Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as I walked past the lift and began up the green marbled stairs to my office on the 5th floor of the golden-hued balsam brown TSR Towers to log in for work. (The distinctive tony colour of the office building on Raj Bhavan Road, which seemed to emanate grace and elegance, cannot be forgotten).
Imagine how a round brown patch in the wrong place could have wrecked my lovely luncheon with a special someone later that day at Alex's Kitchen just off Liberty Road in Hyderabad, a secret haven for the town's love birds going on a blind date. Even though I arrived on the dot, dressed up and ready to impress, she was already waiting for me, which was nice. Her friends were present, and as I parked my Splendor, I thought it was likely that they were meeting up after a long time: she introduced me to a person named, Diwakar and to another girl from her gangly close-knit circle of at least five kindred souls having fun reconnecting after a long time, who, I believe, was her ‘best friend’. If you’ve ever wanted to see (with your eyes) how real-life mimics art, this is undoubtedly one such rare occasion you might want to pinch yourself while allowing yourself such treats: a group of buddies straight out of a Ruskin Bond or Danielle Steele novel.
[I couldn't help but feel envious of her friends' intimate camaraderie as I stood outside after lunch conversing with my special someone, trying to say our byes and promising to meet again. After a little while, I waved and rode back to my office on Raj Bhavan Road, thoroughly smitten with her love.]The restaurant was her choice, a great choice. I remember feeling an immediate, intense intimacy with her as though we were in a continuous dreamscape as the afternoon turned into a romantic evening of quiet conversation and companionship. It was worthy of boasting about with my friends and watching them envy me. Like a moth to a flame, I shyly approached my blind date, and seeing her up close (and personal) for the first time was like a dream come true, even as my heart sang out to her.
Frenetic tellers of tales like Dickens, and Hardy, often remark about female beauty from the male perspective of a virtuous young person (generally male) by saying, “Congratulations! She is splendid!” in classic English Literature. Indeed, she was splendid! We met outside our rendezvous point's entrance steps, walked in, and sat at our table: not discreetly positioned as we would've liked, but the ample space in the room made for a lovely atmosphere, a beautiful ambiance, softly lit and welcoming.
We talked about things that mattered to us. The first part of our conversation focused on popular musical romance films like Dil Toh Pagal Hai, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Pyaar Mein Kabhi Kabhi, and their catchy songs that marked the high point of the late 1990s era. (These films were dazzling, magical, happy-go-lucky, swirling romances that were so much about the '90s era hit parade that no one even talks about them now in post-millennial times. They've been, more or less, completely forgotten, fading into the distant past, paving the way for despicable genre-specific, so-called 'realistic portrayals' of Hindi films that today's techno-wizardry has spawned like a... morass amongst filmgoers.)
“Woh pehli baar jab hum mile,
Hathon mein haath jab hum chale”
Before we moved on to other topics, we couldn't help but bring up Titanic, a film from the previous year. That fascinating masterpiece and undeniably impressive, a celluloid love story to remember for a long time, which become both her and my new favourite. Coincidentally, that day, we’d exchanged Titanic-themed greeting cards.
We had great fun, so much so that some of our food was in danger of getting cold. I thought, in my nervousness, I might by accident drop either my fork or my spoon (thank God chopsticks weren’t the norm to use), or who knows, might upend the whole tumbler of water along with the bottles of cold sauces ricocheting on my lap…! She was a classic ‘90s girl, just as I’d like to think I am: 90's boy. I was blown away by her impeccable table manners - an exemplar she was. She was warm, engaging, easy to talk to, and (just as I had believed before meeting her) spoke well. We had a lot in common. She was almost exactly what I thought she'd be. Her pretty face lit up when she talked - it was the vibe, a personalizing sensation conscious of the time, of the space that existed only between the two of us to experience. I tried to be as sweet, intelligent, and charming as I believed I was capable of being, and I think I succeeded nicely, for she was smiling a lot which made it easy for me to smile back. We were innocent of feeling the way we did, and it was natural of us to do so as we sat somewhere between prose and poetry that such a meaningful occasion calls for it. She had no pretences or illusions about our rendezvous that day, nor did she put on unnecessary veneer that would have been meaningless to us newly anointed love-smitten love birds - permanently confirming our love in a single meeting. We were an original couple: old-fashioned romantics having no preconceived notions about love. We chatted and joked, keeping it brief and casual: shared a few anecdotes about our college days, family, and the simple things of life as we ate our food. (We took some time hobnobbing before we paused to look at the menu and order the Chinese house specials, Fried Rice and Szechuan Chicken with spicily flavoured spaghetti sauce on the side. We ate a little, but we spoke a lot. The food, of course, was so tasty!
“Jaadu hai… tera hi jaadu…
Jo mere dil pe chhane laga
Jaadu hai tera hi jaadu
Jo mere dil pe chhane laga”
I didn’t want to leave her company, and I think we were both a bit floored by the experience, perhaps enamoured with each other, so much so that we wanted to see our relationship blossom further. Or, as they say, take it to the next level. From the moment we first spoke, she had my interest. She seemed like quite a sweet person, and we had great chemistry. I was immediately intrigued by her euphonious voice, the perfectly tailored pastel-hued salwar suit she wore, which looked like it came straight out of a special edition of Vogue, and her US-bound plans to study Engineering. She knew what she wanted out of life. In all honesty, I felt like planting a small kissy on her cheek, but I shied away to avoid being embarrassed in a local or a national newspaper! She was blushing, and so was I. As crazy as this sounds, it felt miraculous to me: sitting and talking with a beautiful girl at the diner and thinking I could never be so lucky, and how could I be so lucky? Oh, my God, this spectral beauty right here is my date, and I am wooing her. The entire luncheon felt like a dream come true, a dream half-fulfilled. Unfortunately, it was a one-time thing, a sweet little romance that lasted but briefly.
As I see the distant past reflecting the memories of our time and as the meaning of the words written here sink in, we would've loved each other forever. Love remains as deep and warm as it ever was. It still manages to bloom, albeit with a touch of melancholy and sadness returning now and again, perhaps to remind me that things have changed and I should move on despite the heartache it still causes. And why am I remembering those times now? What's the point? The point is: Love is eternal, that's why. My heart will go on..., for as long as I live (for the person I miss). Despite the loss, the unquenchable hope remains. Nonetheless, she must travel her path, and I mine. That's the criterion in the world everyone has to follow.
Years passed as time travelled for twenty-five long years, but we never could see each other again. Hers was a love of a sublime persuasion I had the privilege of knowing and belonging to her. All my feelings remain as they are.
Thank heavens I didn't trip over that kerbside crater on my way to work that day because it would've wrecked my rendezvous with “Lekhatee” (L.T.). When I think about this long-ago love story, I can still feel my heart race as she reminds me of my former successes, self-confidence, dreams, goals, hopes, and aspirations. I wish I could get down on one knee immediately after. Adieu, my love... till our paths cross again.
“Chupke se…, chupke se…
Raat ki chaadar tale
Chaand ki bhi aahat na ho,
Baadal ke peechhe chale”
By Arindam Moulick
Dedication: I dedicate this memoir to L.T. with love and heart. Before I met her in person, I was familiar with her voice. As I look down on the landscape of loss, longing, and the altitude of almost twenty-five years, it's another day of thinking of you. The heart does go on.