C2 Chapter 2
March, 2020
It would be convenient here, to rewind our tape a little. To a
month back approximately. Mid-September that is. Shreya’s
number hadn’t been reachable for over three hours now. We
hadn’t spoken since morning. Our life had been punctuated with
jinxes lately and these were not good signs. My heart beat faster
each time the call didn’t connect. Finally the bell rang. I thanked
God!
“Hullo!” I said.
“Hullo!” said she.
“Where have you been the whole day? I have been trying your
number since morning. How many times have I told you to inform
me that you are busy and can’t talk?” I said in a tense voice
mixed with anger.
“The network was down. And I couldn’t call from home.”
“Why?” I fired.
“Mom and dad were around.”
“The whole day? You couldn’t even find a minute to call me?” I
should have tried to understand her position but my temper took
over, “How foolish is that! You know very well that I’ll be worried.
Every time you don’t call, I think, not again, not another shocker!
But no, you won’t call. You are never bothered!”
“Right. I am never bothered,” she said irritably.
“Shut up!”
“No, you are right, I am never bothered and why should I be!”
“Now, don’t begin. Tell me, all well?”
“How does it matter if it is or not. I am not bothered. And you
shouldn’t be, either.”
“Shreya, please tell me. All well?” I asked a little worried.
“I can’t, right now, I’ll call you at night. Around eleven-thirty,”
she said in a melancholic tone. Something was wrong.
“Just tell me if everything is fine!”
“I won’t be able to, now. Please.”
“I can’t hang up like that, Shreya. You make me nervous. At least
give me a hint,” I summoned all my guts to say,” I hope you are
coming to Delhi in December.”
“No,” she said after a pause, her voice on the verge of breaking. I
couldn’t talk any more. I needed some time to absorb that shock.
I knew that it was on the cards, still I needed time.
MY MIND SPRANG INTO THE PAST…
It was July end and she was back in Chennai – that is where
she lives, a good two thousand kilometers away from me. Back, I
mean, from Delhi. We had met quite often while she was here and
those surely had been magical days. And after she left I had
missed her sorely. So I decided, or say erred, like many other
victims of love have since time immemorial and will continue to in
spite of my well-meant warnings, to write a letter to her, pouring
out my feelings. My first love letter! I wrote under her friend’s
name and she got in alright.
But not many days late she called to tell me that the letter
had been discovered. By her parents, of course. Like a fish out of
water, my game up, I asked, like everyone does in such
situations, an inconsequential question:
“Didn’t you lock the drawer?” I had asked.
“I had!”
“Then? You said there were two keys, both in your possession!”
It so happened, she told me, that a third key existed. Her
mother kept it. She wasn’t aware of it too until she came into her
room after college and found the drawer open and the letter
removed. And they say – ignorance is bliss!
Well, rest of it is usual! Her mom played a passing-the-
parcel, and gave the letter to her dad and any dad, on discovering
a letter written by a lover to his daughter addressing her
dangerous things like darling and sweetheart, leaps in the air and
so did Mr. Bhargava, her father, and in that process hit the ceiling
impairing his brain forever. I don’t blame him. It is perhaps
natural, for I have seen documentaries that study a dad’s reaction
on the discovery of his daughter’ darling and they all show the
same thing. The dad goes mad. For him it is not merely a letter,
but a time bomb, ticking away, threatening to blow his daughter
away one day. And when a dada goes mad, he decided that his
daughter must be kept in strictest of custodies, with barbed wires
and all.
Tough times ensued and I reluctantly admit to have become
something of a philosopher. Such was my condition that I
managed to write a song on life, playing which on my guitar,
brought me comfort. Though scarcely better than a crow’s
serenade, it was of help, and so I reproduce it for you:
You haven’t pain your rent,
Landlord isn’t much of a friend,
He wants his 50 dollars 30 cents,
Or you’ll be booked for offence,
You’ll be kicked out, but
Find new house, new town.
For life goes on.
Her name is Alice,
Yesterday you got your first kiss,
Today she tells it is all over,
She saw you with another miss.
Before you tell her it was only your sis,
It’s a bye-bye-Alice.
Alices will go but Sallies will come,
Don’t worry; life goes on.
You’ve finally found a new job,
Good pay, not much work on the shop,
Your packet’s picked on the morning train,
“Oh my God,” you’re late again.
The boss doesn’t listen, says you are outta job
You are a rolling stone again.
Don’t worry they say “It can’t worse.”
And life rolls on.
Got no girls to call your own,
No job, no money, no home,
You’ve been searching for a bench to sleep on.
Everything’s so bleak ‘n forlorn.
Life’s a rollercoaster, with its ups and downs,
Life goes on.
There’s one thong you’ve got to learn,
Life’s full of twists ‘n turns,
You’ve got to break the rocks in the hot sun,
For the tide to turn.
If there is night, there has to be dawn.
Life goes on.
Yesterday may have been shit,
Today you may be a complete misfit,
But tomorrow’s a new day,
So don’t give up that weeny ray.
You’ve got to pray, dream, hope and move on,
O-O-O Life goes on.
The band’s gone, the applause over, let us return to the
story. Around two months had passed and like all matters,
however hot initially, this one too cooled down, and life had
indeed gone on. We (which strictly includes only Shreya and me)
had hopes that her dad would allow her to come to Delhi in
December as had been the plan. We managed to talk once a day
and were satisfied. There had been no shock for a long time, until
this day when her father had, no doubt, for some reason, ordered
that his daughter must not be allowed to go to Delhi. And so, it
was required that his daughter’s love must go to Chennai, of
course. So, that’s the story of my first love letter and, well, the
last.
