The Love Theme in Ritigowla - Part IV

All the parts are together here.
***

"Hi!" she said.
I'd been waiting there for nearly an hour. I was too eager to meet Ni and turned up disgustingly early. She was half an hour late. I spent most of the one hour glancing curiously at these two guys who seemed to be rating each woman at the cafe. They weren't being to discrete about it, but none of the women noticed them. They'd look at her, and then look at each other, say something and turn to make notes on the paper napkins. I was staring at them, when they froze. They suddenly seemed speechless. I turned to see what they were looking at, as Ni walked in through the door. She had that effect on people.

She wore a green top and brownish skirt, and looked a little like a tree. I had never seen her in anything but a sari before.

"Hi!"
"Been waiting for a while?"
"Nah. Five minutes or so."
"So, you've been here for about an hour."
"No!"
"I can tell when guys lie."
And there it was again - the shimmer in her eye, and those eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own. I smiled wryly.
"You wanted to tell me some stuff," I said, not wanting to waste time.
"Oh yeah. Why I disappeared. Yeah."
And then she went silent for about ten seconds. I didn't mind. The longer she took, the longer I could legitimately stare at her. Her phone beeped just as she was about to talk. I noticed that she had the most exquisite hands in the world. I hadn't felt them yet, but I could tell that they were really soft. Yet, there was a firmness to the way she held her phone. Her fingers, furiously typing a message, moved with such artistry and finesse, that they would have put the best dancers' feet to shame.

She put her phone down on the table and said, "Yeah. Why I disappeared."
"I got that part."
She smiled, and her eyes darted mischievously in my direction. The Love Theme in Ritigowla played automatically in my head - the Hindi smash hits from the Coffee Day speakers were drowned out.
She spoke, "I had this feeling that you had romantic intentions."
I didn't fully understand what she meant. But before I said anything, she continued, "I mean, you were interested in me. Or at least, I got that feeling. And I was with Anand by then..."
I laughed my fake laugh and said, "That's ridiculous! I had no romantic intentions."
"I can tell when guys lie."
What did she have in those eyes? It felt like she could actually see through you with them. She said something more, but the Love Theme was so loud in my ear that I couldn't hear it.
"You don't believe me?" I asked.
"No, I don't."
"I asked Sharanya out that very night. I'd been interested in her for quite a while."
"So, when I disappeared, you thought you might as well do something about it?"
Those eyes were at work again. I laughed again, and this time my laugh convinced her.
"So, you were in love with her!"
"Yeah. But I think the love's sort of fading now." I wanted to smack myself on the head with a violin for saying that.
"That happens, I guess. I broke up with Anand a month ago." That image of Watermelon rolling down the hill flashed before my eye again.
"Love faded?" I asked her.
"Not really, we still like each other. But its unworkable."
I didn't ask her for more details, and she didn't seem too inclined to offer more to a guy she's meeting for the second time in her life.
***

I spent most of that music season trying to guess what concert she would be at. I got very good only towards the end. The December Season just isn't long enough for a romance - especially if I'm the guy.
***

Despite everything that was not going for us, Sharanya and I managed to last for nearly a year. When it ended, we were too jaded to even have a fight - we'd prolonged the inevitable for too long. We were on different tours when it happened - I was in the Western Ghats in Kerala, and she was in Dharamsala on the Himalayas. We had always operated in different altitudes.

She sat in a rundown internet cafe on the main temple street of Dharamsala and composed the email ending everything. She talked of how all the trekking gave her time to reconsider relationships in her life, and that it was clear that ours had to end. Ours was probably the easiest relationship to sort out for her. Her father left home when she was seven, and his whereabouts were unknown. Her brother was last known as a small-time crook in the seedier areas of Bangalore, working his way through the ganja business.

She walked through the arrival gate at the Delhi airport when she saw a cab driver standing with a board that had her father's name on it. He had a very common South Indian name, but she decided to wait anyway. His flight arrived an hour late, and Sharanya went through a range of emotions - from curiosity to nervousness to anxiety to doubt. Would they recognise each other? Would he choose to recognise her? What if there is another woman with him? What is he like?

A man in very British clothing emerged through the makeshift gate - the airport being under renovation. In a bowler hat and overcoat. It was like he was on the sets of some old movie. She took some time to recognise him, he didn't take even a second. Without warning, he took her in his arms, like when she was seven and tried lifting her. Laughing, he said, "Oh, you've grown heavier!"

She never told me where he was all those years, or why he had come back, or why he was suddenly this friendly with her. She spent a week with him in Delhi, before deciding that she needed some time to think her life through. She was walking down Janpath when she saw a bus leaving for Dharamsala. Quick enquiries told her that there were lots of seats empty on the bus. She took it.

By the time she came back to Delhi, her father disappeared. As far as I know, she never met him again.

For months, I asked myself why I'd let Sharanya go. She was almost perfect. She read a lot, watched the coolest movies and plays, and was a regular on the Madras fabindia-wearing, coffee-drinking, pontificating circle. She was really pretty, smart and had a great sense of humour. She wrote very well. She had fervent opinions on everything - she once passionately argued with me on why water was better than toilet paper. Neither of us had put enough effort into keeping the relationship going - it started on a whim on a drunken evening, and we spent the year behaving like that drunken evening never ended.

I was fifteen kilometres away from getting network on my phone - only BSNL provided network to the elephants, bisons and the tigers in the jungles of Kerala. Four friends, three guides and I sat on a fallen branch of a tree waiting for elephants to pass. The elephants ate with great care - plucking grass out of the earth, cleaning it with dextrous flicks of the trunk and depositing them in their large mouths. Something told me one of the elephants wasn't enjoying its grass too much. I don't know why I got that feeling - maybe it was the little shake of the head each time it digested one lot of grass, or maybe it was the fact that it tried cleaning the grass for too long. Clearly, It was only eating here because it was lazy to find better grass.

They seemed to eat forever while my thoughts wandered.
***

"God, you're incompetent!" Sharanya said.
"This guy's bowling really well, di. I cant read the spin from his fingers," I replied.
The bowler, a twelve-year-old kid, who could bowl seven different underarm spin variations with almost no change in action, laughed. She snatched the bat from my hand.
"Seven runs in four balls!" the boy announced. Tension mounted as close-in catchers waited for the one-tup catch. She took her stance - its languorousness matched Laxman's. The first ball was tossed up. It hit the cement floor. She moved towards it spryly and hit off the front foot. The ball spat off the pitch and beat her outside edge.

"Seven runs in three balls!" the boy laughed.

She took her stance again - I could watch her move all my life, it was so gracefully unhurried. The ball was tossed up again. This time she moved back, waited for the ball to jump off the track, adjusted her shot late and punched it between two cover fielders who fetched the ball as it rebounded off the far wall the marked the boundary.

"Three runs in two balls," the boy said and added, "Akka, if you hit it outside the wall, you're out!"
"I know."

The next ball was the deadliest - the boy maintained that even he was never sure of what it would do off the pitch. She countered it in the most obvious manner - she took it on the full and guided it through mid-wicket. The ball reached the boundary in a hurry. Ravi Shastri would have spoken of tracer bullets. She handed the bat to the kid standing at cover and walked away triumphantly. I remember being bowled over by her sheer coolness.
***

Pluck, flick, chomp.
***

"When you go away, it feels like someone's reduced the colour setting in the world with a remote control."
"Yuck. But I can do worse. When you go away, a thousand needles pierce my heart, rendering me lifeless..."
"...and you come back to life with my magical kiss..."
"The kiss that causes whirling winds, lightning, rain..."
"The romantic sort of rain."
"The sort that comes in just when the hero and the heroine feel deep love for each other."
"Like we're feeling now."
We laughed until we drowned out the radio playing in her car.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"Impossible. Nobody can love someone as much as I love you."
"You don't know me."
"Always a step ahead of me, eh?"
"Please tell me we aren't going to fight about this."
Without warning, or saying a word, she kissed me.
***

Pluck, flick, chomp. Now, a group of wild boar sauntered along purposelessly.
***

"Ah, you seem to have settled down with this girl."
I smiled.
"So, I can leave?"
"Why do you have to leave? And, where does your sort leave to anyway?"
"We don't leave. We're always around. But I might not talk to you as much."
"Kaishiki, no!"
"Don't worry, you'll manage fine."

Amma walked into the room, "Who were you talking to?"
"Phone."
"Oh."
***

Pluck, flick, chomp. The elephant that didn't like the grass settled himself in a corner next to a rock. I couldn't tell the grey of the rock from that of the elephant. The boars walked around as aimlessly as ever.
"Dude, it'd be awesome if Obelix jumped at the boars from behind that rock!"
***

"Why are you lying to me?"
"What?!"
"You have no composing assignment. You're just hiding, that's all."
"You were there when I met that guy the other day. He said..."
"He said that if the two guys he has in mind don't take it up, he'll give it to you."
"But I have to be ready. And, in any case, its good to keep a couple of pieces ready."
"You're just using this music excuse because you know that when you're with your music, I cant be around."
***

She was right. That's where the screw up came. Pluck. She had everything going for her. Flick. Except the fact that she was musically uninclined. Flick again - man, this piece of grass is dirty. I think she wasn't too badly off musically - I mean, she danced well, and had a decent sense of rhythm. Chomp. She just came under too much pressure from me.

The elephants walked away after their hearty meal. The one that thought the grass wasn't good enough, gave the grass some thought. It wasn't too bad. It was quite good, actually. Just that, he'd closed his mind - he'd always thought it was greener on the other side. The Love Theme in Darbar wasn't bad at all, but Ritigowla just seemed better.
***

It was mid-June and I was in Trichy playing at a concert when my phone beeped on stage, leading to some hasty movements and turning off. Anna had travelled to the US with my teacher, and was supposed to come back around that time. I wondered if it was him.

When I opened the message after the concert, I read, "I heard you tackled point a!" The sender was Ni. I didn't realise what she meant for a while. When I did, I replied, "Yeah. Two months ago... Who told you?" "Your brother - I went to the US to play in the same set of concerts." "Now tell me - what is b?" "In person. Come to Bangalore if you really want to know."

I didn't even pause to reply to the last message. I packed my bags hastily and headed to the bus stand. The next bus to Bangalore left in ten minutes, but there were no seats on it. I bribed the conductor who let me sit with him and the driver in the front. This wasn't going to be a pleasant overnight journey.
***

To continue.