22-12-2018, 08:54 PM
We Meet Once Again
At that time I was in the second year of my course at IIT Kharagpur. It seemed that I had a natural facility for engineering and was soon rated as one of the better students of my class. Unfortunately, I suffered a severe bout of typhoid and as soon as I had recovered sufficiently to be able to travel, my hostel warden had packed me off home, to recuperate & regain my strength. My professors had promised to help me to make up for lost time after my return so that I wouldn't have to lose a semester.
***
Long ago, my grandfather had purchased a small plot of farm land quite far from the city, bordering a "state highway" that was at the time little more than a dirt-track. He thought that the farm would supplement his small income as an astrologer. He had however proven to be an indifferent farmer. His son, my father had decided to quit farming and become a civil servant instead. Unlike many other small farmers, my grandfather had avoided falling into a debt trap and had eventually been able to bequeath the farm and a little house he had built on it, to my father. The farm had not been tilled in a long time. Instead, a neighbor's cattle were allowed to graze on it, in return for a small compensation. Over time, the city had grown and the state highway had been metalled and asphalted. Our farm & house were now just on the outskirts of the city.
When my father had last been transferred to the city, I was in high college. My mother had taken up a job as a college teacher. This not only helped her to do something useful with her education, she was also able to supplement my father's meager income (he was an honest civil servant, a species that was quite common in those days but is now perhaps on the endangered list). Within a year and half, my father was transferred out to a taluka town again. However, my parents decided that my mother & I should continue to live in the city so that my education and her job continued undisturbed. Soon we had moved from my father's official quarters to our little house. Although it was rather far from the city, we were hardy folk and riding twenty kilometers a day on a bicycle was no big deal for us. My mother continued to live by herself in our little house even after I had moved to IIT Kharagpur, since my father was soon due to retire & return.
It was early spring. Lush green grass grew on the farm and a mixed herd of cows and buffalos grazed on it. Mango & peepal trees grew along the boundary. It was late morning and my mother had already gone to college after cooking my lunch. I was pottering about the house, fixing some broken gadget. It was quiet and peaceful, the buzzing of bees, chirping of birds and the occasional snorting & snuffling of grazing cattle being the only sounds in the background.
The putt-putt-putt of a scooter intruded upon the peaceful scene; I looked out and saw Swati alighting. Since I was at IIT Kharagpur when she got married, I had missed her wedding entirely. In fact this was about the first time I was seeing her since our memorable scooter lesson more than two years ago. My pulse quickened and my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw her.
"Sameer! What a great surprise. What are you doing here? Where is Pushpa mawshi (aunty, a reference to my mom)?" She rattled off.
"And what brings you here? How long are you going to be in town? By the way, you look great!" I rattled off my own questions and a spontaneous response to her appearance.
She beamed at my compliment. It was true too. Although she was dressed in a simple cotton sari, she looked radiant. Although still slim, she seemed to have filled out a bit and her smooth fair complexion positively glowed. Her large, expressive eyes flashed and danced merrily. She wore a pinch of sindoor (red ochre powder) in her hair parting, a mangalsutra (gold necklace with black glass beads) round her neck and green glass bangles on her wrists, all symbols of her married status. A furtive inspection showed that under the pallu of the sari wrapped securely around her shoulders, her blouse was well cut and snug fitting. It had a largish neck opening; a departure from the rather more modest style of her earlier years. Even from the way she carried herself and her sinuous movements, it seemed that after marriage she had overcome some inhibition and found a new confidence to let her sensuality show through. Altogether, she looked vivacious, ravishing and sexy.
Strangely enough, it seemed that I too had lost my earlier awkwardness & reticence. My recent scholastic success and the opportunity to interact with a cosmopolitan crowd of bright students from all over the country had greatly boosted my self esteem as well as my command over spoken English. We were soon chatting away happily, bringing each other up to date with the recent, eventful happenings in our lives.
She wanted to be shown around our little farm; she wanted to sketch some nature studies, she said. We continued to chat while we took a leisurely stroll, picking our way around clumps of weeds and lumps of fresh cow dung.
"How is Satish? Is he going to be here too?" I enquired after her husband.
"Oh, he's fine. No, he won't be coming. He is too busy with his business." She responded, looking away quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly.
At that time I was in the second year of my course at IIT Kharagpur. It seemed that I had a natural facility for engineering and was soon rated as one of the better students of my class. Unfortunately, I suffered a severe bout of typhoid and as soon as I had recovered sufficiently to be able to travel, my hostel warden had packed me off home, to recuperate & regain my strength. My professors had promised to help me to make up for lost time after my return so that I wouldn't have to lose a semester.
***
Long ago, my grandfather had purchased a small plot of farm land quite far from the city, bordering a "state highway" that was at the time little more than a dirt-track. He thought that the farm would supplement his small income as an astrologer. He had however proven to be an indifferent farmer. His son, my father had decided to quit farming and become a civil servant instead. Unlike many other small farmers, my grandfather had avoided falling into a debt trap and had eventually been able to bequeath the farm and a little house he had built on it, to my father. The farm had not been tilled in a long time. Instead, a neighbor's cattle were allowed to graze on it, in return for a small compensation. Over time, the city had grown and the state highway had been metalled and asphalted. Our farm & house were now just on the outskirts of the city.
When my father had last been transferred to the city, I was in high college. My mother had taken up a job as a college teacher. This not only helped her to do something useful with her education, she was also able to supplement my father's meager income (he was an honest civil servant, a species that was quite common in those days but is now perhaps on the endangered list). Within a year and half, my father was transferred out to a taluka town again. However, my parents decided that my mother & I should continue to live in the city so that my education and her job continued undisturbed. Soon we had moved from my father's official quarters to our little house. Although it was rather far from the city, we were hardy folk and riding twenty kilometers a day on a bicycle was no big deal for us. My mother continued to live by herself in our little house even after I had moved to IIT Kharagpur, since my father was soon due to retire & return.
It was early spring. Lush green grass grew on the farm and a mixed herd of cows and buffalos grazed on it. Mango & peepal trees grew along the boundary. It was late morning and my mother had already gone to college after cooking my lunch. I was pottering about the house, fixing some broken gadget. It was quiet and peaceful, the buzzing of bees, chirping of birds and the occasional snorting & snuffling of grazing cattle being the only sounds in the background.
The putt-putt-putt of a scooter intruded upon the peaceful scene; I looked out and saw Swati alighting. Since I was at IIT Kharagpur when she got married, I had missed her wedding entirely. In fact this was about the first time I was seeing her since our memorable scooter lesson more than two years ago. My pulse quickened and my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw her.
"Sameer! What a great surprise. What are you doing here? Where is Pushpa mawshi (aunty, a reference to my mom)?" She rattled off.
"And what brings you here? How long are you going to be in town? By the way, you look great!" I rattled off my own questions and a spontaneous response to her appearance.
She beamed at my compliment. It was true too. Although she was dressed in a simple cotton sari, she looked radiant. Although still slim, she seemed to have filled out a bit and her smooth fair complexion positively glowed. Her large, expressive eyes flashed and danced merrily. She wore a pinch of sindoor (red ochre powder) in her hair parting, a mangalsutra (gold necklace with black glass beads) round her neck and green glass bangles on her wrists, all symbols of her married status. A furtive inspection showed that under the pallu of the sari wrapped securely around her shoulders, her blouse was well cut and snug fitting. It had a largish neck opening; a departure from the rather more modest style of her earlier years. Even from the way she carried herself and her sinuous movements, it seemed that after marriage she had overcome some inhibition and found a new confidence to let her sensuality show through. Altogether, she looked vivacious, ravishing and sexy.
Strangely enough, it seemed that I too had lost my earlier awkwardness & reticence. My recent scholastic success and the opportunity to interact with a cosmopolitan crowd of bright students from all over the country had greatly boosted my self esteem as well as my command over spoken English. We were soon chatting away happily, bringing each other up to date with the recent, eventful happenings in our lives.
She wanted to be shown around our little farm; she wanted to sketch some nature studies, she said. We continued to chat while we took a leisurely stroll, picking our way around clumps of weeds and lumps of fresh cow dung.
"How is Satish? Is he going to be here too?" I enquired after her husband.
"Oh, he's fine. No, he won't be coming. He is too busy with his business." She responded, looking away quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly.
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