Inclement weather was to be expected this afternoon. Mira had heard the weatherman repeatedly say this from yesterday evening. The small portico of their bungalow directly overlooked the Darjeeling Mall. It was getting ominously dark. The hills beyond were completely shrouded in a canopy of gloom. Darjeeling bad weather almost always seemed like a tragic movie to Mira. The life of the happy sky, aimless clouds and the crispy mountain tops get veiled in a black shroud like the advent of an omen. This never fails to make Mira sad. And when the heaviness in the air descends into her heart, she feels a cold grip and a fleeting sensation of fear.
Her Ba had come back from the bookstore early today. There would be no customers on a day like this. Even the rare tourists in this off season were heading back to their hotel. The mall took on a deserted look, barring the few local boys who were still on their football game. Divya Didi of course was hovering around, waiting for her tall school teacher boyfriend, Suraj, to show up. Mira knew by now the routine of these love birds. They met every day of the week here at the mall between 2 and 3pm, after school got over.
Darjeeling Mall was like an extension of not just Mira’s home, but her life. So much went on here each day. Arms perched against the stone pillar, chin rested, Mira would watch from her portico the play of life from this vantage point. People milling around, idly sitting on benches to watch the sunset, children riding ponies, whole host of tourists in their careful colourful attire crowding the entrance to restaurants and her Ba’s bookstore…Mira blends into this chaotic beautiful scene each day. Her favourite game is to embody one character every day. That could be anything from a child on its mother’s arms to an old man selling artefacts to maybe Divya Didi’s boyfriend, Suraj. It could well be a tree, swinging its pretty branches in the cool breeze or perhaps an old book on Ba’s store’s bookshelf, lying idly for months, its pages waiting patiently for someone to pick her up and hold her gently in his hands. Mira would imagine that character was she, she would get ‘into the skin’ and inwards to the mind. One day that child would be happy, another day a young girl would be anxious. Some days, the chosen character could be a rebel, fighting an imaginary fiend, other days the character would just ‘be’, idling around the mall. Mira’s big eyes would soak up the scene and focus on the target. And the rest of the lazy Darjeeling afternoon would be spent in her living another body, another dream, another life.
Aamu would at times be the rude intermission to such beautiful movies playing out in Mira’s mind. Her calls to finish homework and studies being at the top of the chart. At seven years of age, Mira’s duty towards family was confined to helping Ba in the bookstore. She loved it so much! Ba would make her sit on a specially made tall chair and she would place the bought books in a brown paper packet, fold the ends neatly and hand it to the customer with a smile and thank you. Mira was good at this. Ba loved watching his daughter play the adorable book keeper and his eyes would smile from behind his thick glasses.
The weather was getting worse with each passing second today. The dark clouds seemed to be choking the breath out of the mall. The mountains had vanished behind this menace long back. Visibility was now down to almost zero, with one little green bench still managing to keep its presence with a firm determination. Today, Mira’s target was this bench.
Repainted this year’s tourist season, the green was still bright, a bold contrast to the dark grey mister threatening its very existence. The might of the darkening grey had swallowed up the mountains beyond, the trees and even most of the shops lining the mall. But this little bench, all decked up in her green finery, lone and scared, was still fighting like a brave soldier this fury of darkness, just to stay put in Mira’s view. What better target today than this cute bench! Mira sat up straight on her view point and focussed her attention on the bench. Little by little, all her senses seeped into the straight lines of the green., every inch of her tiny body steeled itself to fight this ominous grey veil, soon turning a pitch black in corners. The chill in the air was getting sharp on her skin. The very breath of the mall was getting stifled by the fury of these dark descending clouds. She pulled up the warm muffler to her chin.
The battle this day became one of the ‘little green bench and the dark grey monster’. Every second, the monster gained ground, its aim being to throttle the very existence of green by its sheer size and power. It breathed fire of anger and ice to stifle green’s breath. It blew gashes of air so mighty in its power that it threatened green to topple over. For a moment, did it seem that green shook? Or was it that the chill was so acute that Mira herself shivered?
Aamu’s voice cut through such an epic battle, as always. She came running out to Mira pushing Basanti. “Get in at once Miru, you’ll catch a chill”. Reluctantly, Mira left the body of the brave green bench and crept back under the skin of the little seven year old girl on the portico. Her eyes though refused to leave her green. Only a fraction of the bench now stood visible. None of them were ready to give up yet. Aamu pulled Mira by her hand and made her sit on Basanti. Just when Aamu was turning around Basanti to enter the house, there was a lightning, the dark cloud parted and giant drops of water fell from the sky. The rain finally tore through the dark spell, the sky cleared and the little green bench in all her glory, smiled its victory smile at the little girl perched on her wheelchair.
In Mira’s house, Basanti came in on Mira’s second birthday. In the idyllic life of a happy family set in the scenic landscape of Darjeeling, the mere presence of a wheelchair, a lifelong aide to Mira, was like a jarring reminder of life’s fragility. Basanti however settled down well over time, with her cheery name and her forever friend Mira.
Darjeeling clouds, mist and rain are a playful bunch, giving each other precious little time to act. Within minutes, the dark grey lifted, clearing the mall. And the little green bench and Mira exchanged their silent smile of victory.
