Anand Had Never Come Back

I was exuberant...after so many years...it seemed as if it was my previous birth where I met him, loved him, and touched him as my own.

Nothing had changed. My heart beat in my chest the same way when I heard his name. After 15 long, languid years we were meeting again. I could not sleep at night. Remembrances like nebulous clouds were playing hide and seek with the sun.

Just a week before, around midnight I heard the twinkling in my mobile. I'm not a night owl. But Sushant came late from his office and I got late over my project. Just as I was about to abandon my blue gadget over the desk before sleeping I heard the chime of the bell. Sushant was in deep sleep. His easy comfortable snoring was ricocheting over the walls and falling apart in our cosy apartment in South Kolkata. The slight blinking of my phone with a stoic vibration attached to a hashtag of “do not disturb” mode triggered nothing adverse in his deep slumber.

With a slightly tight brow, I looked at the screen. And I couldn't remember how long I was standing in the same position. My legs were glued over the floor under the spell of a Wizard's magic wand. When Meghna, my daughter, slammed the bathroom door I recovered my senses.

Silently, I took the phone with me to my bed and wrapped myself in the comfort, hugging it. I wanted to get detached from the world even if for some time, with Anand, after so long time when everything had changed so visibly.

We promised that even if we could not marry we would always treasure the love in our hearts. Our families were orthodox and there were so many barricades in the way of our marriage. We didn't want to spoil others' pleasure for our own.

"We cannot be happy if our parents don't accept us. We have to live a life of ingratitude and repentance."

Anand said and I agreed. In our estrangement, our love escalated and our pride and respect for each other. Our sacrifice was our strength.

Anand married a girl of his mother's choice and I married Sushant, my father's friend's only son. Sushant is good ... obviously good enough for me in every respect- money, property, looks, and influence in society. What else should a woman care more about? So I cared nothing. Meghna, our only daughter, was like a butterfly just out of the cocoon.

In this long run of fifteen years I never called Anand, never sent a message, and never stopped thinking of him. I got the news of his marriage, his shifting to Ahmadabad and the birth of his twin sons from our mutual friends.

I looked at the message again and read every letter as if I was a toddler drilling my alphabet.

"I am back in Bengal. Can you meet me, Aditi? Next Wednesday is your birthday. I want to meet you on that day."

I checked the number, and the profile, again and again. Though there was no picture of him I was sure it was he, my Anand.

Whirlpools of emotions gulped me, overpowered me, and tossed me in the air. I wished to leave the bed, wished to go to the roof and shout....shout in joy...Anand had come back to Aditi.

 I knew I knew in my heart, he couldn’t forget me....never.

The time was fixed through messages. No one of us wanted to break the spell....spell of silence, harboured for a light year. It was like a game, a challenge. I had to recognize his voice; he had to mine in the crowd.

We could do that. I did that. As I stepped into our old familiar cafeteria, I found him, his back at the door, but I knew in my heart it was he, no one else.

Gripping my tremulous heart in my fist I mop the sweat off my nose tip. I wore his favourite coloured saree - dark red with a golden border.

As I approached the table I heard him busy over the phone. His eyes sparkled at me and he signed me to sit. I felt so nervous as if I was on a date. I could not look at him properly though I wanted desperately to retrace my Anand.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and smiled at me...the same charming eloquent smile with a lopsided frivolity. I whispered,

“How are you, how are you?"

"I'm fine Diti. How are you?"

“Fine."

Then we stopped and looked at each other. There were no words to arrange the bridge of silence … only the hustle of busy cups and plates and the bustle of the crowd passing by, leaving us in the aroma of nostalgia and coffee.

“How are your wife and sons?" I ransacked and find these meagre words.

“What is the name of your daughter?”

“Which class they are reading, your sons?”

“The syllabus is so tough.”

“The competition is spiralling up day by day”.

“Too much pressure in office and family…no one is there to bolster the pressure.”

“The world is getting insane. We are living in a tinderbox situation. China –India disintegrating will never end.”

“Blood Pressure is increasing and sugar level is also at crisis zone”.

“Yes, medication is going on.”

“Father died last year. Mother is now at brother's house.”

In the meantime Chaitali, his wife called him and I called Sushant to remind him of his medicine before lunch. Meghna also had three tuitions. I must hurry.

But we had not finished. We had not spoken out our hearts. These long 15 years we spent with the love and memory of each one. We had so many things to share, and so many emotions to express. So many words are buried inside us for each other.

I found the silver hairs peeping over his burgundy-coloured hair and I tried to hide my whitish traces with my finger.

We sipped coffee and discussed the family, politics, weather, future of our kids, and health of our partners.

And when we left the chairs, we looked at each other. Was there the reflection of loss in our eyes? Did we feel we missed something important? Anand gave me a copy of my favourite author as my birthday gift and I gave him my hand-painted kurta as a parting gift.

When the bus wiped out his last speck from my vision I sat still in my seat, trying to feel him in my heart. To my horror, I discovered all the memories that I stored for long years were fading away. Hurriedly, I shut my door and steered my mind in another direction.

Meghna had not returned not even Sushant.

I had a lot of work to do ...wash the saree and iron it before keeping it in the same position, put the book somewhere where even a rat can not seek it out to taste and finally delete the messages.

Anand had never come back.