Land Of Lines

1

'Draw a line between you and me
wide enough for all to see
In a world for both to shine
where a half is your' s, a half mine'

The humble solitude of Taki is perhaps what drew me so intensely. In those days it was much quieter. I remember strolling down the bank of Ichamati river, sitting down on the lush green grass and letting the cool breeze caress my face. There was a queer aura of untouched tranquility, an experience as distant to a city dweller like me as the concept of the claustrophobic urban life to the residents of Taki.

There weren't as many resorts back then either although tourists like me were still abundant during the season. They flocked in during the summer and winter vacations and during the pujas. They came for the gorgeous river which ran along the boundary of India and Bangladesh, the pujas, the village life and most importantly for the peace.

Years and years of choking fumes, deafening screams of vehicles and the endless strife and hassle of city life drive men like these to seek an escape from the embrittled remains of himself. Somewhere somehow to pull back together the pieces of the creative enthusiastic spirt which remains scattered under the burden of expectations.
This tiny village in the North 24 parganas district stacked away in one corner of West Bengal was a similar source of escape for me. An escape from the grinding wheels of industrialization and refuge in the calm shade of nature. My secret of happiness was however evidently deciphered by many others and soon enough, escape from industry became an industry in itself.

I really cannot recognise Taki now. Dozens of new resorts and tourists lodges have sprouted providing top notch facilities to those with the means to afford. The calmness and luxury of greenery has been rapidly devoured by the incessant buzz of hoarding and banners. There is a brand new gate in front of the river with new seats sprawled across the bank. Totos and cars transverse the narrow streets and tourists pour in all year round. Taki has turned into an ideal shooting spot for soap operas and films, opening up new avenues of revenue for the people. The small village of Taki today is a throbbing thriving town. It was as if I had not returned to the same place.
I was in Taki after 15 years. A lot has happened in these fifteen years. Just like Taki my life and perhaps myself are simply not the same anymore. Not even recognisable in all probability. The last time I was here it was with my wife, Shraddha.
Shraddha and I were not married when we came here. Infact, we had not even thought of getting married. We were in love and thought we would continue to be in love forever. Do not ask me how it felt like, what love was for both of us because with the passage of time love assumed many meanings. It started with attraction, bonded with passion, molded itself in obsession and sustained itself through compromise. And when it ended both of us were left asking whether it really was ever there.

We had met at a party. It was a wedding reception of one of my cousins and like any other family occasion I was left feeling genuinely out of place which was certainly not abnormal when you find yourself engaging in forced interactions with relatives you have not heard from for ages. After meeting almost everyone, managing to procure some small meaningless conversations and a long period of strenuous smiling I decided to take a break and sit in a peaceful corner, casually sipping on a drink . This is when I saw her.

She was with her parents and dressed in a red embroidered lehenga with a backless blouse. Certainly Pretty but not glamorous. Still, there was something about her which was strangely so desirable. She had an unique grace and a very natural way of getting along with people. It was only a matter of time when she was going around meeting everybody and that too so willingly. Her charm and smile were rather infectious.

I must have been observing her for a really long time and she had evidently noticed. Her girlfriends had also not missed a chance to slyly point it out to her with a subtle gesture while she was chatting with them. Hence when my cousin called me to meet her, I was surely embarrassed.

"Rushit meet Shraddha, she is Simran's cousin. Shraddha, he is Rushit, my cousin."

Ionly managed an awkward nod but Shraddha's face lit up with a spontaneous spirit of mischief.

" Well then guess both of us are a related then" She said making a disappointed face.

I clenched my teeth to suppress an untimely outburst of laughter while my cousin looked on utterly baffled by my state.

"What was the joke in that?"

But we didn't care answering that. Soon enough both of us found ourselves in a rambling conversation and in the process discovered a long list of common interests and preferences. For instance both of us had a keen interest in theatre and Shraddha was especially excited when she heard I am a theatre practitioner myself. She made me promise time and again that I would call her for my next show. Never before had I met someone with whom I had felt such a strong connection. The long drawn anticipated monotony of the reception party was shattered and from it emerged the bud of another strange feeling. The sort of feeling that would keep me awake night after night, make me laugh without reason and cry without loss. Make me vulnerable in her absence and rejuvenated in her company and empty my heart out in pages and pages of heartfelt scribbles of poetry. Was this love or just something else? I really cannot tell today.

Still we parted that night and it could have been the last time we ever saw each other had I not summoned the courage to turn back and ask if we could meet again.

"You are asking me out on a date? ", she asked with that same exaggerated expression.

Every cell of my brain yelled to say no but my heart was too drenched with passion to listen.

"Yes," I said. " I am".