Lost and Found

“Will you be fine?”

“Hmm..”

“Call me when you reach there..”

I nodded..

“Got the tickets..”

“Yeah”

“I love you..” She sounded childish in her sleepy voice..

I kissed her forehead, lingering on for a moment, as if filling in for the loss of words and left..

….

I reached Delhi at 2 A.M..It was cold, rather absurdly cold..I lit a cigarette..It felt warm..The smoke was overpowering, its ghostly contour more dense, more real..

The train was from New Delhi station at 06:05. I reached there. I remembered how I would board the Metro for New Delhi railway station, it would drop me at platform number sixteen and the train would come at its square root. Today it was at number three.

It would be an eight hour journey to Bhopal..I went to the rest-room, put my luggage in there..It was 3:30, there were still three hours to endure..I went outside to the bookstore..It felt good around so many books, each trying to tell a different story- unreal, fictional, absurd, yet somehow making more sense than our real world..I resisted the temptation to buy books, as I had, rather outstanding numbers of those unfinished..

I went back to my rest-room with a cup of coffee and started reading my copy of  ‘A Farewell to Arms’  which I had almost finished five years ago..I bought it when I was studying in Delhi..I read the whole book then, except for the last thirty odd pages..I tried to locate myself where I had left years ago..I was astonished..It seemed impossible to start from where I left..I closed it with frustration and despair..I put the book back and sipped my coffee, blackened to perfection..

Two hours were left for the train to arrive..I missed Kavita..I started going through her photos in my mobile..There she was, clad in crimson red, her hair resting calmly on her shoulders, creating an enclosed haven, peaceful, untouched by vanity..I wanted her to love me, forever, like she did..I loved her, I wanted her to be with me, every moment, as it passes by, never leaving me..I never told her all this..It sounded too selfish and unreasonable and a tad impossible..Life’s too short for big promises..I needed a cigarette..

The train came, whistling rather melodiously..There was still half an hour left..I boarded the train and put my luggage in, sat down on my seat and closed my eyes..Myriad trees flashed by in frenzy, soaked in fog and hue,cold, warmly glowing in their emerald green- defiant soldiers guarding their hamlets..I was going to my mother..

I loved trains, my mother took me everywhere in them..I would curl up to her, shrinking myself to limits, held her with all might, as train hurtled ahead, as if trying to melt myself in her- it felt so safe, satisfying..By the end of every journey, I loved her more..It was a long time since we travelled together..

I reached Bhopal around 12:30..Yellow sunshine trying to seep in every possible space, flirting with station roofs..It was a beautiful town..A town where one can easily spot a tree or two- that too, naively large- even at the busiest of bazaars..I stepped out of the train..A lean figure, with a leaner face awaited me..

“Namastey, Chote Sahib..”

“Namastey..”

“You talked with me only three days ago..”

“Oh, yes..So you are Govind..How are you..? How did you identify me..?”

“I am good by God’s grace..And it was easy, Madam showed me your photo..”

“She did..! They must be very old..I looked like a child then..!”

“Then, not much has changed..Give me that briefcase..!”

“Nah..Its perfectly fine..I only look like a child..”

He had an infectious smile..There was a serene quietness in his personality..We went outside the station..I felt excited..I was going to meet my mother..Govind put my luggage in the car..He stood at the back for some time searching for something in his pockets..He then, produced a neatly folded paper separating numerous other things from his shirt’s pocket and gave it to me..He said it was a letter from my mother..

“A letter..? Isnt she here..?”

“No..She is not..Didnt you know..Its the winters..She travels in winters..”

“What do you mean ‘travels in winters’..? She knew I was coming..I talked with you just three days ago..You told her, didnt you..?” I was a bit hysterical..

“I told her..But her journey was planned..”

“For God’s sake..Are you fu***** kidding me, Govind..Is this a joke..?”

His head was down..I searched for cigarettes but the box was empty..I threw it in frustration..I opened the letter..I identified Ma’s writing, hazy, carefree, continuous-trees dancing in boisterous wind..

“Dear,

I am sorry for not being able to meet you..I was longing to see your face..I know it must be tough for you..Believe me, its tougher for me..But life, as I see it, is for a purpose..A purpose greater than me or you..I hope to find it in my journeys..These travels have been with me since your Baba passed away..I hope you will forgive me..

You must be wondering why I called you then..I knew you would enjoy travelling to Gadarwara..I knew you havent visited that grand old house for a long time and would be happy to see it..We made that house when you were born..Seems, houses grow older much faster than us..Sahuji was saying he met a gentlemen interested in our house..I told him it was on you to make a decision..

At last, enjoy your trip and dont smoke..I have written a letter for Kavita..Will try to post it from here..Give her my love and blessings and marry her or else she might also leave..! Love you, Son..We make a great team..

Ma..”

 

A lonely tear threatened to leave my left eye..I wiped it and ended it’s misery..I looked at Govind..I felt guilty and apologised for yelling at him..He nodded and smiled..

“We shall go now..You must be tired..”

“Nah, Govind..You go home with the driver and send him back..I’ll be needing the car..”

He persuaded me to go with him..We reached the house in sub-urban Bhopal..Father bought that house some twelve years ago..I saw it then, when it was rented..I went inside the house and instantly hated it..I wanted to get out of there..It was absurd to see a place so much integral in my parent’s life yet so alien to me.. I gave my thermos to Govind to pour some hot water in it..He insisted that I eat something, but I wasn’t hungry..Finally, I bid Govind goodbye..

“I have called my Baba..He takes care of the house in Gadarwara..Come back soon and I will cook for you..”

“Sure..Goodbye..”

…

It was 6:30 in the evening, and it was already dark..The route was familiar to me but still I had to stop in between and ask for directions..The road was carved out of the rocky terrain and it was difficult to drive on..Ginormous trucks didnt help much..Every now and then one would see a small village scattered alongside the narrow road and kids playing games, the rules of which only they knew about..I could sense I was close..

I crossed the village whose water canal was under father’s control..He loved this place..He built a temple and planted huge mango trees near the canal..This was his escape from everything mundane, from us..He loved secluded spaces..At home too, he would remain in his room shuffling the files of his cabinet, arranging everything to perfection, his eyes always weary, swollen..We never talked much..He never showed his love for me..We grew more and more apart from each other..He missed my annual functions, my plays, my graduation..I had a delayed flight at the time of his funeral..The only similarity between us was that we both loved Ma..

There was a powercut and it was really dark everywhere except for the roads- they were lit, though poorly, by vehicles flashing in every which way..I sensed that my school was just around in the dark, and a voluntary smile adorned my face..I needed that..I felt at ease on the roads..The way to home from school was too tread upon to be forgotten..I raced ahead..Then came the Government Hospital, with its post-mortem unit which catered to the horror genre lovers with its intensely aversive stories..A left from the road ahead and one would reach the celebrated cinema theatre..I went straight..A cluster of shops, a small temple, a turn and I was outside my house..

I went inside fearing everything would have changed, but I was surprised, pleasantly..Everything was arranged in the manner I was accustomed to, only more older, more lonelier..It was steely cold inside..Darkness made it worse..

“We had an Inverter, na..?” I asked flashing my mobile on to the maroon drapes blanketing the walls..

“We had, Chote Sahib, but the battery died a long time ago..” He had a green lantern, which I knew was about two decades old..It shone his face brightly..He looked more paler, more tired..

“You dont worry about the light, it won’t come tonight..You wash your hands..Food is ready..”

I had the old lantern and held it up, and close to my face..I crossed the room where I used to live..It had that same rickety wooden bed and iron windows painted with brownish red..Facing the bed was a big wooden almirah..It had a small metal piece attached to its base in the middle, locking the huge wooden doors..I unlocked it and the doors swung wide open..Scent of damp wood, old, neglected clothes, and pungent odour of chemicals, tucked somewhere in safely, guarding the useless heap from deteriorating, intermingled with the richly burnt lantern smoke..

I sat on the ice-cold floor with my hand wrapped around my knees, staring at the large framework..I looked around and felt crushed under the burden of emotions- unused, overgrown,impatient..Vacuously, I drew out a carton from the lowermost shelf..I opened it..Motley objects, a leather ball, a chess board, a plastic box containing chess pieces, some letters, birthday cards, marbles- lots of them, blue wicket keeping gloves..My father brought them for me..

I remember that day he was voraciously searching for something..All his files were scattered illogically on his table with some old photographs, few of them on the floor..I was maybe eight or nine years old then..He was always engaged with himself, doing his own work, searching, shuffling but I never saw him so perturbed..I thought he was upset because of me as the day before I was pretty late from the playground and he said angrily

“Dont you have anything else better to do than to loiter around..”

But to be sure I asked mother to find out what was wrong.

“Betu, he must be tensed about something from office..”

my mother tried to calm me down..But I groped her leg, as if trying to climb her

“No,no,no..he is going to cry, I tell you..!”

I always exaggerated..After relentless pleadings mother went to him..I tried to hide myself behind her..

“What happened..You look tensed..” Her voice was hushed..Perhaps she sensed something wasnt right..

“Nothing..Nothing..” He tried to smile, unsuccessfully..

“No, something is wrong..What are you searching..?”

“Nah, just a photograph..”

“Who’s photograph..”

“Father’s..Father’s photograph

“It must be in your drawer only..” Ma started searching..

“It..It was the only one..” He was crying..Really crying..Tears and all..!

Mother wrapped her hands around him with her head tilting sideways onto his..I went outside, a little relieved he wasnt angry from me..That day he came home very late..Mother and I were very tensed..She even sent me to look out for him..When, at last he came, he had something with him..He brought me those blue wicket-keeping gloves..He told mother to give them to me..I told mother to tell him I loved them..

I put those gloves up, they smelt of leather and sweat..The doors creaked and Sahuji came in with a oil lamp in his hands..

“Sahib, the food will get cold..You have the whole night to empty the boxes..”

“Sure I have..I’ll be there in a minute..”

I browsed further..Some old papers, mark sheets, few certificates, a torn out envelope, some old photographs- Ma with me pinned on to her..Ma with Baba in front of a fake Mauritius scenery..

Grandfather..

Grandfather sitting on a wooden bed holding a football sized me..

Grandfather standing in front of a blue colored wall at his village house..

Grandfather sitting with my father with me in between, probably, scared to soul..

I began to laugh, so loud that Govind’s father came from another room and looked suspiciously at me..

“Every thing’s fine, Sahib..?

“It is..Now..” The tears felt warm on my cheeks..It seemed years of anguish trickled down with them..It seemed after all me and Baba had something more common other than our love for Ma..We were both just as confused and vulnerable, trying our best to hold on to relations, be it through a photograph or a pair of blue wicket-keeping gloves..

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