మాలిక పత్రిక

రచన: లలితా రామ్

FACETS

It seemed like the smoky event took place a century ago.  In hazy shades of grey, accompanied by low, murmuring tones.  A whole day of reminiscing, amidst telephone calls from her staff.

Today was a special day in her married life.  Shreya had to see the video.  It was filled with hues and resonant vibrations, echoing her state of mind, at her wedding.

Perched on a deep brown, tuft-patterned leather sofa, Shreya immersed herself in watching her wedding events.  With a cup of coffee, her favorite chocolate chip cookies and the eternal rain pouring outside.

I was a spirited journalist then.  A rebel with many causes, she thought.

She had represented a reputed monthly magazine that was applauded for its bursting in-house talent.  The magazine produced cutting-edge articles.  She wrote in their business affairs section.  She was pleasantly surprised when her boss assigned her to cover a global conference, at a five star hotel in Bangalore, India.  She had just joined the firm.

“Don’t you think Mr. Gurudas would be better for this assignment?  He has done this twenty times or more.”  She asked her boss, the chief editor.

“That is exactly why I want you to go for it.  I need a fresh vision.  I have made up my mind.”  The boss cast a shooting glance at her.

Officials from many countries flew in for the event that was held in the silver lotus banquet hall, decorated with subdued lights and wall length tapestries.  International chefs claimed to make the best food Bangalorians had ever tasted.

She remembered being excited.   This could spur her onto a larger domain.  If not, she had laughed to herself, she would taste gourmet cuisine, from jambalaya chops to smothered enchiladas and rub shoulders with peers.

She would completely forget her musty room in the office, the smell of dry parchment, her hand written notes and the lusty Gurudas for three whole days.  The man with coffee stained teeth, smiled at her incessantly.  Touched her bare waist and came close to her at door entrances and room corners.  He was exactly twenty seven years older than her.  She tolerated him as he had a pronounced limp.

This was a hot summer in the year 1985.

She arrived early on the first day.  Brimming with questions and full of answers.  She covered presentations and interactive sessions.  The room was vibrant with men in dark suits and a handful of women in skirts and silk blouses.

This was the first time Shreya bumped into Oberon.  She ran into him at the entrance of the banquet hall.  Both arrived early.  She turned right and he did, and when she turned left, he did too. They stopped and smiled at each other.  He looked back at her and waved, as he strode towards the podium.

Oberon was a mesmerizing speaker.  He kept the journalists arched up.  Shreya prodded him on relentlessly, asking him to prescribe methodologies, define risks and etch safeguards.  She provided him with her own model, and at one point, he invited her on to the platform.

It did not end there.  At noon, he asked, “Shreya!  Will you have lunch with me?”

In the evening, he asked again, “Shreya!  Will you have dinner with me?  And come for a drive?”

Dinner was followed by a bumpy taxi ride through M.G. road in the middle of the city.  It stretched east, from Trinity to A. Kumble circle.  The road was busier than most others in Bangalore.  It was fringed with shops of all sizes that sold everything from pulp magazines to brass-wares.  It was the downtown of Bangalore, with a host of advertising agencies, restaurants, financial institutions, airline companies and movie theaters.

“What is the one thing that I must see in Bangalore?” Oberon had asked.

“There are two things.  The Lal Bagh with its magnificent trees and rock formations, and me, of course!” She had grinned.  She took him for a visit to the Mughal style garden.

They struck on a pleasurable note of friendship before the end of the third day.  They explored the road and the predominantly flat city with its parks and museums.  Oberon Macintyre returned to his home in New York with golden memories.

Their friendship flourished happily, with letters, phone calls and frequent Hallmark cards.

He turned into her guide and guru, after he discovered Shreya’s mother died when she was very young.  Her father, the principal of a co-education school, was not inclined to overt display of emotions.  She never knew if he missed her mother.  She was not sure if he loved her, Shreya, irrevocably.  She loved him deeply.  Yet she felt a void, often.  Books were his best friends.  His silence drew her to her father even more.  Shreya took after her mother and she was interested in every being that had a whiff of life.

Oberon visited her in Bangalore, a year and a half later, for her twenty third birthday.  He congratulated her on winning The New Journalist of the Year award, from an eminent professional association.

“I have been thinking about you.  The times we had together. Especially the evening on the banks of the river Kabini, when we held hands and walked, with the waves dancing in the evening sunlight.  Did you miss me?”  He asked.

His eyes were deep pools of passion.  She bloomed in a second, in response to their beams.

“Yes.  I missed you.  Oberon, I’ve heard men and women date in your part of the world.  Do you have any girlfriends?”  She asked.

“I did have a girlfriend.  Though, it has been more than a year since we parted.  I’ve dated a few women after that.  Nothing serious though.”

He was honest.  She turned the other way to hide the pain in her face.

His quick, warm kiss caught her unawares.  They went for a picnic to the outlandish wildlife sanctuary near the river, around one hundred and forty five miles from Bangalore.  They were on the sands again, near Kabini.  At their favorite spot, near hand-built, circular bamboo boats.  They caught sight of a lone elephant and an antelope family, looking at them.

“Want to come for a swim in the river?”

She had laughed.  “I’ve never entered it.  You will discover crocs in the deep waters.  I don’t have the stomach to face them.”

On the last day of his vacation, Shreya went to the airport to say goodbye.  As she turned and walked towards the exit, she heard him call her.   She swung around and looked.  He came running towards her, with a gleam in his eyes.

“Will you marry me, Ms. Shreya Bhargav?  I must kidnap you if you say no.  For a ransom of red roses and love.”

She had been waiting.  She hugged him before he absorbed her affirmation, and they swirled, not caring a twig for the onlookers, who waited curiously for them to kiss.

He came back a month later, with his seventy four year old grandmother and a younger brother, for the wedding.  His parents were dead and gone, years ago.

The wedding date was set.  The event was held in the open gardens of a star hotel.  The event coordinator had come up with a theme of an outdoor shamiana, pale jasmines, red and pink roses and hanging lamps.

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Shreya stirred and came back to reality.  She took a sip of coffee.  She fell back into memory lane, as she gazed at the television screen.

She glanced at herself, clad in a white and red sari, in motion.  Her father looked dazed.   Her aunt was sweaty and crying.  Her girlfriends in their best ghagra-cholis chirped around.  She had experienced excitement and wonder, and looked forward to an inception.

In the state of Oregon, in the coastal town of Newport.

Oberon took up a new position, as the head of a bank branch.  He moved from New York to the coastal town in the Pacific northwest.  It was sparsely populated.  The main attractions were the harbor, Yaquina bay bridge and state park, an aquarium and the Nye beach.

Oberon chose the town since his grandmother lived there.  He was distinctly tired of life amidst the fast tracks in New York city.

Shreya loved her new home, perched on a hill, overlooking the Pacific waters.   The hills were filled with scotch brooms, sweet fennels and big leaf maples.  Oberon and she often took long walks along the aquarium gardens, looking at hermit thrushes and ground squirrels.

“Do you like it here?  I do worry that you miss the hustle and bustle of Bangalore.”

“You’ve taken me kayaking and whale watching.  I get my kisses from Muja.  Grandma makes the best pumpkin pie in the world.  What more could I want?”  Muja was their favorite sea lion.

“All of me.” He replied and pulled her closer.

“That’s an incentive.  I have news for you.  You’re going to be a doting dad, with a baby that looks just like you.  You’re going to have your hands full, my dear Oberon!”

Oberon didn’t look as excited as she did.  He hugged her, seemed happy, and fell into his customary mode of silence.  Sports and silence were the big themes in his life.  The silence reminded her of her father.

She continued with her writing, after she moved to Oregon.  She wrote for a national journal.  Her column was called ‘Fishy Business’.  She wrote on interest rates, budding entrepreneurship in the country and the economics of doing business.  Her ideas were daring, indeed path-breaking, and soon came the inevitable recognition.  She launched her own on-line newspaper business that turned successful within a few years.

She rushed to be with grandma, when Oberon and she had cold tiffs that lasted for days. When her daughter, Mysti turned three, Shreya cooked grandma’s favorite dishes; chicken and lamb curries and an aromatic biryani.   She packed the dishes carefully and took her daughter for Rose Macintyre’s blessings.

Mysti never received them that year or after, for Rose had passed away quietly in her sleep.  She remembered her daughter touching the dead grandma’s cheeks, trying to awaken her.  Shreya felt like she lost her mother all over again.

Dad doesn’t visit me at all.  When I visit him, he is aloof.  Yet I miss him the most.  Grandma filled the void.  Now she is gone.  Oberon lives in a world of his own, and Mysti is just a baby.  My business is all I have.  I have defined a direction for myself and my staff,  she thought.

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As Shreya was watching Oberon tie the three wedding knots around her neck, her daughter walked into the room, with a bowl full of popcorn, blowing extreme round gum-bubbles, through her mouth.

“Mom, I made fresh popcorn for you, just now.  No butter.  I hope you don’t gain any more weight, ok?  And, don’t go into the kitchen right now.  I’ve some cleaning to do.” She said.

“What are you watching?  Oh, your wedding video.  Mom, you were so beautiful then.  Oh! “She looked at her in sympathy, shaking her head.

Shreya ate some pop corn.  It was fluffy and tangy.  My Mysti is a creator, she thought.

“Mysti!  We have our book club meet tonight.  I need to make some munchies.  Clean up the kitchen before I count ten.” She snapped her fingers.  Mysti ran.

She had two close friends in her book club that consisted of six members.  A straight haired Valerie, with etched features and a pleasant, chirpy Pallavi, known as Paddy.  Paddy was in marine research and Val was an endocrinologist.   Aquatic health, child metabolism, business journalism and books, what a combination, Shreya thought.  Their girls went to the same school, played soccer together and learnt chords from the same piano teacher.

The book club members were scheduled to meet at Shreya’s place that night.  The women assembled in the den, stretched themselves on the orange rug, with glasses of Pinot Noir.  It was just the three of them that night, with the other two women pleading sickness.

“What did you think of The Fountainhead and Dominique Francon?” Paddy asked.

“Way ahead of its times.  I sympathize with her for being self-absorbed and taking a pessimistic view of the world.” Valerie said.

“She didn’t know the difference between intellect and emotional intelligence.  We take intelligent risks all the time.  At work.  Those are calculated risks, backed by reason.” Shreya said.

“Absolutely.  Being purposeful and smart could go hand in hand.  But the two together may not blossom into emotional intelligence.  The character is perverse.” Paddy concluded.

Ayn Rand and Dominique Francon preoccupied them that night.  They did not agree with a single trait of the heroine.  That was exactly why they were fascinated.

They pictured her sitting on the leather sofa in Shreya’s den, near the crackling fireplace, wearing a low-necked tight dress that clung to her bosom and waist, shaking her finger at them.

They laughed at each other the next morning, over cups of steaming, hot coffee and delicious cheese omelets.

“Hey, muffin top.  What are your plans for the day?  Should we go window shopping?  Or serious shopping?”  Val directed the question to Paddy, who didn’t mind the nickname.

“Let’s find an outlandish pair of sunglasses for Shreya.” Paddy smiled.

Mysti hung around in the kitchen, giggling and picturing her mom in tight jeans, sporting large sunglasses.  Mom says she doesn’t have time to exercise, Mysti thought and pursed her lips.

Daughters, schedules, their education and unpredictable future were constant themes in the book club meetings.  They tied the characters in the books to their lives and moved back to the present, when they turned up in their offices on Monday mornings to face new challenges.  Shreya felt that her biggest challenge was balancing the long hours she put into her work, with her family life.  Her strong-willed yet vulnerable daughter needed her now.  She didn’t see enough of her husband.  She had not seen her dad in ten years.  She knew that every decision in her daily life depended on her work schedule.

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Shreya pondered over another phase in her life.

Oberon had not changed much, in these twenty five years.  He took care of himself and remained placid in his view of life and adversities.  He was diagnosed with high blood pressure that one would not have associated with him.  Shreya, on her part, suffered through a miscarriage, before Mysti was born, and went through long years of rheumatic pains.  Oberon moved onto a better position with another bank, headquartered in Los Angeles.

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That day was the twenty fifth anniversary of her married life.

She had looked forward to the day eagerly.  She even took a day off from work and had plans to paint her nails.  Oberon planted a firm kiss on her lips.  A tight hug was followed by a mumbling wish.  He then left for Los Angeles, leaving a vase of blooming red roses on her dressing table.  She did not hear from her dad.

It seemed like her darling Mysti, her best friends Paddy and Val, her colleagues and friends from various cities had all forgotten the date.

She hoped for a quiet candlelight dinner with her husband.  She purchased a gift certificate for a plasma television and it sat, forlorn, on her dressing table.

It turned out to be a rainy, lonely day.

If Mysti had forgotten the occasion, she did not want to remind her.  She cooked a simple dinner of a Thai curry and noodles.  They ate quietly and slept early.  When Oberon came back into town, a week after, she pretended that his absence had not bothered her.

The book club meeting night arrived again, after a couple of weeks.  Oberon insisted on giving her a ride.  His reason was that she needed a designated driver.  Shreya was completely prepared.  She knew each chapter like the back of her hand.  She even read up on the author’s life.

Paddy’s place was lit with colorful lights, like it was Christmas.  There were more cars than the expected six.  Shreya tried to jog her memory.  Was it Paddy’s daughter’s birthday?  Oh, darn.  She hadn’t even bought a gift.  Paddy would understand.  She would make up for it.

Paddy, dressed in a tight shimmering red dress, opened the door, with a huge smile on her face.

“Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me, and we like friends, will straight way go together.”  She quoted. “Happy anniversary, my dear.”

A stream of light began to weave its way through Shreya’s mind.  She turned back and saw that Oberon was right behind her.  He had a warm grin on his face.  They walked into the room that was dark.  Lights came on.

They were all standing, with wide smiles, in one corner of the room.  Misty, Val, Oberon’s younger brother, her colleagues, all of their families and close friends from California and Washington.  This was a surprise party for her.  And her dad walked slowly towards her, from behind Val.

“Happy twenty fifth anniversary, my dear.”  He said, his eyes were moist and he stretched a withered hand towards her.  Shreya looked at the hand and knew at this moment what mattered to her the most.

 

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