Kamal Ghorui
For the first time, I saw her silhouette against the dark evening before I walked away.…
2013: A busy November evening
The November nights were getting colder and so was I. The relentless pressure of being the best at work and in relationships was unknowingly choking me. I was tired most of the times, either from rushing into the classrooms and expounding on concepts like a robot or pleasing people who did not deserve even a drop of my care. I yearned for the comfort of silence. In this daily grind, I neither had the patience nor the zeal to foster friendships in my new neighbourhood.
That evening, opposing my desire for solitude, I dressed up for a long awaited supper with Shallu and Neetu, my two friends with whom I could be completely myself! We were a trio of love, laughter and life! The reservation was made for 9:00 PM, and I was warned not to show up late.
Is suffering a path to growth or a weakness of a fragile soul? I pondered as I looked at my golden sequin dress and black kohled eyes that decently veiled my exhaustion from a long day of work. By the virtue of being a professor, I was inclined to reflect deeply upon my thoughts, each one of them.
It was already 8:30 PM when I slogged towards the common parking area in my pencil heels that slowed my pace even more. Everyone residing in our lane had to walk some five hundred meters to the common parking area to get to their cars, all because of the single storey white bungalow that opened on two sides—the main and side lane.
The word in the air was that the ‘peevish Kapoors’ had illegally extended their personal parking into the side lane. This extension made the lane entrance extremely narrow, so no car could pass through. Nobody squabbled with them, perhaps because of the titles carved on the nameplate: ‘Advocate / Professor Delhi University.’
I was already behind the wheels when I realised that I had forgotten my phone at home in a hurry. Since walking back in heels felt excruciating, I parked my car in front of the Kapoor’s main gate that was usually closed and went upstairs to get my phone.
I returned in less than five minutes. But before I could slip back into the car, I heard someone hurling warnings at me in a stern and authoritative voice.
A lady in her early sixties with short, curly bob hair appeared at the main gate. She was Mrs. Kapoor. The darkness of the evening had hidden her face, so it was only her silhouette that I could see. She was wearing a white slawar kameez with a shawl wrapped around her arms.
“How dare you park here!” she was now pointing a finger at me. I froze with my mouth agape. The air felt heavy. I then saw Mr. Kapoor come out from behind her. He gently took the lady’s hand to calm her. He was tall man, bald, with a bushy moustache. He seemed more composed than his wife.
Mrs. Kapoor’s non-cooperative behaviour did not surprise me for two reasons:
First, people her age usually find reasons to fret over trivial matters, perhaps due to ample time at their disposal.
Second, arrogance mercilessly kills empathy, which was exactly her case.
So, ignoring her warnings, I quickly slipped into the car and fired up the engine.
I drove past giving her the cold shoulder while she was still venting her old age frustrations and superiority at me.
The later evening with my best friends was filled with togetherness and laughter that faded the bitterness of my first encounter with Mrs. Kapoor (but her silhouette still loomed in my head).
It was almost 1:00 am when I came back home. Unable to sleep, I went to my balcony that looked down onto the Kapoor’s porch. A white Innova was parked with extra precision in the narrow encroached area. There were big Ashoka trees planted in a perfect sequence with many others that I couldn’t name. A small fountain and colourful terracotta figurines were neatly kept in the other corner of the porch with wind chimes dancing to the rhythm of the night’s air.
Is it destiny that brings people into our lives or our karmas? I pondered as I felt a strange stillness in that meticulously decorated porch.
To be continued…..
Next part: The shy steps
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