Overnight Guest (Part Two) - by Rajasir

                                      OVERNIGHT GUEST (Part Two)
His wife may have picked the phone, because for sometime the buzzing of the phone was there and he wanted to put the phone down, but, suddenly, he heard the voice of his daughter. She sounded to be in half sleep. She did not know whether he was calling from India, or Frankfurt, or London. He was about to tell her in detail when the time of three minutes was over, and he didn't have loose coins to continue the conversation. He was satisfied that he had conveyed the message that he would be arriving in town the following morning, although he was quite drunk and sleepy.
Those were happy moments. Outside, England was in her full glory under the golden sunlight. He was inside the house. He felt the warmth inside the house. He was away from the crowd, the airports, those fast travelling taxis, etc. He was inside the house, though it was not his own, but the chairs, curtains, sofa, TV, etc. provided a sense of homely atmosphere. He had lived among these things and he knew the history of all these things. After every two or three years, he would visit the house to meet his daughter and to see how much she had grown up. But these things had stilled from the day he had left the house. The memories of the house would go with him and come back with him.
"Father, you haven't poured tea?" she appeared from the kitchen, carrying toasts and butter on two plates. There were some fried patties as well.
"I was waiting for you."
"Serve the tea; otherwise it would be absolutely cold".
She sat next to him on the sofa," Shall I switch on the TV?"
"Not now. Listen, did you get the stamps which I had sent?"
"Yes, Papa, thanks", said she, while spreading butter over the toasts.
"But you didn't write any letter?"
"I had written one but when I got your telegram that you were coming, I thought it was not necessary to post the letter."
"You are really Gaga."
The girl looked at him and began to laugh. Gaga was the name by which he used to tease her. He had given her the name years before when he lived with them. She was little and she had not heard about India.
He bent towards her as if she were a flighty bird who could be caught only by deceiving her. "When will your mother come back?"
The question was so sudden that the girl could not lie, "She is upstairs, in her room."
"Upstairs? But just now you said....."
She was scratching the burnt toast with a knife, as if she wanted to remove the worries as well. Laughter was still there but it was like an insect in snow stuck on her lips.
"Does she know that I am here?"
"Yes, she knows".
"Won't she have tea with us?"
The girl began to serve sausages on another plate, and then, remembering suddenly, she went to the kitchen to bring mustard and ketchup.
"I will go upstairs and ask her," he looked at the girl, as if trying to get her support. When she didn't answer, he moved towards the stairs.
"Papa, please!"
His feet froze.
"Do you want to fight with her again?" the girl seemed to be angry.
"Fight!" he brought out an ashamed laughter," Have I travelled two thousand miles to fight with her?"
"Then you sit with me," she was almost in tears.
"I will be back in a moment," said he and entered the bathroom, next to the staircase. He opened the tap and put his face in the washbasin. He began to sob, and the running water didn't let his tears stay on his face.
After sometime, when he came back, she was not there. The house again looked without any living soul. He thought she may have gone into her mother's room. He was in a kind of panic. He began to open his suitcase hurriedly. He removed the papers of the Conference from the top. He had brought a beautiful embroidered dress for his daughter, a pashmina shawl for her mother, a pair of Gujarati slippers, some handloom bedcovers, an album of Indian postage stamps, and an illustrated book titled "Banaras  the Eternal City". A kind of mini India was spread on the floor in front of him.
Suddenly, he stopped. For sometime, he kept looking at the heap of the things he had brought. Those things seemed to be like orphans scattered in their miserable state. He felt mad for and instant, and thought to run out of the room. No one will know where he has gone. The girl would be a little surprised but he had been meeting her for years and separating without any logical reason. She used to say," You are Coming and Going Man". At first she would show her resentment but later on it turned into laughter. He knew that she would not be shocked not to see him in the room. She would go upstairs and tell her mother," He has gone, now you can go downstairs." Then both of them would come down and they would be relieved that no one except them was in the room.
"Papa..."
He was startled, as if he had been caught red-handed. With a silly smile on his face, he looked at the girl, who was standing at the entrance and looking at the suitcase and the things, as if it was a Pandora's Box. She did not seem to be amused; perhaps she knew that the elders tricked their children by bribing them with gifts.
"So many things?" she sat in a chair in front of him, "How did they allow you to bring all this stuff? I hear, the people at the customs trouble the Indian passengers unnecessarily."
"No, this time they didn't do any such thing," he said enthusiastically," May be because I was coming from Frankfurt. They suspected on only one thing".
"What was that?" she asked hesitantly.
He pulled out a box of Indian sweets from his suitcase, and said," They were smelling these sweets as if I was carrying drugs in that box". He brought out another box, a box of pickles.
The girl quickly picked a piece and put it in her mouth. The effect was instant. The spicy pickles had brought tears in her eyes. She drank water quickly but said," I love it."
"Did they taste it, father?"
"No, they lack the courage to do so," he laughed. They saw my conference papers and said," You may go, mister."
"Are there many poor people in India, father?" she asked innocently.
Then he realized that the girl sitting in front of him was not the same whom he had left two years before. The frame was same but the picture had been changed. He knew that the children of the separated parents never got the complete information of either culture.
"Father, shall I keep these things safely?"
"What is the hurry about?"
"No, there isn't any hurry, but the mother will see all this..." she said in a worried tone of voice.

                                ...to be continued...      Raja sir