Khedar Deluxe – II

01May11

Khedar Deluxe – I

She restarted her talk on Chinar trees when I realized, not for the first time, that I did not deserve her. I had stopped asking her the question of “why me” a while back, when not for the first time, she put on her annoyed face and spoke, not unlike a mother’s rant at a troubling child: “It happens Zoh. It just happens. I liked you from the start. From the day you gave me that dry space in the crowded Shikara. From the day I learned that you speak the way you speak. From the day you gave me the tiny wooden box that you made for me for my birthday. I just like to spend time with you. You don’t select friends, time selects them for you”. I knew then that I had to stop asking that question to her. But it still remained in my mind, now constantly blurring between friendship and love.

She had stopped whatever she was saying a moment before I realized it and I knew that I had to pay for it. She looked at me with a face of mock sternness: “You do this often these days – not listening to me. Its like you are listening to me all the time, but yet I know that I am not getting none of my point across. I don’t think that you would remember a word of what I said just now”. “Do you think that I should? Maybe, I am not interested in this history”. “You are”. “How do you know?”. “You told me some of the most interesting stories from Mughal history – the search for glory, motivation for arts and their love”. I smiled. She smiled back. “What? You thought that I would not be remembering those stories, right?”. I had to laugh “I thought that you were barely interested in them”. “I was not, initially. But later, I wanted to hear them all because you were so much interested in it. And you never got tired of repeating them. Remember the time we walked back from our schools for the first time together? You told me that Mughal history was all that is needed to be known to understand man’s lust for glory, love and power and how they bring even the mightiest empires down. I thought about what you said for a long time after that. You know, you were right about man’s lust for glory and power bringing him down”. “You think that their quest for love had nothing to do with their demise”. “No, its not like that. I am just more intrigued by their love. I still do not understand it”. I smiled at her then, understanding what she meant.

She put her stern mask on and continued “So, tell me, why did you have to come with me today? My college was off. And yours wasn’t. If it was the other way around, I wouldn’t have come”. “You would have”. “Maybe, and only if you had told me that were going to Shalimar”. “And I did because you told me that you were coming here”. “This Park is so.. so, dull compared to the Gardens”. “Yes, I know”. “And still you love this old park and this rotten bench. Have you ever told me why…”. “I love you”. “Wha? What do you mean? Thats not what I asked”. “I know. And I am not answering your question. Atleast not now. I love you. Have always loved you”. “What do you mean by love? And when does this ‘always’ start”. “You know, the kind of love that wants to sit a lifetime in this park and watch you as long as the sun glistens through your frayed hair like it does now. And ‘always’ perhaps starts from about the fourth time I saw you”. “You mean the time when you came to my home to give me the stupid book about a girl who dreams of fairies all the time?”. “No, that was after we met. I loved you long before I gave you the dry seat in the Shikara”.

People had started disembarking from the Shikara. Its strange that I could recall so much of the conversation so clearly today. The memories had become increasingly difficult for the last couple of years to recollect, much like frayed shadows during twilight. I have grown accustomed to the constant fear of losing memory of what happened in the Park that day sometime in my life. I am yet to make up my mind if I should be grateful for that day or still dread it as I do now. But today, riding on the Shikara back to the womb I came from, I sense that the memories were always there, but hidden in the shadow of my own fear. And today… today feels like coming home.

“You mean, you knew me before we actually met”. “Yes, I thought that it was obvious”. “It was not”. She cast a suspicious glance at me. “I am telling you the truth”. “Everything?”. “Everything”. “But why do you love this stupid park?”. “It has nothing to do with you. I loved it because this is where my mom used to bring me when I was a kid. They had another rotten bench, believe me that the bench we are leaning against is a new one. We used to sit on the bench, I mean not like us, and she used to tell me that I was the best thing that happened to her. And I think that she was telling the truth”. “I like sitting in the grass”. “Yes, you look lovely in this skirt”. “Is this why you came with me today? to tell me that you… you ‘love’ me”. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that this was the right time. I was stupid”. “Yes, you were”. For the first time since we came to the Park, the smile left my face as I looked at her. She was now looking at the grass intently and her graceful fingers were running through the grass shoots.I knew that this was perhaps time to hold her hands and look into her to tell her that I meant everything I had just said. And more – I wanted to tell her in a thousand different ways what she meant to me and pour them out to her. I had made the whole thing so stupid already by being so straight-forward. I raised my arm from my side and moved it close to her face. I touched her cheeks and she remained silent. I tried to make her look up when my fingers registered the faintest of trembles in her cheek. She was crying.

The Shikara was close to my place and my memory brought back the familiar things. Time had changed all things, yet nothing was different. The old Kaka’s pier where I used to wait for my daily Shikara had been replaced with a newer one. The old community boiler where they used to make and share hot water is not replaced with a gigantic boiler that looked like it was running from electricity. The weeds, flowers we all the same and yet none of the old remained. I took my rucksack and got down at my place. I took the old grassy path to my home. The home had changed. My dad had changed. He was happy to see me and I was told that he knew that I would come home one day. I told him that I was sorry for everything. He shut off the light and asked me to get some rest. Old memories seldom rest – not when you have rekindled them after years of careful suppression.

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