Waiting for Priya

It was a typical winter evening in Kolkata. Velvety and mellow.

Yet Mrinal was sweating. He had been sweating since the previous day. Lovely Priya had promised to visit his home. She was a classmate in college. Mrinal had been staring endlessly at her since college started. Inside as well as outside the college.

Nothing mattered. Except for Priya returning a smile. Except for her shining eyes and her fascinating face.

He had found the courage to visit her home. To see her alone. But she lived with a sister and an aunt. He ended up entertaining the ladies with intelligent conversation. But Priya remained a distant dream.

Mrinal struggled more and finally managed to accomplish the impossible.

'Say, why don't you visit us one of these days?' he uttered as casually as possible, keeping the quiver out of his voice. He was careful to use the word 'us' instead of 'me'. Priya should know that he lived with his parents. There was a moat at least that Mrinal would need to cross even in his own house. But Priya didn't appear to be overly worried.

'Sure. Why don't you draw me a map? I'd love to see your home.'

Mrinal wrote down the address and drew the map, ensuring that his nervous fingers didn't reveal instead the way into the hidden recess of his mind.

He bought two tickets for his parents to attend the latest Uttam Kumar movie. It was a craze and he knew they would love the trip.

'I never buy you presents. It's always the other way round,' he said smiling. 'This time I pay and you enjoy. See, I am not the spendthrift you always accuse me of being. I saved this money from my income from the tuitions I give.

The elderly couple found it hard to hide their tears of joy and by quarter past five in the afternoon, he had managed to pack them off. And then he waited, heart thumping.

Would she keep her word? He did not have enough confidence in himself to expect the impossible to happen. But it did. The door bell rang and she waited there as gorgeous as ever, in a cream saree and a soft grey cardigan. She wore no jewellery, but the warmth of her smile compensated.

He welcomed her into the empty house. She didn't ask questions, but she looked around the living room expecting a voice or two from adjacent rooms. Nothing but silence greeted her. If she was surprised, she hid her reaction with ease.

Mrinal was well prepared. He had a recording of a Royal Shakespeare Company production and he asked her if she would care to listen to some of the greatest actors from England

'Which play?' she asked.

'You guess,' said he in response. And then turned on the player. In tune with a soft piano in the background, a young man's voice said:

'Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?'

And a woman's charming voice whispered back:

'But to be frank, and give it thee again.
...
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite. ...'

Mrinal moved to a chair next to her. He knew it would be too melodramatic to tell her it was Romeo and Juliet that was playing. He leaned towards her and asked, 'Do you recognize the play?'

She frowned, trying to figure out. Mrinal didn't know if she knew, but it was immaterial. The sensuous melody of the piano said all he wanted to say.

A sudden, harsh noise disturbed the scene. The doorbell. Mrinal almost jumped in alarm. It was too early for his parents to return. He waited, struggling not to lose his composure, when the bell rang again.

He sighed and went over to answer the door. An aunt stood there with her teenage daughter. They were regular visitors and did not need to keep anyone informed about their visits. Without waiting to be invited in, they came and crashed on the couch. And then, noticing Priya, stared at her curiously for a while.

'Where's your mother,' asked the aunt, suspicion plainly written on her face.

Mrinal stammered 'They have gone to see a movie ...'

His answer must have sounded like a bombshell. The aunt and her daughter immediately transferred their attention to Priya, studying her with deep attention now.

Priya stood up. She was obviously uncomfortable. 'I am getting late,' she smiled with understanding. 'Can you please give me the book I came for?'

For a second, Mrinal was dumbfounded. 'Book?' he asked and then understanding dawned. Priya may not have known Romeo and Juliet by heart, but she certainly had better presence of mind than Mrinal.

'Oh yes, the book ...' Mrinal disappeared inside the house and came out with a copy of David Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy and handed it over to Priya. She looked at the book and her eyes twinkled. She was not an Economics major!

'Thanks a lot,' she said and disappeared through the front door into the foggy darkness of the Kolkata winter. Mrinal, swearing under his breath, came back and sat down to entertain the guests.

They conversed idly for a while, Mrinal keeping up the show in monosyllables. The aunt and the cousin were bored soon and decided to leave. But Mrinal knew that Priya was now at least halfway back to her home.

He recalled the aunt at Priya's home and muttered to himself, 'Tooth for a tooth!'

Something like a reply greeted him from the corner of the empty room. He stared at the audio player with vicious but impotent rage. It was still on.

The play had progressed in the meantime he realized, for he heard a dying Mercutio deliver his immortal line:

'Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, it's enough.' Witsend

 

You are so right. I was and still am quite romantic. But with age, the definition of the word 'romantic' changes.

However, as I said, you are right.

Incidentally, it's not my story. It's just a piece of fiction. At least not this one. Thanks for the comment and I really enjoyed the coinage 'library premam'. Quite funny.

 

Dear Kamalji:

I knew you would enjoy this tale. As I was writing it, I kept on thinking about how you would react. You know how to relish every bit of your existence.

Thanks a lot. May be Priya will reappear one of these days.

All the best.

oj

 

Thank you. I have finally managed to communicate with you. I feel so good. I may not always be able to write this way. But sometimes at least, I will surely try.

Take care.

oj