I got to know my husband on my first St. Valentine’s Day, incidentally the first time away from home.
I was 19 that lovely February. Intermittent drizzle gave the fading winter a chilly touch; the grey clouds parting and meeting like new or old couples unsure whether they should be mating or irritating; the sun showed its fickle face just to make one sweat to feel the cold rather than remember its heat. Two of my batch-mates were down with pneumonia. The hostel mess and bogs resonated with rasping coughs, blowing noses and heaving chests clearing phlegm. On that lovely February day, I held with loving care his latest telegram with the sweet succinct misaligned message, ‘me et me’.
After the first-semester break, we were on the same train back to Campus. Manoj had got in at Salem without reservation. During the day, he sat between me and a newly-wed couple from Jhansi. That single night, he slept on the floor right next to my berth. The 40-hour long journey and that cold January made us enjoy each other’s company. I had heard of him. He was great in studies, sports and dramatics. He told me that his family hails from Mehboobnagar and that he was brought up in Arcot. Six-feet, broad-shouldered, handsome in a rugged way, deep-set brown expressive eyes, well-read and passionate; I gauged all that. He is the kind of guy represented in the popular ad where the sales-girl says ‘Sorry, no change’ and she compensates him with a packet of condom. (These things do happen. Yesterday, at the supermarket, the cute sales-man told the lady in front of me, ‘Sorry, no change’. She waited for the prophylactic or the mouth-freshener. She didn’t get anything. I carry change, always.)
That January, on Campus, he gave me a Valentine card every week. He started sending Valentine messages via telegram too, the first one being ‘i u ok’. I guess punctuation marks and a few letters got lost in Morse code but I got the meaning. I responded seriously. Between classes, we shared chai and samosa in the Campus canteen. We went together for the weekly screened movies (English and to express my affection, Hindi too). I was offering nothing more or less than promised allegiance. Then, that Valentine telegram arrived. To me, it announced the intention to cement our relationship forever on that day.
That evening, Manoj escorted me from the ladies’ hostel to Pappu’s, the joint on Campus for milk-shakes and paneer Maggi. We sat on rattan seats outside the makeshift stall. The Valentine setting got more rustic when I realized that Manoj had also invited three other acquaintances.
The first one, Raju, sat opposite to me and to the right of Manoj. I watched Raju slurp his shake loudly and masticate the mushy Maggi with equal vigour. His body shook like a dysfunctional wet grinder when he laughed with a full mouth and even without a joke.
The second, Preethi, sat to the left of Manoj. She is a dancer, an intellectual and she works with NGOs during vacation to help the poor and the downtrodden. She is also sexy and a serious poet. So serious, I nearly yawned when she recited a few lines of her poetry; so sexy, I was the only one who nearly yawned.
A guy named Shekhar sat next to me, one of those non-descript guys trying to impersonate Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. I looked at him once. He gave me a bored one-raised-eyebrow look. After that, he remained on my blind spot.
Manoj entertained them with campus Valentine stories. He started with the comic; then, promised much with the sentimental and the passionate; the ribald soon followed and he continued in that vein. Midway through his fifth story, he finished his shake with a long noisy gulp, leaving a trace of milk on his upper lips. Preethi leaned towards him and wiped his lips with her finger. He looked at Preethi with his deep-set brown expressive eyes and much later, turned them towards me. My time was up long before that day, I realized. If I was younger or older, I would have felt angry; I would have campaigned against imperialist, consumerist, non-Indian ideas; I would have joined a group of neo-Nazi nitwits if they had a sense of humour. All I felt then was relief.
After the Valentine party, I returned to the hostel, alone. I thrashed my pillow for a while and then, decided to study. At nine pm, two hours before curfew, I received the message that I had a guest waiting for me at the hostel gate. I rushed to the gate still hoping for the right climax.
Raju was waiting for me there. He told me about how he loved me dearly. He said that he was sorry for being opportunistic but he wanted to realize his dream. I did not tell him that I could see his future. After the 4-year course, he would reach the shores of USA (with or without an ankle tag); a big fat dowry before 25; a wife and few kids before 30, all uncouth gluttons like him; a successful professional before 35 and death not before 75. I did not tell him all that.
I told him that I still had to recover from the shock and that I needed time. He seemed happy to hear that. With drooping shoulders and a forlorn look, which I feigned rather well, I bade him good night. I watched him walk away, with a spring in his step, towards that friend of his called Shekhar. That voyeur had watched the whole scene, again. He gave me his bored one-raised-eyebrow look and shrugged, at me or my predicament. They left me standing there on that St. Valentine’s Day, alone.
Decades have gone by without another Valentine note or card or celebration. My husband Shekhar reminds me of that night once in a while, when I am in a good mood.
References:
· My Funny Valentine
Miles Davis: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HS2BUr83O-8
Ella Fitzgerald: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqjKOalcI10&feature=related
oh i enjoyed reading this one :)good one!
ReplyDeleteHi Vibes, Thanks a ton for reading this. TC, S.
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