I returned to the usual question, why had she said nothing to me, as I stepped on the narrow paths of the lake.
Evening was the time as usual. And then the station got busier – the evening wagon came running in, and passed by. Against the dark blue horizon, and in the reflection of the water of the lake, it looked as a ghost.
I continue walking as I think of her. The eve couples make love as usual, talking to each other, laughing out merrily sometimes. As I walked down the path the second train comes in from the opposite side.
And now I will stop to watch it.
The train comes in. The reflection of the each lighted coupe comes down to the shadowy black water of the lake. The neon, from the train dazzles the eyes. I stand still. The wind plays with the water, creating ripples, which strike to the ‘ghat’ and goes back. It plays with the soft hair, which come down to the forehead, sometimes flying high. Eyes remain fixed to the vanishing train as the body and mind remain mystified about the whole world.
One of my stories had this feeling, that a boy remained stagnant standing on the very scene. As I have always said, if you are a film director, shoot a scene in here with the train coming in and passing the lake, with the reflection on the water. It has always fascinated me, as it has been with the place Southern Avenue.
I continue walking, and keep on listening to the love-making couples.
And it is then, I get the proposal.
“Will you sit sir?” a lady of around thirty, calls in from the dark.
Open invitation. The first word came to my mind was body. And after then it was love, and once again it became body.
I knew previously, the place was known for its so-called girls, calling out from the dark after evening with not so-called ‘decent’ proposals. Just a sitting of an hour or so, try your hand-at-anything at the cost of some. I lower my eyes, continue to walk, and start fancying about the lady.
I remain mystified about the whole idea of love and lust. The couples I see everyday, I now start doubting whether they are real. How many people are here like them? Who knows, anyway?
It’s like the fact that I don’t smoke. It’s not that I hate smoking. It’s not that I like smoking. But it is that I have a deadly attraction towards the ‘thing’ that I know after all my knowledge about the ‘smoke’, I will not be able to resist it someday. Curiosity. That’s the word. It’s like the fire that draws the moths towards it. As the smell of a man attracts a woman, as the physique of a woman attracts man, as the lips reach out to the other, as the hand to the hand, the bodies coincides, words stop flowing, just the sigh, moaning, panting. The moths go round and round the lamp, darkness becomes still outside, the moon becomes fading under the July cloud. They go round. Sigh. Up. Sigh. Down. Round and round. Colors. Now. Now. Now. And they fall upon the light. The truth is like that.
But what am I writing?
I cross the lake place and came near the local cinema hall, ‘Menoka’.
And it was then I remind of our fate.
The fact that the prophet told me to get married after thirty surprised me. He had, certainly foreseen the divorce and a probable suicide in my hand. But the whole thing shook me a lot. I had previously known of an accident at thirty by another clairvoyant. But who knew it could be an attempt to suicide? The thirsty part within me is longing for a girl. Once it comes, pleasure will flow around. But the fate says, downfall will start at the very moment. I am confused. I need pleasures of life, I want to see those dark parts of our lives, but on the other hand it contradicts with my would-be fame, all the things I am going to do in my life to earn money...retarding the writer soul within myself.
I hear the mike shouting the political speeches.
Did I mention it is the time of vote in Kolkata?
It is. The 87 block Trinamool congress committee is shouting in the full blow. I walk down her house, see the dark room of her, the curtains flying in the air, and turn right.
Does it always happen that our past relationship teaches us how to move on?
I remember the answer given by her at a social site to one of her old friends back at Varanasi. People in the big cities don't really have much time to forget things. The life is fast. There are malls, shopping centers, restaurants, places to enjoy. And she added saying that Varanasi is still the loveliest place to her because she had passed her most enjoying and memorable days there.
Probably.
She has told many things to many persons that contradict.
She is diplomatic. And one is out of adjectives how much cunning she could be in a given situation.
Anyways, they do not matter now.
I cross the Kali temple where once I tried to follow her. I buy a cold drink, and Standing there for some time.
I look at the sky. The moon is there, but surrounded with clouds. And the color of the sky is changing from dark blue to black.
“A storm will come, perhaps.” I mutter.
The wind keeps blowing. I don't know why they all agree with me.
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