TIMELINE- a story of finding love

                                                           Chapter - 1

An old man enters a cemetery, dressed in black overcoat, holding a walking cane in his right hand, walks to a grave with a name scripted on it – Marry Disilva. The old man stood there silently, and then bowed down to kiss the grave, and murmured, “Do you love me? Or I was just to fill your void.” And then he cried out loud, “Hey lord! Keep my sweet heart happy, she is your daughter now, I will come soon to take your account, so do your job correctly.” He walks slowly towards the gate looking at different graves with flowers on them, some are fresh and some lost their beauty with time. The gate keeper asked him, “babu, you come here on every Saturday but I have never seen you bringing any flower or gift with you. Why so?” , the old man pats his shoulder and smiles, “because I bring my love and hopes, my daily life and my happiness and sorrows to share with her, she never liked too much gift in her life and I failed to give her time, and now when I have a lot of time, she is not here. So I bring time for her, not flowers. Good day Mr.”

The wall clock strikes 6 p.m. and the pubs and bars are crowded by young groups and couples, enjoying the weekend and dancing with the melody. The old man drives his Honda civics to a bar, enters and sits on a particular chair which is always booked for him on every Saturday. The waiter doesn't ask a single question and serves him a bottle of old monk, ice cubes, soda and two glasses. He pours the drink on both glasses, added some ice to his glass and some soda to another glass and then holds the two glasses and clinked, “cheers, for your health,” he murmurs. And then he starts drinking from one glass and left the other one untouched for the whole time. The time passes by and the clock strikes 10 p.m. as he comes out of the bar he finds a guy weeping sitting on one corner of the road on the bench, he toddles to him and asks, “ does she love you?” the lad looks at him and answers in disgrace, “that’s none of your business. Leave me alone.” But the man determines to be there and ones he has determined something even god can’t alter it.

“Oh I see, but I think you need some sort of expert advice.”

  “No I don’t, and why don’t you leave me alone.”

“Because I can see myself in you, I made a mistake years ago for which I am still repenting and so I don’t want another me to come here on every weekend.”

“What is your problem sir, I think you are mentally screwed, please I have enough tension and I don’t want to increase it a bit more. So please you may go now.”

The old man sits on the bench and starts looking at the sky, the young boy gazes at him for some time and then starts looking at the stray dogs, the hungry poor boy of the foot path, the old police constable standing on the middle of the road guiding people and the dim lights of the city which is making the city more magical and nostalgic. The man speaks out; “see at that star over the moon, you know who she is?” the boy gets exasperated now and shouts, “Again, you started. Who is she?”

“She is my wife,” he paused for a while and starred at that star, his eyes are showing his grief, “she died thirty years ago, the first and the last lady of my life, she was my only love.” He turns toward the lad looks in his eyes, “You know the last question she asked me before her death – do you love me? Or I just filled the void.” He is devoid of emotions; he takes out his wallet and shows her photo, “isn't she beautiful?”His eyes speaks out his anguish, he is bewailing. The old man again asks the same question to him, “Now say what your problem is? Doesn't she love you? Or you broke up today?”

“My story is not so simple, it’s too much complicated. I am puzzled with my life, everything I have. And it is not the correct time to start with it.”     

“Oh! I see. But I hope you will not mind hearing my story, and it may facilitate you. For past thirty years I have not found a true lover in these streets crying silently for his love. Everyone comes here to enjoy; living their life to the fullest but no one knows actually what the true essence of life is. I have seen many new couples- married; unmarried; teenagers roaming here and there, sharing their intimacy in the parks and dancing together in discos, or having romantic candle light dinners in three stars, but believe me I have always realized a thing they all were missing. That is nostalgia, the madness for love, which can only happen when you truly love someone. Love is vanished in this busy corporate developing world where everyone is busy in their professional lives and to fill their voids they need some partner, sometime only for physical pleasure.”

“You mean sex right? See sir I don’t think you are judging our generation correctly. Yes the life has paced up too much but it has never dumped the feeling of being together, the feeling which comes from eternity, the warmth of love. We know what love is? We can live for it and we don’t believe in dying for others because if you are dead then how can you love again? This means we know to make a separate world with our beloved far from the junkyard of human egos and irrational sentiments. And if you say we do it for physical pleasure; then sir I am sorry to say that you are obsessed with your own story and so you don’t want to see the reality outside, the city has developed but not yet the citizens.”

The old man gets bewildered for a while, as if he tried to convey something else and he has understood just opposite. He grins, “no my boy, I have never meant that. I am not a buttoned down conservative person, I was saying about that sanctified bond, it might be present in these days also but still some where it is not that sacred.”

“I think you told me that you will share your love story but I doubt you are just busy in discussing the generation gap.”

“Oh! Yes, then let us go back to 1950, I was a young lad like you that time, both Calcutta and India was in high spirits, we got republic that year. Many English men went away but some of them stayed back here, I was in Presidency College, 1st year student in physics honors. We used to be in dhotis and kurtas and some of our fellow mates in formals, we used to have lots of fun. One day while we were in the party office having snacks and tea, I saw a beautiful memsahib walking along the footpath. Suddenly some of our boys started taunting her by shouting – “the days of white skin ends here, go back Simon, go back Simon.” She looked at us once, I could see the pain of separation in her eyes, and she was pretty, as beautiful as Princess Helen, I started liking her from that day. I asked one of my seniors, - Bibhas Da, e ke? (Who is she?)

Bibhas da told me that she was the daughter of Carlos Disilva, our former math’s professor. Her father left the country but she and her mother stayed back here, actually her mother was an Indian, she hesitated to go back and retained here and so they are here. You know what young boy, I never used to believe in love at first sight but for the first time that day I was not in me, everything seemed to be unusual, I didn't remember exactly what I had done that day but I was happy for no reason.”

“So you were a Hindu and she was a Christian. Even then you dared to love her in those days, interesting.”

“So what do you think about me? And I never think about these religion and caste differences, those are tiny chronicles to show the power by the ruling ones. To gain power people make religions and make them fight against each other, I believe in humanity.

 So I was in love, I suppose. The next day I was waiting outside the college hoping that she would come out but she didn’t. I was upset and went back to party office. Bibhas da informed me there that her father had decided to take her to London. I was confirmed that my first love was gone; I was dreaming her face, her beautiful crystal blue eyes, her succulent lips and her curly hairs. I thought to approach her as fast as I could to confess my love for her, and to see her face to face, but those days were not like present era, we had to think a thousand time before approaching any girl, and she was an English mistress, so in fear of something which I think was just a teenager’s trepidation I stayed back. I was an agonist but for that first time I bowed down in front of the so called almighty and asked him to give me my love.”

“And so he did. I knew that there is nothing spicy there in your love story, mine is much more complicated than yours. You had problems with the society but I have problems within myself.”

The old man looked back in his eyes, “why you young guys make decisions in such a hurry? Do you ever think of the future or the past, the situation and the emotions with it? Do you think about the position of other people associated with it? You have framed your problem as the most septic one and announced your verdict that mine situation was uncomplicated; it was not like that my young friend. Those days were much more abrupt and we all were in turmoil. The scenario of the country, government and the society was changing so fast, the city was growing old day by day and its population was increasing. Some orthodox religious groups tried to dominate the race but due to some great personalities, Bengali community rebelled and decided to remain secular for that period. The political instability was there, Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated and RSS was banned in India. The caste and religious problems were persisted by the orthodox society, on the other side the revolutionaries started working for discrimination free society. So I was not in a position to approach her, that day I went to Prinsep ghat. It was not like the one now, there was no Vidyasagar setu, and generally crowded by the composers and poets of Kolkata, it used to be the most serene place of Kolkata. I was throwing pebbles in the river, trying to figure out the waves, the emptiness grabbed me. She was no one to me, even I had never talked with her before but still I was thinking of her all day, I couldn't understand what was that? Taste of failure which led to this ache or it was the most awaited thing for me, which was love. Whatever it might be, I was in grief and I was portraying her everywhere. The dim lights of the ghat lit up the place, and the cold breeze of the river accompanied me, the boatmen were going back to their house singing the songs of Kobiguru, the old melodious tune not like the modern acoustics. The gloomy sunset made me bewildered but I decided to go back to my home, leaving everything on future, might be the God, I don’t know actually who he is? I was from a middle class Bengali Brahmin family, my mother was a little bit conservative but my father was just opposite to her. I was waiting for the dawn and couldn’t sleep the whole night, whenever I closed my eyes I dreamt of her, she was more beautiful and sanctified in my dreams, just like a pearl. I woke up early in the next morning and went out for a morning walk, I was singing Rabindranath tagore’s song –

“kholo kholo dwar rakhiona aar bahire aamae darae, dao sara dao, ei dike chao, esho dui bahu bariye.” (Open the door, let me come in, don’t keep me waiting outside. Respond to my words, look at me and embrace me my friend.)

 When suddenly I was interrupted by a voice -

“kake bolchis khoka? (Whom are you asking to open the door?)             

I looked back and saw a middle aged guy, dressed in dhoti and kurta, with a shawl on his right shoulder, just dressed like someone intellectual, a knowledgeable person.

“No one sir, just singing.”

He replied with a smile on his face, “you can cheat with your mother, but you can’t cheat with me khoka. I can say everything about your heart, your eyes speaks.”

“Are you god? How can you read my mind or my heart? And I was just singing the song to the nature, the unembellished beauty.”

“And what is her name? For whom you are singing this song? Hey young lad, I was once like you only, young, energetic and you know what, I also used to love a girl, so I can say reading your eyes that you are in love.”   

“ki jaata! (what nonsense) see sir, I don’t love anybody and even if I what can you do?”

“I can’t do anything but ya I can assure you one thing, if you truly love someone then go and express your love, who knows when you will become old, you will be telling your love story to some one of your present age. Who knows? So go and express it.”

And you know what, I think he was right. See today, I am with you telling my love story.”

The young lad was no more seemed to be interested, he was tensed, and so he asked the old man, “what is this love actually? I am confused, the whole world seems to be illusion, some time it says that love is the happiness of being together and sometime it says it’s the grief of being separated. I personally never understood what is it?”

The old man stands and holds his hand, “it’s you who will decide, whether the happiness or the grief or the presence of someone matters to you. Love can’t be narrated it can only be felt. So now go back to your house and think, it is already too late, even the bar is closed. Go son, and if you need me in any case, come here the next Saturday, you will find me here only. Bye and good night.”

The man walks away in the smog of the city; the young lad keeps thinking about his last words, and moves towards his bike.