Non-erotic The Scarface I Hated by Trambak

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I told Sumitra that I will be travelling for the next two days. She looked up, momentarily taken aback and said, "All right." I passed necessary instructions to Sumitra that was really unnecessary and superfluous. Still, she listened carefully. What a joke!

Imran came, in time and we chatted for some time. I told him that I would be travelling. He, like Sumitra looked surprised but didn't say anything. I felt that some explanation was necessary so, I said, "It's important, I will tell you when I come back." Imran was probably intrigued at the role reversal but he didn't comment. Rest of the evening passed in mild uneasiness. Discussion was laboured.

When we reached our bedroom Imran asked me, "Where are you going? Tell me. I am not stopping you."

I said, "Imran. If you won't stop me then, do you really want to know?"

He took me into his arms and said, "Meher. I am worried."

I was feeling bad for him and I said, "There's nothing to be worried. I can take care of myself."

I then looked at him and said, "I have a job for you. There are papers and other documents in my box. I want you to examine them and see if you can make any sense. That is the first question I will ask you when I come back."

He held me tight and so did I.

Next day I was out, leaving Imran sleeping. Sumitra was already up and had packed a lunch. That was wonderful. I took a rickshaw and reached the railway station to catch the first passenger. The train was near empty and there were a few women in the 'ladies only' compartment. They were carrying milk and vegetables to the city and would return in the evening. This was their daily routine and I was travelling by train in years. The train moved and I was reliving experiences of a train journey that I thought was unique. The early morning sun was imparting a lovely glow on the fields. The distant trees appeared to be running with the train and the electricity lines went up and down. I felt a strange feeling of deja-vu sitting on the window and feeling as if I have been through this earlier. Stations came and went. The train stopped and there was a flurry of people alighting and entraining. There was urgency in the voices, lest the train left. The hawkers came with their fare. Then, the engine whistled and we moved laboriously ahead. There were people chatting incessantly. The people changed, the terrain changed. The only thing that was constant was the relentless change.

Chapter-12

Finally, I arrived. The station had a low platform embellished with a red gravel and two yellow boards at the two ends of the platform. The board informed me that I was 48.3 mtr ASL and I needed to change train here if I had to go to the Junction. There were Gulmohar trees on the platform resplendent in brightest fiery orange. Around the tree, there were pabangts and hundreds of parrots, competing to shout down each other. It was something I had never seen before. The train soon left and those who had alighted from the train too quickly vanished. The station suddenly became deserted.

For a moment, I felt panicky, being alone. I came out of the gate. There was no one to check my ticket. I now understood what a rural area meant. There was one lone cycle rickshaw and I showed him the address. He looked at it for some time and confessed that he couldn't read. I told him the name and he said that it was about 3 miles away (? miles) and the road was bad and he would not take a paisa lesser than ten rupees. Not knowing that I could have further bargained, agreed. He was very enthusiastic and we moved through a typical dusty uneven road, mango groves and by the sides of ponds. Time passed well because he was a great storyteller.

In a short while, I was privy to all the happenings of the area including some scandalous ones. After about 30 minutes or so, we entered a village. Many children were playing. They came running towards the rickshaw and stood around us. To them, my rickshaw man freely doled out derogatory sermons. Though I was aghast, they seemed to be used to such language. I asked them about Kiana. After a momentary silence and calculations, a smart girl cried out Kinudidi! (Didi: elder sister)

She went ahead and confirmed with me, "Angry angry; white hairs, teacher?"

I nodded (what else could I do?) The convoy of children led the way like a procession. We came in front of a mud house with a thatched roof. I got down and moved towards the door. I asked the rickshaw man to wait as I was yet not sure of the correctness of my guides. Anyway, nobody left. Visitors were rare here and everyone appeared curious. In a village, life is pedestrian, nothing new happens here.

I knocked, rather banged on the door. After some time, it was opened by a woman, in middle age. The description offered by the girl fit her well except the teacher part. She must have once been handsome but now looked older. Finally, I was face to face with my mother in law (not yet confirmed though). I was not sure how and where to start and the audience standing behind me was getting restless.

The so-called angry woman said mildly, "Come in. Let me deal with these fellows."

I paid the rickshaw and went in. Meanwhile, she disposed of the children in a manner that no one was seen in the vicinity again. She came in. I kept standing. There was only one way to describe the house. Small and clean. She examined me from head to toe and a wan smile crossed her face.

"Meherunissa", she said at last. I was surprised. How did she know my name? My face must have registered the query.