THE STRANGER.......

Ridhdhi was too excited to contain it; it was all about her forthcoming trip to the Blue Mountains.  And why wouldn't she be!  She hardly visited new places like her hostel mates did, every summer.

Uma’s heart filled with joy when she witnessed the mad mad gleam in Ridhdhi’ s eyes.  And why wouldn't she be!  In many years, this time she could find out some opportunity to take her teenager to a vacation.  

Ridhdhi’s vacation was usually spent at her hometown Bhopal, while Mum worked hard.  A busy corporate officer, Uma found little time for her child who visited her during her summer vacations.

She, in the first place, always felt guilty about packing her off to a boarding school, since she had a transferable job and a job which demanded a lot of travel across the globe.

This time Mum and Child duo were escaping to the Blue Mountains, away from the city smoke and noise.  Being a meticulous person that she was, Uma had taken care of all the details, including the lodge, the places to be visited, doctors’ numbers, pills, first aid, different types of shoes..everything.  She was ready for the travel.  Nothing, however could have prepared her for the surprise she was to receive at the Blue Mountains!

Uphill, Uma’s energy could not match  that of Ridhdhi’s.  She often missed the sunrise and the morning tea whereas Ridhdhi helped herself to the Sunrise Point and jogged back to her waiting mother, who was often found snuggling inside the quilt, reading Business India.  Ridhdhi would soon snatch away the newspaper, push her mother to the dressing room and pull her out to the beautiful whispering hills.  “Age..” Uma thought.  “Age…” Ridhdhi thought, too.

It was one such evening when Uma decided to stay in, finding a warm place in the library of the lodge,  Ridhdhi took off on her own, on the hired bi-cycle. 

(Since past five years, Ridhdhi had been staying in a boarding school and managing quite well, on her own; that was reason enough that her Mum allowed her to move on her own even in an unknown area.  After all, she was all of 15 now!)

Ridhdhi reached her favourite spot, the Echo Valley and sat there, admiring the hills, the chill, the flowers, the far off stream and everything in general.  There were not many people around, except for a few couples with children and a person who seemed to be working on his canvas.  Ridhdhi’s interest grew.  She approached the man, who was lost in the painting.  She could see an amazing play of colours on the canvas.  The man was distracted but not annoyed. He smiled at her and continued his work.

Ridhdhi gathered enough courage to go closer and examine the work.  It was a beautiful oil-paint, almost done.  The beauty of the surrounding hills was magically translated into the painting.

“Very very beautiful, Sir.” Rihdhi said.

“Thanks that you liked it.”

“You are from this place?”

“Yes my child, what about you?”

The conservation warmed up and now the stranger had pushed aside his paint brush to listen to Ridhdhi.  Where she came from, why her Mum is not with her, how she manager to move about on her own.  Uma’s advises about not be-friending strangers never was effective enough with this vivacious teenager.  It was clear that the stranger totally enjoyed the conversation.

They found a place to sit near the fence, overlooking the beautiful misty valley.   He told her about himself, his love for painting, that he did painting for earning a living too and about this little town embraced by the mesmerizing hills.  It was clear that this man was in total love with this place.

And then, suddenly, without much warning, the clouds gathered fast and sharp, icy rain drops came down.  Ridhdhi hurried towards her bi cycle but before that she thought of helping the stranger in gathering his things, lest the painting is spoiled by the water.  They successfully put them inside his car.  “I must rush now.” Ridhdhi said.

“No, wait, you will be drenched fully.  Come to my place and wait for sometimes.  Once the rain stops, you can go back.

“What about my bi-cycle?”

“Nandu will take care of it”.  While saying this, he took the bicycle to the nearby tea and snacks stall and asked the owner to guard it till they come back.  Ridhdhi could see that this person and Nandu knew each other well.

Nandu agreed and so Ridhdhi jumped into the car.  “Have a cup of hot chocolate in my place.” He said.  “I am not a baby anymore. Can you make some coffee?”

The stranger smiled at her.  He wondered, whether he should drop her to the lodge where she was staying, but then what about the bi-cycle? And moreover, some precious time over coffee, celebrating the new friendship was not a bad idea.

In 5 minutes, they reached his place.  It was a small little cozy cottage with lots of flowers and a small fountain.  Ridhdhi liked it immediately.  They rushed in to avoid getting drenched further and once they were quite settled, Ridhdhi took out her mobile to inform her mum.

“I must call Mum.  Her Highness, Uma Singh will be, otherwise fretting and walking up and down.”

“Uma Singh? From Bhopal?”  The stranger’s eyes broadened to reflect some familiarity.

“Yeah, my mum.”  Ridhdhi answered and walked towards the large window, while dialing her mum’s no.

From a distance, he could see that Mum and daughter were having a long and somewhat frantic talk over the phone.  Obviously, thought the stranger; her Mum should be worried about her little one spending time with a stranger.

“Mums are like that you know.”  Ridhdhi explained as she came near him.

“She wants to have a word with you.” Ridhdhi handed over the mobile to him.

His hands were already shaking as he took the mobile.  Uma Singh’s mention had sent known thrills and unexplained doubts throughout his mind.

“Hello…” he somehow managed to speak.

“Listen gentleman.  I request you to drop my child to the lodge NOW.  Her bi cycle, we will pick up later.  I want her back in 15 min or else…you know what..”  Uma switched off then.  The emergency was now strongly felt between the strangers.  Both hurried towards the gate.

“Uma…from Bhopal.  By any chance, is she from Academy of fine Arts?

“She is…” Ridhdhi said; not yet recovered from the reprimand she just received from her mum.

He knew Uma was from the Academy of Fine Arts.  Her voice had not changed through the years. She was the same Uma.  He just wanted to be reassured, by Ridhdhi.

Angry Uma.  Super Confident Uma.  Uma, who did not give this man a second chance when he was in doubt about walking into matrimony.  Uma walked off, instead and was lost in time.  He never could find her.

But what about Ridhdhi?  “What you said, was your dad’s name?”

“I said I never HAD a dad.” Ridhdhi was evidently very disturbed.

The stranger’s thoughts took a trajectory straight towards what he feared it would take him to.  He shivered now and almost lost the control of the car.

“Watch out..sir.”  Ridhdhi cried.

He looked at Ridhdhi.  So, this the THE child.  She never HAD a dad, she said.

 

He looked at her searching for his own reflection in her.  But this child was completely an image of the same Uma.  He felt a fierce pang somewhere near his stomach which moved up and up to almost choke him.

And he was now about to meet her!  He could feel his limbs going totally numb as they approached the pathway leading to the lodge reception.  There he knew, would be Uma, ready to shower her rage on him.  He wanted to turn back and leave but then there was this little one who had to be safely placed back into her mum’s lap.  After all, that is how she had brought her up.

What would be Uma's reaction when he saw him? Clouds of doubt gathered inside his mind.

Once they reached, Ridhdhi rushed towards their room.  Thankfully Uma was not waiting at the reception.  This was a God sent moment for the stranger to regain some of his senses. 

He was still in a complete dilemma, confusion and haze in the mind as Ridhdhi went forward and pushed the door bell…………………………………………

 

Pumpkin eater___________________Uncle Peter !

Peter, Peter

Pumpkin eater

Had a wife and could’n keep her

So he kept her in a pumpkin shell

And there he kept her very well…

And he remained in the shell too and loved it.  Uncle Peter thought social interaction was a complete wastage of time.  After all, life is too short to look at others when the self is so over-looming!

We were (un)fortunate enough to be his neighbor.  We cannot choose our parents.  Alright.  Uncle Peter also proved it that we (many a times) cannot choose our neighbours too.  Okay. His thoughts may have been similar to ours, as far as choosing ones neighbor is considered.

Uncle Peter was often seen riding a Hercules bicycle, wearing a simple slipper, a strap of which had given way and examining fish against the day light in the morning market.  He preferred painting the town red (!?) on his bicycle although he proudly owned an old, elegant, stylish BRAND Ambassador.

Uncle Peter did not believe in those curves of the mouth called SMILE.  He rather placed his faith on the curves of upper part of his face, like the eye-brows and fore head.  He was often spotted with those, highlighted by thick hair, painted black, abundantly with some dye.

We youngsters were the reason behind much of his irritation.  He either thought that we took too long to grow up or he was too jealous of our age.  His anger was manifested by his frequent sermons on his life which would end with the wisdom, “Work to talk”.  As if we were a bunch of lazy bones, bent on ruining our own and the nation’s future!

He had special dislike for me.  My fault no 1. I was a non-resident Bengali who was….fault no 2. also convent educated.  According to him the convent educated non resident Bengali girls always wore an ‘ATTITUDE’.

He had dislike for every living thing walking on hind legs, actually.  We often found his wife absent for months together; apparently she often went to her parents’ place searching for some retreat.  Anyone with XY chromosome would face his wrath when they posed the question, “How is Mrs Peter? We have not seen her since long”.  His single pointed answer would be, “Why are YOU so concerned?”  That’s how the older XY chromosome bearers stopped asking about their wellbeing and that’s how younger ones took to frequently throwing the same question at him, for some fun.

Uncle Peter had hired a Security person, Ghosh, to guard his ‘Pumpkin Shell’.  The person was, as we had heard it, fired from the military when he showed much timidity, refusing to go for some tough relief works.  The Security Person happily accepted his new job.  He had only one small problem; he could not hear well.  So, whenever our Uncle Peter rung the calling bell on his study table, summoning him, Ghosh continued keeping his guard outside, beaming happily on his chair and musing! Uncle Peter had to often storm out and rebuke Ghosh to which he with equal élan would admit that he thought it was a bicycle outside.  Many a times, when Uncle Peter was engrossed in his work, Ghosh would rush in to enquire if he had rung the calling bell.  Uncle Peter had to explain that it was ACTUALLY a bicycle outside this time.

I once got caught with my insufficient knowledge.  Uncle Peter once asked me if I had an email id.  That was the time when the E-mail era was just stepping into our lives.  He asked, “Where did you open your account?”  I said, “AT Yahoo.com, Uncle”.  Uncle Peter was angered once again at the lack of coherence exhibited by the Non Resident Bengali Convent Read girl.  He vehemently clarified, “I wanted to know in which Internet Café you opened an account?” J J J  I was too meek to reply anything that would displease him.  So I quickly replied, “Oh—K. In the café near my house, the Connection Next Café” And took an eternal flight from the place.

Later, I heard that Charlie, a young(prank)ster enlightened Uncle Peter by informing that he needs to submit his PAN card photocopy, Bank Account statement, Age proof and Marriage Certificate in the nearest Bank branch to open an Account in the neighborhood Internet Café.  (Charlie’s funeral will, sooner or later happen!)

Moron marooned Uncle Peter once asked me to type his CV.  His was a 6-pages CV which included saga of even the one day workshops he had attended, during his 35 years of professional life.  I offered some professionalism by suggesting that a CV should not be more than a page or a two.  To which he replied, “You prepare a one page CV for yourself. I have EXPERIENCE.”  Needless to say, I let the 6-pager make its way to some organisation.

Uncle Peter was a man of formats, formulas and time frame.  Once he asked us to join his family for a prayer service.  We wonder what made him do that, knowing how much he loved us.  He fixed the itinerary.

Well, I have not met Uncle Peter since then.  We had to move out of the city and never saw him after that.  Before moving out, I met him to inform about my matrimony fixed with a person living at the other side of the country.  He replied, “Well…wrong choice.”  Well, I really had no much expectation from Uncle Peter.

However, the incidences are the ones which make us laugh and many of us old neighbours share, whenever we meet.  Uncle Peter, as we heard, is still enjoying his Pumpkin Shell and Aunt still peeps out at times for some breath of fresh air.  The 3G Generation continues asking about her wellbeing and gets the similar answers..…

Some people and some things never change..

Long live Uncle Peter….

Anindita Baidya

4 July 2013

Photo: from Internet