Chimerical Relationships
Blistering heat of April in Kolkata has to be experienced to be believed. As if the soaring mercury and high humidity were not enough, the lazy banter at the tea shop turned intense. Kolkata is a quaint city, and its people are a race of their own. One thing that binds them all is their love for open tea cafés and endless debates. India was preparing for its elections; May 23rd 2019 would decide its political destiny. Kolkata was brewing up a political storm in tiny teacups. Arijit sat with his friends, sipping the beverage with vengeance. His signature frown spoke volumes about his opinion about the Prime Minister winning the second term in office. A decade under his regime was anathema to Arijit and there was no way he was going to spare his attentive listeners. The holy cow had become a bone of contention and this hot headed Bong was punctuating his arguments with a fierce gaze and an assertive, “Ki ajebaje Katha!”
His mobile set off a tinkle, indicating a notification on FB. There was a sea change of expression, his frown mellowed down, he pushed his glasses up, they seemed to slowly find their comfort zone on the bridge of his nose. A soft smile battled at his lips, after a few seconds, he succumbed and let his smile spread by a few millimeters. Another song/poem from his new FB friend set off a more amicable trait of his personality. His friends teased him about the old woman who shared a terrible verse or an equally disturbing quote. Arijit was a diehard atheist and made no effort to hide his opinion. The new FB friend, Sukoon, an old woman of 58 had made it her mission to convert him into a believer. A fortnight into their friendship she had asked him about his office, how far he had to commute? Nothing prepared her for his response. “I’m too unwell to go to office so I work from home”. When she asked further, he informed her that he had a pace maker, high diabetes and CPOD. She had no idea what CPOD was but it didn’t sound very promising. All her arguments to believe in the existence of God, his benevolence, his bounty seemed so frivolous now. This man who was counting his days to doom, how could she persuade him to become a believer. Arijit however was very matter of fact about his ailments and tried to make light of it. The doctors were not sure how long he had, “2 years if I’m fortunate”, he typed nonchalantly.
Sukoon had to increase the size of font to make sure she read the figure right. 2 years? What kind of a verdict was this? Of these 2 years, 8 months had lapsed already, the countdown seemed to be happening at an accelerated pace. Sukoon could feel the change in her relationship with Arijit, he was no longer the hot headed Bong who gave her grief by making her God’s advocate. They shared something deeper, a relationship that had no name. He was erudite and had a keen interest in philosophy, politics and literature. Sukoon and he exchanged a lot of ideas on books and authors. He shared his favorite songs with her, thanks to YouTube. She introduced him to the magic of Coke Studios, from a veritable feast of Sufi numbers like – Bismillah to loud, peppy Punjabi folk unraveling the undying love of Heer and Ranjha.
Sukoon lived alone and FB had become her faithful companion. Her special Narnia that opened a wide vista of friendships and fun. She had accepted a request from ‘Nitin’ as they seemed to have several common friends. Nitin described himself as, “A 29 year old benefit scrounger living on the kindness of his parents, writes an occasional Haiku”. Sukoon had been teaching English for four decades now and the ‘occasional Haiku’ had piqued her interest. Nitin, it turned out was an Enfield aficionado, masters in Literature, loved music, especially heavy metal. Food was his passion and what he had in common with Arijit were his Marxist views and deep distrust and disregard for their PM. All his posts spewed venom, enumerating the flaws of the PM and the party he represented. Nitin, despite his tender age was very well read and had an extensive understanding of the world politics and seemed well informed about the events unfolding around the world.
All this took a back seat when a football match was scheduled Liverpool FC became the end all and be his entire universe. He watched the game with his equally enthusiastic friends over chilled beer and sizzlers at the Gymkhana Club, Chandigarh. The club was a hub for the young and the old, while the older members caressed their cards as they plotted their next move in the game of ‘Bridge’. Nitin and his tribe were transported to the turf on the football field in UK, oblivious of their surroundings for 90 minutes, they had left Chandigarh sans passports and visas; only to be made rudely aware of the club lounge as the steward refilled their large beer mugs to the brim. Though the beer seemed bubbly and frothy, these kids slouched on the couch, dejected as the Liverpool had lost the match. Nitin had a penchant for Haikus and seconds after the match was lost, he would post his Haiku on defeat. His Haikus were very prompt and he would create one for every occasion, from football matches to Marx, to the PM, the lousy medical system in India. His haiku dedicated to the drain cleaners-
A stitch in time
MC workers de-silting water drains
no Venice monsoon roads.
Some Haikus exuded gratitude and his love for life. Most poems had food and beverage mentioned somewhere. For some reason, which he was loathe to reveal he was unemployed and hence was very active on FB. Every now and then he would quote a few lines from Iron Maiden to express his views on politics, power hungry people, and life in general. Sukoon though very old was an Iron maiden fan and knew the lyrics of every song they had ever played. He was surprised when she completed the few lines he would post. He told her that he had never met a sari clad metal head before! Most of the songs he quoted were from Iron Maiden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam and the Dubliners. So this light chat, lyrics, pictures of attempts to cook a gourmet meal, his mean machine-Enfield summed up the posts they shared. Sukoon complimented him on his latest poem; it was inspired by a hot summer day in Chandigarh-
Summer morning
Little prayer of gratitude to lord Shiva
as tea seller lights up a chillum.
He told her about feeling a bit low and rudderless. Sukoon had become his go-to person to unburden his insecurities and fears. There seemed to be a large dark cloud looming large over him. She never ignored his pings even if they were at midnight or wee hours of the morning. She missed her daughters who had left the nest to seek higher education and careers in distant shores. Maybe it was her maternal instinct that compelled her to take him in her fold and shield him from the worldly woes. He never failed to impress her with his razor sharp wit and intellect. Once while chatting with him she told him about Arijit and his ailments. Nitin kept pulling her leg that Arijit was using this ploy only to win her heart. When Sukoon needed any technical help she didn’t bat an eyelid before asking for his inputs. They shared a very quaint relationship. They were like old friends who could be themselves without any pretense or need to conceal their fears and insecurities. His bouts of depression got more frequent with time.
Sukoon’s life switched gears when she got back from school. There seemed to be some magical power in the Wi-Fi at home. She kicked off her shoes and plonked on the couch and entered another world altogether. Another good friend of hers was Yogesh, a Stanford graduate, public speaker, behavioural scientist and a philanthropist. Yogesh too was half her age but had a vast work experience and had rubbed shoulders with the best in the corporate world. Very down to earth, grounded, sensitive soul who was an excellent wordsmith with exemplary oratory skills. When he was not globetrotting, he would invest his time and money with the underprivileged students in Pune, India. He organizes workshops to teach them vocational skills, flash mobs, organizes trips for them to parks, movies and even day trips to Imagica, an adventure park near Pune. Sukoon found it refreshing to know such a talented young man who was such an altruist. In a world where the young are so self obsessed, Yogesh was a breath of fresh air. His reviews on books, movies, world affairs would put a seasoned statesman to shame. What won people’s hearts was the way he would coax them to shake a leg to popular bollywood songs. He was a staunch advocate of using dance as a tool to break the ice, shake off anxiety and inhibition and have a dopamine rush free of cost. Sukoon was happy to read his posts and see his videos, with him dancing in an Armani suit with the corporate team or wearing a mithai pink bandana, distressed jeans and dancing with gay abundant to sleazy Govinda songs. He was involved in several CSR Projects and motivated Sukoon to fill the void in her life by reaching out to the needy and offering her services in creative ways.
Yogesh was aware of Sukoon’s concern about Nitin and her inability to pull him out of his depression. Yogesh told her about an organization in Mumbai that his friends spearheaded. It was called “Roti Ghar”, an initiative launched by Chunu Jeet Kwatra to provide free, healthy and hygienic food to underprivileged children and women. They raised funds to make sure 600 kids get one square meal a day. It costs just Rs3500 to feed 100 kids daily. Yogesh reached out to Nitin and cajoled him to use his persuasive skills and his huge network to start such an initiative in Chandigarh. Yogesh was positive Nitin would be able to garner the logistic support needed to make this venture a success. One month later, Nitin was a changed man. Yogesh was right; Nitin took to the project like fish to the water and now writes Haikus that exude optimism and joy.
In Kolkata, Arijit was fighting another battle, trying to keep his head above water, his health failing like a candle diminishing gradually. Sukoon had a deep desire to meet him in person and despite his protests she decided to visit Kolkata for a day. She would spend 4-5 hours with him and catch the red eye to get back home in time. The airport was huge, with crying babies adding to the cacophony. As she walked out of the large exit doors, she looked around at the chaos of baggage trolleys strewn erratically in places, making it difficult to manoeuvre, cotton clad Bong women who flaunted their Dhakai sarees with élan. Her eyes rested on a figure clad in jeans and a blue t-shirt and a smirk of a teenager. Arijit was frail and emaciated, much more than she had imagined. She quickened her steps as he walked slowly towards her. She carried just a handbag as she was there for just a couple of hours. She had to tilt her head to look at him as he was almost 6 feet tall. The warmth of his smile echoed in his eyes as he stood awkwardly. Neither a handshake nor a hug seemed appropriate. He softly said “Madam Sukoon”, she responded with a loud, hoarse “Bengali Babu, good to see you at last!”
Where the five hours flew, she had no idea. Arijit was an interesting companion and over massive rasgullas and hot kachoris , they exchanged news like old friends. Sukoon was mesmerized by the Dakshineshwar Temple; the sanctum sanctorum had a very mysterious and calming effect. She felt she had come home. She looked at Arijit who was an atheist but had escorted her in, nonetheless. His eyes were closed; he seemed calm, at one with his Maker.
He later told her that he had visited a temple after two decades. They then sat at the steps of a temple, quiet, not saying anything but soaking in the tranquility. The strong fragrance from the incense sticks and flowers created an aura of mystery and magic. Eventually they walked out from the temple gates. Arijit bought a fragrant jasmine gajra and insisted on adorning it in her hair. That was the most intimate gesture between the two. The soft tender fragrance was a bridge that locked their eyes in an endless gaze. In a few moments a lot was exchanged sans words. They sat quietly in the cab, listening to the soft strains of, “Ganga tu behti hai kyun?” by Bhupin Hazaarika. A ping on her phone broke her reverie; it was a Haiku Nitin had sent for Arijit. Arijit looked at her quizzically. She had the naughtiest look in her eyes as she read it aloud.
Winter morning
Altruistic sun rising in faraway east horizon
a new day has come.
The Haiku touched a chord with Arijit; his eyes welled up at young Nitin’s creativity and message of optimism. The social media had created a chimerical relationship between all four of them. A relationship so rich, so generous, so close that it filled the lacunae in all four lives.
