Homecoming
(s-kpost)


- It's been ten years since she left for the States. It's been such a long time, it seems. I hope she hasn't changed. I haven't ? not for her, that is!

And now, that the day I've been waiting for over such a long time has arrived, I'm justifiably nervous. She'll be here, yet again!

She's said she would call me at the first opportunity she gets. But this wait is getting intolerably long. Each passing moment is draining me, sapping my vitality away. My adrenalin level has gone haywire. My heart is pounding and skipping beats for the love of my life.

This darn telephone! Why doesn't it ring now? A thousand wrong numbers yesterday, the constant whirrs driving me crazy. And today, like the lull before a storm, it's making my wait excruciating.

But what will I say when she calls? Will even a single word come out of my mouth? Or, will she blabber on endlessly, like she used to? And I solicitously listening? But surely, she must've changed after Mallika?

Those were the days! The days I eagerly waited for her calls. It seemed forever, before the phone rang, always startling me by its sudden, shrill buzz. I'm no less zealous as I await her call today. But how much has she changed?

Does she still love homemade chocolate-caramel ice cream? Does she twitch her nose when nervous, like she used to? Does she peal into laughter at the slightest prompting? More important, oh yes, it is all that matters: Does she still love me?

She can't blame me for all that went wrong, for sure! She's the most culpable, not even her parents. Where was her infallible resoluteness that I was such a big fan of when she needed it the most?

But, try as I might to believe otherwise, things have changed. Laxmi and little Sakshi are as much a part of my life now as she is. She must have similar feelings for Mridush and little Manav. The milieu of the French Quarters in Louisiana must have had some impact on her as well.

But why is she coming alone? Why is her family not accompanying her? Perhaps, Mallika?

She must be going through the customs. Any minute now! If only she had let me receive her outside the airport. Why would she not allow me to be the first one to see her on her homecoming?

But I couldn't question her?not many can. She has good reasons for everything she does, and amazingly, she is invariably right?

Finally! At last, she calls, ending my daylong anguish. Oh God, so excruciating! Never did I realize I would take it so badly. But now that she has arrived, I have no qualms whatsoever. I feel the same boyish verve that a teenager has on his first date. Life seems beautiful again. She's asked me to dine with her ? Gee! Now that sounds exciting!

What more could I ask for? The stars twinkling tonight with their majestic radiance, just to welcome her home, it seems, under which two of us recline alongside on her lawn, celebrating together, after ages, with a bottle of champagne handy by the side.

Those piercing, seductive eyes, cutting through my senses! The flowing jet-black hair suddenly cut short at the nape, now entwined with the new-mown grass. That indomitable persona, well carried by her sylphlike figure! Her soft, chirpy drawl: I'm going numb.

She misses her family, she says: What must Mridush be doing? She has never left Mridush alone with Manav, a handful for both of them to manage.

I understand, I say, nodding my head now and again, like a sympathetic listener.

She takes her drinks well, she tells me. I admit she looks very calm for someone who has downed a bottle of champagne and a slew of whisky shots. But I'm drunk; I can feel it, down to my bones ? blotto!

I got to head home, I tell her. Slinking out on the family during a weekend ? Laxmi might find that very unusual. No chance of making it up to her today; too late.

I'm sorry about Mallika, I say. Such a lovely girl she must have been. And I am sorry, indeed! I feel for her. Too bad I can't stay. I wish I could?No?I got to go home.

She is overjoyed to be back, finally! She says so, now peacefully amidst the garden flowers. She wants to drive me home. How ironic?!

Her eyes look peaceful, and her face perfectly calm. A stream of blood trickles down her forehead into the warm, tarred surface. No, it doesn't hurt. Her endearing smile wipes away all pain; always does when I'm with her.

Didn't I tell you she's seldom wrong? She's taking me home, she says: Mallika's home.

Is this to be continued or tht was it??? was there a story 1 before or did i miss something?? Who is mallika and manav ??Anyways... it was a nice piece!!

wow, spellbinding! what a vivid narration. Do please add your stories.

Where is story 1? Biswaas ji, indeed very gripping ( confusing pani lagyo!)!

The protagonist and the 'lady' (who comes back from US) are former lovers; Mallika is the lady's deceased daughter, Manav her son, Mridush her husband; Mallika's home maybe heaven/hell --whichever way you look at it!

Thanks for all the encouraging comments. Keep them coming.

Biswaas

I had earlier submitted another story, but no one commented on it. I am reposting it here:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Crime & punishment

( s- Kpost)


- As the morning sun streaks in through the dingy window and glows his face red, Dinesh stirs in his bed, throws a quick glance at the table clock with his red eyes, reluctantly pulls himself to feet, walks across the room, and digs in the pocket of the trouser hanging at the back of the door.It is Thursday.

Having relieved a stick of Marlboro Lights out of his trouser pocket, Dinesh presently sits on the edge of his single bed, and lights the cigarette. As the smoke twirls into a shapeless existence overhead, he heaves a deep sigh.

Shama! Once he had loved her so much. He still does. Not much has changed.

How beautiful she looked yesterday?her dark brown beady eyes glowing, as always, with infallible certitude. The greeting card was as lovely, ending with "lots of love" and her characteristic signature, underlined abruptly and with a little star at the end. The t-shirt presented to him on his last birthday, maroon, a huge white star patched at the back; the mauve shirt, she had bought at New Road with twinkling stars dotting the night sky: Yes, she loved stars.

"Think optimistic, Dinesh. It shouldn?t be that hard," she would prod him. Forever encouraging, she would always come up with the right words at the wrong times, and make him feel better instantly. He was morose and prone to depression, she always calm and cheerful.

When he failed the B.Sc. second year exam last year, it was Shama who helped him get over the disappointment. "Look Dinesh, though you didn?t pass, you?ve secured 27. Twenty-seven! The two stands for you and I, and seven, why! It?s the lucky number. You?re sure to pass the next time." Often, even these uninspiring comments placated his turbulent thoughts.

And she could be devilish too, when needed. That loafer, no-good Sanjay, always bullying him around, got exactly what he deserved ? a dollop of chewing gum stretching thin as he got up from his seat in the chemistry class. Sanjay had been at his wit?s end. Nobody suspected Shama.Or the time she came trundling down the stairs of the practical building on spotting his name in the byline.

"This is you, yes? Too good, yaar! Too good!" She made sure the article was pasted on the message board the next day. Most of his classmates had read it: Insomnia and my health.

These were unforgettable events, holding together their tenuous relationship.

Presently, he finishes his cigarette, and throws the stub out of the window, into the rose bed in the garden, well manicured by the finicky landlord, always particular about his flowers and vegetables. He loves red roses?such beautiful flowers!He wipes his forehead clean as he paces around the shabby room. Not even the end of Falgun in Kathmandu, and it is already so hot. If only there was a fan in the room! He had not been aware of its absence until yesterday. How curious!

Yesterday, Dinesh cleaned up his room after a month, wiped every nook and cranny spick and span. Never realizing his room could be so dirty, he could hardly believe his eyes when out of every corner materialized heaps after heaps of dirt.

At dusk on Wednesday, the festivities started: Two quarters of Royal Stag?the stupid shopkeeper didn?t have a half-liter bottle?the now addictive Marlboro Lights, two full packs for the special day, and a full chicken tandoori from his favorite restaurant called The Livewire. To his surprise, he had washed down the full Livewire tandoori with half-liter of Royal Stag?funny, how it sounded like Royal Stab!?and fagged out a pack-and-a-half of Lights.

That was then. Yesterday. Or was it today? The days had merged, the boundaries blurred. Staring at the ceiling the whole night?cursing the shopkeeper, that bastard! ?he had been thinking...

A new day, his eyes pierce past the haze of smoke, riveted at the same ceiling, the absent fan, and the present tether, in place to garrote an animal today!

Dinesh gets up on the table, conveniently placed in the middle of the room yesterday; noose in hand, he can just see the red roses?and hear the gates open.He abruptly unties the knots, jumps off the table and swings open the door to find Shama, newspaper in hand, bustling with excitement: "Too good yaar, too good! Crime and Punishment. Ahem! As the morning sun streaks in...

Great work... Liked both of ur stories... re-read Story -2 again after ur explaination... balla bujhe... "too good yaar..too good" hehe.. hope to see more of ur work..keep posting!!

Biswaas ji: I enjoy your narration.
You have this incredible knack for details. Do many of your protagonists toy with the dark side of life?

Beautiful ! Wating to read more of your stories..

Thank you all for your kind comments. Yes Sitara ji, you have put it very appropriately: my protagonists 'do' toy with the dark sides of life. I love to get into the darker aspects of humanity.

Thanks once again to all of you: Dreamz, Sitara, Mili and Newuser. Rest assured, I will keep posting more of my stories, especially in the light of the encouragement I have received.

Biswaas