Sumit Basu
As we advance in age and the future gradually looks dimmer, we tend to depend more on finding solace from memories, whether bright or otherwise.
I was single. I was older than what is usually considered to be the marriageable age. Why did I not marry? Well, that will be narrated some other time.
Mitra was a great friend. He was somewhat younger than me, but married for the past six years. Ela appeared to be younger than her age. Mitra was the 'Food & Beverage Manager' at a five star hotel. Ela also worked there I think, in house- keeping. Their quarter was inside the hotel premises; food was mostly supplied from the hotel, and as there were no children yet, they had plenty of leisure time to while away.
I was also a free man, ate at a 'mess' and had enough idle time. We became close friends quickly, in spite of the difference in marital status. They didn't mingle with many, the reason might be that every family had a child, and even if nobody expressed in so many words, the eyes said it all married for six years? why no issue despite being
I was decent, educated, respected, handsome; also helpful, because I had no one to call my own, particularly in that distant town. Another reason for our proximity was that although they seldom cooked meals, Mitra had a good supply of foreign drinks (rare those days), and he was quite generous about offering drinks to his guests. I had been to Germany and Switzerland to study precision engineering, whereas Mitra had also spent quite some time in these places to learn about continental food. Usually it so happened that as soon as I reached his house, he would say: "Were you not talking sometime back about Palmbräu lager, I managed to get a bottle". We were both very fond of Europe, its culture, history and often discussed its greatness. In fact, our admiration for Europe, and love for drinks - all were responsible for our quick bonding.
As soon as the first drink was poured, Ela would ask, "Dada (elder brother), I am preparing khichri (a medley of rice and lentil, boiled together) for dinner." Sometimes they had such simple recipes cooked at their place; Mitra asked, "What fry' would you prefer with khichri? kartoffel' or 'blumen kohl'?".- which, when translated from German, meant potato or cauliflower.
"If you want 'hühnchen' (chicken) then we shall order some from the hotel."
I would promptly say, "No no, it is not necessary".
"Don't worry; I don't have to pay for it."
But I really preferred simple food. It reminded me of my childhood. And these childhood habits never disappear entirely. My mind went back to the days, when a plate of hot boiled rice along with the gruel, a pinch of salt and pepper in a morning was itself a grand meal. We knew that meat should be taken only occasionally, mostly during marriages or on similar occasions when we were invited to a rich man's house. A full egg was never recommended, half was enough, otherwise it could cause respiratory problem; better if the egg and a few potatoes were boiled and mashed together, mixed with salt, abundant red chilies because then all the children could get a share. Duck eggs were considered to be healthier than those of hen. Later, I realized it all boiled down to cost because duck eggs were larger in size but cheaper!
But when in Germany, I found that the standard menu was 'drei spiegeleier' meaning three fried eggs, regular consumption of which did not cause the slightest breathing problem. Half a dozen pigs also must have been consumed every year! But even then, those childhood cravings did not die altogether; even today rice with gruel and khichri seem delicious.
Mitra and Ela were extremely fond of their dada. They loved me too much; as if I was really their elder brother; or even more than a brother - extremely close. One evening after two pegs of whisky, Mitra told me, "Dada, why don't you dance with Ela? Which cassette will you prefer?" There were many such instances of their love and trust. Almost every evening was spent together, either at their place, or mine, till late hours. At my place Ela helped me in cooking; she taught me many recipes which I never knew earlier. On holidays we often went for an outing, a picnic, sometimes even in the moon light. But I could never accept such proposals like dancing together. I tried my best to entertain them with my stories; sometimes I sang while playing my esraj (a musical instrument with bow, sounds like a violin, affairs. but is softer). They were also very keen to hear stories, particularly about my love
I had none so, at their repeated insistence I would relate some silly stories of mine that were far from any kind of steamy love-affair! Though true, these were told mainly to avoid such requests in future. Stories such as:
"Once I had to go to the village when my grandmother passed away.
The girl was of my age - her name was Purnima, which meant full-moon. Indeed, she was a moon; a full moon, nothing less. I was taken to the river for a bath, I was from the city and did not know how to swim, so a relative held me tight. It was an experience, when the eyes were at the level of the vast stretch of rippling water...
In the meantime Purnima reached there, removed her frock in a twinkle of an eye, dived into the water and said as soon as her head popped out of water, "Hey stupid, you must remove your dress before getting into water - that would be far more amusing!" Although I was not sure about the relationship of stupidity and nakedness, the picture remained in my mind, along with the rippling water just below the eyes, scattering the sunlight haphazardly, imparting that life was not at all still, and may be unpredictable at times. That picture of an eleven-year-old nymph, a moon that jumped into the river with the elegance I never again beheld, still looms before my eyes. Purnima also must be somewhere, and I can't say for sure if she still remembers a stupid boy who went into deep waters without removing his dress..." "
No, you must grow up a little more", Mitra and Ela both insisted.
"Okay then, I shall tell you another.
"The owner of the Fremden-zimmer where I stayed at Eutingen in Germany, had a daughter and a son, Michael, who was youngest and became furious if called My-kel and not Mee-ka- eel. Germans pronounce everything like that; one day I went to a museum and on return was confronted by Elki, to explain where I had been. I told 'museum', and struggled to explain in my limited knowledge of German, when at last she understood and said, "Ai-o, 'moo-see- oom"".
Ela was now delighted, might be because of the resemblance of the names. "It was apparent that Elki had kept a strict vigil on my movements. One day Mi-ka-eel handed a piece of paper to me where she wrote in her little knowledge of English Herr. Speck - mein freund'. In German, 'speck' meant fat, which I had enough around my belly, and also I wore spectacles, so there could not be a more appropriate name for me. Anyway, she was my friend, as the piece of paper conveyed, without leaving any ambiguity.
She was seventeen. Or may be eighteen. One day I was taking tea in the afternoon; it was a hot day for them although I was comfortable, fully dressed in coat and tie. Elki came dressed in a two-piece swimming costume and sat on the table in front of me. She wanted me to accompany her to the pool. She was so uneasy with the heat that she twisted herself at various angles, leaving little to imagination.
But my mind wandered to a far off place. I remembered a girl, laughing with open mouth, riding a cycle - a gent's one, she was not big enough to reach the seat, so the right leg passed under the frame to the pedal on the other side. The bright yellow frock reflected sunlight to make her look extraordinarily fair, and the frock on one knee fell back when it went up, and then the other, in succession, like ups and downs of life.
Everybody took her to be my fiancé. Everyone knew that we loved each other immensely. One day we explored how it tasted inside our smiling mouths; only once- our first - and the last for me. But she was lost - and that is another story. I must search her out when I go back. I must.
Elki, apparently, was quite unhappy at my absent-mindedness. After waiting for some time, she left uttering something like 'Schwachkopf, which was something close to 'stupid'. Did Elki fall in love with me? But why? They were rich as well as respectable; they normally wouldn't go out with boys other than their own society. Was it simply an infatuation, plaguing the youth? Or was it the desire to know the unknown? Who knows, except Elki herself? Or she might have forgotten Mr Speck, almost immediately thereafter.
The lady who has possibly not forgotten anything - who was last seen laughing on a gent's bicycle with her yellow frock dazzling in the sunlight, who could be my bride, must be searched out someday."
Understanding that their 'dada' was becoming nostalgic or emotional and apparently his love-life had nothing to boast of or maybe he had some inexpressible wound within, they tried to change the topic, "Dada, tell us about your happiest moments."
***
Mitra and Ela had grown to love me a little too much. At least, it seemed so to me. Mitra often left us alone for long hours, while away to attend some urgent work in the hotel. Why did he like and trust his dada so much? I wondered. At times I would wonder why they had no child. Could there be some deficiency in Ela - or in Mitra? Did they know about those? I tried to push aside such thoughts should I meddle in their relationship? After a few days Mitra had to go out of town for a few days in connection with his work. He had put Ela's responsibility on my shoulder, and was comfortable. One of those days, Ela had an appointment with the lady doctor. "Why? Dada will take you, why do you worry?" was Mitra's response.
While driving her back from the doctor's, I found tears in her eyes. She didn't have a child; and she longed for one.
Who doesn't?
Mitra wanted one, more deeply.
And she was in perfect health. And the doctor re-confirmed again today. She almost broke down while narrating these. She couldn't even cry openly in the presence of Mitra, which would make him more miserable. As it is he was terribly depressed as he considered this to be his fault.
Upon reaching her quarters, Ela hesitantly asked: "Dada, why don't you come in?"
"No. Not now. I shall come sometime afterwards."
"No, no, you must come, Mitra did tell me before going, "Dada is doing so much for us, so you must treat him with whiskey and dinner.' He will be angry once he returns."
The mention of 'whiskey' softened my resolve. I was developing more and more liking for that stuff, although I still did not keep a bottle at home. I explained to myself, what was the harm? Ela was really disturbed, may be my presence would make her feel better. And I never considered Ela anything other than my younger sister and I really loved her only in that way; I never even looked at her other than her face.
I knew the place where the glasses were kept, and also knew from which bottle I must take the whiskey. I poured and started, after shouting cheers to Ela, who had already entered the kitchen, to prepare something favourite for her dada, after turning the music on.
By the time she came with the cutlets, I had finished two. She was perspiring abnormally, certainly because of the heat in the kitchen I wondered why they didn't have proper ventilation in these quarters.
But the two tiny drops of sweat on the tip of her petite nose, made her look especially lovely. Did her hand shake a little while keeping the plate? She again bent down and poured the third drink in my glass. Yes, her hand was shaking a bit. Her waist was within twelve inches from my eyes; the sari was glass-blue - how come I never noticed her earlier?
I had never really looked so closely at her before. I noticed that she was more like a maiden, or at the best a new bride. She was fresh- as a rose with dewdrops on it. Her innocent but somewhat naughty face was like that of a child. Her small breasts were shapely with an upward cusp, her fair smooth bare belly above the visible navel, were equally enchanting as her sensually moist lips, and eyes which resembled the black clouds that precedes a downpour. Precisely, at that moment I felt, as if I knew, how irresistible she might look without the barriers the glass- blue......
She sat close to me. Her French perfume reminded me of the evenings of the European countryside. The cassette-player was at that moment, emitting a dance number, which all of a sudden sounded most romantic. Were her eyes saying something?
What was it? Does she love me? Shall I be swept away in her love? Did I always secretly love her too? Was she the one that I always dreamt of?
But then what about my values, my position and my background? And my education? What about the absolute trust that Mitra bestowed on me? And what if someday I find my 'Hansi' - the dazzle in the yellow frock, again? How would I face her?
No, I can't... I shouldn't... I mustn't...
I drank more. And some more.
A few days later, I was informed on phone that they were transferred, all of a sudden. And soon they were gone; without any further information. They neither met me nor left a note or address of their new work-place. Their colleagues at the hotel told me that they left their jobs altogether.
Many friends go away. They write a letter informing their new address, their new sometimes exaggerated along with a few words of praise and that they will never find a better friend; sometimes with some trivial incidents of past happy memories. We reply with similar emotional response. Gradually, the frequency of writing letters dwindles. It continues for a year, sometimes two.
But nothing of the sort happened with Mitra and Ela. They were abruptly lost; as if they wanted it that way.
Why?
I have a question for you. If on that night, Ela conceived a child, gave birth to that precious one after going away to a far off place, unknown to me - would it have been unfair on my part?
Or, was it unfair that nothing of that sort happened?