Cold Coffee

Democratic rights exercised!

How much I wish, still perfect results remain far away in many ways in life. Never mind, rising above imperfections to embrace the way they come and move on is the simple truth of life. 

Well, last few months calendar was choking. Managed some time to clear up pending messages and notifications. The last one that I responded bought back a bundle of energy as my mind bows down in respect.

He was on the silver screen and I in a cosy chair in B or C row on the dress circle. Was in my prime teen and have just got set into the daily morning classes of the Girls College. They said this road ends with another two years of grind to get a token into a world which is fairly “settled”. Little did I realize that the run never ends, until you stop running! In our times students had a few options coined as future. It was almost mandatory to get ready for the yellow or the green admit card for a student opting for Science stream in +2. I was never an exception but choose green card to avoid more exams. I realized very late in life that I should have chosen the yellow card. That remains the biggest regret as I retrospect. That is another story, for some other day. Well life moves on and at every cross road one has to decide a way to go. We all choose one, so did I!

“Kakima” as I called her, our next door neighbor stood by her gate waving at me when I pushed the paddle for the first time for my first day first class for plus 2, along with my mother. I had seen twinkle of freedom in their eyes as my “Hero” (I mean my bicycle) hit the road. They thought I will pave a long way. Those were great blessings indeed.

But it was increasingly becoming difficult. One afternoon while unlocking the bicycle lock after the maths tuition class was over, realized the last friend in the group have made it too. Yes, they all spoke about him. Scene by scene, act by act!! Concepts of vector was just setting and sense of direction yet to sync in that this chocolate boy made me stand out like an alien among my friends. As much as I wanted to see him I expressed a face of ignorance to paint a picture otherwise. Parcels of big fat books from “Agarwal Classes” (in case you don’t know in late 80s and early 90s they along with their sole competitor “Brilliant Tutorials” had fueled brains of India…) were getting delivered at my door steps for me to get ready for doing justice to the green admit card on my way. I was yet to meet him.

Some days do start as ordinary but turn out to be bit extra. The last class got dissolved for some reasons I fail to recollect. I had just pressed the clutch and the brake in front of our house to see Kakima and a bunch of boys including her sons rushing out. They wore a jovial face. In reality she had made a force entry into the boy’s league who had decided to bunk college for a movie that has created roar in hearts.

“Want to join?” – A motherly voice in the spree of a teenager asked.

Golden opportunity! Felt prudent to accept. My first movie show without my family. The boys had means to get seats quite far away from us. They must be thankful to me for locking her out of the vicinity and give them the freedom they deserved in the darkness of a movie hall with sweet Juhi on the screen. And yes, the moment Amir made his debut turn with a guitar the hall reverberated with “Papa Kaheti….”  An ounce of teenage moment that remain ever tagged with Kakima in my mind as #QSQT a box office hit then. The day ended and years crossed. Many a roads traversed yet these sweet yester moments often boosts the most when one feels low swamped in daily drudgery and uncertainties.

The message was lying in one of my social sites. With a sip of cold coffee, opened the unread to find my #QSQT hashtag friend had bid a farewell and made her way to the land of peace. This time I stand here to wave you Kakima. The pain gave way to an unadulterated pleasure. 

Mind rolled back to be in teens that beholds the tenderness that we need to keep the youth in us alive. 

Deuce Ball

Spring is over!

While I was resetting the wardrobe to embrace summer, an old album fell off the shelf. The experience of flipping through paper album is quite different in a time we live. Air stuck cellophane called for all my ten fingers in action. Each photo had a context and a few memories. It was coincidence that I stepped into eighth standard and my father was given a house which had some square feet more, a front and a back yard with fence and a garage larger than required. As a family we all liked gardening and in no time we had a flower garden and a kitchen garden set. Me and my brother had our share of light fight and settled for our pie in one room. I realise we both were bad at negotiation and settled very fast. Neighbours praised our sibling attitude and parents felt great. We both felt even better just to realise later in life, negotiation is an art like dancing, drawing, sports and what not we tried our hands on.

Beyond the garden, the one place that I liked about this address of ours was the barren field beyond the fence. Liking had a reasoning. In a week’s time I concluded the immediate neighbourhood had an imbalance of gender. I was soon friendless. School library was one who supported this change gracefully. I got introduced to Srikanta, Chandranath, Subhoda, Parineeta , Devdas and many more. I had their pictures in mind, empathised their pain and pleasure, dwelled in their lives as if I was one of them. Yes, I learnt to dream as I had no option. My report cards showed good numbers in maths and science, and by chance once in a while in geography. Rest was always a challenge. World watches you even when you think it is happening the least. The days maths number got published many used to ask my score unlike those days when scores for Bengali grammar paper were out, when I knew my place in the class room. In the over packed school bag there is an invisible book called competition. There are several school of thoughts on that book and over years a humble realization was having a back bencher friend pays off on a long run.

 

The fade photo in the album had seven boys in my neighbourhood playing cricket on the barren land in front of our house, the address then. Rules of the game were as per their conveniences. Once in a while the deuce ball crossed the fences to intrude into our garden, that’s when I chanced to notice growing boys of my locality. A few that impressed forced me to repaint the pictures of the characters from the novels, my own way. They had organized a tournament once and had created a big pomp and glory around the event. I volunteered to click a shot on a cannon camera that belonged to Arpita unty, a gorgeous lady who knew the art of breaking ice.

She joined her husband who was a big shot in the town. He was a consultant of high regards. They had been touring the world and finally anchored in our township for couple of years. That’s when the tournament happened, on that barren land – the undeclared pitch that fell in line with our garage. There was an arrangement for viewers around our flower garden. Beauty commands and I who had no business in the game suddenly was seen quite associated to Arpita aunty. I became visible quite effortlessly. Like the deuce ball in the air my dreams got a facelift. In our casual talks she did realise I had no connect with the event even while I was perceived to a part of the song and dance around. It happens most of the time with many of us. You are just a fat on the muscle or man in the crowd to qualify you belong to the system.

It is often by chance you meet someone like Arpita aunty who makes you standout contextually accomplished. She was gracious enough to handhold her camera and with her nimble fingers help me capture my shutterbug moment. The game was over and I had a sense of connect. I blew the dust and lifted the transparent paper to release the air vapour blowing above the tournament photo bubbling with energy of youth. In the run of life each of them are bating for the deuce ball of their dream. Some barren lands behold treasures unbound!