The Seasonal Boy
I wish I could say that my mother was beautiful- inside out, that she won the hearts of people around her with a sheer smile, that she was a confident young modern woman, that she was original, that she went on travel holidays once a year with me and we created a lot of memories together, that she was my confidante.
But lie I won’t. My Punjabi mother was brown and well-upholstered. You could not escape her always-on-the-watch eyes. She was not an original, she was born, she grew up, got married, had children, raised them, grew old, got ill and died. She did not like travelling much, she was a house person. She liked stagnancy and God’s will dictated almost everyday of her life. We were never confidantes and somewhere in the middle, we lost each other.
The drift was particularly due to the guys I dated. I think I was looking for solace outside to fill up an empty place in my heart. I first had a boyfriend when I was 17. He was only looking to satisfy his desperation and hence it had ended with him soon. Then there were some other guys, until I met my husband at 25. He was the only one who made efforts to creep inside to that place in my heart.
I particularly remember a serious relationship I had before I met my husband. I met the guy during my college fest in Chandigarh. I was a 20 year old typical Ludhiana-convent girl and he, a handsome Delhi boy. I went as an audience in the debate competition where he was a Judge and he immediately caught my attention. When he started speaking I couldn’t get my eyes off him. I went up to him that evening during dinner and told him how his words were appealing but his judgment had lacked ration. We argued on that matter during dinner and then went on to sit by the bonfire where most other participants were. But we hardly took notice of anybody. He knew his charm was alluring and he had an air around him. I spoke mostly with my tongue in my cheeks discussing cultures, art, science, religions, philosophy, spirituality, movies and politics. We talked for the entire night under the stars and decamped after seeing the sunrise, on a promise of meeting for lunch again. He was like a wave, engulfing me whole inside. He had told me I resembled Zeenat Aman and I thought he looked like Dev Anand. I liked the way he flirted, outrageously, and so did I. He was 4 years elder to me, a fact that moved me more to him.
Next day for lunch he brought me flowers and paid for food. I was giggling all the while, wearing a neat pink Salwar Kurta and hair left open for the wind to gorge into. It was the last day of the fest and we were to retreat back to our digs. We exchanged numbers and addresses and he said he’d call me, even write sometimes.
I went to see him off at the station, where he was travelling back to Delhi in the day train. As the train hoofed, I felt like a magnet being separated from an iron ore, like some part of me was moving away with him in the train. Anyhow, he called soon after reaching home. My mother had picked up the phone. She looked at me with disgrace as she handed it on to me. The feeling of disgrace only grew with each phone call and each letter. He told me about his family, his dreams and aspirations. I told him about mine. I didn’t mention much about mother though, and he never asked. He told me how his parents were keen on him marrying soon. They were also looking for a bride for him. I didn’t know if he was interested in marrying me. I asked him once, if he would ever marry me if it were to be so. He said his parents would like me. We did not talk about marriage again. We talked more about his adventures in Delhi- the colossal city effect, lights in the city at night, his biking trips, how girls in Delhi are always well dressed. I envied his life. He was authentic. His words, his compassion, his sense of humor, the entire gamut was spawned from true life and I wanted nothing more than to feel things as fully as he did. So I decided to go to Delhi to meet him, during my summer break. He kept telling me to take a stand for myself, not to miss any chance to meet him. He thanked me for making him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time.
My brother got talking to me about this when I expressed my desire to go to Delhi to meet a friend. A girl, I had said. “Do you know what you are doing?
”, he asked me suspiciously.“
Yes, of course. And anyway Delhi is not very far from Chandigarh. I’ll be back in a week.” I tried to be confident while talking.“Look, I know about the letters and the phone calls you’ve been receiving. You do not even know this guy. Why are you taking a chance with your life? Have you thought how much mother and father will be hurt by your act?”
“
Bhaiya, it’s not like he’s my lover. I won’t run away with him. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t have asked for your permissions to go to Delhi.”“I trust
you, it’s him I do not trust. You do not know such guys. He might be…you’re not safe there.”“I’m not going to live with him. I’ll stay at my friend’s house
bhaiya. I’m old enough to take my life’s decisions, please stop worrying about me now.”
My mother did not take my decision well at all. She fumed on hearing that I had already booked tickets. She said she would disown me. I snapped back saying that she never owned me. My father trusted me and hoped I do not break his trust. Finally, she stopped talking.
He picked me up at the station, the same handsome face I remembered. He set me up at his friend’s empty house and promised to spend the entire week with me. We dressed alike, in faded jeans, turtleneck T-shirts, and tailored jackets with rolled up sleeves and went around the city on his bike. He showed me places- eateries, monuments, clubs and shopping marts mostly. I suddenly felt alive. Everything looked better. The roses more fragrant, butterflies more beautiful, wind more chilling and the world a bigger place. I kept calling home now and then to tell them I was Okay, my brother picked up everytime.
He took me to his house and introduced me to his parents, said I was a friend’s friend from Chandigarh. It felt distinct somehow. His father was shocked on hearing that I travelled alone all the way to only spend a week in Delhi. “I would have never allowed my daughter to go to some unknown place to meet a friend’s friend. I don’t know whether you’re brave or stupid!” I was offended instantly. I didn’t talk that entire evening. He did not ask me why. Did he even notice I felt low?
The next day he came early morning to where I was staying and hopped into the bed where I lay. He laughed and assured me that it was okay, when I moved a little away from him. We made the day’s plans. He frequently touched me while talking and kept getting closer. I wanted to move further apart, but I wasn’t quite sure. I feared him thinking less of me. I could be one of those friends of his, I wanted to please him. Those deep dark pair of eyes were hooked onto me the entire time. Eventually, I lost my way in them and he leaned forward and kissed me. I couldn’t move, I didn’t know if I was supposed to. Thoughts ran faster in my head but my body lay still. He ran his hands down my spine and a chill followed. I backed off after a few seconds, I didn’t want to do this. I wasn’t even sure if he considered me as his girlfriend.
“Are you sure you will marry me?” I asked and lowered my head.“Why are you talking all that right now? We never discuss marriage. I thought this is what both of us wanted.”
“Do you love me?”“I’ll show you how much I love you. Come closer.” He smiled.
I neither moved nor looked him in the eye. I was too numb and cold. I knew I was letting him down. He stood up and left
.
That afternoon he called me and told me that his friend needed the house and I had to vacate the place. He suggested I live in a hotel or go back home, when he knew I had no extra money to afford a room in a hotel. I said I’ll leave by the next train and requested him to book tickets for me.
I left Delhi, he did not come to the station to see me off. After coming back I waited for his phone calls, which came once in a while and then slowly stopped. That trip hurt me and ruptured my relationship with my mother. She took it personally and said she was ashamed of me. Eventually, I moved on, but I wasn’t the same girl. I was different. I stayed more quite and upto myself.
I never heard from him again. I’m sure he married soon after and had children before I even met my husband. Years passed by and bigger things happened in my life. My mother died of illness and tiredness too I guess. She had been relieved when I finally married.
I love my husband and he loves me more. I am blessed with two beautiful daughters and a handsome son and our family goes for trips and picnics every vacations. We do the little things that matter and make each other happy. And yet, I bring back the memories from Delhi whenever I am alone, they are sharp and clear. I have saved the pictures I clicked with him and his letters to me. They are valuable to me because I have daughters and a son, and you know, life moves around in circles.
