Story III - Tryst with Time ...

Her scent lingered on

….Like the mountain mist

….Like the morning dew

It followed me, it settled down.

I looked across the horizon, to where the pale blue sky met the soaring mountains. The snowy cliffs of the Himalayan range shone against the sunlight. The mountains rose above the clouds, their peaks faintly visible through the fog covering.

A gust of wind blew across my face sending a shiver through my body. The cold wind forced me to pull the shawl across my chest for comfort. I extracted my hand from the shawl and stretched it across to the side table for the cup of tea that had been waiting for me. My hands fumbled across the table searching for the cup while I continued staring at the cliffs.

‘Sahab Chay,’ Rajiv had said as he had placed the cup of tea and the day old news paper on the side table. I had not bothered to look away from the mountains.

Paper was a luxury that few wanted to afford at the hill station. No one wanted to be bound by time or be reminded of the atrocities the world unleashed, beyond the beautiful mountains. The news paper had been specifically ordered at my insistence. I was lucky to get an day old edition. ………… Time always stopped in Mussoorie.

The hotel usually wore a desolate look every Diwali. Not many people wanted to visit hill stations during the festival. People preferred to stay back home and celebrate Diwali with family and friends.

I was running away from my past into the darkness; while the city of Delhi which I had left behind, celebrated the festival of lights, I continued living my life in memories. I struggled to forget the dreams that had once filled me up with joy, but had since become a painful reminder of a future that never would be……..

The dreams of future that I had once cherished had refused to leave me even after Varsha had.

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Her laughter, so tantalizing

….Like the water fall

….Like the howling wind

It filled me with joy, it haunted me.

‘Rajan, please!!! Let us take the cable car,’

‘It is late Varsha, you will not be able to see anything. It will be dark before we reach Gun Hill,’ I replied trying to dissuade her.

It was very cold; the temperatures in Mussoorie fell sharply in the evenings. The blowing wind was making the evening colder.

The Mall road then had not been as busy as it is these days. There were fewer shops and restaurants along the Mall road. One could still catch a glimpse of the valley through the vacant spaces between shops.

The empty places had since been taken up by new establishments.

All I wanted was to get back to the hotel room and cuddle into the quilt. I looked across at Varsha passionately as I recollected the feeling of her body brushing against mine under the quilt.

Though Varsha and I had been married for two years we had been unable to spend much time with one another. The Diwali holidays had given us an excuse and the time to spend a few days together.

I had been having problems with my job and was forced to switch companies a few weeks before our marriage. The responsibilities at the new company added to my need for extra money had all but left a little more than week of holidays for the marriage.

The religious ceremonies and the preparations before the marriage had taken up all my holidays leaving no time for a Honeymoon.

Varsha’s mom had taken ill soon after our marriage; hence Varsha had been forced to spend most of her time with her family.

It was an emotional turmoil that we had to wade through each day. I was having a hard time at work but things were tougher back home where Varsha needed constant consolation and support. Varsha’s mom had all but a few days left and Varsha wished to spend as much time as possible with her mother. I did not have the heart to refuse Varsha the last few moments with someone who had been such an important part of her life. There sometimes, had been occasions when I had lost my will to physical needs and urges, but they had always ended up badly for both Varsha and me.

Varsha failed to understand how I could be so insensitive at times like these, while I went deeper into remorse and frustration. It had taken me weeks to control my emotions and learn to hold my advances for fulfillment at bay.

Varsha’s mother had passed away eight months after our marriage. Varsha had been inconsolable for weeks and had broken down into sobs every time I tried to hold her in my arms or display an emotion. Every advance I made irrespective of how noble my intentions were always held a coveted meaning for Varsha.

It was painful; our relationship tethered by a thin thread of social commitments and family pressure dwindled on like a boat in stormy sea. Our relationship refused to stay afloat while everyone around us that included the two of us struggled to keep it from sinking.

It was a year after Varsha’s mother had passed away and two years to our marriage when Varsha started responding to my advances. Our family having realized that Varsha and my relationship was far from complete and lacked the chemistry that newly wed couples shared had been egging us to go on a trip.

Varsha had started hating festivities because they reminded her of her mother. Varsha wanted to run away from the city as Diwali drew closer. I was more than willing to condescend to her wishes. I hoped that getting away would give us an excuse to spend some time with each other.

Varsha’s dad knew someone who owned a resort in Mussoorie and had arranged a cottage for the two of us there for Diwali.

‘Rajan, please!!! Let us take the cable car,’ said Varsha pulling me away from my thoughts.

Varsha looked up at me sadly, her eyes pleading her case. I finally relented to her wishes and booked the return tickets on the cable car to Gun Hill.

I could not pull my eyes away from the beautiful face that lit up with amazement as the cable car made its way to the view point. The surrounding view paled in comparison to the beauty I had in front of my eyes. I slowly moved my arms around Vasha and pulled her closer as she continued to look down from the cable car into the valley.

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Sonu had been asleep as I had walked out from the room that morning. Sonu was nearly eight years old. It was his third visit to the hill station of Mussoorie. I was not sure if the place held as much awe to his little eyes as it did to me. Sonu failed to understand why I always insisted on running away from the city during Diwali. I knew Sonu secretly desired to spend time with his friends and family bursting crackers but he never told me so for the fear of hurting his dad. I convinced myself that next year, I would leave him in Delhi instead of bringing him along to Mussoorie.

Like every other year, this year during Diwali the hotel bore a solemn look. The only other room that had been taken was occupied by a group of bachelors who had come down to the hill station to get away from their loneliness. The staff at the hotel had been cut down to Rajiv and the cook, as all the other staff members had gone home for Diwali. I was glad about having the hotel to myself.

I usually rose early and drank endless glasses of tea till Sonu joined me for the breakfast. Once we completed our breakfast we either walked down to camel’s back road where Sonu loved riding the horses or we drove down to one of the water falls where I sat watching Sonu play with water. We sometimes drove down to Dhanolti where Sonu loved playing in the children’s park or one of the snow puddles along the roadside. We usually returned back to the hotel before nightfall, preferring to have our lunch at one of other hundreds of restaurants.

Sonu did have some advantages of having to leave Delhi during Diwali. Apart from having his dad around him all the time he also managed to get most of his wishes fulfilled. During our week in Mussoorie I usually relented to all his demands without putting up much resistance.

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Varsha and I had driven out in our brown esteem that had belonged to her father. Varsha’s dad had insisted that we take his car along to Mussoorie as it was not only bigger but also in much better shape than my little white Maruti 800.

Varsha and I had made an early start in order to avoid the traffic. We had been driving for a little more than two hours when I pulled into the ‘Cheetal Grand’ restaurant along the highway. The restaurant had been suggested as a good stopover for breakfast along the way. We ate our breakfast and freshened ourselves before heading back on our way to Mussoorie.

Varsha had loved the restaurant and had spent quite a lot of time admiring the flowers in the garden. We had a lot of time at hand and I did not have the heart to pull Varsha away from the flowers. I sat on the table admiring the joy on Varsha’s face as she moved from one flower bed to the next.

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Sonu had taken after his mother with his liking for the stop over at Cheetal Grand. He had insisted that we stop over at Cheetal for his favorite flavored milk drink every time we drove by on our way to Mussoorie.

This was my third trip with Sonu to the hill station of Mussoorie. I wondered how quickly time passed, Sonu would be turning eight in a few weeks time.

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‘Ranjan, I don’t think we should stay at Dads friends resort,’ said Varsha walking back to the table where I had sat admiring her hopping from flower to flower like a bee collecting honey.

I looked up at Varsha not quite understanding what she was trying to tell me. Varsha looked back at me in annoyance at my inability to understand her.

‘We should find some other hotel, because if we go to the resort we would be dotted on and surrounded with people. Ram uncle who owns the resort is a very good family friend and he would insist that we spend Diwali with his family,’ said Varsha trying to explain.

I nodded in agreement unable to understand how long Varsha would continue to run away from the present. I was perplexed at Varsha’s determination to blot out the events around her and continue living in a world of dreams.

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Her zeal of life, ever contagious

….Like the flowing wind

….Like the ray of sun

It lifted me up, it blinded me.

Varsha threw away her shawl and stretched out her hands, meeting the wind that blew across the cable car, as the cable car moved towards Gun hill. Her hair blew in defiance trying to withstand the torrent of wind. Varsha stood smiling as her face lit with joy.

‘Varsha, put on the shawl, else you will catch cold,’ I said lifting the shawl from the floor and wrapping it around her naked body.

The salwar Varsha was wearing had been no match for the cold evening breeze. Varsha continued to enjoy the cold wind, not heeding to my protests. She stood there aloof …. unaware of everything that surrounded her.

We returned to the hotel room around eight that night. Varsha was sneezing and also shivering a little. I had given her my jacket but it had failed to help. Varsha was still ecstatic from the cable car ride to feel the discomfort that the onset of cold and fever brings. I realized that the fever would soon hit her. I switched on the room heater and also turned on the geyser to heat some water. Varsha’s head felt a little hot to touch.

I had ordered some warm tea from room service at the reception when we had walked in. Varsha was in a fit of sneezing when the tea arrived. I made her drink the warm tea before forcing her into the bathroom for a bath with hot water. Her fever and shivering had increased when we went down to the restaurant for dinner. The fever had continued unabated when went to bed, the paracetamol was still to take effect.

I had woken up a few times in the night to check on her fever and get some water for Varsha. I was finally relieved when it was morning. Varsha had held on to me tightly the whole night. In the morning Varsha had felt a little better and eaten her breakfast before suggesting a walk to the city.

I was about to call up home to let them know about Varsha sickness. I had made up my mind to head back to the city. Varsha pulled the phone away and hugged me tightly.

That morning, for the first time since our marriage I could sense love, passion and warmth coming from my wife. That morning was also the first time we really made love to each other. It probably was also the day when Sonu had started his journey into our lives. We decided to stay back in Mussoorie for a few more days. Varsha’s took three days to recover from the fever and during that time neither of us felt the need to leave the room or each others company even for a moment.

Varsha and I struggled to make up for the months we had lost since our marriage. Our love for each other only increased with every passing day. When we returned to Delhi the family was both glad and surprised to see the transformation. A few weeks later when Varsha confirmed our doubts about Sonu the family erupted with joy.

It was exactly nine months after the day on which our marriage had transformed that Sonu arrived into our lives.

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‘Oh don’t worry; it is just a normal case of bad stomach,’

I was a fool to have believed Varsha. I was a fool to have ignored the lurking signs of her illness. I was so engrossed in my work that I had failed to notice the pain etched on her face.

It was providence a few of my friends had consoled while others had reminded me that Varsha’s mother had succumbed to the very same fate. ‘You should have had regular tests done,’ added a few helpful relatives, but all their suggestions were a little too late.

Sonu was about to turn four when the first symptoms of Varsha’s illness had appeared. The doctors had given up hope much before they had started her on the treatment. It was a lost battle they had said …… Varsha had known it from the start.

Varsha had concealed the pain in her zeal to live the life to its full. She was gone because there is no place on the earth for noble souls like her.

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Her sparkling eyes, forever shining

…. Like the shining star

…. Like the burning spark

It lit my life, it set me afire.

‘Can you please call home check with Mummy, if Sonu has eaten? This is the first time he is staying away from us,’ said Varsha sounding concerned.

Varsha’s health had deteriorated in the last few weeks. She found it hard to stand for long periods or even walk for more than a few minutes without resting. Her appetite had fallen and her cheeks had gone hollow. I feared that she did not have much longer than a few months. It pained me to accept that she would soon leave me to fend with life all alone. I did not want to believe that my dreams of future with Varsha would no longer come true.

Varsha had wanted to visit Mussoorie before her health got any worse.

We had initially tried to keep the truth from her but Varsha had soon learnt about her condition. The pain in my eyes was killing her faster than the disease.

‘Rajan, can I ask you for something,’ Varsha had said on the night she realized that she did not have much longer to live. All I had managed was to look at her plaintively unable to control my tears or hide my emotions. I stood there naked in front of the person I loved most, not knowing how to stop the inevitable.

Varsha had looked so vulnerable in the white dress that I had recently gifted her. We had not needed many words. She crumbled into my arms and cried for a long time before speaking again.

‘Rajan, I want to enjoy what is left of my life. I want to spend every moment I can with you and Sonu. Your tears kill me because they constantly remind me that I don’t have much time left,’

I made an attempt to wipe the tears from my eyes. Vasha softly kissed my lips.

‘I want to visit Mussoorie once before it all ends,’

I was taken aback by the request. Varsha’s failing health and the treatment did not allow us the luxury of going away from Delhi for long periods. If I had not know Varsha I would have refused her request, but knowing her well I knew she would not rest until she got what she wanted.

We had driven down to Mussoorie in our brown Ford Ikon that I had bought a year back.

‘Varsha watch out,’ I shouted, running to hold her as she was about to fall. The effort needed to climb into the cable car had been too much for Varsha.

‘Do you really want to do this?,’ I asked knowing well what her answer would be.

I helped Varsha into the cable car before it began its journey towards Gun Hill.

Tears were gushing down Varsha’s eyes. I looked away into the valley far away not wanting to acknowledge the tears or the pain.

‘How could god have wished something like this for us?,’ I wondered.

Sonu had just turned Four a few months back. There were so many dreams that would be shattered.

Varsha would never be able to see Sonu walk into school. Varsha would not be there when Sonu needed his mother. Varsha will be gone long before Sonu finished school ……….. A life of emptiness stared at me from across the valley.

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‘Rajan, quickly bring the camera. Sonu just spoke his first word,’ shouted Varsha jumping in excitement.

I rushed out to the living room with the camera not wanting to miss the moment. I succeeded in capturing the mother and her son in their most intimate moment. I had captured the scene that any father would be proud off …… his son uttering the first words.

Varsha looked beautiful in the pale blue kurta and jeans while Sonu tottered around naked but for his nappies.

‘Da da da da,’ the two of them had crooned into the camera.

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‘Rajan, wake up,’ I could hear Vasha’s frightened voice in distance.

I woke up rubbing my eyes. Varsha was sitting on the bed next to me holding on to Sonu.

Sonu had been four months old then.

It was well beyond midnight when I had called the doctor pleading for an appointment. We had rushed out in our night clothes to the hospital. Sonu had soon recovered but the incident had left me and Varsha completely drained.

The fever had returned in all its fury a week later. We had visited the doctor again that evening. The doctor had had prescribed cold swabs with ice water and some mild medication. The fever subsided for a few hours but had suddenly risen late in the night. I fervently dialed the doctor’s number not knowing how to react.

The doctor sounded annoyed but heard me out before suggesting that we place Sonu in a bucket of ice cold water.

Varsha was furious at the doctor’s suggestion, she refused to heed to it. Sonu was shivering as the fever showed no sign of abating. His eyes had started dilating. I finally picked him up against Varsha’s protests and took him to the bathroom.

Thankfully the cold water had immediate effect and Sonu’s fever subsided.

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I sat wondering if I would ever be able to cherish these memories with Varsha.

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Her hair so beautiful, silky and dark

…. Like the garden of flowers

…. Like the cloudy sky

It smelled so sweet, it filled me with sadness.

I felt someone walk into the veranda. I did not want to turn around ……. I did not want to acknowledge the presence. I was afraid that my privacy would be stolen if I acknowledged the presence. I was reluctant to accept that Varsha would no longer return into my life.

The trip to Shivaliks inn, Mussoorie every year was my only way of coming to terms with my loss.

I realized what Varsha had gone through when she lost her mother. I knew how hard it had been for her to let the memories loose. It was three years since Varsha had left me. Sonu was to turn Eight on his next birthday.

Sonu wanted me to get him a huge photo frame. A frame that would hold all the photos he had of his mom. Sonu wanted to hang the frame in his room so that he could watch it every morning. He wanted his mom to be close to him every time he felt lost or sad.

I heard a ruffle behind me. I heard someone cough.

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Her lips, so sweet

…. Like the taste of nectar

…. Like the ranging bull

It felt like honey, it drained me empty.

I could not bear to look at Varsha as she lay in the hospital bed. Her lips had shriveled and her eyes had sunken into their sockets. I could not believe that it was the same Varsha whom I had once loved and held in my arms. It pained me to look at the emaciated body lying in front of me.

The doctor had told us that Varsha did not have more than a few days left.

Sonu would be turning five on his next birthday.

I felt something coarse touch my hands.

I moved my hands across and held Varsha’s hands within mine. The skin on her hands had chaffed. I looked up at Varsha. She tried to smile back but could only manage to move her lips a little. Every action pained her. Varsha survived on huge doses of morphine.

I bent down and kissed her lips. The acrid smell of medicine and her unwashed body caught me unprepared. I felt my stomach churn but controlled my urge to vomit. I looked away taking in the fresh air not wanting Varsha to notice the revolt mixed with remorse on my face.

I wished that the end came sooner. I prayed to god to put an end to her misery …. our misery ….my misery.

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‘Papa,’ I heard someone calling out.

I was lost in my thoughts. I had forgotten about the noise that I had heard behind me.

I was lost in the mountains wondering about life that Varsha would have shared with me.

‘Papa,’ Sonu called out again, bringing me out from trance.

I looked around at Sonu, smiling for the first time since morning. Sonu walked into my arms and perched himself on my lap. I ruffled his hair and kissed him on the head.

‘Papa, isn’t it so beautiful,’ said Sonu looking up at me expectantly.

‘Yes dear it is very beautiful,’ I said half heartedly, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation.

‘The wind is so sweet, I feel like flying,’ Sonu continued not bothering about my reaction. I nodded, hoping that he would keep quite and let me go back to my thoughts.

Sonu was quite for a while before speaking again

‘Papa, is this heaven?,’

Something hit me deep within my heart. I was shocked at the question, I was caught completely unprepared. I looked down into Sonu’s eyes not knowing how to reply.

‘Papa, is this not heaven?,’ Sonu persisted.

‘No dear, this is not heaven,’ I replied

‘But papa Nana told me that Mamma has gone to heaven,’

I felt something catch my throat, words escaped me. There was nothing I could say.

‘Papa, Rajiv bhiya told me that you came here to find Mamma. Will we find Mamma in Mussoorie Papa?,’

I held Sonu tighter and broke down into sobs. Sonu moved his hands over my head. He looked back at the mountains thoughtfully.

‘Papa it is Ok if you can’t find Mamma. She will come back when she wants to. Please don’t cry Papa. I will never ask for her.

Rajiv bhayia told me that you come to Mussoorie because I pester you and ask about mamma all the time,’

‘I promise Papa, I will never again speak of mamma,’ said Sonu with tears in his eyes.

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Sonu kept to his word and never asked me about his mother again.

I pulled out all the videos of Varsha and got them edited into a single CD. I and Sonu love watching it together every time we remember Varsha.

Sonu is Ten now.

I have not visited Mussoorie since Sonu’s eighth birthday. I no longer feel the need to run away from the world. I know Varsha will always be with us.

Sonu just walked into my room. He loves to watch me write. Though he sometimes fails to understand what I write, he loves reading it. Sonu wants me to write a children’s book for him. I probably will do that sometime.

It is time for bed now, Sonu has to go to school and I to office……

What is life if not a Tryst with Time?

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