When love took a train heading south !!!

So near that she could smell him, maybe even touch him. But all that she longed for was maybe a kind look or a small word. But he wouldn’t. Not his fault, she knew but how could she not feel let down.

A bright pink saree covering every inch of her slim body. Even her hair parting was adorned with the bright pink dash of ‘sindoor’ that Indian women apply on their foreheads. A typical woman from the hindi heartlands of central/northern India. She walked up the footpath and came up to him. Her gait gingery but confident, brought her to him, so close and yet he didn’t twitch. A man can never keep himself from feeling the presence of a woman near him. She is destined to make him acutely aware of her presence, so much that even the most docile of women can assume an imposing presence. This moment lasts for only a few seconds, before everything’s back to normal. But here, he did not even twitch. She was so close to him and by no means was she unattractive. A chiseled face, spotlessly clean skin, tall and poised she stood there in the narrow gap of the footpath, almost smelling the back of his neck with the pallu of her saree pulled across half of her face. And no sign of acknowledgement from him. He continued pulling out the puris, scooping the masala, filling each puri with the masala and dipping the puris in the tamarind water – serving the best pani-puris of Bangalore.

A man in pursuit of excellence in the humble task of making pani-puris for a living – a repetitive, highly energy sapping exercise that calls for high levels of concentration especially when you have multiple customers and counts to keep on the puris that you have served out. The customers can be quite irritating and irrational – some want it sweet, some spicy, some salty, some dry, some slow, some fast, some with onions, some without, - all at the same time. He took pains not only to make it the tastiest chat in the city, but also to set an example in customer service by being polite and humble with his customers. Every new customer was immediately acknowledged and given a sample to taste, mindlful of the fact that each character in his customer list has a different taste, a unique craving. He was respectful to elders & women ( who come in plenty ), polite & loving to children. Everyone went off feeling like a king or a queen from his stall, except she.

There was something in her hand, a vessel. She stood there for whole of 5 minutes with that vessel, waiting for him. She stands there and catches my eye. She turns away and looks at the road. Then she looks back at him and sees his busy back turned towards her and lets out a sigh – the sigh accentuated by the heaviness of the pink colour. Her body does not move but her eyes are a riot of emotions ranging from longing, impatience, love, desire, loneliness, irritation and humiliation. She is desperately waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, have a kind word, maybe even a slight touch of his hand while handing over the vessel. Was that asking for too much? He meanwhile, I feel knows that she is there but is reluctant to let go of his emotions. Only a highly emotional man can hold back his emotions. And I could feel him holding back. He was not looking up, constantly shifting his gaze from the puri to the masala, to the water and to the customer’s plate. He looked into the eyes of the customer, but would not even glance at her while she stood there waiting for that one ‘moment’.

At last he finishes up with me and suddenly there is a slight turn of his body and he whips his hands and pulls out the vessel from her hands, keeps it in his stall and continues preparing for another customer who has by that time barked out his demands. She stands there stunned at losing her only chance of maybe a look or a touch. She looks at me, maybe aware that I am drilling through her mind to know how she feels and suddenly her look hardens. She hides her emotional upheaval and suddenly her face assumes a shield like demeanor that is supposed to tell the world that nothing was amiss there. But little did she know that I had been witness to a critical moment of her life that gave me an insight into a space highly personal.

She stood there for some more seconds, hoping to atleast hear him bark out some orders to her…. In this insufficient state, even a harsh command would have sufficed to calm her jittery nerves that were acting up in a way only a newly wed’s can … maybe due to unfulfilled desires? I am not quite sure. But she made her way slowly back from where he was and started walking away, this time less confident and but more determined. Her determination to hold herself, took her to a distance of about 8 feet, before she stopped again. I was intently watching at this hindi-movie like situation. She turned back with the saree pallu in between her gleaming white teeth. Her kohl-lined eyes turning into one direction for the last time before she made her way out. And again she was met with the same lean, busy back of her husband. Her glance fell on me again and I stood frozen there, fearing if I had unwittingly intruded into her space but this time she did not try to hide her pain. Her face and eyes, her high cheek bone, her lips – all a clear reflection of her anguish at being not recognized as a presence in her husband’s life. She slowly turned and I realized that I was looking at her, shaking my head, with a sad smile , maybe giving her a comfort that “its allright bhabhiji, he is just busy in his work”!

It’s an everyday event in the lives of all the migrant workers across the country. They come to cities, sometimes with their families and live in inhuman conditions where there is little time for two people to spend time with each other to even start any love. The walls of the city close in too soon, the air suffocates them too soon, the ceiling comes down too soon, the friends and family are back too soon, the work starts too soon and nevers seems to end that soon, the child is born too soon and the money starts running out too soon, the body starts ageing too soon and the life seems to pass away too soon…. Everything happens just a bit ‘too soon’