The sun was about to set
over the Kangra valley. From the terrace of Dhauladhar, the Himachal Tourism
Hotel at Dharamsala, Swati looked down at the valley lying below her. Nestled
deep down at the feet of the emerald mountains, it was doused in colors thrown
at it by the rays of the setting sun. The sky had gone insane too. Mauve, pink,
orange, crimson –colors splashed all over it - like a painter’s palette – they
merged into each other, they morphed into different forms unnoticed by the
painter - as if they had a life of their own – even though no one ever cared to
know the purpose of their existence. Unperturbed by the riot of colors all
around it, stood the slopes of Dhauladhar – waves of grandeur and serenity frozen
in time – a perfect timeless contrast to the ephemeral sunset.
The color was on Swati’s
cheeks too. Abhishek watched his bride from his table - as Swati stood by the
railing of the terrace cafe – mesmerized by the beauty of the sky. The waiter
brought their coffee. Abhishek called Swati but she was lost in her own
thoughts. He walked up to her and on a sudden impulse touched her cheek but
then withdrew his finger equally quickly. Swati turned towards him and gave him
a smile. She looked a little lost. The emerald mountains trembled in a silvery
thin film of water that swamped her doe eyes. Swati took Abhishek’s hand in
hers and they walked back to the table hand in hand – a little self-conscious –
though both of them knew it was perfectly appropriate for a newly married
couple.
Swati and Abhishek have
been married for a little over a month now. Theirs was an arranged marriage
through a relative of Swati’s who also happened to be a close friend of
Abhishek’s aunt. Both Swati and Abhishek were working in Delhi - quite seasoned
professionals in their own fields. Delhi was second home for Swati, now that
she had spent more than a decade in the city right from her post-graduate days.
Abhishek had shifted to Delhi five years back. Neither of them had appeared too
enthusiastic about getting married though loneliness did creep in from time to
time. When the aunts paved the way, they had not remonstrated either. Having
crossed the fence of thirty, accustomed to being single for quite some time, Swati
and Abhishek were still a bit awkward with each other, but getting along not
too badly.
Abhishek poured coffee for
both of them. Swati inhaled the smell of the freshly brewed coffee deep into
her lungs. Coffee was her elixir. Abhishek preferred tea but had opted for
coffee today to give her company. Swati smiled at him again as she poured milk
into his cup. Small gestures like this help newly weds come closer.
“How many cubes for your
coffee? Let me warn you it is quite strong – just the way I like it.”
“Swati, I want to tell you
something.” Abhishek blurted out – his mind not really on the coffee.
Swati looked up,
surprised. His voice was tense. His face was shrouded in a mystery that Swati
could not read. Whatever it is, Swati was not sure whether this golden moment of
sunset was the right time for it.
Though this was their
first trip together, it was not exactly a honeymoon. Abhishek had some work at
Hamirpur and had asked whether Swati would like to accompany him. They could
plan a trip to Dharamshala after his work. Swati saw that she could easily
manage it with a couple of day’s leave added to the long Independence Day
weekend. They had started from Hamirpur that morning and reached Dharamsala
about an hour back. Though it was a tad tiring, the drive through the mountains
was enchanting.
Their marriage had been a
reasonably quiet affair. Registration and few basic rituals with close friends
and family at Swati’s place. A comparatively larger reception dinner was
organized at Abhishek’s home. The parents were happy that the two had at least
consented to marriage and did not pester them for anything more. Swati and
Abhishek were both very quiet persons - not exactly introverts but not very
expressive either. They were both stubborn and resolute in their own ways. Both
were dedicated professionals and preferred to be with a close group of friends rather
than being wildly social. Each had met the other’s friends but friends were not
an integral part of their conjugal existence yet.
Since both of them were
eager to get back to work after the wedding, there was no honeymoon planned.
Nothing was spoken about it as if it was a tacit understanding that a honeymoon
is best enjoyed when both can give in to each other - body, mind and soul – no
questions asked – and they were still not ready for it. In the last one month,
Swati and Abhishek had indeed come to know about each other’s habits, their
preferred beverages, their office timings, their workloads – but did they
really know each other? Swati was not so sure.
“Swati, I have to tell you
something that has been gnawing at my heart. I can’t hold it any more. I feel
guilty to keep you in the dark about my past.”
Whatever it is Abhishek, it
is too late anyway, Swati thought. But she did not say anything. She picked up
her cup and relaxed in her chair looking straight into his eyes. How many
skeletons in your cupboard? Thirty years is a hell lot of time to spend on this
earth. Who on earth could have spent all those years in penitence or
meditation! Only a sage or a hermit – which Abhishek was obviously not! Swati
was prepared for anything. Would Abhishek be too?
Abhishek was looking
intently at her – furrows in his forehead. Swati felt like touching the lock of
hair that fell carelessly on his forehead
– ruffled by the gentle breeze. But she was not sure. Did Abhishek want
that kind of intimacy?
“Tell me,” she said.
The last streaks of color
were now gone. The sky was inky blue. August being the season of rains and
landslides, the hotel did not have many guests. There was darkness all around
them, except specks of fiery-orange glowing here and there from a few houses in
the far away mountains.
“Would you like to have
some wine Swati?”
“Sure.”
Abhishek ordered for a
bottle of Moscato.
He was taking his time. He
poured the wine carefully into two glasses and handed one to Swati. It takes
but a few minutes to define a relationship on paper. It takes a lot more to
build it up from those strokes. This was a difficult moment for him.
“Priya and I were batch
mates during our Engineering college days at Pune, though we hardly knew each
other then. Frankly I was only one of the numerous admirers of Priya – the
nightingale of our College. Our first notable interaction was during the group
discussion for the campus placements, where Priya possibly for the first time
noticed me as an individual. Late that night, after a full grueling day of many
rounds of tests and interviews, when the company finally put up the list of
selected candidates – there were only two names in it – Priya’s and mine. This
was one of the most coveted IT companies and we were both ecstatic. Our friends
were wild with joy. They dragged us to the shacks that doubled up as pubs at
night and all of us drank till sunrise. Priya could hardly walk back. I dropped
her at her hostel and went back to my room – moonstruck! I am not sure what
dazed me more – Priya’s dazzling personality, her fragrance, her touch still
warm on my skin, her beautiful voice melding with the first rays of the sun or
the thought that we will work together in the not so distant future. Late that
afternoon, Priya tracked me to the lab, thanked me for taking care of her and
also apologized for the night’s fiasco.
We became quite close to
each other over the remaining days but it was only when we started working at
Pune that our affair blossomed. The work was demanding. Like all IT companies, we
worked late into the night. And then to compensate for the hard work, we
partied harder on the weekends. We took short breaks to the nearby hill
stations and beaches over the long weekends to unwind. Fun, food, movies,
theaters and musical soirees filled up our lives like a rich tapestry.
Priya was loved by one and
all in the company. She was vivacious, extremely bright and gifted with that
lovely voice. She became a regular at our office functions. Colleagues vied to
catch her attention. I had the unenviable status of being both revered and
envied by contemporaries. She was extremely intelligent and did her job quite
well. But singing was her passion. She was a trained classical singer. A few
months into the job, she found a guru at Pune and started training under him. Soon
her Guru started taking her to public recitals along with him. Very soon she
started receiving independent invitations – though mostly from smalltime
organizers, but they poured in quite regularly. Her singing career was beginning
to shape up but that started affecting her work. Friends advised her to choose
music as her profession but Priya was not willing to sacrifice her IT career.
Since we were in the same
division, I started helping her out. Soon, she moved into my apartment.”
Abhishek paused for a while.
Swati was listening with her eyes cast far away into the darkness. His words
were floating all around her. As the flow of words stopped, Swati slowly
brought her eyes back to focus on Abhishek’s face. In the dim light that came
from the lamp behind him, his face was hardly visible. She could not read what
was written in it. Pain? Remorse? Sadness? Loss?
Abhishek was clearly
waiting for her to say something. Yet she hardly knew what to say.
She simply asked, “Then?”
“We started living
together. Priya would often leave office early, carrying work with her to be
completed later from home. But by the time she came back after her programs or
practice sessions, she would be too tired. So I happily did the work for her while
she attended to her music. Soon she started getting programs outside Pune also.
Our boss supported her talent and overlooked many of her absences. However,
when it was time for rewards at the end of two years, I was promoted while she
was not.
That was the first setback
for Priya. She tried hard to remain unaffected, but the effort showed. There
was an untold strain between us.
Priya had not informed her
parents about our living together. Her parents were conservative and would be
scandalized to even hear about it. They were pressurizing her for marriage. My
parents were also not completely aware of it, but knew about Priya. Now that I
was well settled, they wanted me to marry and I was also eager to seal our
relationship with the official stamp. But Priya was hesitant. She was not ready
to commit to a relationship that was already somewhat strained.
She decided that she
needed more time and freedom to succeed in the diverse worlds of IT and music.
Though music was her first love, she would not hear a word about leaving the
company. She argued that music would hardly be able to pay her what the job did
at this stage. The money was needed even to sustain her music career – the
expensive sarees, the jewelry, the training, the travels – she often had to
pitch in with her own money since classical music hardly paid for luxurious
life-styles. I told her that I could earn for both of us till she became an established
artiste. And for that she had to dedicate herself wholeheartedly to music. This
angered her no end. Priya was not quarrelsome, but she was hurt by my proposal.
She felt insulted.
She didn’t let me know
that she had started including semi-classical and light-classical pieces in her
program, which increased her popularity and got her more programs and better
remunerations.
We continued to stay
together – sharing the cost – yet alienated, gradually drifting away from each
other. At the workplace, she saw that despite her bright academic records, her
juniors were moving past her leaving her behind in the rat race of corporate
career. She could neither overcome nor accept the situation.
Finally, a few months
later, Priya resigned from the job. She hadn’t told me anything. I came to know
about it at the office. A week later, Priya packed her things to leave. I stood
like a silent spectator. Before leaving she told me
that she had decided to move to Mumbai. She had an offer from a music composer
for a Marathi film. She had also hired herself a manager and would concentrate
on a full-fledged music career.
It was a quiet farewell.
No tears, no promises. She left an address, but never called. I too did not try
to contact her again. She is a famous playback singer now.”
“Priya Shirodkar! I
remember her saying in an interview that she was a Computer Scientist by
training and had left a lucrative job to pursue music.”
“Yes. I left Pune soon
after. After a stint at IIM Bangalore, I joined this firm in Delhi. I am sorry.
Perhaps I should have told you this before – but how could I bare my heart to a
complete stranger! Are you upset with me Swati?”
Upset? Is that the right
word? Does that reflect her feelings? Strangely enough though there was a
turbulence near her throat that was threatening to choke her; she could also
feel a strange calm deep within.
Swati noticed that not for
once did Abhishek mention Priya’s looks. She had seen Priya on television. Priya
was not what they would call a gorgeous woman – rather she was extra-ordinarily
elegant and graceful – exuding an old-world charm that is difficult to find in
contemporary artistes.
“Are you angry with me
Swati?”
Swati still could not
react. She was trying hard to deal with her own inner turmoil.
Was this the right time to
reveal her own past? Wouldn’t it appear to be playing tit for tat? A bit too
childish! As if she was trying to get even. Was she?
Abhishek sighed. “I am
sorry if I have spoilt the trip for you Swati. But to me it feels like a cathartic
experience.”
Swati appreciated the fact
that he did not add those clichéd terms like forgive and forget.
She sat still, her eyes
distant, staring into the darkness.
Abhishek put his hand on
hers and asked, “Don’t you want to say something to me Swati?”
Swati shivered. There was
a chill in the air now.
Abhishek filled up her glass
and also handed her the shawl that was lying carelessly on the chair beside
her.
Swati stirred to drape the
shawl tightly.
The warmth of the wine
slowly seeped into her being.
She looked at Abhishek’s
eye and said – “If I tell you my story now, would that be too dramatic?”
Abhishek’s eyes quivered
for a moment. But he immediately broke into a smile – “No. Let it off your
chest.”
He filled up his own glass
and reclined back on his chair, relaxed, his eyes on Swati.
Swati was not sure where
to start. Abhishek’s smile had disarmed her a bit. Had she really looked at her
husband’s face before? They had already spent a month together!
Would she be able to
remember the details if she closed her eyes tight.
Swati had closed her eyes
involuntarily and the face that swam in front of her eyes was not Abhishek’s.
Abhishek was clean-shaven but the face had a beard. Abhishek wore spectacles, had
a pleasant square face with slightly wavy charcoal-black hair. The face that floated
in front of her eyes had an aquiline nose, a sharp chin, an unruly mop of black
curly hair – and most importantly the face was of a twenty-two year old youth
and not of a man who was thirty two. Swati laughed at herself.
How unseemly of her to
dream of a guy who was younger to her by a decade!
Abhishek was waiting.
Swati gave him a hollow
laugh – “You know what! My story is not half as interesting as yours!”
Was there a flicker of
pain in his face?
Swati suddenly realized
she was hungry.
“Can you please order for
a plate of kebabs Abhishek? I am ravenous!”
She was trying to pull
herself together. That’s what Anish always did to her.
They drank in silence till
the kebabs came.
It was a rare August night
when there were no clouds in the sky. The sky of Dharamsala was a canopy
aglitter with a thousand twinkling stars above them. The rolling slopes of
Dhauladhar were indistinguishable from each other in the darkness, other than
the peaks that stood far away from each other – each lonely in its quest to
touch the sky. Just like her story – this
surrounding monolithic mass appeared to have no beginning, no specific form
though it did have an end, thought Swati.
“When I joined JNU for post-graduation
in Economics, Anish was in his second year of PhD. Can’t exactly remember when
and how we were introduced to each other. May be never. It is just that we were
all part of a big group that hung out together at the dhaba discussing
politics, poetry, philosophy, metaphysics – you know - all the typical JNU
stuff. I would often be a silent listener – not even sure whether I enjoyed or
understood all that was discussed. Not that anyone cared. So many people had so
much opinion to voice about anything and everything that there was no dearth of
conversation. Anish was moody. While on
some days he would be garrulous, on others he would be absolutely silent –
tinkering with his camera. He was a passionate photographer and an amazing one
at that.”
Swati stopped to take
breath. Memories of her student days had literally transported her to that
campus – she was reliving those moments as she spoke.
Abhishek’s face was
inscrutable. He waited silently for Swati to continue.
Swati picked up the thread
from where she had left it.
“One evening as we sat
sipping lemon tea, Anish dropped a bombshell. One of his photographs had won
some contest and he had received Rs 5000/-. 5000! That was a hell lot of money
in the eighties! The girls were ready to swoon. Even the boys went silent for a
while. Rohan was the first one to break the spell.
“And may we have the honor
to see the photo Anish?” he asked.
“Sure!” And thus Anish
dropped the second bomb.
It was a black and white
photograph – of me!
I was dumbstruck! So were
the others!
There was another spell of
complete silence!
Neither me nor anybody
else could have ever imagined that I could be the subject of an award-winning
photograph! There were far more beautiful faces in the campus.
Even the multi-hued
bougainvillea in full bloom would have been a far more attractive subject!
The photograph was
captioned cryptically as “The Ocean.”
“Ocean?” I was still
incredulous.
“Yes. Your eyes! I can
drown in them. Beneath those doe eyes you hide a world that is as attractive as
the world of corals under the sea. I want to dive into that ocean and touch
your heart. I want to hunt for oysters in them and touch the pearls that are
born out of your pains.”
It was all so sudden and
obscure that I forgot to be even embarrassed.
The next day, as I came
out after the last class, Anish stopped me at the corridor.
“Swati, are you angry with
me?”
I didn’t know whether
angry was the right word – but yes I was upset that he had done the whole thing
without taking me into confidence. Could this count as an offence? I was not
sure.
“Why did you not tell me?”
I asked him.
“Had I asked you for
permission, would you have agreed?”
“Perhaps not.”
“That is why I did not
ask.”
“That was Anish for you -
negotiating this world solely on his own terms, operating with his own logic.”
Abhishek interrupted
Swati.
“Let’s order for some
dinner and then you can continue.”
The air was thick with the
smell of tandoori chicken. It made them hungry. They placed their orders and
Swati resumed her story.
“In the four turbulent
years that followed, we were almost inseparable. Anish worked for his PhD and
subsequently finished it. I completed my post-graduation and following Anish,
registered for a PhD. The whole campus knew we
were a couple – though I was never sure whether we really were. I was an
ordinary girl – mediocre in everything - from looks to merit, while Anish was
superlative in most of the things he did – writing, public speaking,
photography – he was a born leader. The student community revered him for his
intellect and secretly wondered why he preferred to go around with a girl like
me when there were far more attractive and intellectually accomplished females
around. And so did I.
Anish loved to lecture. He
talked with equal ease on existentialism, nihilism, the politics of power, and
micro-economics. I heard him with awe – self conscious that I was not at all worthy
of his attention. Anish loved to hear his own voice. He did not tire of repeating
the same things again and again – hoping that I would be able to understand at
least some of his ideas. A bit like a good teacher who never tires of a bad
student – you know!
While I did marvel at the
fact that this superior soul had chosen to enlighten me – I constantly fought
an inner battle. Was I deceiving him? Was I misleading him to believe that I
was an intellectual while I was shallow from within?
Even in our intimacy there
existed an emptiness that I could not fathom. There was a chasm between us,
which I yearned to cross – but never really could. Even when he caressed me I
was not sure whether he was touching me, or an impression of me.
Other than talking, Anish
clicked. He clicked my pictures relentlessly. My long hair, my eyes, my toes,
my hands – I really don’t know what he saw in these. But then he also clicked
pictures of Delhi’s street children, the elderly beggars, the musicians of the
band parties that played played for the groom, the bangle-sellers of Chandni
Chowk, the station vendors – I guess the ordinary fascinated him.
A few months after
obtaining his PhD, he got a post-doctoral fellowship from Germany. And then one
fine day, as if to assure everybody that exceptions do not really rule, Anish
left the campus forever.
Perhaps our stories have
one similarity Abhishek – there were no tears and no promises. Anish left me
alone and never came back.”
“Did you chop off your
hair after that Swati?”
The suddenness of the
question stopped Swati just like a giant rock that stops a gushing stream.
She looked at Abhishek
with wide incredulous eyes!
“Yes! But how did you
know?”
“I read somewhere that the
first thing most women go for after a break up is a hair-cut.”
Momentarily taken aback, Swati
broke into peals of laughter – this was the first time she could laugh like
this in the last six months. Her laughter echoed from the mountain slopes - it
rained on them - it drenched them – it flowed through their blood like a
mountain stream.
It is August once again. Rik
had flown in from Bangalore to celebrate his parent’s silver anniversary. All
of twenty-four, now that he was an investment banker, he wanted to gift them with
a trip to Switzerland. But the university would be open and Swati could not
afford to miss her classes.
“After all the
hustle-bustle of these celebrations, the two of you should at least go
somewhere nearby and enjoy some peace and quiet before you join work.”
Not a bad idea, thought
Abhishek.
“How about Dharamsala?” he
looked askance at Swati.
Rik looked up from his
laptop.
“You plan to convert to
Buddhism?”
“Excellent! Let’s go,”
quipped Swati.
“Say Hi to Dalai Lama for
me,” said Rik and flew off to Bangalore.
It took them a little less
than an hour to drive from the Kangra airport to the Dhauladhar Hotel. The sun
was about to set. They were sitting at the terrace restaurant. Swati sipped her
coffee while Abhishek enjoyed his tea. August being the month of rains, there
were hardly any guests. Of course, these days with fancy hotels springing up
like mushrooms at every corner of the Himalayas, Dhauladhar was hardly
anybody’s choice. The manager, who was yet to overcome his shock at seeing this
elite couple check into this hotel, walked up to their table.
“So what are your plans
Sir?”
“Nothing really. We are
here to relax. Perhaps we will go to Mcleodganj one day.”
“I would love to go back
to Dal lake. Is it still there or dried up?” asked Swati.
“It had indeed dried up.
But back to its old form now. But if you have already been there may I suggest
something Madam? Why don’t you go to Khajjiar tomorrow? It is called the Mini
Switzerland of India!”
“Not a bad idea! How long
is the drive?”
“Just four hours. I can
arrange for a car.”
Swati called Rik.
“You know what! We are
finally going to Switzerland! Mini Switzerland of India.”
“Khajjiar?”
“You know about it?”
“Yes. The Swiss planted a
flag there in the nineties. Enjoy your trip.”
The drive took a little
more than four hours. They reached Khajjiar around twelve at noon.
The lush green rolling
slopes surrounded by dense green mountains indeed appeared to be quite Swiss. The
cedar forest covering the walls of the mountains was so dense that even the
sun’s rays would find it difficult to penetrate. The meadow was alive with kids
playing, sheep bleating, young boys and girls paragliding. It was more like a
fair ground than a tourist spot. Swati felt mildly irritated. Though the view
was breathtaking, the crowd was a dampener.
It was quite hot in the afternoon.
They decided to retire their hotel room till it cooled down a bit.
From the glass walls of
their room, overlooking the green glade, they enjoyed the cedar-crested
mountains. The crowd started dispersing around 3 pm. By 5 pm, the place was
almost empty.
Swati and Abhishek came
down to the rolling grounds for a walk. They walked around aimlessly on the soft
grass. The cedar trees were whispering
among themselves. The grass swayed in the light evening breeze. They walked up
to the Khajji lake. Fed by thin streams, this small lake rests in the centre of
the large glade of Khajjiar.
Khajji lake was the abode
of Khajji Nag, the reigning deity, whose temple lies close to the lake. Folklore
says that way back in 12th century the villagers saw a light shining atop a
mountain near village Lily. When they went there and dug up the place, they
found four snake deities or Nag Devatas who were staying together. They were
four brothers. But after the place was dug up, the four brothers split and one
of them came to reside at the Khajj Lake while the others went to Naguie,
Jhumar and Chowari. Khajji Nag’s temple is eight hundred years old. The
architecture of this ancient temple is simply breathtaking. Its walls are made
of stone, while the roof is made of slate. The sanctum stands on cedar wood
columns. It is said that when in the beginning of 19th century there was an
attempt to fill the lake up, Khajji Nag came to life in the form of a huge
snake and scared people away.
When the dark canopy of
cedars lapped up the last rays of light, the air was suddenly filled up with
the sound of horns (shinga) blowing from Khajji Nag’s temple. Intertwined with
it floated the refrains of a flute playing to the slow beats of a drum. A
tuneful melody wafted from the temple and engulfed them. Mesmerized by the
tune, Swati and Abhishek walked towards the temple, as if hypnotized. The
sanctum was filled with the aromatic smoke of camphor burning along with
coconut coils. The priest attended to the deity inside the sanctum sanctorum. In
the middle of the square retreat, there sat the trio, playing the giant horn,
the flute and the drum. A fire was lit in front of them. The percussionist
stoked the fire from time to time. The flames danced to the lilting notes of
the flute while wisps of smoke floated up like a prayer towards the Almighty. They
sat on carved out wooden benches that ran all along the inner walls of the
temple. There was no other visitor inside the temple. They sat there –
captivated by the music. No chants, no words – yet every note played was an
invocation of supreme peace. The notes touched the innermost chords of their
hearts and wrenched out submission of self to the magnificence of nature.
When the music finally
stopped, the notes still hung heavy in the air. Swati and Abhishek walked
around looking at the huge carvings of known and unknown Gods and Goddesses.
The fire was put off for the night. The smoke clung to the old temple like a
light mist.
It was time for them to
leave.
They stepped out through
the low wooden frame. The stone steps were now cold.
The priest locked the
temple door and went home.
The cafes and restaurants
were shutting down one by one.
The grassland was awash
with silvery moonlight. Light rainclouds sailed overhead.
The moon played
hide-and-seek with the clouds.
A light mist was descending
on the ground.
An invisible hand wrapped
up the glade in a shimmering veil, pinning the ends to the peaks with a careful
precision.
The meadow was now
deserted. Swati and Abhishek walked back to their hotel – the only ones yet to
go back home.
It was difficult to see
through the haze. Swati’s glasses were moist. She tripped on a rock and quickly
caught Abhishek’s hand to steady herself.
All of a sudden as the
moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting up the meadow with its mercurial
rays and there emerged a young couple - standing there face to face with them. They
could vouch there was no one in the meadow a few seconds back.
The girl was very fair,
very dainty. The boy had sharp features that made him look like a Greek God was
almost bent in the front by the weight of a camera slung from his neck. There
was something ethereal about their beauty – as if they shone from within – as
if they were made of moonlight.
The girl smiled at them.
Swati tried her best to return the smile but her lips were so dry that she was
not even sure whether they would ever part again.
[LIPIKA
DEY]
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