug. She didn’t resist, and clung to him, gently sobbing.

“So did I,” she said, tearing herself apart unwillingly. “It’s not the same with Ajay – though he is nice and caring, in his own way. But somewhere deep within I feel that life could have been…” She bit her lower lip and didn’t complete the sentence. But he understood. Just the same way as he felt.

“I am meeting Ajay today,” he said, out of the blue. And explained how he was to get an agreement signed with State Bank, Jagner for a financing of a project that his company was to undertake in that region.

They sat for a few more minutes, talking generalities but soon Pooja said that she had to leave.

“Will we meet again?” he asked hopefully, his heart beat rapidly pounding his ribs at the thought.

“Cant say,” she responded. And added, “When you meet Ajay, tell him I am fine, and no need to worry about me. He gets worked up when I drive out in the damn rains” she said. Vishwas’s smile froze on his lips as a pang of jealousy stabbed his gut. Of course, Ajay had the right to get worried.

“Do visit us at Agra,” he said as she closed the door, and immediately bit his tongue. The ‘us’ obviously included his wife – a standard sentence that he spoke to many colleagues and friends, without giving any thought to it.

“Let’s see,” she replied and rushed towards her car.

He admired her grace in entering the vehicle, turning on the ignition and driving off with a wave. Sighing, he turned his gaze ahead; he saw the towel lying on the dashboard. Instinctively he picked it up and felt it with his hand hoping to feel the touch of her skin once more. It held faint traces of her fragrance. He took a deep breath and clutched the towel tightly; his mind was playing an old film when she would place her head on his shoulders, and the same fragrance would give him a giddy intoxicated feeling. As he fingered the towel, he felt a small lump within its fold. He opened it and found Pooja’s jhumka entangled between the sky blue strands of the towel.

Immediately, he grabbed it and stuck his head out to call her. However, by then her car was a tiny speck in the misty distance. Tenderly he circled the gold in his palms and placed it in his coat pocket.

Vishwas sat in his car for sometime looking through the rains at the spot where her car had been. After a while, he pushed the gear and started onwards. The mud and the rain only made the onward journey tougher. At Jagner, the road seemed to vanish leaving behind a sticky residue of wet earth and floating cow dung. Thankfully, it wasn’t tough to locate the State Bank there – barely a few hundred meters into the village, a derelict rusty signboard pointed to an inner road. He turned into the narrow lane, surrounded with shops covered with blue tarpaulin to protect from the rain. The second building housed the bank, on the first floor. The road continued ahead only to end at a tent which was set up and decorated with idols of the Goddess in gaudy colored clothes and accessories. A pooja, here too! A huge, tackily painted banner proclaimed in bold blue color “Sponsored by State Bank of India, Jagner.”

The meeting went as expected, interrupted by innumerable phone calls. At every given pause, Vishwas would scrutinize Ajay’s face and the roots of jealousy grew deeper. From the moment he entered the spartan office, he knew Ajay was a man of few words, and fewer needs. The large desk was piled up with files, broken only by an array of telephones. Behind Ajay stood a dirty Godrej almirah, and the walls were all covered with wires and cobwebs. Obviously, State Bank’s renovation drive hadn’t reached the smaller branches.

When he had got the requisite documents signed, he shuffled uneasily on his seat as Ajay turned his attention towards other documents. Vishwas’s hand was in his pocket, encircling the jhumka. How could he begin conveying Pooja’s message – without offering to explain how he knew her.

Ajay signed the last file, placed it on the side and rang a bell beneath his table. He looked up quizzically. Immediately, Vishwas dropped his stare to the contract in front of him, acting to read the same.

“I hope everything is in order?” asked Ajay. “Is there anything else that we can do?” he added, with an intent to convey that the meeting was all but over, and Vishwas should leave. When Vishwas didn’t budge or answer, Ajay said directly, “If you would excuse me, I will have to leave – the pooja down the road is about to begin. I have to attend it, though my wife should…” he rang a bell beneath his desk. “It becomes impossible to leave work mid-way, but sometimes one has to,” he murmured.

Vishwas understood the importance of work taking precedence over such things. He wondered if Pooja did too. “Sure, Mr Ranawat, I’ll take leave” began Vishwas, but was interrupted. A peon, in a white stained uniform, entered the room. Ajay pointed to the pile of files. The man took them away and dragged himself out of the office.

Vishwas reluctantly pulled himself up to go while his mind searched for a suitable excuse to convey Pooja in the conversation. After all, it was in years that she had asked him to do something, even if it was just a small message to be conveyed to her husband.

And then Vishwas found it – in the opening just cleared from the files, he noticed a small frame on the desk. It was Pooja’s photograph smiling in a light yellow dress. It looked as if it was taken at their home.

He nodded towards the photograph, “Bhabhiji…” he forced himself to bring the word out and let it trail, waiting for Ajay’s reaction. Strangely, and thankfully, Ajay didn’t take it as an intrusion of his privacy, which might have been more acceptable to Vishwas, since what he came up instead was a very fond look.

“Yes…Pooja, my wife,” answered Ajay, “She died in a car accident last year,” he added in an emotionless straight voice.

Ajay’s words knocked Vishwas like a solid punch on his solar plexus. Blood receded from his face, and he sat there eyeing Ajay blankly, his hand tightening the grip around Pooja’s earring in his pocket.

Outside, Vishwas stood in the rain watching Ajay leave towards the pandal down the road. Along side him, in the haze, he saw a faint peach reflection. She turned for a brief while to look at him – a look of deep love, but in the next instant she turned back to walk beside her husband into the shamiana, where the head-priest lit a lamp to the Goddess.

THE END

Special Thanks to Priyangini Mehta for editing the story.

The story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are imaginary, and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. State Bank of India is a well known government entity. Jagner, Agra, Delhi, Connaught Place etc are actual places.

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This entry was posted on Thursday, January 4th, 2007 at 4:15 pm and is filed under Fiction . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.