It Wasn't Love at First Shalini and I (11 page)

It had now really sunk in.

I took a trolley for my luggage and I was adjusting the laptop
when I saw Pooja running frantically around the airport. I called out
for her. “Pooja, here.”

Seeing her did make me feel nice. I did not want to leave without
seeing her. She saw me and ran towards me. We hugged.
“How did they let you in this far? This is a high security area.”

“How on earth is that important? Don’t ask stupid questions. I
know people at the airport. Do you know what all is happening at
home?”

“I can only imagine it is not pretty.”
“Not pretty, it is like a war between the two families.”

Then she started crying a little. Then the cry changed to a smile
and then laughter.

 

“What happened?”

 

“It’s just that I have cried so much over the last three days, that
now when I am with you, I just want to laugh.”

I took her in my arms. “Don’t you worry. I will be there for you.”
She hugged me even tighter. Very soon it was time for her, and more
importantly me, to go. I had a flight to catch. We said our goodbyes
and again there were some tears. This time, only from her side.

As I was passing through the security check, I realised what I had
just done. I had just committed to her.

I was based in New Jersey in USA, across the Hudson river from
New York, just like infinite other Indians. It had now been 2 months
and I was kind of over the initial hoopla of the huge buildings, and
the doughnut and coffee breakfast in the subway, and the fast moving
multicoloured people on the street who always seemed to be in a
hurry to get somewhere, and the tourists at Times Square, and the
strip clubs, and the Broadway, and the big fancy cars and the short
dresses even in winters.

I had kind of gotten used to it all by now, plus I lived in a place
where there were more Indians than in India. While earlier, I would
look back at a pretty girl in tight clothes, I would now not even pass
a second glance. It had become as common as a woman wearing a
salwaar kameez in India.

Office in US was also the usual. The usual American style and
not Indian. More than half the staff was Indian and more than
75% of the work got done in India. There was the usual bickering
about bosses, promotions, salary increments etc which we had in
India but the duration of the breaks used to be much smaller.
People always lived in the fear of being fired and that meant that
when they were at work, they would be working, or atleast
pretending to. But they were sticklers of time. 9 to 5 meant 9 to
5. They did not enter a minute early and did not leave a minute
late. No matter if there was a deadline which was not being met,
they all left sharp at 5 unlike us in India who were always willing to
do that little extra. But this on time thing made me real bored and
lonely.

I had grown up on the small streets of a little town in India and
had spent my youth in Delhi and had spent my office time there too.
We would go for an hour cigarette break at 7, come back at 8, look
at the computer and leave. There was a schedule to it. Here, people
were too busy in their own lives to care. People in Delhi knew me
and I knew them. It was somehow a little difficult to make friends in
the US. I managed some acquaintances with who I could go out for
a drink, but not friends with who I could talk nonsense afterwards.
People were too busy with their own lives. And the weekends were
the worst. I knew nobody in the city and almost every weekend ended
up spending a fortune calling my parents, Hari or Pooja back home.
I think I wanted to go back. I was not sure. The money here was
great, the standard of living was better and I was being offered a one
year extension by my company. Maybe I would get used to it. I
hoped I would get used to it. This was after all USA, every young
man’s dream destination.

Things with Pooja were getting steady. The initial hulla regarding
Rannvijay had settled and when I told her that my company was
open to give me an extension, and that if I wanted, I could very easily
find another job and settle here, she kind of got excited. She also
harboured the dream of living in the US and it seemed to be coming
true through me.

It was during one of the weekends that a ghazal maestro from
India was going to perform at one of the auditoriums. I loved his
songs and bought the tickets to the concert the day they started selling.
Plus, such things really helped kill time when you are feeling all sad
and lonely.

The concert was on a Saturday night. I got ready, put on my
jacket and reached the place and occupied a seat in the fourth row
from the front ten minutes before the show. The hall was completely
full. Apparently, I was not the only lonely person in the city. Five
minutes later the curtains were raised and the choir was already
seated. And then, the maestro himself made an entry. He was
dressed in a simple kurta and had a very simple and satisfied happy
look on his face, something which was missing in all the people
who had come to watch him. In the center of the stage were cushions
where he sat down in front of a harmonium and spoke into the
mic.

“Namaskar.”

The whole place erupted with applause. It was as if he was a rockstar
had broken his guitar. He smiled some more. His smile somehow
made me feel at home.

“Thank you for all the love that you people have showered on
me.....” Just then, I saw someone in the choir.

She was in a white dress. She was fair, had a dimpled chin which
gave a something special to her smile, long eyelashes, curly at the end,
like a princess would want them, kajal around her eyes, kajal to keep
away the bad omen from her beautiful face, a small parrot nose, which
twitched when she frowned, and black flowing hair, which I would
later know, she thought were brown.

It was Shalini.

Just then the maestro started singing “Chandi jaisa rang hai tera,
sone jaise baal.....” and all of a sudden, nothing else mattered. It all
made sense.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze. I could not take my eyes
away from her and was completely lost in the mesmerizing beauty of
her face coupled with the soulful music running through my ears.
Not once did she look at me, I don’t think she even noticed me
sitting there. After all, there were more than 500 people in the
auditorium and plus the last time we had met had been 7 years ago.
I had put on 13 kgs since then.

The maestro kept on singing song after song and somehow I could
relate all the beautiful lyrics to my life. And then the show ended and
before I had a chance to do anything, the curtains went down on the
choir and only the lead singer was on the stage to say the thank yous
and bid goodbye. He got up from his cushioned seat and folded his
hands in an Indian namaskar. Everyone in the crowd got up on their
feet to recognise the amazing talent he was and just then, Shalini
walked onto the stage with a cordless mic in her hand for the singer.

Before she handed the mic to the singer, she spoke: “Somebody
has misplaced their car keys with a flute as a key ring. Please collect it
from the reception before you leave.”

She had remembered the flute after all these years- my first gift for
her. She had remembered me after all these years.

The last words were said by the singer and the entire audience left.
I just kept sitting there, thinking about how much had changed since
the last time I had met Shalini, about how awkward things would be
when I saw her, talked to her, about what would I say to her which
would make us feel that we were never apart.

Five minutes later, after everyone had left, I got up and went to
the reception. She was already there, sitting on the table, in a changed
dress. She was wearing a sleeve less top, blue jeans, minimal makeup
and boots. You could think she was any other Indian girl living in
New York.

But for me, she was different. She was Shalini.

 

I had rehearsed a million times in the last five minutes on how I
would say the ‘hi’ but before I could say anything she spoke.
“Fashionably late, aren’t we? Let’s go.”

And there went the awkwardness. She grabbed her overcoat on
the way and I followed her out of the building into the snowy New
York night.

“You never called.”

 

“What? You had explicitly asked me not to call you. In fact you
had told me that you did not even have a phone at your place.”
“Well, somebody had to try harder. Getting a girl’s phone number
is never easy mister engineer. Or is it mister MBA now?”
“No, still mister engineer. And did you actually want me to call? I
mean, why did you not give me your phone number?”
“Wait, when did I say that I wanted you to call? I just said that you
never called.”
She smiled. I smiled. We continued the walking around the square
grids of Manhattan. She spoke.

“So how are you?”
“I was good sometime back. Now I am perfect.”

“Oh my God! You and your cheesy lines. I still remember ‘the only
regret I have that it was not a full moon night when we first met’”

“See, you still remember it, it worked.”
“I remembered it because it was cheesy, not because it worked.”
“By the way, today is a full moon night.”
“Where? I don’t see the moon.”

I pointed towards a glass window and she saw herself. She kicked
me, pretty hard for a girl and we both laughed.

 

“Some people cannot get over being cheesy, but are too laid back
to ask for a phone number.”

“You can’t blame me for that. I was 17. At 17 you don’t know girls
have so many layers to them. You just believe what they say. You
assume, that they will not seek attention.”

She gave me another smile.

 

“So you think I was seeking attention. And do you know any
better now?”

 

“Moaning on a bus as if you were pregnant. Yes, you were seeking
attention.”

 

“I actually was, wasn’t I?” And she skipped a few paces in front of
me.

“I love this city. It has such a feel to it.”
“Yeah, not bad. I like snow.”

She bent down, made a couple of snowballs and threw them at
me.

 

“One for saying you like New York just for the snow and the
other for not following me to the station when I was leaving.”
“But I did follow you till the station!”

 

“Oh yes, I forgot. But I clearly remember how you got down on
your knees after the train past.”

 

She got down on her knees on the road in case I had forgotten
what I had done.

 

“So you saw me? Why didn’t you wave back?”

 

“What was the point, you did not even have my phone number!”
She said this and threw another snowball at me.

“You are very difficult to understand.”
“Stop trying.”
“Who said I was?”

She came closer to me, looked me in the eyes. Then she came
closer and whispered in my ear.

 

“Your eyes.”

And then she skipped away onto the road. We were walking along
the Hudson river and she saw a bench and sat there. I followed her.
Her tone changed from the playful to a little more serious but I was
not sure. We both sat on the bench, around two feet apart. The New
York skyline covered in white snow behind us, the Hudson river in
front and some 50 storey high buildings of New Jersey beyond, which
somehow did not feel that big in front of the behemoth at Manhattan.
There were some boats on the river and it was as picturesque a scene
as it could have been in New York.

“Don’t you just love it here?”

 

“I have been here only for two months.”

She continued.“Oh! That’s it? But just look in front of you. On
the back you have all what man could have achieved- huge buildings,
billions of dollars of trade, the whole world’s economy is governed
right here, right behind us. And then you have this river, which
majestically runs in between the two cities dividing them and telling
them that nature doesn’t really care what you make.”

“What? I don’t get what you are saying.”

“Honestly, neither do I. I wanted to make a statement about how
this city has been able to put together nature and man’s development.
But I don’t think I really was able to put forth the sentiment.”

“You weren’t.”

 

“I know. It got lost in the words somehow. But you get what I
mean.”

“I get what you mean. But don’t really understand. Honestly, I
don’t see much of nature in this city. Concrete jungle is what I was
told it is, and a concrete jungle is what I see.”

“Shut up. Don’t you get it. ‘Concrete’ as in manmade, and ‘jungle’
as in natural?”

“Are you drunk?”
“I could have been if someone had offered me a drink.”
“Was I supposed to?”

“No, just like you weren’t supposed to ask for my number. Now
sit here, I have to go and pee.”

“Out here in the open?”
“Very funny.”

She left for a public restroom and I sat alone, looking at the huge
river in front of me. There were personal boats of people out in the
water. The whole city seemed so alive at 1 am at night. Maybe she
did have a point when she said that it was man and nature’s best
creation. She came back.
“So, you understand what I say?”

“Kind of. But leave it. Tell me, how come you are here, what did
you do in music, how long have you been in this city. There is so
much to catch up on and here you are talking arbit gyaan.”

She smiled, but this time, it was not in the eyes. We sat on the
bench, a one foot distance between the two of us.

“I just followed my heart. And my heart brought me here. You tell
me how come you are here. I mean I know it fits into your secure life
and future theory but please tell me that there is more to it? Please
tell me that you are here on a secret mission to find aliens and that
the aliens are going to invade the earth and you are going to save all
of us.”

I could sense she was trying to change the topic of discussion from
me to her. I smiled and let her.

“I stopped living that dream of saving the earth when I was eight.
No, there is absolutely nothing more to it. I passed out of college,
got a decent job, got sent here on a project and have been here for the
last few months. Simple as that. And completely according to plan.”