Day Two

Morning.

Nancy woke up with the foreboding of yet another day dropping heavily upon her. Oh God, was that really necessary, just an ordinary day? What I am to do with it! Have to get up, brush teeth and take a shower, she thought (though bathing is limited to body wash). She washes her hair in the evening. If you wet your hair in the morning, it is difficult to get it dry. Elder sister has a dryer. Her husband brought it last time when he came on leave from Dubai. Sister considers it a precious treasure, so has kept it in the almirah without using. Nancy got ready and sat at the dining table. There was Puttu and Kadala for breakfast...Puttu and Kadala! Oh God, you must nudge my sister’s mind, so some day she prepares something more palatable!

     Hanging the leather bag with golden colored buckles over her shoulder, she opened the door. She embraced Nelson who was sitting on his knees with an expectant face and brought him towards her. His face was smeared with ice cream. She searched his face for a spot to plant her kiss. There was not an inch left!

 ‘Chechi*, why do you give ice cream to this child in the early morning itself?’

‘Come on, you think he needs my help?’

True. Nelson opens the fridge, gets one or two tins, places one above the other and standing on them reaches for the heaven, the freezer. Thereafter, he digs into the ice cream with his hands.

‘How am I to kiss this guy?’  

     Stopping the futile search, she blew a perfunctory kiss at his face and went out of the house.

She saw a train coming as she entered the platform. Maybe a late running one. Shall board it. Chances are that by the time it reaches Alwaye, she would get a vacant seat. Then she dismissed that thought. Let the regular push-pull train come. That provides something to look forward to; something she had been missing for the past three months. Maybe be just a glance, but that would be enough to make her day.

     Push-pull lugged along the platform with vigor. Returning the smile which flew out from the engine room, she hurriedly boarded the next compartment. As she ensconced herself into the seat that her gang keeps reserved for her, she thought: I have once again entered the garden of love that exudes the finest of fragrance. She felt proud in bringing out such intense words from within. Deleting temporarily from her mind the handsome face in the engine room, she started chatting with her

friends. When the train started moving, they resumed playing Anthakshari from where they had stopped. It is always like that. They stop the game when the train halts at a station and resumes from where they stopped as it starts rolling. Its exactitude has surprised her. Never ever has anyone forgotten the line where they stopped or never ever did anyone fail to continue. They manage the one or two minutes of boredom during the stopover at a station by filling the temporary folders of their minds with songs they retrieve from memory. Thus, as they leave behind each station, they roar like a vehicle with a tank full of petrol. 

     Nancy knows pretty well that she is no match for them. It is not that she does not like songs, but fails to remember them. More important things occupy her mind. Needs to find out the reason as to why this man who was seen for two days continuously has disappeared the third day. Needs to fill the gap that may arise if the handsome boy at the lady’s fancy store suddenly disappeared after landing into a better job. With these preoccupations, it is difficult to memorize songs. She watches movies to know the latest fashions in churidars and ornaments and also to see the heroes. Songs never had much of an impact on her.

Bearing the brunt of defeat in the game, she got down from the train. Friends belong to train compartments only. Outside, she loved to walk alone. She never allowed anyone to intrude on her privacy. Her privacy resided right at the middle of the street...that’s a different aspect indeed! Instead of taking the foot-over bridge, she walked along the length of the train towards the engine. The driver is smiling. There is query in his look; “why was she crossing the railway track instead of using the foot over bridge?” She too had questions; where was he for the last three months. When unasked questions brewed irritation inside, she got angry. Without responding, she turned her head and started crossing the railway track. Ultimately what she was left with was the hazardous exercise of climbing across two trains which were standing on the tracks. Noting this loss in the day's profit and loss account she climbed over to the Number 1 Platform.

     Malathy was already there in front of her computer. The spot light in the cabin

from above gave the illusion of a Nilavilakku** lit on the bald head of Bhaskaran Nair sitting there. Her first instinct was to go in and stand with folded hands to pray, as if in front of the sanctum sanitorium. She used to visit a nearby temple just as she visited her church. Her chechi used to rebuke her for that. ‘Visiting temples etc. is not appropriate for our religion. We have to keep our faith and they have to keep theirs’. But Nancy thought much above that. She was not sure whether God existed or not. When one sees certain things, one concludes that there is no God like, not getting tickets for a Mohanlal movie which you badly wished to watch. Or like the boss returning just at the moment when the boy with whom you were chatting over phone in boss’s absence was about to say that he loved her. When such tragedies occur, she would feel that there was no God. Still she did not want to take a chance. No problem if there is no God, but what if He exists? Then in every probability, He will be there in the temple as much as He is in the church. Foreseeing this possibility, she started going to the temple as well. Moreover, she liked to see the semi naked body of the young handsome priest in the temple, fair and with hair on his broad chest. She would compare this with the fully covered figure of the pastor in the church. Pastor is also young and handsome. But the difference in costume gave extra credit to the priest in the temple. While handing over prasadam the young priest's eyes roved over her body in sheer adoration which made her feel awkward and she did the same to the priest making him also feel embarrassed. As she came out of the temple, profit and loss would have balanced. 

‘What happened today, you are on time!’ Bhaskaran Nair called out. ‘Miracles do happen, don't they?’ 

‘Look here, I am in a foul mood.’ she said, ‘now don’t you make me angry too.’

‘What happened daughter?’ he asked, coming out of the chamber.

‘Nothing.’

‘Didn’t the engine driver smile at you?’

    ‘He smiled, and that is what is annoying me now.’

     Bhaskaran Nair was perplexed. The person who stood in front of him was the one who got angry, only if a young man failed to smile at her. So, the problem is something else. He handed over the work to her and returned to his chamber.

His son's letter has come. ‘Dad, please subscribe to internet. Then I can be in touch

with you daily through e-mail. I can send emails to you from America at the cost of a local call. Please let me know how much would be the connection charges. I shall transfer the amount to your account.’  

     He is crazy!

 

* elder sister
** traditional oil lamp