Booknomics

It was not that Raghav had not experienced love of the first degree. He had, several times in fact. He knew the degrees of emotion that followed the first glance, the realization of her presence among so many others, the desire to let your eyes rest on hers, the electric urge to fall into the wellspring of desire and then, of course…he knew all that. The only problem he had according to his mother was that he could not commit.

“And it’s about time Raghu. I’m not going to be making you rajma and rice all my life. Make it on your own or get a wife who can make it for you.” Raghav gave her a cursory glance as his fingers texted out a business email on his blackberry. He marveled at his mother’s cluelessness about women today and their culinary skills.

Take Nisha. She was the perfect fit-the right height, the right background(their dads were good friends), the right profession(she had an MBA like he did) but she was a hard core feminist whose sharing the chores obsession made her a terrible choice for a live in partner. Then there was Sadee, a girl of mixed ethnicity who Raghav still couldn’t completely forget.  Her drawback- she only ate out. It was all fine on dates but everyday? What are restaurants for then? , she said and he said “What are kitchens for?” and there ended a story.

It was unfortunate that food had to be a part of the marriage deal, but it was , at least in Raghav’s case. So when his mother asked him to go to Nagpur, the city of oranges, to see a girl, he agreed. He was thirty four already. Nowadays twenty five year old men had families. He had had too many relationships and too many disappointments- he was starting to look forward to the woman of his mother’s dreams- the quite educated but not too well educated sort who was good with everyone, could run the household, satisfy him and of course make good rajma and rice, which was all he needed.

All the way to Nagpur, he tried to make sense of the photograph his mother had showed him. The girl’s family had sent him several snaps of the girl at various angles , so that he could a better perspective of her. They had  arranged for a skype chat as well, but he preferred to see the girl first in flesh and blood and let his hormones decide if they were compatible at a basic level.

The girl was tall enough and a dusky wheatish complexion. She was a commerce graduate and worked in the accounts department of an unknown enough company. She had acne, he could tell, even through all the foundation she wore for the photograph.  Her eyebrows were plucked to arrow-like arcs, so she was the sort who took care of her appearance, which was always good in the long run. Her shape was pleasing, more than her face, he decided, which was also not such a bad thing; he didn’t want a wife who attracted too much attention for her beauty.

He was showered with warm welcoming smiles and a family that he instantly felt an affinity to, which was strange as he had never been to Nagpur before, except once on a company assignment. “Where is your mother? She should have come-we had made all the arrangements.” Raghav did not explain how difficult it had been to keep her away- how he begged and pleaded that he meet the girl first before any of the formalities were drawn. He didn’t want to repeat the embarrassments he had suffered with Nisha and so many others.

The girl’s family ushered him into a room. Raghav looked around anxiously. There was a small bed and a picture of Radha and Krishna. This sealed it for him. A young woman walked in. “I’m Mohini.” she said casually as she sat in a cane chair that he hadn’t noticed at the side of the bed. She wore a white salwar kameez and her acne was acute, especially as the sun caught her face.

Raghav caught her observing him carefully as though he were a rodent about to be dissected. Their mutual dissection lasted for five seconds that seemed as long as eternity.”You know something!”, Mohini exclaimed, changing the tense feeling in the room suddenly to one of immense brightness.”Has anyone told you that you look like Nehru?”

Raghav blushed a deep crimson. He was often called handsome which was why he never had any shortage of female friends, but Nehru? No, no one had said that to him at all. When he looked at her again, Raghav noticed that Mohini had neat features- a couple of penicillin injections would cure the acne. He also noticed her curviness and felt soothed.

“I don’t understand this arranged marriage business Raghav.” Mohini said as she sat cross legged on the cane chair.” I’ve been thinking and thinking how can I say okay I’ll sleep with you? How can I just do that unless I’m really hundred percent sure?”

Raghav nodded in agreement. She had a point.

“So I thought what is the one thing that I like the most? If you can answer something like a questionnaire, then I can correlate your likes with mine and we can have further discussions.”

Raghav’s eyes gave her an are you serious? look and she returned an I am serious look.

The questionnaire had been printed out. There were all kinds of questions that required a one-word answer. Do you smoke? Do you drink? Which pubs have you visited? Who is the author of A Tale of Two cities?

He laughed when he read the one about the two cities.

“What about me? Don’t I get to make a questionnaire?” he asked.

He filled out the questionnaire in good humour. Sometimes, when I don’t drink. Sometimes, when I don’t smoke. All the pubs in Bangalore. He wasn’t sure about the Tale of Two cities though- he reckoned it was a movie. Literature was not his area. “I don’t know this one.” he said pointing to question eight.

Mohini wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you read books then?” she dug her thoughtful fist into her acned cheek.

“Don’t get the time.” Raghav brushed off her question and went on to question nine. What is the capital of Romania? The question created a physical sensation in him that reminded him of the helplessness he experienced during GK quizzes his school organized every Thursday of long ago.

“Don’t mind me asking, but are you trying to humiliate your prospective husband?” Raghav put down the ballpoint pen and looked squarely at this woman whom he was thinking of marrying. Her pimples were visible now- a dark red and burgundy. He felt like pinching each one till they ran blood.

“I didn’t expect such a response Raghav. What other way is there for me to assess you? Look around you.” Raghav looked around and the room was taking shape. Besides the bed and the cane chair and the window, there were several cupboards lined up- all of them were filled with books in various states of decay. “These are the books that I got from my uncle. He’s a professor in Delhi. He’s what you would call an omnivorous reader- he reads just about anything-horticulture, space travel, the double helix, the Upanishads and pigeons.”

Raghav was still trying to get her point. He was baffled by his inability to recall the capital of Romania, as though he had found himself in one of those exam hall dreams.

“What I’m trying to say Raghav is that I have to read all these books- that’s a promise I’ve made myself. I live and breathe books and if you don’t know who wrote A Tale of two cities then we might as well call it wraps.”

That was easy enough, Raghav mused. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? The questionnaire to every girl he met before they decided to take the plunge and share fantasies that hardly matched.

He couldn’t believe it though when he found himself saying, ”but Mohini I could learn.”

Mohini sat up in her chair and looked at him as though to say but I didn’t see that coming.

“Now I could ask you a few things too. You can call me a male chauvinist pig but all I need is someone who likes to listen to me talk and yes, I will be a chauvinist and ask you if you know how to make rajma.”

Mohini bit her lip in a state of dismay and amusement “Of course, not.” The wind blew the laced curtains upwards and she noticed the Nehruvian chin. She couldn’t help thinking how fine her children could look and she said, “But I could learn.”

The marriage was fixed soon after a skype chat that Mohini insisted on to know more about her future husband’s preferences. She had always thought her acne would prevent her from getting a groom and had devised so many methods to deal with rejection. She smiled hard for her marriage photo as she knew the man who stood beside her was a chauvinist she needed, by far the most handsome chauvinist she had ever learned to love.

Walking on a footpath of Ravindra Nath Tagore Marg, in Nagpur – the tiger capital of India, I saw a lady with a small voice recorder querying the people around her about something. Next to her was a man in typical journalist attire – a shirt and a pair of loose fitting cargos, with a sleeveless jacket over it. He was holding a camera and taking snaps. They seemed to be from the media and considering the ugly looks of the lady in question, they were definitely from the print media. Television news channels rarely hired ordinary looking folk.

In desperate need of publicity, I deliberately slowed down, as I neared them. Chhinka, who was walking beside me moved away hastily. He didn’t like the media.

The ugly lady noticed me and asked “Hey you, do you know who was our first prime minister?”

I realized that this was for some Republic day special column to be printed the next day.

“Ya…its..Pandit Jawaharlal Nehruji.”

Adding ‘ji’ was an attempt to be extra polite as I wanted to be in that column.

She said “Oh great, now tell me one word that links Nehruji and Love?”

On hearing that question, anyone would have replied ‘patriotism’, but for some unknown reason, I uttered “Rose”

-“Rose! That’s quite a different answer.”

The reporter seemed impressed. They then wrapped up their kit and were about to leave. I stopped the lady and asked “Excuse me m’am, where will be this interview printed?”

-“If your words get selected, they will appear in tomorrow’s TOI with your picture.”

Whilst the lady was talking to me, the man next to her snapped my photograph and asked for my name and profession.

I replied “John Perrera. I am a still photographer.”

And then they left.

I continued towards my house near the end of the lane. It was on the first floor; a single room, partitioned with a curtain to convert the smaller part into a kitchen. Chhinka and I stayed there for a rent of 4000 Rs.

Climbing the wooden stairs, as soon as I entered the room, Chhinka shouted “Hey, why do you always speak to the media guys? You know that these people are not good for me. And by the way, let me remind you that you have to complete your Valentine’s Day project.”

I “Oh yes, the last date for submission is 13^th Feb. I tell you, this topic is really tough for me.”

Chhinka “Ok now, I will leave for work.”

-“Chhinka, we have to pay our rent soon. Be ready with your share. I don’t want our landlord to get annoyed. She was the only one who agreed to give her house on rent to two homeless 22 yr old guys.”

After some time, I went out with my SLR camera, in search of some good shots, that would suit Valentine’s Day, but hardly got any good pictures and when I came home, I was already tired, so I fell asleep in a second.

 

Next day 9 am

I was eager to watch my photo in TOI. Quickly rushing through the pages, scanning every part of every page, I finally found my face in a corner with some lines, my name and profession written next to it.

I felt like showing it to someone else, but there was no one except my room mate “Did you see this?”

He nodded, while sipping tea.

– “This is the kick start of my career. One day, I will be a great photographer.”

The moment I said that, Chhinka started sneezing heavily, which was usual for him, and also the reason his name was kept ‘Chhinka’, which meant ‘sneeze’ in Marathi.

But this was the wrong moment for the sneezes as it was considered as bad luck. Though I didn’t believe in such things, I felt like bashing him today. I moved towards him and as I was about to catch hold of his collar, he handed 2000Rs in my hand “Here is my share of the rent.”

I took it and calmed down “Good, by the way, from whose pocket has it come this time?”

Chhinka “A foreigner…careless people, they can’t acclimatize to Indian conditions.”

Chhinka was a talented thief, talented enough to make around 6 to 7 thousand a month. I never questioned him about this, as sometimes this was an economic support for a struggler like me.

 

10^th Feb 9 am

We were not routine drinkers, but that day he got some big, money filled wallet. So, we decided to have some Vodka in our little place, with doors and windows closed, so that our landlord wouldn’t know.

Chhinka “So John, how’s your work going on?’

Me “Not good, you know na, I am least interested in these love topics, so I don’t have any idea as to what to snap for the Valentine Day project.”

Chhinka “Why re..ok.. just tell me today…here itself…right now….why you hate love. I mean, you don’t stare at girls; you don’t interact with much people…why?

Me “I don’t hate love yaar, it’s just that I am…scared of it.”

Chhinka “Scared!…why? Latex Rubber has been invented, my friend.”

Me “Chhe, it’s not that. You know, when I was in fifth standard, I had a dog named ‘Blacky’. I loved him a lot. I used to be with him for most of the time. He used to sleep on my lap. Though he wasn’t able to speak human language, I could understand his moves. But then one day, he stopped eating. I tried a lot to feed him, but he used to keep his mouth tightly closed. I told this to my dad, to which he slapped me and kept me away from my dog. I kept crying the whole night. Next day, when I woke up, I ran to Blacky to see that he was totally cold and stiff. Flies were all around him. He had died. I cried fir almost a week and even now, I can’t forget that sight.

My sorrows didn’t stop over here. When I was in 11^th standard, my both parents died a railway accident. I wasn’t allowed to see their covered bodies. I wasn’t sad for my dad’s death…not at all, but my mother…she was my life. She too left me…that too so early.

In the next few days, I involuntarily analysed the reason for my grief, and I concluded only one thing that in both incidents, I felt sad because I loved them.

So, in the next few weeks, I found a way to avoid being unhappy by avoiding to love anyone. When I will not love anyone, obviously I will not feel sad if they leave me.”

Chhinka “Man, I am talli now, and kasam se…your funda is bouncer for me. achha leave it, tell me, did you have crush on anyone in college days?”

Me “Yes, there was one girl….Rose Dcosta. I liked her, but I deliberately avoided her.”

Chhinka “Why…now please don’t tell me the same ‘scared’ reason.”

Me “Ya, that’s the reason.”

Chhinka “Oh my God…achha sun, now the talks and vodka both are over, so lets sleep and good night.”

 

Next day 12 pm

I and Chhinka were at All Saints Cathedral church. The place is always full of tourists and thus surrounded by small stalls of books, toys, clothes and many more. But the place which was my favorite was the open space in the right side of the church, occupied by the pigeons. People fed grains to them.

Chhinka was busy with his work, looking for some prey, while I was looking for some lovely moments to snap.

Chhinka, who I think was finding it hard to show his talent in such an open space, came to me and said “John bhai, take the pictures of these pigeons, while they fly. It would make a nice pic.”

It was absurd for me to follow his suggestion, but I didn’t want to depress him by denying him, so I clicked a few shots, while Chhinka tried to make their wings work. We did that for some time, after which even the pigeons got frustrated and left the place, leaving the grains as it is. After that, Chhinka moved away and I got busy trying to take pics of couples present there.

Suddenly, a lady started crying loudly “Somebody stole my mobile, please help.”

I could only hear her voice as she was surrounded by the crowd gathered to help her. But I knew the culprit was Chhinka, so I too vanished from the place.

After having lunch and evening work session, I came home and asked Chhinka “What brother, which mobile it was…. the lady’s?”

Chhinka laughed “Samsung Wave.”

Giving a smiley nod, I moved to my computer table to copy today’s snaps. I did that and was tired to have a look at them, so shut down my computer and joined Chhinka in his celebration.

 

Next day

I was taking a look at yesterday’s pics. They were good. But the photo that glued my eyes to it was those of the pigeons as I was startled to see those photos, not because of the pigeons, but because of the lady standing far behind the pigeons. She was Rose Dcosta. I had seen her after almost 6-7 yrs, but still looked the same, as beautiful as during college days.

Don’t know why, I felt like meeting her, atleast once, to say her “Hello”. I quickly moved out of my chair to leave for church, but then I realised that I was being overanxious. So, I sat back on my chair. I stared at her photo, zooming it. There I got a clue to meet her. She was carrying a novel in her hand. It was ‘A tale of two cities’ by Charles Dickens. And then I recollected that there was only one bookseller in that nearby area, so I rushed to the church and then to that bookseller and inquired him about Rose showing him the photo. He said that she was the same girl whose mobile was stolen a day before. I felt sad after hearing that, but later, I was happy for it as I knew that the mobile thief was none other than Chhinka.

Sprinting from there, I came to Chhinka “Where is yesterday’s stolen mobile?”

Chhinka, with the mobile in his hand “Here it is, why?”

Me “Give it to me; I am going to the lady for returning it.”

Chhinka “Hey, why are you putting me in a problem. Why are you being so polite, suddenly. Police will trace me through you.”

Me “She is my college friend. Nothing will happen. I’ll tell that I got it somewhere…say in the train.”

I took the mobile, inserted the sim card and called the last dialed number. It was ‘Rose 2’. I didn’t have the guts to say who I was. So, I pretended to be a stranger and told her to meet me near the church.

Chhinka “John, what about your Valentine’s Day project, is it done? Tomorrow is the last day.”

I nodded and left.

When I reached the church, I saw that she was already there. She was dressed in blue jeans and a red winter jacket. She was looking cuter than earlier. She didn’t wear cap to cover her head, which was making me feel uncomfortable.

As soon as I reached near her, she recognized me and surprisingly asked “John..you here?”

I wanted to hug her in return, but involuntarily my hand stretched to give her mobile, handed it to her and without saying a word, I started moving back.

She stopped me “John, why are you scared. I want to say you something, something that I had said you earlier too. But that time, you had denied my love and went away without saying a word. But today, I want a reply from you. John, I love you and I know you love me too.”

I stayed silent and stood there.

She continued “John, now its enough. Why are you doing this to me? It’s been 6 years, but still I am not able to forget you and I suppose you too are not able to forget me.”

I had to turn to her after listening to those words. I quickly hugged her and kissed her on her lips. She didn’t resist me but smiled, which I sensed by her lip movements, as both of us had closed our eyes. We kissed each other till we opened our eyes. I looked in her deep affectionate eyes and confessed “I love you Rose, I had loved you since college days, but I was scared to tell you that because I was scared from the grief of losing you some day.”

Rose “I know that, that is why I had to play this little drama of getting robbed, to help your feeling of love overpower your fear. If I would have directly approached you, you would have again denied me. So I took help of your friend Chhinka.”

Chhinka appeared from somewhere “Yes John, did you remember it was me who told you to snap those pigeons. I knew that Rose was standing in the background.”

Me “But, when did you plan all this?”

Rose “On 26^th January, in TOI newspaper, I saw your photo. After that, I contacted the reporter. She told me that she did the reporting at the Ravindra Nath Tagore Marg. I inquired a bit over that place and I got to know about your location. Then, I met Chhinka some days later and told him about us and further he helped me with the plan.”

I was really surprised to hear that. I saw at Chhinka “Yaar, thank you very much, I will pay half your share for the next months rent.”

Me and Rose laughed at that, while Chhinka seriously said “I am serious about the rent thing, you will have to keep your promise.”

“Waise John, what about tomorrow’s Valentine Day submission?”

Rose “Don’t worry; as now he is in love, he will understand it well.”

 

Next day

Finally, my photo was selected for the largest space in the magazine by the senior photographer. It was all because of Rose. It was her idea of that awesome snap. Rose and I are happily spending every moment of our lives with each other and now I am not scared from love.

And talking about the photo.

It showed an old lady with an old man sharing the same shawl walking past the windy lane.

It depicted the fact that one day, one of them is going to leave the other, but still they love each other, not feared of their separation.

Colonel Rohan Singh had completed his last recce along the LOC, and returned to his bunker. It had been his home for three long years. His inexhaustible source of encouragement against the threat of terrorists on one hand and the blistering cold on the other, had come from the memory of a beautiful doe-eyed damsel. Night after night when the fear of militant guns kept him awake, he would conjure up the face of a feisty young woman, who had wrapped him around her little finger with her captivating voice and exuberance. Now that his battalion would be moving to warmer climes and to civilization, he would track her down.

“If only I had a homing pigeon to carry a message telling her that she has never been out of my thoughts! For all I know, she would burst into peals of laughter and say ‘Of all the modern contraptions available, must this romantic fool contact me through a pigeon?’ I’ll find her wherever she is and convince her that she’s the girl for me.”

Before this posting, Rohit had been A.D.C. to the Governor of Karnataka. He was the pick of the crop by virtue of his excellent work, charismatic personality and impeccable manners. Tall and well- built, with a well chiseled nose and features, he could have easily passed off as Nehru’s progeny. That was what Aarthi had blurted out on their very first meeting.

“Gosh! If Nehru and Edwina had cohabited, I’m sure they would have had a son just like you. Are you by any chance related to any one of them?”

Rohan had been stunned speechless for a while. His face had coloured up like a beetroot.

“If only this cheeky girl wasn’t the Governor’s niece I’d have tweaked her nose until it hurt. Doesn’t she realise that I’m not a playboy but a respected officer in the Army?”

Then she had smiled, and that smile had erased every trace of impudence.

“My aunt says that when you are not dancing attendance on her, you’ll be my escort for the duration of my stay in Bangalore. And I hope you’re going to give me the time of my life. Or else……..”

“Or else what?” he challenged, deciding to treat her like the brat she was proving to be.

“Or else it will be a waste of my precious holiday. I want to take my mind off my studies and just enjoy myself. This will be my last year at the Medical College in Nagpur.”

“Nagpur? Why did you choose such a hot and crowded place? It’s only good for growing oranges.”

“Because I’m not the brightest of students, and I couldn’t get a seat anywhere else,” she laughed.

Rohan had been very surprised when the Governor called him aside one day.

“I want a favour from you Colonel. This is not part of your duty and if you don’t feel up to it, feel free to refuse.”

“At your service Ma’am,” he said, hoping that it wouldn’t be something that clashed with his code of ethics. Then he would have to refuse and perhaps incur her anger.

“My niece Aarthi will be arriving in a few days to spend her vacation here. She’s like a daughter to me as she has lost both her parents. So I want this to be a happy interlude in her otherwise busy life. She works hard at her studies – a real bookworm! But she’s warm and loving and can be gullible too. So keep her interested. Find something for her to do. And I trust you know where to draw the line.”

“But excuse me Ma’am, where will I find time to chaperone her around?”

“Chaperone is the wrong word. She’ll bristle up like a porcupine if you use that word. Be a friend or a comrade or a buddy. No, I don’t want you to be her bodyguard around the clock. Take her out when you’re off duty. That will do. Bangalore provides enough entertainment for young people – theatre, movies, any form of clean entertainment. No pubs, no drinks and definitely no intimacy,” she warned, “I’ll meet all the expenses.”

“I’ll do my best Ma’am,” Rohan promised.

But Rohan soon realised that the Governor had actually done him a favour. Aarthi was intelligent, knowledgeable and fun to be with.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.

“Take me to all the places where my aunt won’t go,” she said, chuckling at her own joke.

“And for goodness sake don’t drive me around in a government vehicle. Do you have a motorbike?”

Rohan did have one. It was his preferred mode of transport when off duty. No one gave them a second look when they had their helmets on. By the end of the week they had become friends.

“Too much fraternizing isn’t going to be good for either of us. She’ll be gone in a couple of weeks. What then?” he wondered.

But Aarthi had no qualms. Rohan was so different from her college mates – so well mannered and gentle. Yet, not sycophantic because she was the Governor’s niece. He had a quiet dignity of his own, asserted himself when necessary and did not concur with some of her silly ideas. He was genuinely interested in her life at the Medical College, and listened when she shared her hopes, dreams and ambitions with him.

If only she knew what he wrote about her in his personal diary! Rohan loved poetry and used a quote from a lesser known poet.

“A woman of her gentle sex, a seeming paragon

The better elements and kindly stars have given

A form so fair that like the air,

‘Tis less of earth than heaven.”

Aarthi seemed very happy with the arrangement and the Governor was relieved.

“I’m enjoying my holiday so much that it will be difficult to get back into the studying mode,” Aarthi said.

“Is the Colonel good company?” the Governor asked.

“You couldn’t have chosen better, Aunty. He’s so mature. Not like some of the egoistic swollen heads I have for classmates or the giddy goats who ogle anything that passes in a skirt.”

The days passed swiftly in a flurry of activity. She liked being in the company of this strapping young man. Rohan too was conscious of her nearness. He had never been so close to any girl before. His job had taken up all his time and energy. However there was nothing romantic in their behaviour towards each other. Most people took them for siblings.

Rohan had shown her everything that was worth seeing in Bangalore – the Vidhan Soudha, Lalbagh, Bannerghatta, a play at Chowdiah Memorial Hall and a musical concert at Alliance Francais. They strolled through Cubbon Park when the evening shadows fell, and sipped Espresso Coffee at Barista’s. He took her through the crowds of shoppers on Commercial Street and watched as she bought junk jewellery from the roadside stalls.

“How she delights in little things!” Rohan observed, “I wish she could stay here for a few more weeks. She has made me sensitive to the things that I never bothered about before.”

Three weeks had flown by so quickly. It was Aarthi’s last day in Bangalore.

“Can I treat you to dinner tonight?” Rohan asked, “It will be a kind of farewell party.”

“That will be wonderful. Will you take me to your favourite restaurant?”

“Yes, it’s definitely my favourite eating place. But don’t expect the Taj. This is a cozy place called Red Rooster, which serves the finest tongue tickling cuisine. You’ll never forget the place.”

“No, I’ll never forget,” she said, looking straight into his eyes, “I have much to remember.”

Rohan looked down at his fingers. “I feel like I’m having a raging fever,” he thought. “Is this love or lust or plain infatuation? I’m praying that I’ll be true to the promise I made to the Governor. No intimacy, she had warned.”

But Aarthi had not restricted herself by promises to her aunt.

“This is the best place to say Goodbye,” she said, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheeks. “Thanks for everything. I’ll always remember you.”

Rohan’s tenure as A.D.C soon drew to a close. The Governor’s report was highly commendatory. Someone at head Quarters frowned at the kudos he had received.

“This guy has had a cushy posting in Bangalore. Now let’s put him in charge of a battalion and shunt him out to the border.”

Rohan Singh and his men were glad to be back in Delhi after three long years. He was due for leave and would put it to good use. He must find Aarthi. He had carried her picture too long in his heart.

“Will I be too late?” he wondered, “Would she have forgotten me? An attractive girl like her must be mobbed by eligible bachelors. She may even be married for all I know.”

Only recently he had read “The Tale of Two Cities.” Though he had been impressed by barrister Sydney Carton who had loved and lost, and thought nothing of sacrificing himself for the happiness of a woman he loved, Rohan didn’t think he would do the same.

“Married or not, I’ll find her and wean her away from the guy. If worst comes to worst, I’ll kidnap her and elope even if I have to carry her in my arms.”

Rohan found the address and telephone number of her college and hospital. Then he dialed the number on his mobile.

“Sorry,” the answer came, “Dr. Aarthi is not working here anymore. She may be at Jaslok Hospital in Mumbai. You can enquire there.”

Rohan boarded the train to Mumbai. It took a while to find the place and confirm that Aarthi was working there. The moral police were nowhere in sight and the shops were filled with young people buying Valentine cards and gifts. Rohan picked up a beautiful card.

“Will she? Won’t she?” he wondered, as he prevailed upon a peon to take his card to Aarthi.

“Will you be my Valentine?” he had scribbled inside and also given his mobile number.

Then he sat in the waiting area, with a bunch or red roses in his hand.

She looked very professional in her while coat and stethoscope dangling from her neck. Her hair was bunched up in a pony tail. Her eyes lit up when she saw him and she made one sprint across, waving the card and shouting for everyone to hear, “Of course I will, Of course I will.”

“Love knows no bounds of time or distance,” Rohan thought, his body trembling with anticipation of a new and exciting phase in his life.

He thrust the roses into her hand, and as their fragrance engulfed them, he whispered,

“My lovely Valentine!”

The sound of the flapping wings and the guttural noise, made Suchitra, sitting on a settee by the window, turn her head and look out. The darned bird was perched on the parapet of the balcony next to the tulsi and pecking into the soil in the pot. She rapped her knuckles on the window pane. It worked. But, the stretching out left wing of the pigeon almost got the pot. It gave the slightest of shakes, making her start unfolding her leg from under her, before it settled down.

What a day to spend the Sunday. She would rather have been arguing and teasing Arvind than be chasing the city pests from messing her balcony. She caught her breath as the thought entered her mind. She said aloud, “What was that again? But,…but…how can that be?” She jumped out of the bean bag, throwing the book in her hand to the floor, and paced a few steps around the room. Her ankle length crinkle skirt twirled as she walked about. She stopped at the mirror at her dressing table and looked up to see tears streaming down her eyes. She stood there staring at her reflection and wiped her wet face with the back of her hand in a quick swish. She paced about some more. She seemed to make her mind up as she picked up her mobile phone from the bean bag.

Almost as soon as she picked it, she threw it back. She picked up the phone again and looked for a number. She pressed ‘call’ and quickly disconnected it. She thought a minute and dialed again. She got the response “The number you are trying to reach has been switched off”. She said loudly, “No!” She flopped on her bed and buried her face in her hands. Few moments later, she looked up wiped her face and dialed another number on the phone.

“Hello Shweta”, she said not waiting to hear a response on the other end.

“Hi Suchi!! What a long time. You finally remembered me. What’s up? Are you alright?”

As soon as she heard the concern in her friend’s voice, Suchitra almost cried again. She said in a hurry, “Where is that damned brother of yours? Arvind?”

Suchitra heard a sigh on the phone line and then, “Suchi. Honestly, I don’t know. I am coming over now. You stay right there.”

Suchitra looked dazed. When she finally stood up, she reached over to the book, and sat on the bean bag just looking at the plants in the balcony her landlady watered regularly. She got up only when she heard the door bell.

Shweta was seated on the couch in the living room next to Suchitra. She handed the take away glass with milk shake to her friend saying, “The banana in this will pep you up. Have it. I picked it up on the way from your favourite hangout.”  She then said, “Arvind only told me he has quit his job and that he needs a break. He asked mom, dad and me not to try and reach him and that he will connect with us. In the last couple of months, he has called us once. But, he did not say anything about what he is doing and where he is. Mom is really going bonkers trying to figure it out. Dad is trying his best to pacify her, but I can see he can’t understand why after having spent so much money on his Ivy league MBA, he could just one day give up his ‘Senior manager’ position and vanish. He can’t get over the fact that his son has come back to India after that big education and now this…” Shweta paused to look into her friends gleaming eyes and asked in exasperation, “When will you both stop being crazy?”

Suchitra could only splutter, “What did I do? I did nothing.”

“Did you not send him away?”

“Send him away?! Most definitely not. I just told him that he does not understand my world and way of living. He has grown up in all this money and has everything. I did not have any of that. I was lucky to have got into college and a scholarship on merit and because of my hockey, managed an MBA in this city college. Your dad paid for his education when he wanted to do the same in Harvard. There is no connect, you know. After that I did not hear from him. How can I be responsible for his actions?”

Shweta took a sip from her glass before responding, “But, Arvind did not want to go abroad to study. He kept saying he wants to work in India and does not care for a US degree. Dad did not listen to him. And mom said that once he has his degree he can decide what he wants to do. Finally, that is what he did. He finished that degree and took up a job here, much to dad’s dismay. You know that!”

“So, where is he now?” Suchitra scooped the milk shake from her glass with a spoon and then licked her lips.

“See, he quit here in Bangalore and went to meet mom and dad. He just told them he needs to do more directly for the people who really need help. He would not say more.”

“How do I reach him then?” Suchitra had an edge to her voice. She did not wait for a response. She stood up and said, “Ok, I will make a couple of calls to work and then I head to Majestic.” Shweta could only gasp before Suchitra continued, “I suppose busses to Nagpur leave only at night?”

“But mom and dad themselves…” Shweta could not finish as Suchitra interrupted her and said, “Somebody there would.”

Shweta said hurriedly, “I am coming with you. I will tell dad to send a pickup…”

Her pal said firmly, “No Shweta, I need to do this alone. I will anyway be in touch with you on the phone”.

Shweta sighed and said softly, “Alright. I know you. But do not vanish, ok?” And then she added, “Anyway, that’s my girl. I know you will find him.”

When Suchitra reached Arvind’s parents’ home the next morning, they received her warmly and not a bit surprised. His mother let her freshen up and gave her a hearty breakfast. They knew her as Shweta’s friend and it was tricky for her to ask about Arvind. She tried to be casual about it and finally asked about him while digging into the poha. His mom looked at her a second longer before she said, “Beta, Arvind does not tell us where he is. His father is so angry with him. But I know my son is made differently. Why does he not tell us what he is doing?”

Aunty told her of the various ways they had tried to get the information from him, but to no avail. It had been two months now and all they knew was that he was doing well and told them he was happy when he had called once, about a month ago. But she had heard the sadness in his voice. His dad had tried to find out from all his connections, and he was not working in any of the cities where they had branches to their business. Suchitra could only say, “Aunty, is there any hint or clue you could get from his discussions? Anything he suggested?”

“No beta. Before he left I was so upset that I had told him, “At least be like your papa. He is doing seva for people by giving them jobs and salaries. You do something similar too. You know he said that he is planning on the same lines and that he will let us know when the time is right. All he said is he is still close to us.”

Suchitra almost dropped her glass of fruit punch she was holding in her hand, and jumped up. “Aunty that is it. I know what he is doing.” She was made to finish breakfast before she got up and this gave her time to get details on the various bus stops and places around.

Taking her bag and a basket of food, which Arvind’s mother insisted she carry, she set off. She had to brush off aunty’s insistence of sending a car with a driver or coming along too, but not before she had said, “Beti, now only you can probably make him see sense. And you take care of yourself as well!”

As the bus started on its two hour ride to Sevagram, It kept halting at every stop to pick up people who kept streaming in. Suchitra could not even spend time with her thoughts. The bus was barely moving. Did it have to stop at every bus stop and why did so many people want to travel anyway? They seemed to somehow conspire and not let her think of Arvind…No…Not let her read…

She opened her book to page seventeen. She could not see what was on the page. All she could see was Arvind and his expression, when she had said, “What do you know of my trials. You see them through the comfort of your home.” He had come that eventful Saturday evening to talk about being together.

Arvind had said with infinite patience to what now seemed, her agitated rant, “Suchi, have I not seen you since you were with Shweta in the first? I…”

She had not let him speak, “That is different. You have to live this life to know.”  She had picked up the “The Tale of Two Cities” lying on her desk, that she had got the unabridged version of, and waving it at his face had said, “See what poverty does to people. What the rich can do to the poor and how they take advantage of it. It can change peoples’ lives.”

Why had she over reacted? She could have been more sympathetic. He had never shown an attachment to his wealth in his ways. She had not seen him go out to party or flaunt his dad’s glitzy new cars. He had not wanted to go for an international education. He had been so supportive of her and her family’s situation and had helped them with opportunities and sometimes even monetarily. It was her fortune that she had got into the school with Shweta due to the generosity of the school management where Arvind’s father was the board member. Arvind had somehow made sure she and her younger brother went through school without having financial worries.

Hearing her reaction, Arvind had just stood there looking down. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He tried again and then gave up. He had then turned around and left.

She had not heard from him since then. She looked back into the book and saw she was on page nineteen. What had happened from page seventeen anyway? She turned the pages back angrily. Then she looked at her watch. Wow! She should have reached by now. Why was the bus taking forever for this short ride? She shut her book, put it in her handbag and quickly cleaned up her windblown hair with her hand. She adjusted her dupatta over her head to protect from the sun outside as she stepped off. She sat up straight with the bag on her shoulder and ready to run off the bus the moment it stopped and the door opened.

The bus halted finally and as she stood up, she could see that she could not get off as she had planned. Passengers had to collect the baggage from the rack above, the small baby had to be picked up, belongings checked and it did not help her growing consternation. When she alighted at last, she stood still. Her thoughts had been so focused on reaching this town that she had not thought of what she really would do next. As the woman behind, stepping off the bus, bumped into her, she looked up and froze.

Arvind was standing in front of her taking her bag from her hand. He was saying, “Just step here.” She could only look at him. He was wearing a light blue short sleeved shirt over faded jeans, his trademark. When they were a few steps away, she stopped and could just say, “Arvind,…”.

He looked at her intensely and said, “Two months, twenty two days six hours…” and looking at his watch added, “…and fourteen minutes”.

She was still staring. Realizing he had said something, she said, “What?”

“Since I saw you last.” He had the slightest of smiles on his face.

She had never noticed, he had the sweetest of smiles. And his eyes were so deep brown. What had she been thinking all these days? She said, “How did you know?”

“I decided to speak to mom thinking she would be worried. When I called her she said you were coming here. I asked her not to call you on the mobile and say anything.” Then with a grin he said, “I have been standing here for forty seven minutes watching the three other busses that came here before this one. But tell me how did you think I would be here?”

“I remembered what I told you last. Aunty said she had asked you to do seva. So I thought Sevagram is close to Nagpur and so…”

“You, silly! I am not here. I am in a village an hour away from here. I had to hire a cab and drive here as fast as I could.”

They had started to walk now. She had to shade her eyes from the blaze of the setting sun ahead of them. She said, “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I found this village where farmers were in deep shock over some of them taking their lives. I was with them for a few days when I was reminded of your comments on Nehru’s socialism. I am setting up a cell to help with their cotton production…”

She burst out, “Why Arvind?”

He stopped, looked at her and said in a hurt voice,” Suchi, you told me I had to live the life to know it. There was no way I could do it where my parents could find me. I had to do this on my own.”

“Why did you not choose a different part of Nehru’s personality to follow!?” She said agitatedly.

It was his turn to say, “What?!”

“Why did you not have an affair or something?”

“You want me to have an affair??”

She said softly “Do you have to do all I ask you to?” She walked close to him and put her hand out to hold his.

Before announcing the winners, we are posting the top five entries (complete storie) on the blog one by one. Hope you enjoy reading them!

Entry Id 1147: Fire’s Sermon by Mohit Sharma

“Shyama!”

This word, this name is placed in my memory with an audio file. Voice of my neighbor Mr. Sumit Talwar calling his wife loud and…Sounding…harsh. Though, Shyama was often heard laughing and seen standing on a balcony smiling. Few neighbors residing close were amazed by such contrasting voices. One thing was sure that she was happy and everyone was unable to decipher Mr. Talwar’s expressions and actions to say that a ‘muscleman’, his every action and word was like a semi-slow motion and surprisingly delicate considering his heavyweight frame. Mr. Talwar’s first impression to many was ignorant and rude. Almost zero social circle, very poor attendance in festive or social gatherings, almost no facial expressions like Rahul Dravid batting on the Fourth Boring day of Cricket test match heading towards a Draw. He works in State Archives Department currently working on ‘Nehru project’, digitizing, preserving and analyzing the documents related to India’s first Prime Minister Late Pandit Jawahar Lal Nehru. Maybe the boring nature of his job was the reason for his inscrutable behavior.

Entry Id 1148: The Platform Ticket by Shashank Teotia

It was 02:05 AM. I had stepped down the last bogey. I could not find Naina in the train. In five minutes, the train would leave Nagpur and the chilly swirling fog would wrap and take away all my hope of meeting her into darkness.

This was the last train that left Nagpur. I looked around. A sea of snoring porters surrounded me. All oblivious to the flurry of activity the platform witnessed when the train had rolled in. Of course, oblivious too to my sorry state.

I sat down on the bench before AS2. She had been traveling in the same compartment, which stood in front of me, the last time I had met her. Since the last four days I had been doing the same routine. Waited for the train to arrive, search for Naina and then sat here on the bench, while the train rumbled away. I would then finish the sandwich I had been carrying for her and then make my move. At that hour, perhaps I would be the only moving soul than the restless pigeons and the flashing light bulbs on the weighing scales.

Oh God! I had been so sure I would find her today. I shifted in the bench, sent out a thousand prayers. I looked around. Platform number 10. She was studying in Hyderabad and I was at Nagpur. She would travel once in two months and we would meet for ten minutes. I would be there waiting for her with coffee and some sandwiches I made. Umpteen times I had asked her not to eat so late but she would just flick her hair and smile back at me.

“And spoil my appetite for these? She would point at the double cheese veg sandwiches. “Never till my dying day yaara!” And we would laugh. Then perhaps we would quietly slip into the arms of the night, trying to forget where we stood. Next to a resting monster, which would carry her away. We created memories in those ten minutes and lived them till we met again.

“I am still mad at you for not meeting me the last time.”

“Naina, you know that I missed the train because of that stupid cow who came in my way when I was coming to the station. I was lucky I got away. I was damn sure the crowd would beat me up for being rude to the cow.” I grinned, “I think you are going to complain to me about it for the rest of my life.”

“That is, if we will remain together for the rest of our lives.”

Entry Id 1149: Fear of Love by Makarand Lohire

Walking on a footpath of Ravindra Nath Tagore Marg, in Nagpur – the tiger capital of India, I saw a lady with a small voice recorder querying the people around her about something. Next to her was a man in typical journalist attire – a shirt and a pair of loose fitting cargos, with a sleeveless jacket over it. He was holding a camera and taking snaps. They seemed to be from the media and considering the ugly looks of the lady in question, they were definitely from the print media. Television news channels rarely hired ordinary looking folk.

In desperate need of publicity, I deliberately slowed down, as I neared them. Chhinka, who was walking beside me moved away hastily. He didn’t like the media.

The ugly lady noticed me and asked “Hey you, do you know who was our first prime minister?”

I realized that this was for some Republic day special column to be printed the next day.

“Ya…its..Pandit Jawaharlal Nehruji.”

Adding ‘ji’ was an attempt to be extra polite as I wanted to be in that column.

She said “Oh great, now tell me one word that links Nehruji and Love?”

On hearing that question, anyone would have replied ‘patriotism’, but for some unknown reason, I uttered “Rose”

-“Rose! That’s quite a different answer.”

The reporter seemed impressed. They then wrapped up their kit and were about to leave. I stopped the lady and asked “Excuse me m’am, where will be this interview printed?”

-“If your words get selected, they will appear in tomorrow’s TOI with your picture.”

Whilst the lady was talking to me, the man next to her snapped my photograph and asked for my name and profession.

I replied “John Perrera. I am a still photographer.”

And then they left.

 

Entry Id 1140: Forever Mine, Forever Yours by Arundhati Khopker

Standing under the blazing sun, she stood looking around as if looking for something. She looked high and low but then in distraction bowed her shoulders as if giving up at the futile attempt. She lifted her hands to her eyes and her shoulders shook in a sobbing motion. “Its useless now, I’ll never find it! What will Dad say?” she exclaimed.. As she turned around to give up her search, she heard someone say, “Excuse me, Ma’am are you searching for something?”  Lifting her tear-stained face, her eyes reflected a glow of hope as she turned eagerly around to see the speaker. What she saw was a young man in white slacks, red t-shirt and a diamond ear-ring in his ear glistening in the bright noon sun. “Did you say something to me?” “Yup, you seem to be searching for something very precious and I thought I might help you. Don’t get me wrong, I was just trying to help since I might have found what you seem to have lost.”  She looked at him with a quizzing look but he said, “I found this mobile on the bench where you were sitting earlier this morning before the invocation programme.Then you left leaving it here.”  She looked   at his extended hand to see that her precious mobile was safe and as she grabbed it from him. He looked impishly at her as she stared at him and muttered a brief ‘thank you’. Bowing her head so as not to show her embarrassment, she was about to turn away when a loud flapping of wings sharply brought her head into the direction of the sound. It was a gray and white pigeon with a red band around his neck and   a purple string wound around its feet. It flew around   both of them  taking two  turns and then  after gazing at her in suspended   astonishment, flew  away in the near by bushes. She froze but then looked at her savior saying, “What was that?”

Entry Id 1145:You Just Know When You Know by Sumedha Menon

“A Tale of Two cities”- It was one of her favourite books. She had read it so many times, she could narrate it in her sleep. And on this 8 hour flight to India, she wanted to rekindle the romance. She was exhausted, for she had been swamped with work for days and was looking forward to being home after 6 months. Although, to be honest, she was unsure how much time she would actually be able to spend at home. Afterall one of the reasons she was flying back in the first place was to meet and get to know this ‘boy’, before they finally (hopefully) gave their consent to get married to each other. It still seemed a little strange to her, how she had got herself into this whole thing. She never really appreciated the Indian institution of ‘arranged marriages’. The same way she never understood the fuss about ‘blind dates’ .The whole idea of meeting someone with the sole purpose of judging them made her queasy

Not that there was any pressure from her family, for her parents were fairly open minded. But both they and she realized that it was improbable that an ambitious, successful 27 year old Indian lawyer living in London for 5 years and working 60-100 hours a week, would just run into a ‘suitable match’ (as they liked to think, or ‘man of her dreams’ as she did) one fine day. So when her parents had mentioned that a family friend had told them about this ‘eligible boy’, Rudra, she thought what the heck! His background seemed impressive – Kellogg MBA, worked for top tier I-bank, well read, well-travelled, and she liked what she saw of him on Facebook.

Entry Id 1146: Blue Rose by Souvik Das

Polly is already on her way to India. She is my co-researcher in our botany project named “Lucie”. We had been trying hard for more than 4 years now to win the 0.5MM Fr prize money declared by the Belgian Botanical Society for creating the first true sustainable blue rose in the world. In these 4 years we never met, but just shared our research progresses regularly. We believe to be very near to the huge breakthrough. Today the 28^th of January, 2005. We plan to succeed by the 7^th of Feb, the Rose Day, and gift the whole world the first beautiful blue rose ever.

I called up Polly from my mobile. “Bonjour Madame. How far are you? Pas de problem? Call me as soon you land in Nagpur. I will be waiting at the airport”.

I have a small lab here in Nehru Nagar, Nagpur. My dad, a puritan school teacher, passed away when I was just 10. Since then, it was my mom who brought me up along with my grandfather. My dadaji was a gardener to the great Nehru family. He had seen Jawaharji become the leader, the PM and then expire, but always with a red rose close to his chest. I remember dadaji always telling me “Papa, I have named you after Papa Meilland, a famous exotic breed of dark red French roses, my favourites. You must grow up to become something special amongst others. You must make us proud”. These words rang in my ears. For dadaji is suffering from a rare form of silicosis, helpless, for it is a disease for the very rich. I thought for a moment. We have to succeed. We have to win the prize money. I have to cure my dadaji. My eyes filled up with bitter water.

Polly is a middle class, young botanist. Very talented in flowers, as well as in literature. She has a special likeness for Victorian novelists, esp. Charles Dickens. His ‘Tale of Two Cities’ is her favourite since it portrays Paris and London during the old days. It is after the beautiful Lucie from this novel that our research was named. Polly won’t accept any other name at all. We have reached very near to the end of our mission, our dream, our life. Name really matters no more.

Entry Id 1138: A Journey to the Heart by Amar Agarwala

Flight lieutenant Vaibhav Sahai, was running late for his flight to Mumbai. As he rushed towards Gate No.26 of Terminal One located at the extreme end of the Frankfurt International Airport, the nagging pain in his left ankle made his progress tardy, it vaguely irritated him for his hand trolley was heavier than he had planned.

At another terminal of the same airport, Tina Ramchand, was rushing too, her connecting flight to Mumbai was scheduled in another half an hour, the air-hostess had verbally informed that her gate would be No.26, stating the change of terminals was due to congestion in Terminal Three, where the flight had landed from Casablanca.

A few minutes to 11:00 a.m., before Gate No.26 finally closed, both passengers almost collided into one another having just reached their check-in gate, it was their final call.  Vaibhav, managed to nudge ahead of Tina, and was checked in before her, much to her annoyance. Having to wait, she remarked rather audibly to the flight attendant checking her in, “Talk about chivalry in men,” then she sprinted ahead into the flight alley.

“Wonder if civilians know much about chivalrous behavior,” Vaibhav commented audibly enough as Tina rushed passed him in the alley.

Entry Id  1139: Kendra by Sujata Biswas

Kendra was born in a very rich Brahmin family in the Educational center of east India- the anglicized Calcutta but always called Kolkata. Her family members were either pandits or jute merchants. Kendra was a scholar in literature and like most Calcuttans was a singer. Kendra’s baba, Ramdas Choudhry, a very famous Jute merchant, called her Kokil. Kedra lost her mother at the age of five in the episode of communal violence in Kolkata in1946. This incident had impacted Kendra severely. Being the only child she used to share her life with a very old inherited diary from her Great grandfather who used to work with the Nawabs. She started her day by singing to her father and visiting the Kalibari. Reading 2 pages from her favorite novel her mother used to read- “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens was like a ritual for Kendra. Whole day she would spend helping her father in his business.

Their mansion, “Ichaa” was located in the beautiful enthralling banks of Hoogli. Ichaa was surrounded by lush green trees and 2 temples on the adjacent side. Kendra had a small garden and in the center of the garden is where she used to grow red roses, her favorite flower as our very own Panditji Jawaharlal Nehru. Stuck on a small card at one corner of her rose garden was Panditji’s picture. Entire evening she would sit by the garden chanting songs and reading the novel. Ramdas or Choudhryda as his loved ones called him would see his daughter from his room and get worried about her obsession with her book, her garden and her name.

Entry Id 1121: The Funny Thing Called Love by Vibha Batra

It was the month of August that Anusha decided to take things into her own hands. Some people claim that on Independence Day, she was switching channels, when she came across Nehru’s famous ‘Tryst with Destiny’ speech. And she was inspired. She would keep her trust with destiny indeed. She would act on her desires all right.

Problem was she couldn’t propose to Raghav. How could she? She was a girl, a passably good looking one, at that. And no self-respecting, decent looking girl would go out on a limb and profess her feelings for a guy, no matter how strongly she felt for him. Ego before heart, self before other and all that, you see.

So she did the next best thing. She picked up her biggest weapon, her mobile phone, inserted a brand new sim, changed her voice and called him up. A ‘Secret Admirer’, of course. Did Raghav actually chat with the random caller? How could he not? It was a girl’s voice. And it sounded good. A killer combo, if you ask any boy. He was in the Hot Seat and his feelings for Janani simply had to take a backseat.

Nights melted into days, days melted into weeks. Raghav wanted to meet the girl who stole away his dreams (he felt as if he hadn’t slept in days, hooked as he was to the mobile phone). He demanded a rendezvous. Anusha complied. It was face off time.

Entry Id 1127: The Story of My Love by Kulmohan Kaur

I sat engrossed in my thoughts. As the clock ticked away towards making me a year older, my thoughts flew back to the days when I was just reaching my adolescence. It was during those days of innocence and carefree life that I first saw her. She was the prefect of our school. That day she had won the trophy for the best student and was standing to pose for the camera. I was distracted from the class and tried to get a better look from the window of my class and got told off for doing so. However, the face of the girl remained etched in my thoughts.

In the course of the next few weeks I got glimpses of her various talents, be it as an orator at various debate competitions or as a singer when she sang on Children’s Day. She also gave a speech on why the birthday of Pandit Nehru is celebrated as Children’s Day. I came to know then that it was because he loved children. There must have been many speeches before that day. But this time, the one I loved was speaking and I was bound to pay attention.

I tried to get her attention but nothing I did seemed to be enough. There was only one way I could get a chance to tell her my feelings. I came to know that she loves feeding the pigeons at the corner of the road just before her house. That day I seized the opportunity and went to the place. I too bought seeds for feeding and went up to her. She was surprised to see me but didn’t talk. I took it as a good omen because this meant that she had at least recognized me as her schoolmate. This meant that she took notice of me at school.