Nita looked at the shriveled flowers of Rajnigandha and then
glanced at the windowpane. Raindrops were trying to peep in to her cozy room.
She was alone. It has been seven years, that day was not different from today.
That day she had gone to the market. It was sweaty and
sticky. The rains were not yet out of the clouds. Nita was busy looking for
fresh potatoes. Different shades were mixing up in her mind. She was lost in
another world, searching for some soothing moment. Someone pulled her dupatta,
little irritated she looked back. It was a street kid, holding a bunch of Rajnigandha;
the kid looked at here with dry eyes. As if those eyes were scared to
dream. There was no reason but she
bought the bunch of flowers and returned home. Her husband gave her a puzzled
look. He asked,” what made you buy this? What about my aloo chips?” She looked
at him with dry eyes. He left. She sat near the window with a cup of coffee and
those flowers. It started raining. She was trying to smell the rain and was
looking at the flowers. With every drop of rain she was taking a step backward.
It happened few days ago.
She always saw Vedant at the book shop, sitting at the right
side corner table. She often went to the book shop and every time that right
side corner looked the same. This monotonous man amazed her. One day she
happened to reach early and when he came he was lost in search of his own
corner. Nita smiled and got up. She heart the monotonous man for the first
time,” please, continue your work, I will come tomorrow”. Before she could
utter anything he left. The next day she couldn’t understand how and why but
she was again at his corner before him. There he arrived to get settled in his
corner. And before he leaves suddenly Nita told him to take his corner. With no
reason she added,” would you mind if I share this corner with you?”
He looked at her and his eyes spoke, since then Nita sat
there every day.
At that time Nita
was twenty something and he must be in his thirties. Vedant’s hair was usually
undone; his eyes spoke the most as if looking for someone who could hear them.
He was tall, broad shouldered. Dusky Nita wanted to touch life with her long
fingers.
Days passed
and that silent, right side corner started chirping. Both shared cup of coffee, and now Nita too had
liking for black coffee. Vedant lived alone with his son and came to the
bookshop after dropping him to school. He used to write for a magazine online
and he enjoyed music. He was still
getting adjusted with newness of the town.
He loved reading Nita’s poems aloud and enjoyed finding mistakes in
them. Nita was drowning in those deep eyes day by day. One day she didn’t come
and the coffee cup was not emptied.
It was raining
when Vedant saw Nita running towards him in the bookshop street. Her marriage
was to take place in next few weeks. She was getting married to the man her
parents found perfect for her. The rains suddenly stopped and sky was dry. The
fragrance of the rain filled their hearts and Vedant kept looking at the rainy
eyes of Nita.
Once the ceremonies were over Nita came to the bookshop and
shared a cup of black coffee with Vedant. She had nothing to say. Vedant spoke
something which sounded like,”The coffee tastes better today. I never
knew that I will miss you. But be happy.”
On that day they went for a quiet walk, holding hands, passing
warmth to each other, knowing nothing.
It was drizzling again. Nita was feeling cold. They stood aside. Vedant
pulled her, the embrace was tight. Nita
didn’t leave him. She closed her eyes tightly, as the moment was freezing in
her. She was filled with something.
After few days she again went to the bookshop but that
corner was empty and it gave a feel that it will never chirp again.
It has been seven long years. She kept reading Vedant online
but never tried to reach him. Because she always felt that he was within her
breath. She still smelled that secure deep breath around in the aura that
covered her.
She looked at the seven years’ fresh dryness of Rajnigandha,
looked out of the window and sipped her black coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment