The Traveler, Oasis and the Mirage (Part - II)

Chinmoy reached at C-505. 

Suruchi: Hey..hi. 

C: Where is aunty? Let’s go and have lunch together. 

S: She had been waiting for you since morning. A while ago mom left for a relative’s place. She would be back by 5.  

 C: Hmm. Am also not that hungry. Let’s open the sweet box. ☺ 

Suruchi : Yeah. By the way, it is with Naina. But are you sure that you do not want to meet Naina?

C: Hmm…ooo…ok. Is she here?

S: She is inside. Go and talk to her…finally!

Chinmoy went in. Naina was busy in packing her books. She gave a fleeting look at him, ignored and then again kept herself busy in packing. Oh! What an arrogant girl! Chinmoy thought.

 

C: Hi Naina. Hmm…came to know that you are leaving tonight. And yeah...Congratulations for your job. Initial posting will be at Bangalore right? Cool yaar! Umm…I mean that place is cool. The weather is good too. Also the people are! I mean to say that…that…ok…leave it. How’s Duggu doing? (Her brother) oops! How are your parents? Are they coming to pick you up today?

 

Naina: Mr. Enough! Can’t you see how messy the place is? Are you going to help me with packing and yes…stop conducting my stress interview.

 

C: Yes, yes...sorry for asking too many questions at a time. No problem. Give me that carton…No, that bigger one and some tape. Let me pack the books first. 

 

It almost took 3 hrs to pack the entire things. There was a pin-drop silence. Even Suruchi wanted to say something but Naina gave her a glare. So she dared not to speak!

 

C: I guess everything is done. Cool! I already have booked a cab to drop both of you at the railway station. Girls, get ready, the cab would be here by 7.30 pm. 

N: Ok. Anything else?

C: No…yes, the sweets. The packet that Suru’s mom brought. She mentioned that it’s with you.

N: It’s there on my study table. Pick that while you leave.

C: Naina…we have enough time for tea. Can we go to canteen as I don’t know when and where we would meet up next. 

N: Ok. You go ahead, let me take a shower; would join you in 15 mins.

The Rain (Part - I)

The afternoon of December 31st carried a peculiar melancholy. The morning had been crisp and clear, a false promise quickly betrayed by brooding dark clouds that gathered like mourners. Then, the rain began. In Mumbai, a city that rarely saw rain after August, this unexpected downpour felt like a tear shed by the year itself.

“Just a quick coffee break,” Chinmoy murmured, escaping the sterile confines of his cubicle. Pressing his hand against the cool glass of the window, he felt the chill of the raindrops, a sensation that transported him back to his childhood. He remembered his mother, her persistent hand forcing a raincoat into his schoolbag despite his protests. He’d preferred to dance in the downpour, each drop a tiny, joyful rebellion. Rain had been there the day he left home for higher studies, a constant companion in a world of unfamiliar faces and a daunting new environment. It had witnessed countless shared moments with friends, laughter echoing against the rhythmic drumming on rooftops. And, he thought with a pang, it had been there when she left, a silent witness to his quiet grief. Only the rain remained a constant.

“Hey.”

Sonal, his boss, stood behind him. “Still here? It’s New Year’s Eve! You should be out celebrating.”

“I’m leaving soon,” Chinmoy replied, his voice a little flat.

“Want a ride? It’s pouring.”

“Thanks, Sonal. You go ahead. I have some things to finish. Happy New Year.”

“Chill, dude. You need a break. Happy New Year!” Sonal smiled and left.

By 6 PM, the rain had eased, leaving behind a sky washed clean, tinged with the bruised hues of twilight. The office, already sparsely populated, emptied quickly. The air crackled with the anticipation of celebrations. Chinmoy watched them go, each figure disappearing into the promise of a new year. He had no such plans. “Home…rest,” he thought, a simple, quiet desire.

He stepped out into the office lawn. The rain had created small, shimmering pools on the grass. Instead of heading to the cab stand, he found himself drawn to one of these ephemeral lakes. The streetlights flickered, one in particular struggling to maintain its glow, a lonely beacon in the growing darkness. He sat beneath it, removed his shoes, and stepped onto the damp grass.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him. He remembered the paper boats of his childhood, meticulously crafted, each one adorned with vibrant colors and hopeful little messages. He longed to build one now, to launch it onto the miniature pond, a symbolic gesture of letting go and embracing the unknown.

He rummaged through his bag, a flicker of disappointment when he found no paper. Then, his eyes lit up. He pulled out two well-worn sheets: copies of her resume. They had been with him since last January, a lingering reminder of a chapter now closed. She was thriving, he knew, forging her own path. These pages were no longer needed.

With trembling hands, he began to fold. His origami skills were rusty, the folds clumsy, but a fragile boat slowly took shape. It wasn’t as perfect as the ones from his childhood, but it was enough. He gently placed it on the water’s surface.

“Who’s there? I’m asking, who’s there?” a voice boomed from the darkness. A shadow approached, followed by the sharp blast of a whistle. It was Bahadur, the security guard.

“Sir? Is everything alright? Did you drop something in the water? Oh, your shoes! Let me get them.”

“It’s okay, Bahadur,” Chinmoy reassured him. “I was just…taking a walk. My shoes are in my cabin. Thank you.”

Bahadur, still looking perplexed, retreated.

Chinmoy watched his paper boat drift further and further into the darkness, until it was swallowed by the shadows. He knew people would come and go, seasons would change, but the rain… the rain would always return. It was a promise, a constant in a world of uncertainties. And as he stood there in the quiet darkness, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Perhaps, he thought, the rain wasn't just a reminder of the past, but also a promise of a new beginning, a cleansing before the dawn of a new year, a new chapter. He knew everyone would leave him, except this rain...

The Traveler, Oasis and the Mirage (Part - I)

It was the day after convocation. Chinmoy was busy in packing as the next day he had to move out of the campus. Last few hours had been heart-wrenching as seeing-off buddies was not so easy. Most of his batchmates had already vacated their hostels.

 

He stopped for a while and looked around. Oh yes, that’s the famed PDP point. Huh! Ragging was never a part of their life; it was PDP…a series of Personality Development Programmes :) . It was the place where he had been ‘pdp’ized right through the first semester. It was fun. However at the beginning of 2^nd year he was at the other side of the court. Per se…there was no noteworthy turnaround; except a suffix ‘Sir’ added up to his name. Chinu had been upgraded to ‘Chinu sir’. 

 

Two years ago we all started out as strangers, became friends, and then ended up as buddies. A few became temporal parts of life so when they leave, one would feel nothing but excruciating pain because they have plunged too deep. At this juncture, it became a struggle to let people go as we all have had history, treasured memories for life. Yet one had to see off them; not as strangers, but as buddies.

 

It requires a lot of courage to put on a brave face and wave good-bye to some, knowing that we might never see each other again. The time has come to realise that “your wings already exist, all you have to do is fly”.

 

Chinmoy gave an amiable look at his trophies that he received during last 2 years. He pulled out a sticky note from bookshelf that quoted Mariaanne Willianson’s lines: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination. It is our light more than our darkness which scares us. We ask ourselves – who are we to be brilliant, beautiful, talented, and fabulous. But honestly, who are you to not be so”.

 

He was nostalgic; yet quite indomitable as he could envisage his career path from here.  

 

Tring…tring…the intercom was set on full volume. Chinu ignored it. 

 

It rang up again. Perhaps the intercom was on a mission to distract the master of room no. D-105 from further moving into weighty thoughts. 

 

“Who is irritating now! Must be a junior”. He was annoyed.

 

Since last Monday, at least half a dozen juniors had approached him and probed about the exact day and time when would be leaving the campus so that they could occupy D-105. 

Today during breakfast, a junior was enquiring about the travel plan until “Hey you, hang on!’ a manly voice stormed in. It was Nitish, Chinmoy’s roommate. ‘You can shift to D-105  only after our departure from the campus. Let us stay in peace for next few days. Anyway, June onwards the entire campus will be yours” Nitish replied.  

 

The phone was ringing incessantly. Chinmoy went and picked it up.

 

Chinmoy: Hello.

 

Suruchi: Chinu! Where are you? You became deaf or what. I’ve been calling you for last 10 mins.

 

C: Yeah. I was busy.

 

S: Now listen. We are leaving the campus at 7pm. Gotta catch Narmada Exp at 9.30.

C: Huh…We mean who?

 

S: Me and Naina…u idiot.

 

C: Oh…fine.

 

S: Kya ok? Are you gonna carry this fight right through your life? Both of you have not spoken to each other since last year’s annual day.

 

C: Change the topic Thebdi (he used to call Suruchi as Thebdi, means “mentally retarded”). Right now I’m not in a mood to argue. I know that you have been on a ‘patch up’ mission for one and half years, but it’s not possible. I’m not going to talk to her…Please.

 

S: As you wish…anyway, come down to C-505. Mom has carried a box of your favourite Mawa ghewar. She would love to meet you. 

 

C: Oh…Aunty has arrived. Ok…will be there around 3pm.

 

S: No. You come now. We would have lunch together.

 

The line got disconnected. But for a minute, it gave him a flashback of what happened during  the initial days of PDP sessions where Naina and him were tagged as ‘Ms. Simple’ and ‘Mr.Simple’ respectively. He laughed realising how goofy he was. 

 

By now, folks in campus had started weaving a story around the ‘Simple couple’. In spite of Chinmoy’s irk, people started pulling his legs and at times he lost his temper. All these added fuel to fire. On the contrary, Naina was poised. Moreover, someone from the senior batch had already threatened Chinmoy to stay away from Naina. (there could be multiple reasons. God knows for what!) . This incident happened on the night before Institute foundation day & it had tormented Chinmoy. His impulsive mind could do nothing but pick on Naina as the culprit. It’s high time and let’s have a tête-à-tête with Naina. He called her as asked to be at the terrace garden in 10 mins. It was already midnight and people were still practicing for the cultural programmes going to be performed next day. 

 

Naina: Haan bolo. What happened? Why are you not with your drama club members? By the way, kudos! you have managed to pull out a nice script for this year’s show. Now you should be with your team. Hey, you don’t look well too…is everything fine?

 

Chinmoy: Shut up Naina! Don’t make a theatre in front of me. Well, you are a fine actor…aren’t you? Do you think that I got a solitary objective in life to chase you? What do you think of yourself? I am here to ‘study’…you got that right?

 

N: Hey…hang on! What’s wrong with you? Why are you shouting at me?

 

C: A while ago Sangram was here. For God’s sake don’t tell me that you are not aware of this. That self-acclaimed ‘well-wisher’ of your’s abused me and he wanted me to stay away from you. What a piece of crap is this? Could you explain the rationale behind this fiasco?

 

N: Chinu…Please calm down. Trust me. I am not aware of all these. Let me call Sangram right away and ask why did he do this. 

 

C: Enough Ma’am. You are the root-cause behind this saga. Neither I want any explanation, nor clarification from any x, y, z. But Naina, can you do me a favour? Both of us would study here for next one and half years. Never ever talk to me. We shouldn’t cross each other’s way. Just do whatever you want to do…but pls stay away from me. 

 

N: Are you gone insane? Drunk or what? We will talk tomorrow after foundation day celebration.

 

(Ankit shouted from the Auditorium…”Naina, is our nautanki boss with you? If he is around, just tell him that we would rehearse the entire script on stage for the final time. Prof. Sodhi is here and looking for Chinmoy.”)

 

N: You must go now. We will continue this debate tomorrow.

 

C: Bye. But you remember what I said.

 

Chinmoy stuck to his decision. Naina made several attempts to rekindle a friendship…no way! Suruchi (Naina’s bestie and roommate) tried her level best to bring these guys together. But all her efforts went vain. Chinmoy somehow convinced Nitish with some lame reasons and they changed their room from C-302 to D-105 as it was around the terrace garden; most importantly, quite far from Naina’s room.  He used to opt out of the presentation groups if by chance they have been picked on a random basis. (But yes, every time he ensured to prepare the ppts as well as helped in Naina’s reports whenever required. He used to share all these through Suruchi with a condition of anonymity). Gradually people forgot it, except Chinmoy. 

 

Life moved on. They had completed their 1^styear, core courses in second year, got placed, done with job internship, and finally convocation. They were yet to speak... 

 

 

It was 1:30 already. He decided to reach C-505 by 2 pm.

Hazel (Part - I)

"Why does she have such a cabalistic effect on me? 

 

Her alluring prettiness maybe? 

The way she smirks? 

May be the way she strokes her hand against her hair? 

Or it’s her astounding hazel eyes.

I wish if she would stop doing that"...Chinmoy murmured. 

 

Chinmoy: My God, Summs. Your eyes. How have I never noticed them?

 

Sumona: Uff! Why you writers are always after a pair of eyes?? Could you not find a better pick-up line? And she giggled. 

 

May be the color of your eyes, Chinmoy said. 

 

When you stand in the light. They are startling. They look like the sea in a postcard someone sends you when they are deeply in love with you. Well, if I were an artist, I would have painted those. They are beautiful ...like the way you are.

 

After saying this Chinmoy slowly moved toward Sumona but then stopped, and pulled back. 

 

Sumona laughed uncontrollably. 

 

You know what Chins…you are too crazy. By the way, Mr., did you just lean forward with an intention to kiss me? You writers are too smart haan!

 

Both smiled.

 

Sumona leaned in close and said now you can see them clearly. But Chins, you have to tell me the reasons; i.e. why you like 'em?

C: Told you right. They are splendid. Fit you like a glove.

She punched his hands together. Glad you said that. Because they are yours.

C: What?

 

S: They are yours.

C: My what?

S: My eyes. They are yours. Take em!

C: Insane! What my eyes, your eyes... Don’t tell me you had had Vodka shots today. I could see its effect straight away! Ok. These are my eyes. Fine. But how will you manage to see if I take them?

 

S: Keep them with you. I don’t need em as long as you are around. I’ve peeped enough through these hazel eyes and for now I need you to hold em back.

 

C: You are mad Summs.

 

He chuckled and tapped her shoulder. 

 

Good. So today onwards am just a mere custodian of your eyes. I assumed it might be something severe. Well, so am prime keeping them? Chinmoy said.

S: Good boy. Now what do they look like to you? And Mr., stop staring at elsewhere apart from my hazel eyes. 

 

After saying this she looked tickled. 

 

Too many colors, He said. 

 

Initially I thought they were grey, after a detailed analysis I found them to be Hazel. (He purposefully used this word “analysis” as Sumona hates this word: P) Even once I thought they were greenish blue.

 

S: Interesting! Carry on. Am listening. Greenish blue…hmm: P

 

C: You know, we guys are not so good with colors, so yes, and greenish blue. You should be thankful that I didn’t say green like a cricket field or blue like surf excel.

S: Ok. Fair enough. Am glad that you made an attempt. So what color are they now?

 

She asked and then widened her eyes a little; moved closer; let him to look as long and deep as he would have sought for.

C: Well. Everything. They are everything. I could see through the depths of the pupils as they resemble to the underneath of the sea, that I know for sure - but I have never confronted them, and now am looking at the intense and meaningful gazes where I might need a little rescue if I get lost. I could feel that all loved things are meant to be greeted…with a tear in my heart and a poem in my eye…oops, in my borrowed pair of Hazel eyes.  

 

Both looked at each other and smiled. 

 

N.B: Everyone believes in love and would like to feel the essence of true love; at least once in their lifetime. As a teenager, I believed in it once too, back when I was eighteen. But now that I know love is chaotic; engulfed with materialistic lust…just like life. 

 

It takes so many twists and turns that no one could foretell or even comprehend, without leaving an alleyway of regrets in its wake. And yes, roughly always, those qualms steer to procrastination; prompting “if else”, “What could be”, “if I were” questions that could never be answered.