Memorabilia
The traffic jam had lasted for
more than an hour. The evening weather was sultry and as I half
dazzlingly glanced around from my drivers' seat, I could see the
sulk widening on the faces of most drivers. Some highlighted their
anxiety through violent hammerings of their horns while others poked
their heads out of their cars to shout a mouthful of blasphemies
against the traffic police, the floods, the condition of roads, the
government, going to the extent of even blaming God for such chaotic
paths. Such road blockages were now a common sight during monsoons
and most commuters kept enough insured time in their pockets lest a
'Traffic Jam' took place. Everyone accommodated and adapted to
monsoons. I did too. I was on my way home after the day's work and
fortunately neither my wife nor daughter had any prerequisite demands
for the evening. Just one of those rare days when you could go home,
throw yourself into the bath tub and help yourself to some leisurely
privacy. The thoughts of my evening recess comforted me in this hour
of immobility.
Some more minutes ticked away and
the honks only got louder. The cars stood still. As the situation
didn't change, I resorted to lighting the last cigarette left of my
day's pack.
'Need to quit, man,' I
thought as I inhaled my first drag. While gazing thoughtlessly at the
pedestrians on the street on my right, I suddenly saw a woman
furiously arguing with an auto rickshaw driver, her hand gestures
signalling vehement denial. The woman who looked strangely familiar
had seemingly lost her duel with the driver and had walked across to
the subsequent auto rider which brought about another war of words. I
rolled down my window to have a better look at the woman when I
realised who the argumentative female was.
'Might I help you, Ma'am?'
I enquired figuratively as I approached her, leaving my car stranded
in the middle of the road. She turned to me and peered for a couple
of seconds without verbally responding.
' Rekha-ba! Can't recognize
me, can you? Its Bobon.'
'Bobon? Umm...oh! My god,
Bobon! I'm so sorry, I just never expected to see you in such a
place,' she said ecstatically as she adjusted her bundled hair
over her over perspired head. 'How are you Bobon? It is so
lovely to see you.'
'I'm doing well Ba, I see
you're in a bit of a problem. Do you need a lift?' I asked
assuming that she would find my car a much better alternative for
where ever she needed to go while I would get a chance to catch up
with Rekha Barua, the lady whose splendour and panache left men
gaping at her during her younger years.
'Thanks so much asking. I
actually desperately needed a ride home. These auto drivers are such
a pain I tell you! The prices they demand are enough to own a private
jet!' she chuckled at her own sense of wit as I opened the door
of the car for her.
I chucked my cigarette in the
overflowing drain, before entering the vehicle. The cars started to
move.
'So Ba, long time huh, how
have you been? If I'm not wrong, I think we haven't met since
Jaan's services.' It had been long. Five and a half years
since the untimely demise of her younger brother, my best buddy. More
of a brother than a friend to me and the dearest one I had since I
could remember. Who would have known that after completing our MBAs
together, both of ours' futures would be so contrasting?
'Yes, it's been ages since
I've seen you,' she lamented, 'Times flies, I still
remember how Jaan and you would not let us have an afternoon's nap
during those cricket match telecasts, god and the bets...where have
you been all this time?'
Her recollections brought a smile
upon my face as I drove through an almost clear road now. Time did
fly. I was married now, had a beautiful little daughter and career
wise, I was affluent too. Everything was perfect except for Jaan's
absence. Maybe, that was the reason I didn't visit his family
anymore, though I was sure that my disappearance would not go down
well in their books of civility. I just didn't want to go down
memory lane, at all. Jaan was way too close for me to care about
others' judgements.
'Work has kept me busy. You
know how it is these days, the schedules.' I kept my reasons to
myself. I told her of my family, my work, my new non
cricket-watching-matured life, all the normal talk. Most of my
details amused her almost as if it was the first time she had heard a
person talking of family, work and all else. Eye contact was minimal
from me, more because of the fact that her gaze at me was so strong
and un-flickering, which made me uncomfortable in my own car. We
drove past a big statue and the adjacent park which had many young
romantics loitering about aimlessly.
Now that we had eased into our
normal selves, I worded my curiosity over her hassled expressions by
asking, 'Ba, is everything fine these days? How is your husband
doing? You don't look in the highest of spirits and this is an
unfamiliar sight for me.'
There was
silence for a minute after I had made these remarks and I could sense
her eyes going moist as she broke her incessant gaze at me. She had
turned increasingly fidgety in a moment's notice, unsettling me but
I kept mum against her twitches. She dabbed her handkerchief across
her face and then disrupted the silence, to my relief. She said,
'Things aren't going very well for me, Bobon. My husband...he's
sick, really sick...' Her speech turned into repressed sobs in
the matter of seconds. I hardly knew what to do and focused on the
road. I felt a sense of guilt for asking what I had. The friendly
meet had turned somewhat melancholic.
In between wiping her tears and
clearing her throat, she continued explaining with a abruptly vague
expression of how her husband had gone through a major heart attack a
couple of months earlier, making him suffer from slurred speech and
partial paralysis. All of their earnings had been spent on his
treatment but with no great breakthrough coming to his aid. He was
back home now and lay motionless all day while she searched for ways
to finance the miraculous and exorbitant surgery the doctor had
advised her in order to cure her helpless husband. The unfortunate
turn of events stunned me beyond definition. I could not fathom the
tragedy that hit Jaan's sister, a person who lived arguable the
happiest and most fulfilling life until the last time I had known
her. I always tried to put myself in her shoes as a kid, imagining
myself receiving the un-demanded attention she received. She had
lived a life of a modern day princess. But adore and veneration never
got the better of Rekha and her gentle soul, pure and perfect, never
hurt a person and never got hurt in return. This had changed. Jaan's
demise must have jolted a whirlwind of calamities on her frail path,
I thought as I listened. Her parents were long gone and her husband
was the only last strand of family she was survived by. I reiterated
silently that I must bring some life back into this woman who I knew
so closely at one time. Even if that meant parting with my hard
earned savings I had managed through these early years. Money comes
and goes, lives don't.
We reached the residential colony
where she had said she lived and my thought filled mind suddenly
heard Rekha tell me to park in front of a house with a dimly lit
veranda and some weathered shrubbery. 'I would have called you
inside for a cup of tea but Roop must be sleeping, and with the maid
gone its just him and me now,' not making much eye contact
anymore.
I forced a smile on my grim face
and said that such formalities should not even cross Ba's mind in
regard to me. I told her that though years had passed, she should
still treat me like family. I told her that I understood the
situation.
She stepped out of the car when I
uttered the lines which I was preparing to say at the end of this
saddening ride. 'Ba, I'm really sorry about your husband and
for all I've got to know. If I may, could I please aid you through
this ill-fated period? I would really like to see to it that your
husband gets back to being the man, he was.'
To this, Rekha turned sentimental
for the umpteenth time and told me that she would not want such
needless burden to befall on me. In all probability she would not be
able to pay back the debt of the surgery I was willing to finance.
But I was determined to not go home with no for an answer and after
some persuasion, she hesitantly agreed, thanking me and blessing me
for being the saviour from her jeopardies. I wrote a six figure
cheque for her, which stated that she would be able to collect the
money the following day. I felt a pinch in my heart as I passed on
the cheque to her; it is often difficult to see your earnings
exchange hands without turning back. I wondered how my wife would
react on this news. A teary faced Rekha looked overwhelmed when I
wished her well and told her to give me a call when she was she
planned to admit him. She wished me back saying that I would hear
from her within the next week as the money meant an immediate surgery
in her purview. I returned home with mixed emotions.
Three years before back, Rekha's
husband, Mr. Roop Barua suffered from a major heart attack and
partial paralysis. He battled hard for a week as doctors informed
Rekha that if the speedy surgery did not occur, they would lose him.
They told Rekha to urgently figure out the finances. Rekha could not
manage the money and her husband passed away in his sleep when she
was out frantically begging a distant relative for help. She returned
to the hospital penniless to see Roop's dead body being taken out
from the Intensive Care Unit. The sight mentally traumatized Rekha,
who never acknowledged the doctors consolations or advise thereafter.
Most people say that her mental state deteriorated since, and she
continued to figure out ways to finance her husband's surgery.
The cheque was never en-cashed. I
never met her again.
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