Memorabilia

Memorabilia

The traffic jam had lasted for more than an hour. The evening weather was sultry and as I half dazzlingly glanced around from my drivers' seat, I could see the sulk widening on the faces of most drivers. Some highlighted their anxiety through violent hammerings of their horns while others poked their heads out of their cars to shout a mouthful of blasphemies against the traffic police, the floods, the condition of roads, the government, going to the extent of even blaming God for such chaotic paths. Such road blockages were now a common sight during monsoons and most commuters kept enough insured time in their pockets lest a 'Traffic Jam' took place. Everyone accommodated and adapted to monsoons. I did too. I was on my way home after the day's work and fortunately neither my wife nor daughter had any prerequisite demands for the evening. Just one of those rare days when you could go home, throw yourself into the bath tub and help yourself to some leisurely privacy. The thoughts of my evening recess comforted me in this hour of immobility.

Some more minutes ticked away and the honks only got louder. The cars stood still. As the situation didn't change, I resorted to lighting the last cigarette left of my day's pack.

'Need to quit, man,' I thought as I inhaled my first drag. While gazing thoughtlessly at the pedestrians on the street on my right, I suddenly saw a woman furiously arguing with an auto rickshaw driver, her hand gestures signalling vehement denial. The woman who looked strangely familiar had seemingly lost her duel with the driver and had walked across to the subsequent auto rider which brought about another war of words. I rolled down my window to have a better look at the woman when I realised who the argumentative female was.

'Might I help you, Ma'am?' I enquired figuratively as I approached her, leaving my car stranded in the middle of the road. She turned to me and peered for a couple of seconds without verbally responding.

' Rekha-ba! Can't recognize me, can you? Its Bobon.'

'Bobon? Umm...oh! My god, Bobon! I'm so sorry, I just never expected to see you in such a place,' she said ecstatically as she adjusted her bundled hair over her over perspired head. 'How are you Bobon? It is so lovely to see you.'

'I'm doing well Ba, I see you're in a bit of a problem. Do you need a lift?' I asked assuming that she would find my car a much better alternative for where ever she needed to go while I would get a chance to catch up with Rekha Barua, the lady whose splendour and panache left men gaping at her during her younger years.

'Thanks so much asking. I actually desperately needed a ride home. These auto drivers are such a pain I tell you! The prices they demand are enough to own a private jet!' she chuckled at her own sense of wit as I opened the door of the car for her.

I chucked my cigarette in the overflowing drain, before entering the vehicle. The cars started to move.

'So Ba, long time huh, how have you been? If I'm not wrong, I think we haven't met since Jaan's services.' It had been long. Five and a half years since the untimely demise of her younger brother, my best buddy. More of a brother than a friend to me and the dearest one I had since I could remember. Who would have known that after completing our MBAs together, both of ours' futures would be so contrasting?

'Yes, it's been ages since I've seen you,' she lamented, 'Times flies, I still remember how Jaan and you would not let us have an afternoon's nap during those cricket match telecasts, god and the bets...where have you been all this time?'

Her recollections brought a smile upon my face as I drove through an almost clear road now. Time did fly. I was married now, had a beautiful little daughter and career wise, I was affluent too. Everything was perfect except for Jaan's absence. Maybe, that was the reason I didn't visit his family anymore, though I was sure that my disappearance would not go down well in their books of civility. I just didn't want to go down memory lane, at all. Jaan was way too close for me to care about others' judgements.

'Work has kept me busy. You know how it is these days, the schedules.' I kept my reasons to myself. I told her of my family, my work, my new non cricket-watching-matured life, all the normal talk. Most of my details amused her almost as if it was the first time she had heard a person talking of family, work and all else. Eye contact was minimal from me, more because of the fact that her gaze at me was so strong and un-flickering, which made me uncomfortable in my own car. We drove past a big statue and the adjacent park which had many young romantics loitering about aimlessly.

Now that we had eased into our normal selves, I worded my curiosity over her hassled expressions by asking, 'Ba, is everything fine these days? How is your husband doing? You don't look in the highest of spirits and this is an unfamiliar sight for me.'

There was silence for a minute after I had made these remarks and I could sense her eyes going moist as she broke her incessant gaze at me. She had turned increasingly fidgety in a moment's notice, unsettling me but I kept mum against her twitches. She dabbed her handkerchief across her face and then disrupted the silence, to my relief. She said, 'Things aren't going very well for me, Bobon. My husband...he's sick, really sick...' Her speech turned into repressed sobs in the matter of seconds. I hardly knew what to do and focused on the road. I felt a sense of guilt for asking what I had. The friendly meet had turned somewhat melancholic.

In between wiping her tears and clearing her throat, she continued explaining with a abruptly vague expression of how her husband had gone through a major heart attack a couple of months earlier, making him suffer from slurred speech and partial paralysis. All of their earnings had been spent on his treatment but with no great breakthrough coming to his aid. He was back home now and lay motionless all day while she searched for ways to finance the miraculous and exorbitant surgery the doctor had advised her in order to cure her helpless husband. The unfortunate turn of events stunned me beyond definition. I could not fathom the tragedy that hit Jaan's sister, a person who lived arguable the happiest and most fulfilling life until the last time I had known her. I always tried to put myself in her shoes as a kid, imagining myself receiving the un-demanded attention she received. She had lived a life of a modern day princess. But adore and veneration never got the better of Rekha and her gentle soul, pure and perfect, never hurt a person and never got hurt in return. This had changed. Jaan's demise must have jolted a whirlwind of calamities on her frail path, I thought as I listened. Her parents were long gone and her husband was the only last strand of family she was survived by. I reiterated silently that I must bring some life back into this woman who I knew so closely at one time. Even if that meant parting with my hard earned savings I had managed through these early years. Money comes and goes, lives don't.

We reached the residential colony where she had said she lived and my thought filled mind suddenly heard Rekha tell me to park in front of a house with a dimly lit veranda and some weathered shrubbery. 'I would have called you inside for a cup of tea but Roop must be sleeping, and with the maid gone its just him and me now,' not making much eye contact anymore.

I forced a smile on my grim face and said that such formalities should not even cross Ba's mind in regard to me. I told her that though years had passed, she should still treat me like family. I told her that I understood the situation.

She stepped out of the car when I uttered the lines which I was preparing to say at the end of this saddening ride. 'Ba, I'm really sorry about your husband and for all I've got to know. If I may, could I please aid you through this ill-fated period? I would really like to see to it that your husband gets back to being the man, he was.'

To this, Rekha turned sentimental for the umpteenth time and told me that she would not want such needless burden to befall on me. In all probability she would not be able to pay back the debt of the surgery I was willing to finance. But I was determined to not go home with no for an answer and after some persuasion, she hesitantly agreed, thanking me and blessing me for being the saviour from her jeopardies. I wrote a six figure cheque for her, which stated that she would be able to collect the money the following day. I felt a pinch in my heart as I passed on the cheque to her; it is often difficult to see your earnings exchange hands without turning back. I wondered how my wife would react on this news. A teary faced Rekha looked overwhelmed when I wished her well and told her to give me a call when she was she planned to admit him. She wished me back saying that I would hear from her within the next week as the money meant an immediate surgery in her purview. I returned home with mixed emotions.

Three years before back, Rekha's husband, Mr. Roop Barua suffered from a major heart attack and partial paralysis. He battled hard for a week as doctors informed Rekha that if the speedy surgery did not occur, they would lose him. They told Rekha to urgently figure out the finances. Rekha could not manage the money and her husband passed away in his sleep when she was out frantically begging a distant relative for help. She returned to the hospital penniless to see Roop's dead body being taken out from the Intensive Care Unit. The sight mentally traumatized Rekha, who never acknowledged the doctors consolations or advise thereafter. Most people say that her mental state deteriorated since, and she continued to figure out ways to finance her husband's surgery.

The cheque was never en-cashed. I never met her again.