Jia was exhausted. Not just from her work, but more drained from the heart. As her car drove through the maddening rush hour of Mumbai traffic, she pondered over her life, as she often did during this ride from her office to the crèche. Jia turned forty today. The day came and passed more silently than even her regular days, with the exception of her office colleagues who brought her a cake and flowers and sang her a merry Happy Birthday. Her parents and few good friends, who knew of the lack of celebration in her life, tried their very best to gift her a smile. On these days, she felt especially lonely. She wondered how lucky that young girl on the road was, who laughed so openly with her partner, casually linking arms and crossing the road, oblivious to the mad honking around her. The car weaved its way through the tireless unending serpent line of cars and buses, making way for passersby to cross the road, unheeding of traffic signal to turn red. Jia often wondered at this colossal mass of life, cramped together in this crowded city, meandering its way through the dirt and the grime, but always so alive.
As she crossed the Worli signal and the BMW showroom, subconsciously a smile crept onto her face. The expectation of seeing Rehan and the way his eyes would light up and his face break into an ecstatic grin on seeing her. The car inched at snail’s pace towards Happy Home and at last the inviting bright blue board with the rainbow and the sunflowers greeted her. The bent neon light over the board from the unexpected storm of last week has not yet been repaired. She opened her shoes on the portico outside and stepped into the cheery room. How she would have loved to have a place such as this of her own! Madhu, the ever-smiling and loving head of Happy Homes greeted her with a quick “Jia, care for some tea?”. Jia never objects to this small but loving show of care. Maybe Madhu understands there’s no one at home to offer her this simple luxury after a long day at work. One of the attendants goes in to fetch her 3 year old. No sooner had she taken her first sip that a piercing joyful “mamma” fills the small office and her heart. Out came Rehan flaying his arms and demanding that he be picked up that instant. “Mamma today I rode a horse” he said. “Oh really, how brave you are!” said Jia with the same sparkle in her eyes as she scooped him up and gave him one big long hug. Madhu always loves this pair. The fair complexioned Jia of short height and big beautiful eyes with boundless energy and Rehan, a dusky kid with eyes like his mother and a smile which can light up the universe. Madhu waited for the catching up session to go on for a while. While Jia was engrossed in her son and absent mindedly sipping her tea, Madhu quietly opened her drawer and took out a small box.
“Jia” she called softly, holding out the box wrapped in a bright blue with yellow stars. Jia turned around. “Happy birthday dear” said Madhu. “Oh Madhu, you know this was not needed.” She reached out and touched Madhu’s cheek. “Thank you my friend”. Rehan noted his mamma’s shift in attention to Madhu Ma’am. By now he had forgotten it was her special day. “Is this a happy birthday gift Mamma?” Jia nodded “Let’s go home and then open it together, OK?” “Madhu, care to come over for dinner? Nothing special though”. Madhu had her appointment with the gynae. “You know how difficult it is to get her time. She’ll be travelling from tomorrow and won’t be here before a month”. In reality, Madhu wanted Jia and Rehan to bond even more on this special evening and didn’t want to come between the two. ‘Some other day, I promise Jia”.
Jia and Rehan stepped out of the fairytale cottage which had been Rehan’s daycare for over 2 years now. Since the time she had shifted to Mumbai, Jia had put Rehan here. Apprehensive of how he would adjust to a new place, she used to be so tensed. That was when Madhu, the 35 year old centre head, became her friend. Madhu went so much beyond the call of her duty. Jia and she ended up chatting after all the kids had left for the day. Slowly, over two years, there came a bond amongst these two women from such different backgrounds. Jia, the only daughter of a now retired IAS officer and a teacher mother. Madhu, the eldest child amongst four of a widowed mother. They found connect and comfort in their disarranged lives and difficult circumstances.
Jia’s car took mom and son into its quiet comforts. Rehan took up the 15 odd minutes it took to reach home with his exploits of the day. What his friends said, who in particular he favoured today by sharing his lunch with, who was the not-so-fortunate pal to pick up a fight with, which new animal he learnt about today, which colour he painted today with and it went on. Jia smiled through it all, absorbing every tiny detail and immersing herself in the images and world drawn by her three year old. This way she lived Rehan’s life through his eyes, his half formed sentences, yet his immaculate understanding of his playful world.
Home. Even the unlit windows offer solace to Jia. This is what she and Rehan have built together. Toil and tears. Endless struggle and woes. And then finally here it was. A home finally where she and her toddler can find each other, without worries, without any outside war threatening to ravage its inner peace. Rehan jumps up to press the 8 in the elevator. Doesn’t quite get there but he is so tedious in following this everyday routine. Here in the small confines of the elevator, as it chugs its way up and distances itself gradually from the soil, does Jia realise once more how much Rehan has grown in the past years since she has moved to Mumbai. There was that time when Rehan could jump and at best touch the first row of 0 and 1 and now he easily tip toes and presses his finger against 6 and 7. How her baby is growing…in the body, in the mind, in her heart.
The locked house for close to 12 hours always has a smell. Of an old friend, kept aside on the way and forgotten. A known smell. Jia embraces this smell. It’s so personal, it’s her nest welcoming her almost with a human touch. Every nook and corner of this small but airy two bedroom and study flat is Jia. Her life, her moods, her silence, with breaks of bright colours of Rehan. A mystic combine of serenity and music, calm and life.
Rehan has his dinner and goes to bed. Their routine bedtime stories done, with sleep doused eyes, touching Jia’s face and running lightly his fingers over her forehead, just before drifting off to his dream filled sleep, he asks her “but Mamma why is there no cake and balloons?”. Her three year old has learnt to relate birthdays to celebrations. Then why is his Mamma’s so different? Tucked away deep within and tutored to remain there at all times, this innocent question opens a floodgate. Sudden and unannounced, her tears flow. Jia thanks the darkness of the room, prays at that moment for Rehan not to touch her face and feel the sudden tears. She smells her son’s sleeping face, plants a light kiss on his forehead and watches his sound of sleep for a while.
Always light and simple on dinner, Jia takes her plate and perches herself on the window sill of her bedroom…she always prefers her dinner this way in the semi dark, with only the moonlight coupled with the soft night lamp of her room creating a magic glow, submerging all harshness. She stretches her tired legs and settles for her food, her mind half occupied by a vacant thought which often hits her at this time of the night. The street below her still buzzed of the evening traffic. There would always be a crowd just on the left, especially on Friday’s like today, where there was this popular disc. Flocked at all hours of the evening by young crowd, she could hear their laughter and merry making from eight floors above, even some of their words clear to her ears. For a few moments, she lived their lives, imagined herself fifteen years back as one of them. Pretty dress, bright eyes full of expectations from a lively evening, relaxing on one of the soft couches in a pub cum disc, the beat of the music getting louder by the hour and drawing her in, filling her soul. A few pegs down and she finds herself in total bliss, immersed in this world of music, whiff of cigarette smoke, clink of glasses. She rests her head on the crook of Roop’s shoulders and closes her eyes. On this day, he makes her day that much more special. Amidst the crowd of friends flocking around to wish and pamper her, a tight squeeze of her hands and a suggestive grin would make her heart race. She would smile back. Content. Happy to be with the man she loves…
A car honks loudly below. With a jerk Jia comes back to her world. And in that one split second, she drops behind the world of laughter all of those eight floors below. The gap is almost physical. She can feel in her body the distance between these two worlds; the one below which she had left behind so many years back and this one she has built for Rehan and herself now. Detached, up and above where no more painful memories can touch them. A sigh escapes her. Jia feels exhausted with this rushing between the two worlds.
Roop. The name, the thought after all these years doesn’t bring tears, but a strong pull of her heartstrings. Just like that old guitar lying forgotten in a corner of Jia’s study, the strings of which have gone taut and old from unuse, but which still make a note quite as lovely when struck. Roop is now nothing more than a mystic presence in her life, whose notes once remembered can still produce a song. He whose hands she had held ever since she learned the ways of growing up. The innocent boyish smile, those warm loving eyes, the way he held her hand. Where is her Roop now? In which corner of the world? Is he watching the same half moon caress the night with her soft white light or is he somewhere where the strong rays of the sun have obliterated all signs of subtle emotions? Roop. Tucked away in one far corner of Jia’s senses, a still sensuous and precious memory, kept alive by her in just the same pure manner in which she found him. It’s almost like an ablution which his memories have to go through, to wash away the tarnish which time had brought on its perhaps shiny surface.
Another year gone by. Another year of a hollow in her heart she had grown used to as a human without an arm or a leg adjusts to life with its acute absence. Jia wanted to preserve him pure and untainted, she still wanted to close her eyes and feel him. Not wanting to admit this even to herself, was this becoming a bit strained with each passing year? Were the exact creases of his face blurring from her memory? She still wanted to cling on to him dearly, as a precious stone, to be used only on rare occasions, with the knowledge that it is there somewhere for her to use whenever she wanted to. Jia knew with as much certainly as Rehan was a truth in her life, that the day Roop would begin to fade from her mind with a loosening grip, she would need to move on in life. Begin a new phase, without him occupying like a stubborn child a corner of her heart. Till then, her wait would continue.
Jia lies down next to Rehan. Forty years of growing up and seeing through a kaleidoscope the changing colours and patterns of her life. A milestone achieved today or a decade of happiness awaiting her as she prays to free herself from the captivity of emotions. Holding Rehan’s hand, Jia falls asleep.
While Jia and Rehan sleep, in a corner of a small study on the eighth floor of a building, tucked away in a cabinet stand an old guitar and an album. Worn of use and old of age, it upholds some pages and pictures from the time left behind. There is one page where the empty frame remains, a scrap of the corner of the picture still stuck to the glue which had held it together, till such time it had to be torn apart.
8.30am, Monday morning. The final bid to the client is scheduled for 10am and there is still the final check awaiting from Chatt. Two rounds of coffee done, his team is now up and ready. They must leave in under 5 minutes. This almost looks like the nail biting climax of an action movie, the heroes being tie and suit clad corporates. A final mail and Chatt does the quick check, eye on every detail. One nod and Steve runs for the printout of the final bid. Signed, sealed, they finally are ready to move. The white with gold embossed logo on the envelope is the modern day weapon to fight corporate wars. Chatt checks the knot on his tie and gets up to leave. No time left now.
Raman, the only Indian in his team who refuses to call him by his USA christened name…Chatt for Chatterjee…still calls him by his Indian name. “Roop, we need to leave now”. Roop, already up, makes the one ritual he has been practising since the past ten years. Not one to ever visit a temple, this has been his only God, his belief, his trust. He looks back at the old worn picture on his desk. An old picture in a new frame. Jia and he, the Roop several years younger, smile back at him from another age. He softly touches Jia’s face, smiles at her. To Raman he says “lets go”.