Non-erotic The Scarface I Hated by Trambak

[Ramesh_Rocky]

Imran looked at me and said, " Can I speak to you?" I nodded. " Not here. In our room." He moved to the room and I followed. Once in the room, he closed the door, looked at me and said, " I am really sorry about all this. I know you are unhappy. If I had options, I would have not allowed this to happen. Not because of you but because of me. I scare away even dogs and cats. You deserve much better. Not me. I can't undo things. But you are at liberty. Do what you want. Whatever that brings you peace and happiness."

He stopped. I was surprised at the mild tone of his voice as well the clarity of thought. It was so unexpected. But I had to say something. I said, "Who is Bhavani?" He was clearly embarrassed and said, "Give me some time. I will tell, I promise. But if you want to know immediately, I will tell it now." He said.

I was annoyed. If he must tell then he should better do it now. But then, he was clearly under strain. I decided not to force his predicament. So, I just said, " Okay. Some other time."

He appeared relieved. He said, " One more request. I want you to continue working. Will the college take you back? Sumitra goes to college. I will be grateful if you can guide her a little." I was again surprised at the request but did not resent it. I said that I would try. I had to speak to the Headmistress and things had changed. Imran appeared a little relaxed but our conversation had ended and the awkwardness had returned. Imran hurriedly opened the door and Sumitra was waiting for me with tea.

The conversation reverted to its pedestrian state. Imran left for work and we two were left behind. I realised that for a long time now, I had become accustomed to continued work and free time did not suit me well. And as usual, Sumitra hadn't left anything for me to do. So, I started talking to her and in a very short time realised that she was extremely sharp and well read. She appeared well versed with the geopolitical nuances of our country as well as the world. She was a revelation. We quickly gelled and time flew. Soon we realised that an hour had passed and Sumitra was embarrassed.

I felt better in two days. But a thorn was still pricking away. Regarding Sumitra. For me she was a riddle.

Not having to do anything, I opened the small box that belonged to my parents. The dress was really nice. Old fashioned but striking in its elegance. There was a book of verses named, "Ol' Man River and other songs. Paul Robeson." This was presented to Amaya by Ardeshir. Fancy names. My parents? Now I was getting the clue about Meherunissa, my name. Then there was another book titled, "Life and contribution of Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya."

There were a few magazine and pamphlets. There were two newspaper that had turned yellow due to age. The first one was a copy of Indian Express dated 20 Jan 1976. On the top, it was marked and underlined, "Chasnala-372." Another paper in Gujarati was similarly marked, "Morbi- 25000." This was dated 12 August 1979. And there was a diary. There were certificates and two medals (blacked out, certificates pronounced it as gold). The name of the University surprised me. So that was my pedigree.

I sat with those remembrances that I for 20 years never thought important to even look at. Had never ever glanced at. Today, they appeared close. I felt proximity to Amaya and Ardeshir, my parents? Who else? Unfortunately, there were no pictures. How were they? How old was I when they died? Nothing. It was a big void and I had no way to go forward. Did it matter? People whom I neglected for 20 years had now suddenly become important because I was in turmoil? That was typically selfish of me. I had lost the rights. I was inhuman bereft of minimal emotions. Suited me right.

But I felt distraught. Logic did not work.

Time passed on. Nature demanded and it was evening and time for Imran to return. He did so at the appointed time. I noticed that he was quite a stickler for time. He came in and handed over a package to Sumitra that turned out to be samosas. First, I thought that I would refuse but later decided against it. Today, the atmosphere was better and congenial. Although I had decided to get to the bottom of the Bhavani affair, I put it off for later.

Imran asked me what I did the whole day. I told him about the books and pamphlets though not the details. He probed further and asked about the books. That irritated me. I shot at him, sarcastically, "Do you know who Nadezhda Konstantinovna Krupskaya was?" He was stumped for a moment but recovered smartly and said with a smile, "Ah Russian, I think she is the one married to Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. Am I right." And he started laughing loudly at his own joke. I was infuriated and I was in no mood for a gag. I stormed out of the room. Imran looked rightfully mortified.