Days

Bagicha

29th February 1980,

Sun on our head, sweat on our face, cigarettes on our lips as the four of us, all dressed alike--shirt tucked in pale blue pants, hair puffed, sandals on feet-- walked leisurely on the streets.

With the rise of the sun, my guilt of wearing a black shirt also rises. Mummy warned me, but I chose to be baaghi--rebel. The shirt has traced my bulging belly and sulking chest. The stickiness annoys me. Yet I walk.

We like this area. It has straight roads and aligned houses. The hoardings are bigger and more colorful, although the printed words-- 'A Very Very Happy Birthday To Our Dear Brother' whomsoever--is the same. The garden has cemented fences, two side gates, one main gate, a temple which occupies a quarter of it, and benches ten feet apart from each other.

As we walk around the garden, lost in the silence of the place, Manoj spotted a girl inside the garden. We all took our position to peek.

A girl dressed in a white t-shirt and pink skirt sat alone. Her face buried beneath a book long enough to take a lifetime for me to read.

There was something queer about her. Something which held me motionless, speechless. She gives me peace and makes me anxious at the same time.

I turned to the other three. They were as astounded as me. Just for a fraction of time, I thought there's something different about her. But the truth is I'm just like the others.

"You carry on," I said at last. "I can't tolerate this hot air more. I'm going home."

Manoj and Jagdish ignored. Santosh nodded.

I went back in the direction from which we came. They in another.

                                                                -----*-----*-----*-----

When I was assured they wouldn't come back, I approached the garden.

While walking towards the Radha-Krishna temple, I tried to take a glance at her. Everything about her feels so familiar yet unknown.

Like a memory without experience.

I rang the bell three times and kneeled, my head touching the ground. I stood up, joined my hands, and walked out without turning.

Book aside, legs crossed, hands folded, half-closed eyes at the tree, she sat. Her face like a wave--calm and unpredictable.

I knew it! I knew I know her. She is Ankita Rajput, a new girl who joined the school in the middle yet ranked in all subjects. I have talked to her a few times but only about studies.

I have a good reputation in school as a kid with complete notes.

The happiness lasted only for a minute. All now left was the pain. Pain felt when someone betrays you.

I thought she was a girl with some morals. She has the dignity to preserve. But now seeing her like this, in a garden, wearing a skirt which fails to cover her knees properly, makes my heartache.

I struggled to decide whether I should talk to her or not. Finally, I decided to give a try.

"Hello." I faked a grin.

She moved her head leisurely and leisurely she smiled. "Hello, Virendra." Her voice coarse then I remember. "How are you?"

"Good." As our eyes met, I weighed them down to the floor.