The Unwanted Meeting

 

The Unwanted Meeting

It was raining heavily. During monsoon, days in Mumbai are rainy and windy. It is generally dark. Sun hardly shows himself up as if even he would be resting in his slumber. Even the month of august seems like cold December. Going to work is a crime in such days. It’s a typical homely day. Beds, sofas, soft cushions call you. There are frequent thunderstorms heard. Kids home jump and shout listening to it, while grown-ups get their heads down in reflex as if it's falling over their heads. The sudden wind passes through human bodies leaving the bodies with Goosebumps. Doors and windows make noise frequently. Today, it was worse, it rained cats and dogs. Indra dev was determined to vacate all the water in his tanks. A rickety Mumbai taxi, yellow and black, stopped outside a beautiful glassy bungalow. Its screeching sound of brakes was heard amidst the rain. Kabir looked through the glasses. The pillar of the gate read “Gulmohar Villa”. He waited for a minute, looked around, and saw his watch. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. The weather had made it look like 6:30 evening. He thought something and came out. The car vanished in the rain. Kabir was only 34, but his appearance and thoughtful expression on the face made him look like the late 40s. He was putting on a plain grey shirt with a pair of dark trousers. The shirt was now loose and a little wet. Glasses on his face made him look even older and serious.

Kabir rang the bell. He looked around the campus hiding from the rain under the porch. It was big. There was a beautiful garden with colorful flowers. Kabir could hardly appreciate their categories. It didn’t even matter though. He noticed the garage. Kabir leaned to check the car inside. It was a clean red Audi. It was shining because of the lights overhead. This he could recognize, though dint matter to him either. The house was a big single floor mansion made of red bricks and stones. Kabir saw big window panes and curtains. He leaned again to appreciate them but was disturbed by the sound of the door being opened. He quickly collected himself back from the journey of this big bungalow and behaved as if he didn’t see anything. Door opened. An elderly man opened the door. He wore white clothes and a white Nehru cap for no reason. Must be a servant. “Namaste, Mai Kabir hu" ( meaning - Hello, I'm Kabir) Kabir spoke ( in Hindi) as a reflex. "Singhaniya Saab Ghar pe hain?”, ( meaning - Is Mr. Singhaniya home?) he spoke again (in Hindi) on realizing that his first sentence didn’t make any difference to the servant.

He nodded and opened the door wide without uttering a word. Kabir walked behind the servant. Kabir was in awe. He looked around like a man looks around when out of jail post a life term. The interiors of the house were similar to that of Taj Bengal Kolkata. Kabir had stayed in that hotel for a day when his company had sent him for work. He couldn't have compared if he hadn't visited Taj, he thought. There were antiques in the center foyer. Huge paintings looked similar to those displayed in the Jahangir art gallery near Kala Ghoda in Mumbai. The marble floor was clean and shone with white lights overhead, similar to shining Mercedes in showrooms. It was a huge drawing-room. Kabir could have organized a grand Hindu marriage in the foyer. It all looked very filmy and expensive. Kabir was a little afraid for no reason. Maybe because he felt he didn't belong there. A part of him just wanted to run away to streets which seemed more familiar to him. The man in white indicated him a huge couch. Probably, he indicated Kabir to sit. The sofa was huge. Why was it called the sofa? It could have been a bed for Kabir. He thought. Kabir smiled half-heartedly trying to be nice to the servant. And sat on the sofa. The servant walked away leaving Kabir all alone in this huge space. Kabir felt alone and left out. He wanted to stop the servant and say something, but words didn’t come out through his mouth. The glass panes all around showed the heavy Mumbai rains and beautiful green garden through. It was raining quite heavily. Kabir would have been dissolved if he wasn’t in that foyer.

A middle-aged, somewhat sophisticated man appeared in front of Kabir, breaking his chain of thoughts and admiration for the house. Sir, what would you like to have? Tea, Coffee, or anything else? He was putting on a clean white shirt, black trousers, and a black-tie. His clean vest was visible through the translucent shirt. His hairs were nicely combed. He smelt of fresh lavender and an evident smile stuck on his clean-shaven face. “T…T..Tea” Kabir stammered, and smiled a little, trying to look very normal. As if he is used to having tea the same way. He put on a small shining steel plate over his right nipple. It read “Manoj”. Kabir felt being in a high-class restaurant. The man appeared with a tea set and served the tea.

There was a sudden smell of strong perfume. Kabir stopped sipping his high-class tea. He was confused. He looked around. Where would that smell come from? He is supposed to be smelling tea instead. Trying to figure out the smell, Kabir looked around. Again. And again. His sofa’s backrest was too high to notice anything behind him. He got up from his seat abruptly. Beyond the transparent glass which he hardly noticed the first time, a lady stood. She wore a light blue saree. Kabir could only see her back. She was looking at the heavy rain pour. In fact, she was enjoying the heavy rain. Not all are fortunate enough to enjoy the rain. Some hate it. Hate it badly. Rain takes away their home, their life, their food. The lady made the most of what she had. Wealth. She could hardly notice the world around. If that existed. Who cares? She was busy with "her" rain. She was lost. A Buddhist monk would call it a perfect example of mindfulness. She stretched her arms beyond the railing to feel the rain. Rain fell on her beautiful white hands. The flying end of her saree flew more. Kabir noticed a mole on the lady's back through the clear glass. He forgot he was having tea. He forgot where he was. He too was lost. Another display of mindfulness. Maybe.

The lady turned a little. She was happy. Her deep left cheek dimple made her look even more beautiful. Kabir looked in awe. But he suddenly sat down. For no reason. He looked confused. He knew that smile somehow. Very well. Those dimples. Same height. Even that mole on her back. He knew them. Kabir was afraid. Suddenly. His heart pumped louder. He could hear them. He turned away. He quickly kept the tea on the table and walked towards the door through which he came.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for long. Got an important call.” A manly voice interrupted. “Hello, I’m Vinayak. Vinayak Singhaniya”, the man said offering his hands to be shaken. Kabir looked puzzled and afraid, in some deep thought. He didn’t know what was happening and why did he land in that “Gulmohar Villa”. “Ahemmm…..hmmm..”, Mr. Singhaniya coughed deliberately showing his hands ( as if saying, grab my hands quickly, its hurting already). “Oh, Hello Sir, I’m Kabir, Kabir Sharma”, Kabir responded grabbing Vinayak’s hands which were flying in the air unshaken for the last few seconds. “Sir, Mr. Mathur sent me regarding the project”. I’m the ground supervisor for the site. Mr. Mathur asked me to meet you personally. Perhaps, you wanted to specify something in the project yourself. So here I’m” Kabir spoke raising both his hands, as if he was ready to embrace Vinayak.

Kabir spoke fluently. He had prepared for this the whole night. But he could not concentrate on the talk. His eyes searched for the lady. Or avoided may be. He saw Mr. Singhaniya talking. He only saw. Couldn’t hear. Mr. Singhaniya wore a pair of square-shaped spectacles, and smiled very often for no reason. Rich people smile for no reason, Kabir thought. May be, smiling makes them richer. Kabir noticed the sparkling watch on Vinayak’s right wrist. R…Rolex. He read without being noticed. Kabir kept nodding as if he understood every bit of what Mr Singhaniya spoke.

“Will be done sir”, Kabir said with a fake smile with no clue at all. “It was great meeting…..” Kabir’s voice was interrupted by the perfume again. It was a strong perfume. It became stronger. “Hi Vinni, seems the project will be a great success.” Kabir heard a shrill beautiful melodious voice of a lady. He turned to see the lady. He saw her. His heart pumped faster. Faster than before now. His breath went heavier. Vinayak could hear his breath. It was her. Swati.

“Yeah, seems so, Kabir is looking after this project. I’m sure he will give his best.” Vinayak interrupted Kabir’s thoughts. “Yes sir, I certainly will” Kabir spoke without thinking, on realizing that the couple talked about him. Kabir never thought that he would meet Swati again. The girl he once loved. Madly. “Kabir, she is Swati. My wife. And Swati, he is Kabir, the project supervisor”, Mr. Singhaniya tried to introduce them, least realizing that they knew each other better than Swati knew him. “Hello ma’am”, Kabir said with a smile. This unnecessary smiled he had learnt a few minutes back from Vinayak. “Hello”, Swati moved her hands. Kabir shook hands with her. They were still very soft. Clean white hands. She still wore the same ring. Plain gold ring. Her hands felt the same. “Nice meeting you Kabir”, Swati pulled her hand back and smiled.

Kabir was still in a state of shock. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He hadn’t prepared for this situation the last night. “I’ll take your leave sir and ma’am,” Kabir said abruptly and started walking towards the door. He wanted to run, but couldn’t. He was not taught to. His steps felt so heavy. He felt like a Japanese sumo wrestler. While his steps moved ahead, his mind ran backward. Those eyes, those dimples, those soft hands, that ring, that innocent face. It was all coming back in his mind. Like a video being played in his head. He loved her. Deeply. But couldn’t do anything. Then and now.

Kabir couldn’t marry Swati. Their status never matched. They belonged to different communities. Economically too. But they loved. And loved a lot. They had pledged to marry a million times.

“Saab”, the man in whites appeared from nowhere. He opened the door for Kabir. Kabir was crying. Badly. His chest hurt. He couldn’t control his tears. A drop fell on the shining floor like a diamond. Kabir wanted to look back and see Swati once. Swati saw Kabir rushing out. Kabir wanted to turn and check if Swati too cried. If she still loved him. He paused at the door. Few seconds passed. Kabir kept thinking. And then, he suddenly went out. Looking back was not easy for him. In that situation and in life. He chose to not turn around.

He walked out. It still rained heavily. Kabir stood in the rain. His tears were washed. No one noticed them. His cried faded in the heavy rain. Kabir didn’t care about them now. He wanted to shout. Loud. Loud enough for Swati to hear. But couldn’t. He was taught not to. He started walking on the road. His rexine shoes almost floated in the rain. He continued to walk. Away from the house. Away from the past.