Bench Partner

The pendulum had just struck four.

For last few months around the clock depression engulfs me as a best friend. The medicines didn’t work for last two nights. With sleepless eyes and a dejected mood was resting on the long bed side pillow. Was blankly looking at the playground in front of the house, right through the window. The old cotton curtains were tugged to the window grills which made the view to the barren field more vivid. The goal posts stood out, waiting for the neighbourhood boys to turn up in the evening. In the stillness of the surrounding I kept self-healing a painful headache.

Silent afternoon broke into pieces as the phone started ringing.

“Can I speak to Kushal Basu?”, a distant voice asked politely.

“Speaking. Who are you?”, I hesitantly asked as no one other than Tiklu calls these days.

“Roll Number 16.”, prompt came the reply. 

It took a while to reassemble from long lost past. Memory card that we move with is also strange. Even without use for years it is indexed all well for recollection.

“Lily, is that you?”, I asked bit nervous.

“How are you?”, she asked firmly. The same voice of the class monitor made me alert.

“Where are you?”, Instead of answer I questioned. Not many in the class had courage to interrogate her. She was too firm to be faced. I had a special gate pass.

“I never left Kolkata.” After a second’s pause she continued – “I need a help. Can we meet?”. Some relations stand like the old black telephone, left unused mostly but ready to respond anytime.

 “Where? When?” – I was hesitant to begin with. She coaxed just as in school. With still some doubts in my mind we settled for a tea-meet the following Sunday afternoon.

As usual, Tiklu called me up towards the evening. Most days these calls end with casual health updates and my kitchen status. The length of the long-distance call was turning shorter. Tiklu can hear the silence that often spills over the old telephone. He patiently shares news of sports and politics desperately trying to keep me connected to the world that is fast changing. The earth is spinning faster than I was taught in school. I often feel scared and compress my presence.

That day, I spoke about my school friend’s call and our impending meet. With age, I tend to have become a natural child and keep posting every little happening to Tiklu. Disclosure gives comfort.

“Are you sure you want to meet someone after so many years?” Tiklu sounded worried.

I sensed it and tried to dissolve the disturbance that started brewing.  “Don’t worry. I will think over and may not even go.” We disconnected amicably.

On a second thought felt Tiklu may be right. Who knows, the caller can be an impostor! May be some motif. It is so common these days to fool senior citizens in the city. Too many murder cases get reported. Amidst all doubts for some reason I was slowly preparing for the Sunday afternoon. Tiklu also missed asking and I kept silent on this subject.

It was Sunday. After a long time, felt the sticky melancholy have taken a day-off. Excitement was the taste of the day. I reached the shopping mall ahead of time. Unsure of what she may like, looked at the lady in the retail store for suggestion.

She helped me inhale a few tester strips and the coffee beans in between. She soon realized I have no choice and my dilemma was leading nowhere. Pointing to the turquoise blue glass bottle the young lady suggested – “This has a mild smell, she will certainly like this one”. I got convinced.

With a branded paper bag in hand I stepped out of the lift to the food court on the top floor of the shopping center. A usual weekend afternoon. Families, young college goer, couple now and to-be, reunited friends and casual ones all added to the hustle-bustle in the court. Occasional noise of the fruit crusher and the coffee maker blew up the decibels a few notches higher. I kept walking and my eyes kept rolling in search of someone. I was not conditioned to the surroundings and for a moment wondered if I did the right thing.

After several years, even beneath the shadows of uncertainty was experiencing an unknown pleasure. Realized at some corner of the almost finished life still I had some urge remaining. Cusp of childhood turning teenage had a different taste altogether. Lily summed it up all for me. Strange that the school parting day was when we last met. We exchanged a few letters and midway it was lost.

Paused by the cake shop. The smell of the confectionery was hard to ignore. I took a long breath to consume the aroma in the air. Just when I started thinking what next, felt a warm hand patting my shoulder on the right. Turned back to see her after decades. My teenage memories greeted me with a brilliant smile. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. 

“Lily” – I could only say this much. 

I had to run my imagination to equate the girl I last saw in black school uniform with the one in a white cotton saree in front of me. She had the mauve colour pallu tightly held onto her hand covering her back. A fancy bag with historic paintings on it, hung from her right shoulder.

Her aging face had a few wrinkles on the forehead. With a golden bangle on one hand and a wrist watch on the other, she looked as strong as ever. Life may have offered pains to her more than pleasure, some which she shared on the phone and some later, but her youthful smile stood still.

It was the first day in secondary school; students had huddled around the notice board to check on the section allocation. Lily Sen, was the name following mine on the roll register.

… We shared the status quo all by luck for rest five years of school. ‘K’ to ‘L’ was a thin zone as far as first initials of names were considered. This half a dozen years had accrued lot of fortune over the lost years of connect. It was a treasured possession.

It was not all well to begin with, we took a while to adjust and then bonded. We stepped out of childhood and marched through the deadly corridors of adolescence together. There was no formal coaching, no special guidance but we learned to co-exist, compete, respect and above all connect. Just as much as we did today.

Breaking my thoughts, she said - “You still look so handsome Kushal!” – I heard this adjective after ages. Her expressive eyes remained as energetic as in school.

“How did you recognize me?” – I asked her out of utter curiosity.

With a teenage smile, she looked at me and said – “Didn’t see anyone as old in the food court!” Saying so she broke into her signature laughter. I stood embarrassed. Her overflowing amusement was infectious.

We took a table in the center of the court. Sat face to face, may be for the first time. We were used to sitting side by side for six long years in the two and half feet wooden bench. We followed each other better that way. This was fairly new, but we started conversing once more.

With a shy look asked her – “How are you Lily?”

Her grey plaited hair had a few black streaks. Through an ordinary glass pairs, she looked straight into my eyes. Her eyes said it all – a warrior of many battles. It had depth of pain within but her tears may have lost its ways as the magic of her sparkling smile overshadowed all.

“Kushal, how do you spend your day usually?” – She always caught me on my weakness. But I never had to pretend. It was an unsaid understanding.

“Sitting Idle, at home!” – I replied promptly and continued – “Took retirement almost five years back. Had kept buying big fat novels all through my work life. Planned to read them when I get out of the nine to six rigors!”

“But now you don’t love to read anymore.” She said with extreme sense of predictability.

“Exactly.” I wondered how she guessed it right. We continued knowing more about each other’s life.

“How about you?”

In a sweet but sarcastic tone, she narrated. “My husband was in a tearing hurry to reach the heaven and the hell broke on me. I was thirty.”

We exchanged silent looks. She resumed.

“With our baby in my arms, I started a marathon.” It reminded me my bench partner never missed a trophy in school sports. I always stood in the common line clapping for her, often happy at times jealous. Life prepared her for the battles destined.

It was getting very heavy for me. Though unfamiliar with the norms of the food court, I asked – “Lily what would you like to have?” My intent was genuine but my looks revealed my experience.

My class monitor took the lead once more. She came back with two cups of hot coffee. I kept stirring the sugar powder while she sipped the hot black bitter coffee as is.

“Who stood by you in those difficult times?” – I asked feeling sorry for reasons unknown.

“My little son!” – She smiled.

“Where is your son these days?”, I asked her very naturally.

But I regretted later. With a bleak smile the seasoned fighter replied – “Not sure why it happened with me once again. He gifted me a grandson and left without any notice.”

I was shocked. Tiklu’s face had just bubbled up in my mind, that she asked – “How old is your son?”

“Forty!” – I replied in a low tone. Not sure what this fact would do to her. But I continued as I wanted her to feel at home with me. “He works for an IT company. Stays in Texas with his wife and daughter.”

I started sharing my little world with her.

“Tiklu, hijacked me to Texas, after his mother passed away. That was a different school. I returned back as a failed student but a free man.”

On my self-proclaimed failure, once more Lily poured into her signature laughter that was full of life. It was so refreshing. Most smiles are crafted these days and it hardly touches mind.

“So, after so many decades what made you call me last week?” I switched the topic. I was enjoying the new me inside that was trying to wake up and drink the unfinished enthusiasm buried for long. 

“A dream!” It sounded crazy. She took the baton back from me.

“Last Wednesday, after lunch had fallen asleep. Eyes painted a wonderful picture. The wooden plate boldly held ‘Class V Section B’. Mrs. Menon, entered the class room. Her serene look was very prominent. Some unsolved maths on the black board. I completed the classwork and rushed to get it ticked. You kept chewing the cap of a fountain pen.”

I started feeling the classroom. The wooden bench, smell of the chalk stick, the unsolved problem and the inspiring lectures of Mrs. Menon. Lily the front runner and I the laggard balancing the wooden bench with uneven knowledge.

“And just that I was about to show you the perfect score of ten that I bagged, the cat mewed from my kitchen.”

“and then what?” as the trailer was not enough.

“I felt very restless with the incomplete dream.” She continued. “With blurred eyes, I picked up the old albums to dig up the group photos of school days. All in black and white but too colourful memories. We saved pocket money each year to buy these.”

She provoked me to flip through forgotten days. Her dream had more caffeine than the coffee I was drinking. I smiled back to reciprocate as her positive vibes were contagious.

She pulled up a colourful booklet from her side bag. Almost like a pocket telephone book. Looked at me mysteriously and said – “Guess?”

I failed once more giving her another chance to keep going. “It was all by chance this autograph book fell off the old album. On the school leaving day we ran around to get it signed by friends and teachers. No book in my life had so much emotion packed together. One page of that book is yours!”

She flipped through the pages and opened up one in royal blue ink. It had two wise words - ‘Keep running!’ with my autograph and proudly proclaimed phone number beneath the parting lines to my bench partner.

I touched my autograph that was also in its youth, an identity in the make.

“The number worked. It was amazing to hear Roll number 15 after ages.”
“True Lily, now when I look back feel very nostalgic.”
“Life was easy and carefree, how much we aspired to grow up. After school, we never met.”
“Yes, my family shifted. I did my masters in Delhi, joined the pharmacy company. In a few years got married and started raising a family.” I took a pause to take a sip of coffee.

She filled in the gap. “I had just graduated when I meet him. Joined hands to protest for many a cause as students. After years of togetherness, we tied knot and proposed to live happily ever after. But God disposed.”

I empathised her pain.

Giving her a break, I continued - “Was settled in Mumbai. All went well till I retired. We were planning for a visit to Tiklu’s place, when she suddenly fell sick. Pathological tests, detection, operation, hospital, day care, we rode this merry go round for a year. It was beyond any cure and she boarded the flight to a different destination. I stood back bidding her farewell.” I realised to have opened up after a long. She allowed me to continue. 

“It was a weeks’ visit to my ancestral home in Calcutta. Got stuck to the roots. Since then have continued. An evening walk in the park, some fresh vegetables from the road side shop, a visit to the local doctor’s chamber is the new time table of life. Living a life almost at no speed.”

“I thought that was a perfect you. No change over the years. Amazing!” Lily gave me credit points.

The food court was too crowded when she took the last sip of the black coffee.

“Was not sure what to gift an old friend after so many years!” – saying so I passed on the wrapped perfume. She was unprepared. For the first time, she gave a nervous look and she said – “I have nothing to gift you!”

“You gifted me a pie of my past that beholds plenty of fresh air. That was the best gift. But what was the help you needed?”

In a school going spree, she pulled her chair by my side and with great precision clicked on her smart phone. Tiklu had requested several times but I refused to have a mobile handset. But my bench partner once more threw a challenge. Unsmart me wondered what makes her so full of life.

“The other day my grandson asked if I had any picture with my best friend at school. I had to get this one for him.” I was stunned to feel the zeal in her. The passion to make every moment in life so interesting to live. We sat on the same bench, heard the same lectures but she learned something special. A wonderful afternoon came to an end as the elevator doors opened. We pushed ourselves into a packed box, a free fall and then parted once more!



I was back home before the sun had set. The street lamps started glowing. The teenage players in colourful jersey were unwinding after the last match in the ground. As usual the telephone rang. Tiklu and me had our share of daily talks and finally I hinted my preference for buying a smart phone. The much-awaited consent got an overwhelming response on the other end.


Stepped into the kitchen to prepare a soup. The quest for life was beckoning once more!  

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!

Smooth Vanilla

Dessert Delight! Yes, it’s December, snowing in New Jersey, Glasgow, Warsaw, Toronto – I have quick clicks of snowy lanes of these foreign lands where my first degree of friend footprints got embossed. True, this year my country voted for “Acche Din”, just that my state chose otherwise. Never mind the nature didn't disappoint! The cold waves partially moved from north-west and have reached east.

Bright but gentle sunshine peeps in each morning through the broken corners of the wooden frame of the window facing east at some degree. In the by-lanes of my city of joy, amidst all uncertainties these lovely moments of hide and seek with the warmth of Kolkata r Sith (winter in Kolkata) is simply fabulous. You know he is around just to meet you for a while and you pretend to be oblivion of his presence just to spice the romanticism a little more.

Wished to pamper the lazy me under the fancy cover and shamelessly play out with the infatuated ray of light that made its way to the room. But the first quarter of weekend waits for you with a list of errands. Today had to step out to complete a small odd work. It was almost midday that I was crossing Basursree cinema hall on Hazra road. It has undergone change. A recent syndrome is any place of past acquaintance takes me backward little more than appreciating what is ahead and possibilities of future.

Rushing through last 350 odd days, when some close ones with a smiling face took a perennial seat behind the photo frame while toddlers in the house have started calling me by some new names that I just find excuse to hear again and again. The former, keeps me grounded and the later keeps me going! Our phone communication has graduated to an adult conversion as niece stepped into mid-teens. The young crowd in the circle did find jobs and some are sincerely digging matrimony sites. The senior citizens community around definitely added more rigor to medical needs and a few smart ones in the group attempted digital breakthroughs.  For them tablet serves a dual purpose - gulp with water as remedy and skype with grandchild as a prevention for a healthy lifeline.  That was life as usual.

Immediate friends most of them in early fourth decade have been exploring more of what is called “mid-life” crisis. Experimental recipes, pegs of hard liquor, colorful chirping and a plenty of meaningless nothings kept social circuits fresh. Be it classroom or office, you leave behind the certificates and designations and take forward some solid good moments for the album that goes fat each year. Every passing year makes this thought stronger.

It must be two decades that I visited the Basursree. And must be final year of college, four of us crossed the tram line to see the garland big cutout of a bollyhood hero. Larger than life images often provoke to think in different plane. We challenged ourselves to enjoy but finally left it little after the interval to settle for a wafer cone and one scoop of vanilla. That is what collective wallet could afford. Melting sunshine and bite of smooth vanilla left behind priceless moments that I flipped through with closed eyes. It was one such December.

Life is just a bundle of calendars. They just overlap as we cross pass each other to create moments – some good, some bad and rest is dust!  The classroom has new names for the same roll numbers, the hostel has new guests for same room, the office chairs have different people running the show with the same designations and the last page of this year’s calendar has half spread its wings to fly soon. While the Santa jingles all the way from the snowy land to the soft cozy corner of my room here is wishing a great fun filled year ahead full of vanilla moments. From the cacophony of the life let the rhythm evolve aloud 

“Aanewala Pal Jaanewala Hai

Ho Sake To Iss Mein Zindagi Bitaado Pal Jo Yeh

Jaanewala Hai

Ek Baar Waqt Se Lamha Gira Kahin

Wahaan Dastan Mili Lamha Kahin Nahin 
Thoda Sa Hasaake Thoda Sa Rulaake Pal Ye Bhi Jaanewala Hai”

Rainy Day Secret

It was almost a similar afternoon, undue rain had made me unnecessarily lazy. Our paying guest house had seven boarders. Sushila-di, a central school teacher was busy marking the half-yearly answer sheets that had to be shared before the school closes for puja vacation. My roommate had gone out for a movie with her boy-friend. The room next had a new boarder Ritu.

Those days I worked for an engineering consultancy organization, a perfect 9 to 6 affair for five days.  My wallet was lean and leisure was unbound.  In the patterned life of a bunch of Bengalis, Ritu from Bangalore was a fresh air. That was her first week end.  I must be reading some cine magazine (borrowed from Kakima – owner of the guest house), when she popped in –

-          “I would be out, do let Aunty know if she asks. Hope to join you all for dinner.”  - She informed politely. Her moves were so well managed that it left no chance to enquire more.  For a while I was left curious to think of all possible places that she may go. Young mind can think between the lines the most optimistic way.

Our rooms where located in the ground floor. One end was a small verandah and the other end was the general entrance door which was generally latched. The semi dark romantic sky had promises unseen.  Through the painted grills of the verandah moist air gushed in and out. Careless breeze left behind a few nimble drops of water, which hung from the curved edges of the grill. The black and white glam world created a rhythm of its own.  The perfect moment of silence broke on the press of the doorbell at the other end –

-          “Courier…”

I stepped forward. A middle aged courier man, in a wet rain coat stood behind the collapsible gate. In an hurried tone he proclaimed – “Ritu Sahani..” . It was a simple ask, however he sounded like a teacher calling upon rolls. I volunteered - “Am her roommate, can I?”.

My first one year of engineering consultancy was mostly about practicing autograph on sanctioned engineering drawings. With all enthusiasm I put in my signature and accepted the colorful floral pack on behalf of our new boarder. Kept the gift on her well laid out bed.  On one side of the wrapper there were two bold hand written blocks qualified as To and From. Inquisitive eyes read – Deepak Singh……Bangalore, in one of them.

Patchy rain fall continued with night setting in prematurely. With the fall of night most in-mates returned and we hurdled in our room for a while to get a first preview of cine matinée that my roommate enjoyed.  We assembled over dinner table. Ritu was only missing. Superhit Muqabla, popular TV prime time event was on. We were on parallel gossips when the doorbell buzzed.

It was me once more. I stepped down to open the gate and Ritu stepped in with all composure but her face was dull. With exuberance I said – “You have a gift from Bangalore, I received it.” Her eyes lit up and she rushed towards the room.  I sensed her need for privacy and stood back by the grill. The thin stream of rain was falling on the street light casing and the feeble neon lights refracted for pulse of a second. The beauty of night had different gifts for each one of us under the same roof.

I was about to make a move that felt Ritu had put her hand on my shoulder to say – “Thank you”.

We exchanged silent glances. I didn’t ask, but she continued.

-          “Need to share a few things with you. I was about to be married to Rajiv. He is no more. Today went to meet his mother; she stays all by her own in this city.” Empathy engulfed. She continued with enough strength – “Deepak and Rajiv shared apartment in Bangalore. They were best buddies.” She took a long breath to say – “Tomorrow is my birthday. Crazy Deepak had sent few CDs that we enjoyed listening together.”

It was a long story cut crisp and short. All my curiosity and follow up guesses fizzled in the humid breeze blowing. It took me sometime to gather my thoughts and wish her on the eve of her birthday. She was a sport to have accepted that and requested me to confide the facts revealed. Her fresh start needed a new home and no sympathy.  With all assurance I joined her towards the room.

The crushed colorful wrapper was peeping out of the overflowing room bin-box. Three CDs lied on the neatly ironed bed sheet. I picked up the first one flipped to check the numbers. “Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar, Dil Abhi Bhara Nahi”… Once more read between the lines, sorry between the choice of CDs and its songs…Prime time on idiot box was over, heard roll of laughter and varied sounds of footsteps approaching proximity. Left Ritu to settle with her ordeal and deal ahead.
 Often suffocating rainy day wash out deep down pains to give life a break. Life moves on, every turn of it you have a new tune to hum by.