Previous– Springing of- My Loving “Him..”
I had posted the previous part just this morning. My mind could not be at rest ever since I initiated compiling that. Partly, because of the walk down the Memory Lane and the rest, because I wanted to put across the whole story but wasn’t able to sum up enough courage. I didn’t learn how to type; as in, my Fingers aren’t fixed on the keyboard. I do type fast enough for not having learnt how to. Only I have to constantly gaze at the keyboard. The Black Plastic Board with white alphabets and some punctuation marks jutting out. Well no complaints, since the Black Board is staring back at me, reciprocating my gesture.. Did I say Black Board? How very basic!! We learn to write on small black boards (I had one in childhood). Teachers taught lessons on the same, even though that we wrote on white paper and read white papered books with black fonts, our results also being displayed on White Paper again; how we have to again get back to a Black Board with white keys..!!
Is it something to do with writing? Does it point out- that till you write it’s all Dark and that writing alone would make me press those White Prints- Keys? And produce posts that would look completely opposite to that of a key- board?
My Bus would arrive at the school pretty early. It had to only travel from Dilshad Garden to Vivek Vihar. Upon reaching school, I would desperately wait for his bus- GF- 3. I would then go onto slap a “Statue” monologue!! Poor guy, barely he would arrive to school when he would be ordered to become motionless, till I would “Over” him, till someone called out his name. Most of the times- I had won; but there were times, when I had lost too. His Bus Conductor was a nice and a friendly man, maybe in his thirties, he too would join us. Back in those days, these were the relationships we set up. It was simple, pure and without any fear of someone tracking down and abducting us. His bus was a DTC bus rolled on for school duty; the vehicle number was 1821 as I recall. I was written in big blue font at the back of the bus.
My mom had already started wondering how a Jain would accept a Bong woman; mom being mom. Himanshu was an average student scoring 50- 60%; he was no match for me- that’s what Maninder ma’am had told me when I visited her at her place after 2 years from then.. I wish I had a vehicle; and had bought my cellphone connection earlier than I did. I would have at least tried to fix up the broken links- or were they meant to be broken and remain so?
On his birthday, his mom Ms. Shashi Jain had teased him since I had stood 1st in my class. My scores were compared across all 16 sections. That was quite a high. Ask any topper. This was after I would not sit in the class for studying; I used to keep very busy rehearsing for my extra-curricular activities. Himanshu would get my daily attendance marked. How he would get sad thinking of our differences and would muse that we would never be together. I had promised him that come what may I would always keep in touch and it would be then tough for him to prove; since I was resolute and he knew that about me. We were kids, barely 12; yet, he had read me where most of all had failed to.
But even then he had failed me- again and again.
Every morning, I would have butterflies whenever I would see him. We would hurriedly greet without really looking towards each other and that would be the ice- breaker for the day. The next day, it would again be the same.. My heart would beat faster and I would try to look else where; completely a feature, which I am not programmed for and I mean it. I have remained stable and composed at the ugliest of my state of affairs. It is both very lovely and sweet to walk this memory lane; only the latter posts (to come), takes the peace of my mind away. It has managed to turn me sour; much put off with Men. It was him that I felt an “unconditional” or “unreserved” Love for.
Maybe I still feel for him; only the realities of my state of being and him failing me would never let me accept the fact- Anymore.
I am not trying to depict my hopelessly romantic views about him. I had buried them; or so I thought. Since he too is very much a part of my mundane (dis)- orderly Life; I have to write about him too. The last time that we spoke (in 2005), he had reminded me of how it was Maninder ma’am’s fault that she could not keep the thing to herself. Really, I had not given any thought to it, till then; I don’t think she had done anything that she shouldn’t have. Anyways, she may have, although not accusing, made a mistake, what then? Why did he have to be so weak and break at some as frivolous issue as that? We were little, they were our guardians; they had only tried to handle the situation in the best possible manner they had thought it was.
Himanshu, why couldn’t you fight me back to yourself when I was more than willing to brave it all- not even once? How justified is it, to blame others for something that had happened at an age when we were to concentrate more on future or career as the jargons go, and not plan about eloping and getting married and rebel our parents if they wouldn’t give in?
I had not been a foolish headed girl to have believed in him then, and so never really appreciated what he said. I had been stern about reacting to his Romantic Bullsh*t; he had known of that. If only he had acted upon his starry dreams..
I always believed that that was not the time for us to be wondering about such impractical stances. I had wanted to be a Doctor; and was focused in pursuing studies till late, instead of hopelessly getting married and let my ambition get affected. Oh my God!! Wasn’t I so grown up?
Dad had abandoned us the same year; I was in 7th, no whispers were made in my class. I had taken it all in my stride; didn’t speak even a “mummy” of that. Dad had one day made an appearance in my school during assembly; I was walking towards the mike and transformer arrangement. I had gone close and switched on the mike pretending I was testing that. He was embarrassing me by hopelessly hopping around me when he was to resolve an issue that was DOMESTIC and not PUBLIC. But since, he had set up my expectation by calling my name in the complete view of the school playground where kids from 1st till 8th had gathered for Morning Prayers, I am now ready to do the same; only it would be completely PUBLIC- in full view of our Damned Society. If the Society didn’t take care of what was required of a man and a father; I take all rights away from it now to point out on whether my retraction against him is right or otherwise.
I had wanted both– mom and dad together with me and had declared it yet again- the day he had walked out on us. I had clearly told him that it would be either both of us or else. If a father could do this to his daughter, then Himanshu or any one else is definitely not to be blamed; for anything.
They have just done what every man does; or did to me. Failure and Betrayal happens to be their middle and last name.
August came by and so did my birthday, he had gifted me a nice card, a pen- set box (I’ll post the pic later some day) and treated me in the school canteen. Leena Gupta too had pooled in. She was very fond of, always hovering around me. She had gifted me very nice things- I still have them all. How I had teased him of the words printed on the card.
How the card print had become my instant sketching theme. I revisited my memories again in 2005 when we had met the last time. I was surprised to see the card again- I really like such floral and mutely colorful prints. How did he know of it? Or was it because of this card that I like such?
I would never know.