Postcards from Manipal

 

My Daily Dose of Happiness

 

“I hate him!” I announced walking into my room that evening after a day of rigorous lecture and shooting. Studying cinema isn’t particularly easy. I’d like to take a few minutes and divert from my course of narration to point out what the society thinks of students studying Cinema as their major. I was an Economics graduate who decided to detour from Economics and chase my dream of being a filmmaker. People who supported me and were genuinely happy that I was doing something I enjoyed were my parents, a few of my relatives and my closest friends, Som, Ena, Bebo, Noddy, Mona, Anusri, Abheek, Shirsha, Trisha (from Amity) and a few of my professors who had taught me during my graduation days. My Guru, Rajat sir rejoiced my decision and wished me all the good luck in the world. Rajat sir had taught me Economics ever since I was fourteen years old and he was the first one to tell me to leave Economics and pursue a subject that would give me the happiness and satisfaction I deserved.

“You’re made for art. Go spread your wings there.”, he’d always tell me. That is what an ideal teacher sounds like. He is my Guru in the true sense of the word. He motivated me and inspired me and taught me so much more outside the boundaries of reason, logic, and Economics.

Most of my school teachers and the society mocked me behind my back. The general idea goes like this ‘children who can’t do anything else in life, study cinema and media’. What these kinds of people have never realized is that studying cinema is studying every art form and, history, politics, philosophy and psychology in order to understand what Cinema really is.

“Where every art form culminates, Cinema is born.”         

I was well aware of all the mocking and my character analysis going on behind my back, but everything about studying Cinema felt so right that I couldn’t bother about what these pseudo- career counselors had to say about my decision. It wasn’t only a right decision to study Cinema, it was my best decision.

Now back to the narration, Shirin looked on surprised at my rather filmy entry. She was cozily cuddled up in her blanket reading something. She kept looking at me not knowing how to react. I marched in, took off my shoes and sat on my chair angrily, clearly irritated on the unnamed person I’d referred to.

“Don’t look at me that way, I really, really hate him.”, I repeated.

“I hate him too.” She said.

“You don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

“I hate anyone my roomie hates. I think I can take a guess on whom you’re talking about here.”

“You do?”

“Your annoying and evil classmate, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s him.” I sighed, “he’s so irritating! He has to stop me every time I ask some question to the teacher or give my view on anything, he has to oppose me on everything I say and insult me if I brush off his remarks. I mean, what does he think of himself? He knows everything? Can’t I have an individual opinion? Bloody hell that piece of shit!”

“Uh! He’s increasing his tantrums day by day!” Shirin remarked looking equally pissed off at my tormentor. It had been sometime into starting college in Manipal and Shirin and I had become great friends in less than a month.

“He is getting on my nerves. Not only mine, I’m pretty sure, he’s getting on Binayak sir’s nerves as well. Binayak sir looked really cross during the lecture today.”

“Obviously! I’m not even dealing with him and I’m already irritated.”

The hate-conversation about my tormentor went on for a while longer and Shirin repeated how much she hated him and never wanted to see his face. I was starting to feel better and freshened up and made myself some warm milk and sat at my desk staring at the wall, thinking about Binayak sir’s lecture and the assignment he had given.

I had cleaned my room shortly after that fateful afternoon walk to MIC and I had made posters for my wall, decorated it with fairy lights and small hand-painted pictures and organized my desk. It  held all my essentials like my craft supplies, table lamp, books, laptop, water bottles, the memory books that Som, Noddy and Mona had given me and the most beautiful pen-stands. One had a picture of my sister, my mother, and myself, and the other was a gift from Mona on my twenty-first birthday. Mona and I were happily smiling at the camera. I wasn’t homesick anymore, but you always miss your family and the old friends you leave behind. I went through the memory books and looked at those pen-stands and missed my friends back home a lot. Every once in a while I’d look at the pen-stand and wonder how different Manipal would be if Mona, Som and Noddy had come with me.

It was almost eight that night when I was going through some notes and my phone rang, it was my tormentor. I stared at it, angry, irritated, frightened, all at once. I didn’t receive hoping he wouldn’t call a second time. He did. I kept avoiding. I knew too well why he was calling. He had never spoken in a civil tone with me over phone or in person ever since we’d begun our post-graduation in MIC. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t like him and I feared him. I was scared of hearing what he had to say, I was scared of being at the receiving end next day in college for not receiving his calls. Shirin had gone to her friend’s room and I sat there starting to curse my decisions again.

“Come for dinner Little Penguin!” I heard Sakshi’s voice. They all called me Little Penguin because apparently, I behaved like one.  

“What?”

“Dinner, lady, come for dinner.” She said standing at my door.

“Nah! You guys go ahead, I’m not in the mood.”

“I don’t care for your mood. You come.” She marched in and pulled me out of the chair. I went with her obediently. All of us were extremely obedient kids of our Sakshi Amma. We listened to whatever she said and never said ‘no’ twice. If Sakshi tells you to do it, you do it. And I’ll admit, she made life a lot easier with her strictness. All of us would’ve taken ill every second day had it not been for Sakshi and her constant scolding so that we eat properly and eat healthy. She took me by the hand and walked me to the dining hall as if I was her little baby who’d run away the moment she left my hand. I took more than one serving of the curries as per her instructions and sat down to eat. Ramya and Ramitha were already there and I can vaguely remember one of them getting one of Sakshi’s famous scoldings for taking less food. She obeyed Sakshi and took a second serving immediately.

“What is the name of the new girl again?” Ramitha asked.

“I don’t remember.” Sakshi said, thinking hard, “do you remember, Ramya?”

“No…”

“There’s a new girl in your class? How nice!” I said. We had only three students in the class and it was no fun. Trisha and I had fun outside the class whenever my tormentor wasn’t around. But with him near us, we just remained on high alert all the time.

“The new girl is so weird, you know.” Ramitha said taking a spoonful of rice.

“Really?”, Ramya was surprisingly surprised at the statement. “She grew a beard?”, she asked in astonishment.

Skashi and I broke into squeals of laughter and Ramitha hurriedly noted it down. It was almost as if Ramya’s duty to mishear something and Ramitha sincerely noted it down. It has become quite a list by now and everytime we remember one of Ramya’s version of any statement by any of us, we laugh the same. Ramya was the funniest and the most amusing among us. She was effortlessly funny and so sweet!

We laughed a lot that night at dinner. Ramitha read out the list and there were certain gems like ‘something amaze’ became ‘Agumbe’ (the name of a hill on the Western Ghats) and ‘cute meme’ became ‘puke cream’. After dinner we huddled in Ramya’s room and as the night rolled by, I forgot that I was scared of someone who was staying in the same campus and was going to the same class. Their voices and laughter filled the air in that room, and I became engrossed in all the positivity they spread, to worry about anything else. Every night when we met for dinner and talked about the day, laughed together and cracked jokes, I forgot all the worries in the world. I still remember those wonderful nights I had spent with them. The after-dinner conversations with them was my daily dose of happiness!

-Reva.

 

Postcards From Manipal

 

Finding a Family Away from Home

It was the month of June that year when I was preparing day in and day out to crack the entrance of a good film school in India. I was desperate to leave home and stay elsewhere in the country, live life like an adult. Manipal called me that month for a personal interview and I remember the joy in my parents’ eyes that I was getting one step closer to my dream of studying Cinema.  That month I saw Manipal for the first time in my life and I remember falling in love with every bit of that tiny town in Udupi district. Situated on the Western Ghats, in the lap of the hills, surrounded by numerous small, pretty beaches it is the most beautiful picturesque university town.

We stayed there for three days, walking around the beautiful town, giving my interview and seeing the university main building. My college was Manipal Institute of Communication (MIC) under MAHE (Manipal Academy of Higher Education). MIC is inside a narrow lane towards the left from Tiger Circle if you stand facing the town of Udupi. Few steps after crossing the famous eatery called Egg Factory, there stands the quaint little campus of my beloved MIC. Cottage type classrooms, a rustic canteen, trees around the campus and bikes and cycles parked near the gate, MIC felt like it was straight out of a novel. When I saw MIC for the first time that June, I travelled back to my childhood days when I’d sit through the science lectures in school and dream about going to college in the hills with small cottages and narrow lanes and trees full of colourful flowers. Manipal was everything I had always dreamt of but never thought that any place could be as dreamy.

After my interview I went to Coorg, then to Mysore and then back to my hometown, Kolkata. By then MAHE had selected me as one of the candidates for MA Film Art and Filmmaking. My dream was coming true. I would be studying Cinema in the most dreamy town I had seen all my life. There was less than a month left to shift to Manipal and my parents and I started making arrangements. My friends bid me farewell, gave me Memory Books and Mona cried too. I was so happy and excited that I didn’t realize the gravity of the situation. I boarded the train on 12^th July to Bangalore. Manipal is in Karnataka which is in South India. I’ve stayed in North-east India all my life, specifically in Kolkata. It took two flights and a cab to reach Manipal, quite a long journey, which I thoroughly enjoyed. We skipped taking a flight because we had a lot of luggage and the train ride was long, almost two days, but I loved it. We travel so less by trains nowadays in the quest of reaching places sooner that trains are a luxury for most of us.

I reached Manipal for the second time on 14^th July ready to settle into the town. I was going with a friend from my previous college so I knew I wouldn’t be all alone in a new place. I was extremely happy and couldn’t wait to start studying Cinema. My hostel campus was just as beautiful and filled with greenery and flowers of many kinds. After the orientation we had our first lecture with Binayak Sir. He was a young Bengali professor who’d teach us screenplay writing and he was a native of my city, Kolkata. He was very easy going and we had a great first day with him. It was a small classroom of three with another girl called Trisha apart from my friend and I. After his lecture, I went to my hostel to set the room. My roommate was Shirin Gupta, a first year UG student at MIC. Her parents were already there setting her part of the room. They were Bengalis staying in Gujarat.

I spoke to Shirin’s parents for some time and they seemed like good people. They had a rather young son who was around nine years old that time. They called him Omi. I was very excited to meet my roommate and after mama helped me unpack all my stuff, I decided to spend the night in the hostel instead of with my parents in the hotel. They were going to stay for a week to see if I’d need anything else in the hostel and they could buy it for me while I attended lectures. Manipal is a funny place. Sunny this minute, pouring down the next minute. Everyone in Manipal carries huge umbrellas and mama and papa had bought me two such umbrellas, one as a back-up in case the other one broke. Apart from the university and the moody rains, strong winds breaking the umbrellas and umbrellas getting stolen were the other prominent affairs that the students there coexisted with.

The first night in the hostel was nice. I lay down on my bed comfortably. Shirin had come back from college and she seemed to be a little scared of me given I was four years her senior. I tried my best to be friendly with her but she wasn’t convinced.

“I thought you were an extremely strict woman and would scold me for everything.” She confessed to me later when we had become good friends.

She left the room and crashed in at her friend’s room downstairs somewhere. I was a shy person, perhaps I’m still somewhat shy, but the Reva back then was a different person. The Reva writing this today is much stronger, more confident and has grown up like three or four years in the span of some ten months. Shirin returned later that night after dinner and we talked for sometime before sleeping. Next morning we got ready to go to college together and it was nice, a different experience. I didn’t feel the homesickness kick in and went to college happily. I knew I had an old friend with me and old friends help make life a little easier.

Classes and life was going well until the next night when my friend, who stayed in Block 19, if I can remember correctly, called me out for dinner as he was feeling lonely. It was nine by then, pretty late for a small town like Manipal, but I immediately grabbed my shrug and wallet and left. He called me to the food court near his hostel. I didn’t know the way, nevertheless, I figured it out by asking the random people on the road. We had a nice dinner and it was dark, lonely and almost ten when we finished and he deserted me lying that he’d have to get back to the hostel although the perm time for us seniors was eleven. That night gave me a scare. Although in the hostel campus, the roads were lonely and I hung on to dear life while walking back. That was the night I knew I had lost a friend… a friend who was never a friend to begin with. Friends don’t leave you alone. They guide you home.

From the next day I started staying with my parents in the hotel. I wanted to be around them as much as I could before they left for Kolkata. Mama convinced me to move back in to my hostel and make other friends but I couldn’t. I tried hard but no self motivation worked. The last night with my parents still gives me the shivers when I think back. I was not only sad about losing a friend but I was scared of him. He had suddenly turned his back on me. One evening my father and I were walking down to our hotel when suddenly he fell down and it was the highway. Cars were rushing past us and an unknown fear of loss gripped me as I struggled to get him up. When I told my friend this incident, he didn’t care. He started misbehaving with me and fighting with me over nothing.

Binayak sir had a word with my parents and I remember breaking down in his office. He assured me that he’d look after me like an older brother but nothing could get me to stop crying. My parents left after ten days and I returned back to an empty hostel room. Shirin was very helpful whenever I felt too overwhelmed but she needed a little more time to come around. Now I was not only a senior, but a senior who had no grip over herself.

Probably the worst phase of my life were those initial days after my parents left me there. I cursed Manipal and hated her with all the strength I had. I cried all day long till I video called my parents and seeing them home, I cried some more. My laundry piled up, coursework piled up, study table and cupboard was a big mess and so was I. I ate almost nothing, walked to college like a zombie and came back to hostel only to breakdown. Arya, my senior from my previous college suggested that I see a psychologist because clearly, I was giving into depression and it wouldn’t help me. I felt too tired to walk all the way to KMC (Kasturba Medical College). I texted my friends back in Kolkata and kept on crying about how much I missed them and how lonely I had become. My brother called me and I told him the same after I finished crying over the phone. I just cried every minute of the time I was awake. This continued till I met an amazing woman one afternoon called Sakshi.

She stayed in the room next to me and was studying MA in Mass Communication from MIC. She was a beautiful, strong woman from Ludhiana, Punjab. I still remember that first ‘Hello’ she told me. There was something in her voice which was so welcoming and endearing!

“Are you okay?”, she asked. I came across very clearly as someone going through their personal worst. Sakshi has an eagle’s eye. She understands people better than most others.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it here. It’s so lonely.” I said almost in tears.

“Aww, don’t worry. Come with me, I’ll introduce you to my friends. You’re from MIC, right?”

“Yes, MAFA.”

“Wow! Come, I have friends who love cinema as much as you.”

“Really?” I said locking my room to walk back to college.

We walked downstairs together and she introduced me to Ramya, who’d later become my personal Clown, and Ramitha, who’d go on to become my cinematographer and go-to person for all cinematic questions, and Varsha, who became like a sister.

All of us walked back to college and Ramya and Ramitha couldn’t stop asking me questions about my course. That was the first day in Manipal when I smiled while walking to MIC after my parents had left. My zombie like walk picked up momentum and I didn’t feel like crying. We laughed and walked, talking about cinema and upon reaching college, decided to meet near the gate in the evening after our lectures.

“I’ll introduce you to Shraddha, Arushi and Shrishti, some more of our friends. You won’t be alone anymore.”, Sakshi told me.

That fine afternoon when it had stopped raining for about an hour and Sakshi asked me to tag along with her and her friends was one of the most memorable moments of my life. That walk marked the beginning of my most treasured experience in these twenty-three years, it gave me friends I had never thought I’d find in a place so far away from home, it gave a family when I desperately needed one, it restored my love for Manipal!

Reva.

New Bangles For Gulgul

The few pots and pans rattled as Gulgul’s mother rummaged through them to scrape some food for lunch. Gulgul had started going to school that month and the expenses had been more than Gulgul’s mother had estimated. The roof had been leaking for quite some time and Gopal suffered a bad cough and cold. The bloom on the hills of late hasn’t been enough and Gulgul’s mother only made a few coins everyday.

“Shamsher ji won’t even hire me to pick tea leaves. How will I earn for my children now?!” she murmured in despair as she opened all the small tins one by one, “All because of Gulgul’s father! Lord knows which shimmery woman he ran away with. And now the village has to blame me!” she kept on speaking to herself.

It was a cloudy day and Gulgul lingered outside the house waiting for the rain. While Gulgul’s mother despised the beautiful mountain rains for the damaged it caused to their little shack, Gulgul loved playing in the rain. Gopal and herself made paper boats to sail them in the puddles.

“One day when I’ll earn a lot of money, I’ll buy you a red boat and we’ll take a trip to the sea to sail it.” Gopal would tell her.

“Really? Do boats cost a lot of money, Bhai?” innocent Gulgul asked.

“Yes baby sister. But worry not. Bhai will get you everything you want.” And Gulgul would leap up with joy and the brother and sister did a little dance feeling hopeful of better days.

Just then Gopal came back from school, his hands filled with something. Always excited to see her big brother, Gulgul jumped up to hug him.

“Look what I got for you.” he opened his palms to his little sister.

“Sweet berries!” she squealed.

“Let’s have them before mother sees us.”

“Won’t we share with her?”

“No. She’ll be angry. She always tells me never to pluck any fruits from any trees.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Whenever I ask her, she shuts me up saying I am to listen to her without asking any questions.”

Gulgul didn’t question further and the children finished the handful of berries feeling happy and satisfied. Anticipating the rain they tore a few pages from one of Gopal’s notebooks and started making paper boats till Gulgul’s mother called them for lunch. It was a simple and bland meal of a little rice and lentils. They had no vegetables and barely any spices but nevertheless, mealtimes were happy times. The children narrated their day’s events and the mother listened intently admiring her two little joys of her life.

“Can we go to the fair being held in the village in the evening?” Gulgul asked.

“No.” replied her mother immediately.

“I want new bangles. These are old.” she frowned.

“No need for new bangles. Your old ones are fine. Go help Sooni’s mother with her garden. And whatever money she gives you, bring it straight to me. Don’t go buy toffees from Dayal’s shop.”

“I’ll come with you.” Gopal said getting up.

“Sit back and study. I’m going to Pyarelal ji’s to talk to him. Maybe he can get me some work. If he does, I’ll tell him to engage you in a job as well.” she said arranging the plates and bowls in a neat stack to make more room. The shack was a tiny one that barely housed three people. A tiny bed lay by the window with a trunk underneath and beside the bed was a similarly tiny table that held a few important things belonging to Gulgul’s mother. Gopal slept on the floor as Gulgul and her mother took up all of the little bed.

“Gopal!” his mother called out getting no response from her son.

“Un-huh!” he replied absent mindedly staring at the door, thinking about a sad Gulgul wanting new bangles, wishing he was grown up enough to buy her every happiness she wished for.

“I’m leaving now. Study well and no mischief, clear?” Gulgul’s mother said walking out.

“Yes mother” he replied.

The village fair was a joyous occasion for the whole village. Ladies dressed in their best sarees, young girls let their hair open while their young partners, in their cleanest shoes and shirts, sniffed them secretly and walked around the fair together. Men mostly visited the fair to gorge on oily samosas while their wives were busy buying glass bangles and new utensils. The five days that the fair stayed in the village, all the villagers went about in a festive spirit and no one could hold their excitement for the final day skit that the children would put up, followed by a few dances by the young girls. Thankfully, it didn’t rain that day, and the first evening of the fair was saved.

 Everyone was having a good time in the fair, going from shop to shop, chatting in circles, eating spicy puffed rice and sipping on hot tea, children going on the small merry-go-round. Suddenly there was a chaos and everyone’s focus shifted.

“Thief! Thief! Shoplifter!!” a shopkeeper cried out pointing to a little boy swiftly running away. His son ran behind the boy while a few other men followed suit. The little lean boy, ran as fast as the wind and although panicking, he kept on with his speed and soon the son and the men fell behind. The young son didn’t give up and chased the thief. The lights of the fair were left well behind while the boy knowing his way about the hilly village kept running through confusing narrow lanes. There was hardly any light and the son lost track of the thief.

The little thief kept running till he was sure, he couldn’t hear any footsteps behind. Relieved and tired, he slowed down and walked on his tired wobbly legs when he stumbled on a brick and fell hard on the ground. Something like glass broke and he gave out a cry of pain.

Although lean, he was strong and he pulled himself up and slowly walked towards the main road. A flickering street lamp shone on him as he kept walking pursing his lips to control his tears. His knees were bleeding and he walked with difficulty.

“Bhai!!!” Gulgul cried out. She was returning from Sooni’s house and had a big Marigold in her hand, “what are you doing here? How did you get hurt?” she rushed up to her brother to support him.

“Nothing, I just fell down. And, sorry, I could save only two bangles. The other bangles were in my right hand and they broke when I…”

“New bangles, yaayyyy!!!” she screamed in delight, “Bhai, you’re the best!” she planted a generous kiss on both his cheeks, “Oh! I almost forgot. Sooni’s mother was pleased with me and let me pluck a Marigold. This is for you.” She handed it over to Gopal.

Never before had he seen his baby sister so happy and her smile was brighter than the Marigold. He felt like a hero who had emerged victorious in a dangerous battle. He couldn’t stop staring at the little girl’s broad smile.

“But your knee Bhai,” Gulgul said coming back to her sense suddenly, “does it hurt a lot?”

“Not in the least.” Gopal said with a smile looking at Gulgul’s beaming bright face.

-Reva.

Part 1

1. John and Rafi Chacha

It was a bright sunny morning that day when I woke up late. Mama was busy with her household work and I glided down the bed, my frock getting crumbled at the back and I landed with a thud. I looked at teddy sleeping on the pillow beside mine and decided to wake him up later. I freshened up as John had always taught me that to feel disciplined in future I should discipline myself while young. But often I was told that I was not young. I was the kiddie of the house so I never understood why I should have to start getting so disciplined when I was far from being young. Nevertheless, I listened to what he said. He was one of my very few best friends.

“You don’t question your best friends when they ask you to do something. You do it for them. That way you show your trust and faith in your friendship. A true friendship means no questions asked.”, John always told me.

John and Rafi chacha were my two best friends. We were a group of three, just like papa had his group of three. And I never asked either of them any questions and they did the same.

“Stop doing your sketches and finish the food. It’s getting cold.” I heard mama’s voice, at the table.

Breakfast was never my favourite meal as mama always served it and left for work, Rafi chacha came around 9 a.m. and John too returned from his morning walk and talking with the other uncles of the block, around the same time. Papa was hardly there in the house, so I had to eat alone. He was mostly away on something the elders called as ‘office tour’. My little brain always didn’t understand what it meant except that it was an outing with a bunch of friends that involved both fun and work, Rafi chacha had explained to me. Why would anyone work while they are out with their friends? I thought to myself. Elders were really difficult to understand and mostly boring. I never wondered much about papa’s ‘office tours’ except for sometimes when I would see that my neighbours would go the park with both of their parents on weekend evening and I went with my friends- John and Rafi chacha. Mama was always busy and returned late in the evening after the sun had set, a time when I was not allowed to go into the garden or backyard alone without either John or Rafi chacha accompanying me.

I nibbled on my breakfast till mama yelled from the kitchen that if I didn’t finish my breakfast before she left, she would keep me grounded in the house for one week. I nibbled faster. Mama left shortly and that was the last I would see of her before she made her appearance right at dinner time when John would read to me fables and Rafi chacha would bid us ‘bye-bye’.

“When do you think I’ll go to school?”, I asked John as he and Rafi chacha came that morning.

“School?” John repeated after me as he sat down across the table.

“Yes, school John. The place where you learn how to read and write.” I said, thinking he didn’t know what a school was.

“Why do you want to go to school so early?”, asked Rafi chacha coming with two cups of tea from kitchen.

“I’m growing old Rafi chacha. I need to start learning.”

“Why, haven’t I been teaching you how to read and write?” John asked.

“Yes. And who said you’re old?”, Rafi chacha laughed, “you’re the little baby keeping us oldies young at heart.”

“Oldies? You? If I’m a baby how can you be old Rafi chacha? You’re my best friend.”

“No sweetheart. We’re not old. Don’t you worry. But Rafi, she is right. She’s five years old and we should think about starting her school.”

“I think so too. Or, we could keep tutoring her just as now. Why send her off to a school with a million other kids?”

“C’mon Rafi! I’m not gonna stand in the path of my granddaughter’s happiness just because we don’t want to let her go.”

“John…”

“She’ll be fine man. I’ll talk to her mama tonight.”

After breakfast, I went out to the garden with Rafi chacha, in that pale yellow cotton frock, absolutely barefoot and spent nearly two hours watching him hard at work. Some days he used to plant new trees and some days, he would nurture the old ones.

He taught me some of his work too which he called art.

“When you plant a seed, water it daily and nurture it as it grows up slowly, you create a piece of art.” He used to say.

I was an obedient child and an obedient friend, doing just as he said and as the days went by, he involved me more and more in his art.

“Do you know what this garden is, Reva?” he’d asked me one day, “It’s a canvas. It’s the oldest canvas to exist. I was your age when I came here with my father and watched him paint it with flowers.”

Sometimes he would carry me on his shoulders as he worked, trimming the bushes along the boundary wall and he would hum a song. The songs were also as old as the garden, he informed. I hummed the tune along with him when I was younger and as I grew older I picked up the words.

“These are Rafi saab’s songs- the greatest in the world.”, he would tell me.

“You sang the greatest songs in the world?!” I was surprised.

“Oh no no baby. This is another Rafi. He was an artist who sang, I am an artist who keeps a garden. Same name, different artists.”

And so would my mornings go, singing Kishore Kumar and Rafi and gardening with Rafi chacha till John would finish making lunch and call us inside. He would give me a nice bath and tell me of the Water Angel that used to play with him in his boyhood days when he took a nice bath. I was determined to meet Water Angel and made no fuss while taking a bath.

Lunch and dinner times were my favourite. The three friends would sit together and eat and talk and plan new things.

“Friends who eat together, stay together.” was John’s favourite line, “Because when you bond over food, it stays forever.”

I would tell him what Rafi chacha and I did out in the garden and he would tell us from where he had learnt that new recipe he had served us on the table. The discussion would then move to if we should spend the afternoon writing, painting or reading.

Most of the afternoons existed for John and myself, for Rafi chacha would be fast asleep, snoring softly as John and I would put our undiluted attention to the brush strokes or Snow White or my colourful notebook. He would wake up in the evening to John singing Elvis and my little tongue trying to match his speed. Rafi chacha would wake up and join us. We’d go out to the garden and do a little dance celebrating our friendship, our favourite was dancing to ‘Burning Love’ and ‘Jailhouse Rock’ and then I would go inside to write a letter to papa while they sat on the porch drinking a ‘magic potion’, they called it, which was sometimes a light brown, sometimes golden in colour, and talk about olden days. I wrote a letter to papa on most evenings, substituting a few with reading another fairytale book or going through John’s old album where there were lots of pictures of John with papa and grandma. However, I never posted any of those letters. Instead I kept them away in a box, to give him when he returned home.

“How long have you and Rafi chacha been friends?”, I asked John that night at dinner while he was getting ready to read to me another fable.

“Well… long enough. Why do you ask?”

“And you have always been such close friends?”

“Yes. He’s been my only best friend all my life, till you came along, after which, I had two.”, he smiled at me.

“Didn’t you get bored of it? Mama says that the older something gets, the more boring it is.”

“Oh no, honey. Mama must have said that about a dress or a showpiece. Friendships never ever get boring. I’ll tell you something tonight, promise me you’ll remember it all your life.”

“I promise.”

“So, here’s the deal with true friendship. It’s like an old letter, the one you cherish the most, you feel just as comforted when you read it, as the first time you had read it. It’s like an old music. You know the tune by your soul and you can just flow with it effortlessly, you know? Just the way we dance to Elvis’ songs every evening. Old friendship is one of God’s miracles my dear girl. Your oldest friends are the most beautiful flowers in your garden. They are family.”, he smiled with a little tear in the corner of his eyes.

“John?”, I said softly.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“When I go to school, how will I know who is my true friend?”, I asked.

“Time will tell you.”

“Really? Time can talk?”

“Of course! How do you get to know that it’s lunch time or dinner time?”

“You call me. That’s how I know.”, I felt really confused.

“Well, who do you think tells me that it’s time to give Reva her dinner?”

“It’s Time!”, I exclaimed, excited to know that Time indeed can talk.

“Yes!”, John said, sounding equally excited.

Mama would be late that night so John put me to bed. He said that next morning we, along with Rafi chacha would go and collect the forms of the various schools nearby. He was sure that mama would agree to start my school. I smiled and kissed him good night, ready to dive into my fantastic, fabulous dreamland.

2. Love, Rosie.

“I’m not gonna have it any other way Rafi, I’m going to send my granddaughter to school. That’s it.”, John said as we were walking down the road to one of the schools.

“But what is the need? You teach her to read, write and paint. I teach her to plant trees and sing and both of us have taught her to dance. She’s learning everything with us. Aren’t you?” Rafi chacha asked looking down at me. Whenever we were out on the road, I used to walk between my best friends. I seldom walked if I’m totally honest. I would start of by skipping and jumping some of the distance and then either John would pick me up or Rafi chacha and they would carry me the rest of the way. If it was a long distance, they both took turns in carrying me. When I look back, being carried around and pampered is one of the best memories I have with them.

We went around many schools in the locality although I felt that they were not really schools because John kept using a very complicated term that started with the letter ‘M’. It was something like Momentary School perhaps. But I was too happy to be bothered. John had convinced mama to let me go to school and he said I could choose the school I liked best.

By lunch time we had been to all the nearby Momentary Schools and Rafi chacha heaved a sigh of relief when John informed that I would not be sent to any Momentary School that was beyond the walking distance from our house.

We had spent all morning outside so there was no food at home. We hopped in John’s car and he drove us to Aunty Maria. Aunty Maria is a famous café in Panjim and one of my favourite places. When grandma used to stay here, John and her would drop by at Aunty Maria’s every week. After grandma went to stay with Christ, John’s visit to Aunty Maria became less frequent.

Christ’s abode is a great place to stay John always told me. John’s parents stayed there too John said.  I didn’t quite believe him. To me, there was not a prettier and happier house than the one where I lived with John. It was John’s favourite place in the world. Although it was an old house, but, the older the better, John believed.

“Was grandma your friend John?” I had asked him one day.

“Yes, she is.” He smiled.

“She still is? I thought she doesn’t stay with you anymore. You said she stays with Christ.”

“No matter where your friends are, they will forever be your friends.”

“Do you miss grandma?”

“Yes honey, I do. I miss her a lot.”

“Does it make you cry?”

“It does. And when I can’t take it anymore, I read the letters she had written to me. It makes me feel like she is sitting beside me and reading it with me.” he smiled.

Rafi chacha suggested that we spend the evening at the beach and watch the sunset. It seemed a good idea. The three of us hadn’t watched the sunset from the beach for a long time. There was a balloon uncle at the beach. We met him every time we went there. He would always give me a balloon and in return John, Rafi chacha and balloon uncle had tea together in one of the beach shacks while I played with the tea uncle’s son. He was just as little as me. There’s a picture in one of the albums where John is sitting with both of us on his lap and we just look like siblings. He was called Anton, short for Anthony.

Anton’s mama was dear lady. She had a little shop beside the tea shack where she sold dolls. Those were beautiful dolls and she made them herself. Sometimes when we would go to the beach and Anton and I would be done jumping around, she would let us go sit in her shop, listen to the radio and watch her make the dolls. On my fourth birthday, John had thrown a party at Tea uncle’s shack with Balloon uncle, Anton, Anton’s mama, Rafi chacha and Paula when Anton’s mama had gifted me the most beautiful doll from her shop. I carried it in my bag everywhere I went. It’s still in my room. After all these years.

Paula was a young woman studying in a place they all called ‘college’. She was a frequent visitor at Tea uncle’s shack and John and Rafi chacha were very fond of her singing. There was something very strange about the friendships we made at that shack. It was fun and pure, yet it didn’t go beyond that shack and nobody ever complained about it. Sometimes when I look back at those evenings I feel that maybe the charm lay in not taking the friendship out of that shack and that beach to each other’s houses. In that shack, everyone bonded over the same tea and bolinhas, everyone was the same.

The sunset was beautiful as usual, colouring the sea with vibrant shades of red, yellow and orange. Often when we were at the beach John would tell us about how he and grandma used to come to the beach and watch the sunset and this would be followed by some story about grandma and more often than not, all of John’s stories included Rafi chacha. Seemed like there had been a group of three even before I came, John, Grandma and Rafi chacha.

“Rosie was a talented sand artist.” John began.

“Taking pictures were not very popular back in those days,” he continued, “yet I did manage to take pictures of most of her sand arts. She never had any training but she did so well.” He smiled to himself looking into the vastness of the sea.

“I remember when John was away on work during his birthday, Rosie dragged me to the beach and made a beautiful picture of her and John on the sand and asked me to take a picture. For some reason I’ll never know, she was very uncomfortable with handling the camera. She wanted to attach the picture with a letter she had written and send it to him. You still have it, don’t you John?” Rafi chacha said.

“Of course I do.”

I was mesmerized every time John and Rafi chacha told me one of their old stories. I loved listening to them talk about the days gone by more than any fables or fairytales. I didn’t always understand everything they said, but the tone of all the stories were so happy and peaceful, I loved listening to them.

Back home that night, John made a special dinner that was grandma’s favourite and he allowed me to be in the kitchen while he cooked on the condition that I would not jump about or bring my new balloon there. I agreed and John tied the balloon onto my teddy’s hand and I happily skipped to the kitchen with him.

After cooking as we waited for mama to return so that we can eat, John took me to his room and showed me his treasure chest where he kept all of grandma’s letters, photos, her diary and even some of her favourite ribbons and headbands. Some unexplainable peace filled me from within when I saw with how much love John had preserved everything that was important to grandma.  A young and tender mind didn’t understand how deep all of it was but it was much more beautiful than any fairytale John has ever read to me.

“When grandma comes back from Christ’s home, will you hug her and say how much you missed her?” I asked him. I believed that no matter where people went, they always came back home.

“Honey, Christ stays really far. It’s difficult for grandma to come back.” He told me.

“What?” I was devastated, “mama says papa also stays very far away. Is he not going to come home?”

“No sweetheart. Papa will come. Grandma stays even further that’s why it’s difficult for her to come. Papa will be home for Christmas dear. Don’t you worry.”

“Can I tell you something John?” I asked him softly.

“Anything, my dear girl, anything. Never hesitate to tell your John what’s on your mind.”

“Sometimes I really wish I could meet grandma.”

“I know dear. Grandma would’ve been so happy to know you. She would love you and kiss you and cuddle you all day and stitch you pretty frocks.” he smiled as he said.

“I miss her.”

“I miss her too honey. I’ll tell you what. While we’re waiting for mama to return, let’s read one of grandma’s letters. Come.” he patted his lap. I climbed on his lap and snuggled comfortably as he began to read. John’s lap was the safest place, always.

“Dear John,

                    It rained this afternoon, after a long time. Papa and mama are away visiting Aunt Julie so it’s just Benny and me in the house. I know it’s been only two weeks that you’ve gone but it feels so much longer than fourteen days. I was doing fine until it started raining. Rain makes me miss you a little more. I sat on the porch while Benny slept and watched it rain. There’s not much to do these days. We switch on the porch lights every evening but now that you’re gone, Rafi and I don’t feel the dance coming to us. We just sit on the porch and talk about you. Today he brought up the incident when you and Rafi were caught sneaking out of the school. I still remember watching you both stand outside the classroom on one leg.

I made your favourite roast pork for dinner last night. Mama and papa loved it. We enjoy our family mealtimes but it’s not quite the same without you. I hope you are eating properly there. I know how homesick you get and then it leads to a loss in your appetite. Please don’t fall sick. Rosie is not there to take care of you this time.

Benny made the cutest little drawing today in school and his teacher praised his artistic skills a lot. It’s really pretty. I tell you John, our boy will grow up to be a painter. Oh, I almost forgot, our little boy has picked up the words of the first stanza of ‘Return to Sender’. It’s adorable when he sings with us. I can’t wait for you to hear him sing with that cute accent of his.

I’ve been fine and made four new sand arts on the beach. Rafi has taken all the pictures so when you come back, you can see what I’d made. Although Rafi comes and keeps me company and mama and I bake most of the evenings, it gets lonely sometimes. Maybe it hurts so much as this is the first time. A habit of fifteen years of seeing you everyday won’t go away in a few days. Complete your work fast and come home. Please! Everything feels incomplete without you at home.

Take care and write to me as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting.

Love, Rosie.

3. Shiuli and Star Gazing

  

“What plant is that Rafi chacha?” I asked him one morning when I saw him sow some seeds in one corner of the garden.

“It’s Shiuli. Your mama loved these flowers when she was younger.”

“Wow! I didn’t know mama loves flowers. She’s hardly ever in the garden even on Sundays.”

“Yeah that was a different phase of life. Your papa would also come back home every evening.”

“When did you go to buy the seeds? You didn’t take me with you.”

“I didn’t baby. Your mama’s sister sent them from Kolkata.”

“Wow!”

“I went to Kolkata when your mama and papa got married. Your mama always kept Shiuli flowers in her room. But after coming here, she never wanted to keep those flowers in her room. Benny had asked me one day if it would be okay for me to grow a Shiuli tree in the garden but then Meera refused. She never told us why.”

“Did she ask for it again?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re planting it. I thought maybe she wants a Shiuli tree in our garden.”

“This is my gift to you.”

“Really?” I jumped with joy.

“Yes. I realized that there are plants and trees dedicated to every person in the house but you. That’s when John suggested that we plant a Shiuli tree because Shiuli is a beautiful, little, white flower, just like you.” He pulled my cheek affectionately.

“How long will it take to grow up?”

“It’s your friend. It’ll grow up with you.” he smiled.

I had a painting assignment due in school and with Shiuli dominating all my thoughts, I asked John if he could teach me to paint Shiuli.

“Definitely! Sunday afternoon for Shiuli.” he declared.

It had been quite some time that I had begun school. I had changed from Montessori (the school I called Momentary School as a child) to a big school, St. Agnes Convent. My art teacher was very impressed with my skills as a painter and gave me a chocolate.

“Here’s a chocolate for you John.” I said when he came to pick me up after school.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“Ms. Mari gave it to me. She was very impressed with my drawing of the Shiuli and since you taught me to paint it, I thought I should give it to you.”

“Why that’s so sweet of you my love. But I’ll tell you what. You keep it in your bag and since you’ve been a very good girl this whole week, after dinner we’ll go to the terrace and you’ll have your first night of star gazing and then we both can share the chocolate. Sounds good?”

“Sounds excellent, John. So finally I’m ready for a late night star gazing?”

“You most certainly are young lady.” he smiled with pride.

I have heard countless stories of star gazing from John and Rafi chacha. Back in their boyhood days, they would sneak up to the roof  for a quite night of star gazing after a very loud and noisy day. It was very calming they say. Grandma was also fond of star gazing and many times they had fallen asleep while looking  at the stars only to be waking up to the birds chirping at the early hour.

“Those were double bonanza for us. Watch the beautiful moon and twinkly stars before closing your eyes at night and open them to the colourful sunrise.” John would say.

Special carpet, comfy cushions, a light blanket, water bottle, chocolate, cassette player and grandma’s picture, John was busy getting everything ready for our very special night. Our house was not very far from the sea and one of the things I liked best about Goa was, even though it’s very hot during the day, the winds are cool and soothing at night. It’s very comfortable in the garden or in the porch without any artificial air from the ceiling fan or pedestal fan. Whenever there would be a power cut, which was very frequent during my childhood days, all the families in the neighbourhood would either be out on the porch, or in the garden, or in the balcony, all huddled around the radio or cassette player or around the grannies listening to tales from her childhood days. No one would even need the hand fan. A candle would flickering in a corner and everyone would be engrossed in stories from the past, stories which had collected dust over all these years. I loved power-cut-evenings as much as any other kid on that block, for those were the only evenings mama would join John and me and share some of her stories.

“Why do you bring grandma’s photo to the terrace every time you come for star gazing?” I asked him lying on the roof beside him, both of us nibbling at the chocolate.

“Not always the photo, sometimes I bring up her letters, other times her diary or maybe her favourite ribbon… something that belonged to Rosie.”

“But, why?”

“It makes me feel closer to her. She was the one who got me into the habit of star gazing when we were children. And it has remained with me all these years.”

“Why did grandma die, John?”

“Who said she died?” he was surprised. He knew I wasn’t yet familiar with the concept of death but I was eight years old and growing up.

“Mama did.”

“What else did she say?”

“That you have never been able to get over her death.”

“No, I meant what did she say about death?”

“That when people are old, they die and… it’s inevitable and that if I don’t understand it, I should remember that death is the opposite of life because we’re learning opposites in school.”

“Jesus! Your mama’s gotta slow down.”

“Why did she die? Was she very old?”

“No honey. She was sick.”

“What happened to her?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

“Okay. Which star is she?”

“What?”

“Mama told me that when people die, they become a star.”

“No, sweetie, your grandma’s not a star. People do not become a star when they die.”

“Will you also die someday John?” I was almost in tears. John meant the world to me, he was my safety net. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved him.

“Come here little one.” he said opening his arms. I snuggled in his arms, laying my head on his chest, “everyone has to die someday. Meera was right, it indeed is inevitable. But, it’s not the opposite of life, it’s a part of life.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will when you grow up. Just remember it.”

“I don’t want to lose you John.” I sobbed.

“You won’t. People who are loved are never lost. Just like your grandma. I find a piece of herself in her letters, her diary, her pictures, her ribbons and laces… in star gazing.” he smiled looking at the millions of stars above us.

“I’m scared of losing you. I can’t…” I was suddenly uncontrollable.

“Shh… be scared. We all are scared of losing people we love. That doesn’t make us cowards. It only makes us a little more human.”

“Sometimes I really don’t understand what you say.”

“Don’t worry, one day, it’ll all make sense.”

I sobbed for some more time and he finally comforted me into silence. “Will another story about me and grandma make you feel better?” he asked.

“I think so.”

And he began yet another beautiful story and before I knew it, I was fast asleep, safely in his arms.

4.  Are You Lonesome Tonight

My room was on the backside of the house and the balcony looked out into an open space filled with green grass and some wild pink and yellow flowers and lots of butterflies. Beyond the field was visible some beautiful villas and a factory, of which kind I knew not. It intrigued me often but I didn’t have any friends in the neighbourhood except John, Rafi chacha and Anton, who would accompany me there. John and Rafi chacha never wanted to, Anton wasn’t allowed and although Paula was a lot older to me, she was too busy with her university work.

I needed a new friend to be mischievous with. Winter was fast approaching and the school would close down for Christmas and New Years and although papa’s yearly visit was due near to Christmas, he wasn’t a fun person. I just craved to have him home as it felt like a tradition that all the other kids around the block stayed with both their parents.

 Television was not a very popular mode of entertainment in our house and I only used it for thirty minutes every night sharp at nine to watch ‘Tom and Jerry’. John and Rafi chacha watched the news every evening and Mama only had the Sundays to herself to relax in front of the T.V. The few friends I had in school didn’t live nearby. Apart from the days that I went to the beach to play with Anton, I was pretty much on my own or singing with John and Rafi chacha. I was devoted to the growth of the Shiuli tree and it slowly became my friend, although it was a lot taller than I was. I watered and nurtured it everyday before going to school and read under its branches with John’s old lantern. Many a times I even did my homework sitting under the Shiuli tree. A part of the tree reached to my balcony upstairs and I would pluck a few flowers every now and then and keep it beside my bed.

“When I’ll be gone, this Shiuli tree will remind you of me.” Rafi chacha said. Although it gave me the shivers to think that there would be one such day, the Shiuli tree comforted me that Rafi Chacha would live on in his art- the Shiuli Tree.

“Rafi chahca, do you ever think of death and feel scared?” I asked him one Sunday.

“No dearie. I feel scared about the people who love me, like John, you, my son…”

“But not for yourself?”

“No. I’ll be dead. I won’t be able to feel a thing. The ones left behind will feel that deep pain and hollowness…”

“Uh huh!” I said, trying to process the philosophical things he and John kept telling me evry time I asked something.

“Why do you ask?”

“You know my friend Bonny, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Her grandma passed away.”

“Oh, that’s so sad! How’s Bonny?”

“Not very good, not very bad. She says that she and her grandma were never good friends.”

“I understand.”

I kept quiet for some time and then decided to focus on Christmas and gifts.

“What are your favourite things Rafi chacha?”

“This gar…”

“Apart from the garden.” I laughed cutting him short.

“Music.”

“Aaahh! Nice!”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Had nothing better to ask.”

 John and I went gift shopping that evening after seeing Rafi chacha off at the Madgaon station. He wanted to visit his son, for he missed him dearly.  John and I had tears in the corners of our eyes, careful not to break down and spoil his excitement of seeing his son.

“Give my regards to Peter. And write to me!” John called out as the train started rolling forward.

“I’ll miss you guys but don’t worry. I won’t be long gone.” Rafi chacha waved at us standing near the door.

We stood there watching the train retreat into the vast emptiness that lay after the station disappeared into a singular point at a distance. John remained silent, staring the way the train had disappeared carrying his life-long friend in it. I wanted to cry but I knew John was holding his tears for me and I should do the same.

“Earrings for mama, a beach ball for Anton, a headband for Anton’s mama, a notebook for Paula, two picture frames for Tea Uncle and Balloon Uncle and this set of colour pencils for Bonny. I just don’t know what to get for papa.” I said after meeting John at the gate of the mall later that evening.

It was the first time he had let me do my shopping alone and waited for me near the gate and I was beginning to feel more and more lady like.

“You didn’t get me anything?” he looked at me like a little boy.

“Don’t try to peep into my bag and just tell me what to get for papa.” I said like a little mother commanding her naughty son.

“Alright little lady, as you say. Why don’t you buy him a bar of chocolate? He likes chocolates.”

“That’s a good idea.” I smiled and went off to the candy store.

With two weeks to go, my gifts were all wrapped and labeled, except John’s and Rafi chacha’s presents. I had set my mind on making John a handmade card since he taught me painting and a mixed tape for Rafi chacha because he loved music. John and I spent around five evenings making the mixed tape with all the songs that reminded the three of us of each other.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Christmas preparations were on in full swing and papa had come a few days early. There was an aura of celebration all over the house. Rafi chacha called us on the landline every two or three days. Mama, papa, John and I went to the park on the Sunday before Christmas after a long time like one happy family. Amidst everything however, John and I felt Rafi chacha’s absence terrible. John was lonely without his friend and I found him looking through old albums more often than before.

“I’ll be back soon. Take care of John and yourself sweetheart.” Rafi chacha said and hung up on Monday morning.

“Bye, Rafi chacha.” I said.           

That was the last time I spoke to him. His son called the next morning to inform us of Rafi chacha’s demise after a severe cardiac arrest. Never before had I felt that numb. It was Christmas eve. Everyone was celebrating. Mama and papa called Peter and talked for a long time. They were consoling him and reassuring him that they’d help him in everything he needed. John didn’t say a word and remained in his room all evening. I didn’t know what to do. I had heard of death and discussed about death with John and Rafi chacha so much. I felt I was prepared. But never before had I felt and seen death so close to me, breathing on my neck. I ate my dinner and slept off.

“What are you doing here at this time?” I asked finding John sitting under the Shiuli tree at five in the morning.

“Why are you up?” he said looking at me. The Christmas light on the boundary wall fell on his face and I could see he looked tired and his eyes were empty. I had never seen John like that before.

“I just couldn’t sleep and went to the balcony, then I saw you sitting under the tree so I came.”

“Come sit.”, he opened his arms.

I snuggled beside him.

“You know…” he began, “I was trying to play the missed tape on this portable player but it didn’t feel right.”

“I think I want to hear the mixed tape.”

“Me too. We’re together now, let’s play it.”

He switched on the player and we hugged each other tight. All the beautiful moments we had spent together flashed before my eyes. I could hear him weeping softly, and as the first song filled the air, we broke down in each other’s arms, not knowing who would comfort whom.

Are you lonesome tonight,
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

5. When Jimmy Came Home

It was a week of mourning, missing, grieving and dreaming. We mourned his untimely demise, missed his presence and dreamt of the good ol’ days left behind. Days that filled the garden with Rafi chacha’s melodious voice, the afternoons with his soft snoring and the evenings of him dancing with us on the porch. John and I couldn’t stop getting visions of the train disappearing into the emptiness beyond the Madgaon station, of Rafi chacha smiling at us and waving us bye-bye. Maybe it was God’s way of signaling that it was a ‘goodbye’.

After that night under the Shiuli tree, we never played that mixed tape again. We worked towards nurturing Rafi chacha’s beloved garden, his art. All the plants, flowers and bushes breathed of Rafi chacha’s care and fondness for them. It was as if Rafi chacha was among them, talking to us through the green leaves and flowers.

“Green is the colour of life.” Rafi chacha would always tell me when I worked with him.

I looked around the garden in admiration for the first time in the twelve years that I’d lived in the house. There was green everywhere. Green, brought and planted by Rafi chacha. The colour of life filled the house and yet, the house and the garden was lifeless in his absence.

“The artist always lives on in his art.” John taught me. Rafi chacha’s essence was always felt in the garden, under the Shiuli tree… but I’d be lying if I said that John and I still missed him, grieved for him, dreamt that he was with us.

There was no Christmas that year. We didn’t switch on the Christmas lights, nor did we bake any cake and the presents were left under the tree untouched. For many days after losing his dear friend, John and I didn’t dance in the evenings. Who would we dance with? There was no more a group of three. John didn’t even switch on the porch lights. If papa went out into the garden, he would turn them on. Other times the porch and garden would remain dark all evening and night till the sun came out next morning.

John was a brave man. When we went to inform our beach friends about Rafi chacha’s death, he told them how much it pained him to think he’ll never see him again and yet consoled Tea Uncle and everybody else with a straight face. His heart was in numerous pieces but he helped his friends despite the hollowness in his chest. No wonder I felt safe with him. I knew that no matter what happens, he would protect me for everything. He was my superhero.

It was just before New Year’s Eve that year, when Jimmy moved in next doors. The villa next to ours was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Rodrigues. Their daughter and son-in-law stayed somewhere abroad, we didn’t know where. They never mixed with local people much and especially not with us. Back in those days I just thought John wasn’t good friends with them like I wasn’t comfortable with some girls in my class. I understood as I grew up that they didn’t like people who were friends with the likes of Tea Uncle and Balloon Uncle. Business class was superior than the working class is what they believed.

Jimmy, their grandson, full name: James D’Mello, had come to spend his winter vacations with his grandparents. I’d never have known him if he hadn’t shown up at our door on New Year’s morning.

“Reva!” papa called out standing at the door, “there’s a young man at the door. Is he your friend?”

I had never had any young man for my friend except John, Rafi chacha and Anton. Papa was familiar with Anton. He had been to the beach with us a few times, so it couldn’t have been Anton.

“Grandma made some cupcakes last evening. You want some?” he said right away when I met him at the door.

“Sure, thank you.” I smiled at him, “ who are you?”

“I’m James D’Mello. Mr. and Mrs. Rodrigues’ grandson.” He replied with a wide smile, “hi!” he extended his hand.

“Hi James,” I shook his hand, “nice to meet you. Won’t you come inside?”

“Umm… yeah, why not! Beautiful garden you have I must say.”

“Thank you so much. Yeah, the garden is very special to us.”

He was a talkative child and didn’t wait for me to introduce him to my family. He did everything himself and even helped himself to the box of cashews in my room.

“I’m sure you’ve never seen me around,” he began taking some cashews in his hand, “because it’s the first time I came here. Your balcony is visible from my window. I saw you last evening reading away quietly. To be honest, I’m not much of a reader. I love the T.V.” he went on, “ hey! Do you watch Pokemon or Beyblade?”

“No, not really.”

“What? Why? You don’t watch T.V. at all?”

“I do. I watch Tom and Jerry every night.”

“Just that? I mean Tom and Jerry is a great show but it’s for kids. You’re a grown woman now. Eleven years old!”

“Ummm… I’m twelve.”

“Woah! You’re older to me. Anyway, what’s your full name?”

“Reva John Pedro.”

“That’s kind of mixed, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. My mom is a Bengali and my father is a Goan Christian.”

“Oh so, uncle’s name is John Pedro.”

“No no. John Pedro is my grandpa’s name. My father’s name is Benjamin Pedro.”

“I see. Must be fun having parents from different places.”

“I don’t know. Papa doesn’t stay with us all year and mama is always busy with her office. I have never known what it feels like to stay with parents.”

“Anyway, friends?” he asked extending his hand.

“Friends.” I smiled and took it.

“Wanna come over to my house and watch Pokemon?”

“I’m not really in a mood to watch television.”

“What do we do then?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Till lunch I guess. What’s the plan?”

“Do you know how to cycle?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Of course! Why not?”

“C’mon then! How long will it take to learn?”

“Not long. And I’m here at my grandparents for quite sometime now. I’ll come home everyday and teach you.” he said excitedly.

“Okay!”

I wanted to go out on the road at once but he insisted I get accustomed to cycling in the safety of my backyard before heading out to the road. It was almost noon when he said he’d have to leave for lunch, so we ended our lesson in the backyard itself.

“Bye, Jimmy!!” I said. Somehow it made me happy that he’d come home. After Rafi chacha had left us, I had not talked to someone for so long. I walked him to the door and waved him bye bye.

“It’s James, but you can call me Jimmy.” he smiled, “Happy New Year by the way!” he shouted walking away.

“Thank you.” I said. My new year was not happy. After losing Rafi chacha to fate, life felt incomplete and hollow. I wanted to wish him a happy new year but I couldn’t. When I apologized to him later, he said that he had known of the tragedy.

“See ya tomorrow pal!” he said and skipped out.

I went to John and sat with him.

“Found a new friend?”

“Yes, John.” I smiled.

“When are you people hanging out again?”

“Jimmy will come home tomorrow.”

6. Fantasy

“Let’s go out today!” I said the moment Jimmy appeared on my door.

“You couldn’t have said hi Jimmy first?” he chuckled.

“Okay. Hi Jimmy!”

“Hello Reva. Can I come in?”

“Of course!”

We went to my room and he told me some stories from his school. I enjoyed listening to him. He was an amusing kid. Whenever he came home, he brought lots of love and laughter to our sad and silent house.

“You know, when I was in Italy last year, I had a friend called Luca and he was so weird, always lost in his thoughts that during lunch he would sit in the cafeteria and stare at the wall or be busy reading something in his book and he wouldn’t even realize that I was taking food off his plate and finally when he did, I would have finished both his and my lunches.” he giggled mischievously.

There were many such stories of his naughtiness and he was particularly fond of narrating how he and his friends had once tricked two bullies of his school. Although he missed his school and friends, he felt at home in India, he would say.

John was very fond of him as well. He called him Little Jimmy and slowly over the next few days, I found John, Jimmy and myself hang out together a lot. School was still closed for Christmas holidays and while John would take care of the garden in the morning, Jimmy and I would either be up in my room or out in the backyard getting used to my wobbly bicycle. Sometimes Jimmy stayed back for lunch and he and John would have a nice afternoon of telling stories to each other. I liked seeing John laugh with him.

It was Rafi chacha’s birthday next month on the 14^th when John baked a cake, called Jimmy and we told him fond stories of Rafi chacha and he went through the albums with a lot of interest. Papa had already left and mama was aloof from us as usual.

 Anton, although a good friend, was never a patient listener. He was too busy running around in the beach and now that he had a boy to run around with, they hardly bothered about me when the three of us met. I was growing into a lady and avoided prancing around the beach with the ball. I would talk to Anton’s mama and nibble on Tea Uncle’s cookies. Paula had left Goa and settled in Mumbai as a professor. Everyone in Tea Uncle’s shack missed Rafi chacha and Paula dearly but Jimmy turned the energy on with his chirpiness. Apart from Anton, Bonny was the only other friend I had till Jimmy came along. As I grew up I knew that although I was very close to John, he was my grandpa and not a buddy.

Bonny couldn’t always understand what I felt. Jimmy had stayed back long after the winter vacations were over and when I went to the Rodrigue house on Jimmy’s insistence, Mr. Rodrigues told me that he was trying to enroll Jimmy to my school.

“I have never spoken to Mr. Rodrigues before.” I confessed.

“I know. He appears to be a little egoistic and I’ll agree he is at times, but he is fond of children. When my parents fought and separated, he didn’t want me to be a part of their quarrels and sent for me.”

“Your parents are separated?” I was surprised.

“Yes. Which is why grandpa is trying to send me to school here. I heard him tell grandma that mama and papa are not good influence to me right now.”

“Oh! It must be awful.”

“It is. I miss them a lot. Specially mama. But you know what Reva, mama never had time for me. She would always be busy with work. So would papa. I stayed home with my nanny mostly. But here, grandpa and grandma are always with me. They read with me, sing with me, watch cartoons with me and grandma makes my favourite food everyday.”

I remained quite. As he shared about his relationship with his parents that looked good but never felt good, I could see a shade of my life in his stories. I didn’t ever want to go through what Jimmy was feeling despite the fact he said that he felt better at his grandpa’s than he did with his parents. I had spent all my life craving to have papa stay with us and I was terrified that one day I’d be dearly wanting my parents to love each other and they wouldn’t just like Jimmy’s parents didn’t.

“I’ve made peace with it.” he would say. I never could fathom how he did at such a tender age.

Jimmy had turned out to be an excellent teacher and I was riding away with the wind on my bicycle every evening when I had less homework. Sometimes even Jimmy would fall behind. We enjoyed our evenings cycling together.

“Be careful you two” John would call out every time we rushed off with our bikes. We never stayed out too long for we wanted to give John company. He had become extremely lonely ever since Rafi chacha deserted him. He hardly went down to Tea Uncle’s shack and liked spending time alone. He would sip on his glass of wine and read quietly in the evenings.

It was late August when one evening, we were riding back home. The day had been cloudy and windy all morning and Jimmy, Bonny and I had gorged on ice cream during lunch hour at school. Bonny was scared that her mama would scold her if she caught a cold and while she made sense, I had become naughty under Jimmy’s influence and forced her to gobble up one cone after another till she sighed that she was too full to move.

“You’re awfully quite this evening. What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked as we cycled back home.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon! You can tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you can. What are friends there for if you can’t share anything with them?”

“You won’t laugh at me, right?”

“I definitely will if it’s funny.”

“It might rain this evening. Rafi chacha loved rainy evenings.”

“You’re missing him?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

We reached home in a few minutes and cycled to the backyard to park our bikes. It was Friday which meant we could spend the evening together till dinner as we had the weekend to finish our homework.

“Look Reva, your Shiuli tree has flowered.” he exclaimed. It had. Monsoon had worked it’s magic like every year and our Shiuli tree was beginning to look white and dreamy. Jimmy smiled looking at the tree. He had never seen a Shiuli tree before.

“Looks like Rafi chacha is remembering you too.” he smiled at me.

“He is?”

“Why, yes! That’s why he sent you the flowers. You always say that this tree is a sign of the bond you shared with him, right? So, here it is. Flowers sent by your beloved Rafi chacha because you’re sad. Come, we’ll sit under the tree and you’ll tell me his stories. Let’s go get John as well.”

“You really think Rafi chacha has sent the flowers?” I asked John that night before going to bed.

“Why do you wonder?”

“It felt a little unreal when Jimmy said it.”

“It is of course. But it made you feel better and happy, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if it was fantasy. Sometimes it’s okay to step away from our real world into fantasy to feel beautiful and alive.”

“Really?”

“Certainly child. More often than not, it’s fantasy that’ll make you a little more human and a little less robot. Had there been no scope to dream, the world would never have the artists and poets.”

7.  A letter for the heart.

“So, you’re kind of missing Jimmy today, isn’t it?” asked Bonny during the lunch break.

“Yeah. The bus ride will be long and lonely. Also, the evening…”

“Why the evening? He stays right beside your house.”

“He’s sick. That’s why he didn’t come to school. I don’t think he’ll go cycling today.”

“So you’ll go alone?”

“Maybe, if John allows. I mean he should, I’m a grown woman now.”

“You’re a woman?”

“I think so. I’ve started getting my periods and I’m almost thirteen.” I smiled feeling special.

“Wow! Your time is coming.”

“What time?”

“Your days are coming girl, oops! I mean woman, your days are coming. You’re gonna fall in love soon.”

“Fall in love? Now?”

“Not right now but you’re soon to be a teenager, so…”

“Ohhh! So teenage life is the time to find my best friend for life you mean.”

“Best friend for life? What?”

“Yeah, like John had grandma.”

“That’s not friendship, that’s love you stupid!”

“Hey! I’m not stupid and also, that is friendship. John himself told me.” I sounded as confident as I could.

“Of course he told you that. He still treats you like a child.”

“Really?”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.”

“Hmm” I said thinking hard if I should ask John about it.

After lunch classes went by in a daze as I hardly paid attention to any lecture. We didn’t usually have serious classes post lunch. It was mainly art and craft and music and moral science. Since it was a convent school, we Christians were asked to take up the Catechism class. Bonny and most other people went to the Catechism classes, since majority of the people in Goa follows Christianity. John went and requested my principal to let me take Moral Science classes since he didn’t want an overdose of the religion on me. While this was true for most children, other parents and guardians didn’t bother that but John was a very particular man about everything, every little thing. John was highly respected in by the school administration for being one of the students from the first batches of the school.

“Too much and too little, both are very dangerous.” he always said and lived by it too.

On the bus ride back home, I sat by myself and read quietly. I didn’t have any bus buddies before Jimmy came and on the days that Jimmy skipped school, I kept to myself in the bus. I had discovered the naughty side to my character after Jimmy made me, but being naughty is always different and far away from being outgoing.

That afternoon David and Dora kept me company as I read how David fell in love with her and wondered if that’s what Bonny had been trying to tell me. But there was Agnes there as well, David’s childhood friend. They didn’t fall in love. Even Dickens kept David out of romance in his teenage years. A few more sentences into the book, I forgot all about what Bonny said.

“Hey Revs!” I heard a familiar voice calling out as I entered my room that afternoon, “Revs!! Yoohoo Revs!!!”

“Jimmy?” I was surprised, “why are you hiding in my room?”

“I’m not in your room stupid, come to the balcony.”

“Oh there you are!” I sighed, “I am not stupid okay? Why is everyone calling me stupid? And why are you shouting from the balcony?” He had a red nose and slightly puffy eyes. He didn’t look too well.

“Dude, I can’t come over till I’m totally cured. Grandma says that you might get my infection if we’re too close to each other now.”

“How are you feeling? Fever in check?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m all fine. No more fever, just a little runny nose. Guess we shouldn’t have gotten drenched last day.”

“Yeah… but it was fun. I’ll do it again.”

“No you won’t, you’ll fall sick.”

“Hey, I’m not like you. I don’t fall sick.”

“We’ll see.” he smirked.

“Anyway, I gotta go. John’s waiting for me. He’ll teach me charcoal painting today.” I sounded excited. Painting lessons with John were the best time of the day apart from cycling with Jimmy. I didn’t like school that much. Just forty minutes per subject, mundane boring assignments daily, always had to pray at a fixed time and not when one actually felt like praying… the rules were endless in a convent school. I was a shy child yet I had a free spirit. John kept me disciplined but he never caged me. I could paint for as long as I wished to, pray whenever I felt the need to talk to Jesus or thank Him, read however I wanted, whenever I wanted and looking back I realize that I’d learnt more at home from John, Rafi chacha, Jimmy, Anton and my other friends, than I did in school. School was just a compulsion that we felt the need to abide by to be able to live in the society without receiving hurtful comments. The only things John and I strictly observed were meal times and bed times.

“Here, all the assignments are noted down here.” I said flying a paper plane to him. Whenever he stayed home from school, I wrote down the assignments on a page, folded it into a plane and flew that to him, “I’ll catch up with you at night after dinner. Come to the balcony at ten.”

“Okay, Revs. Bye.”

“What’s this Revs?”

“I had nothing to do all morning, so I came up with a nickname for you.”

“I hate it. Call me Reva.”

“But you call me Jimmy instead of James.” he complained.

“That’s a nice name. Revs is trash.”

“But…”

“Bye, Jimmy. We’ll discuss this later.”

 

Charcoal painting was messy yet a lot of fun. John always said “you can’t be clean and creative at the same time. You must choose one.” And I chose to be creative. I leaned art a lot better with John because he let me paint things my way. In school I was restricted to do everything exactly like the teacher and be ‘creative and clean’ together. Being in school was always the most painful part of my day and I kept on wondering what our teachers expected us to learn by merely copying everything they did.  However, home was home and John always fixed everything.

That evening, while I sat completing my assignments, John kept scribbling something in his diary. He had the habit of writing a journal and he had passed it onto me but this was not his journal.

“New journal, John?”

“No honey. This is a diary of my letters.”

“Letters?”

“You may go through it after dinner tonight.” he smiled, “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“But whom do you post letters to nowadays? There’s the phone and there’s nobody you’d write to either.”

“I don’t post them. You can’t post letters to heaven, can you?”

“You’re writing for Rafi chacha?” I asked softly. He smiled and said nothing, “he can’t even read it John, why are you writing?”

“Because I miss him… I miss him dearly. I need to talk to him. I want to let him know how broken I feel sometimes, how lonely it is to be alive without two of your closest friends.” his voice was slightly choked.

I looked at him puzzled.

“See, sometimes when you’re far away from the people you love and you can’t talk to them and neither can you bottle up your emotions, you can write them a letter about how you feel. You don’t have to post the letter, some letters are not meant to be posted. They’re for you. When you write a letter to someone you hold close to your heart, you post it or not, you feel like they’re listening to you, your sorrows, pains, dreams and joys. Everything.” he smiled through his welled up eyes.

“A letter for the heart?” I asked.

“A letter for the heart.” he smiled.

8.  Always.

“Jimmy, you ever think about falling in love?” I asked him sitting in our school bus the next morning.

“What?”                                                

“Falling in love.”

“The Elvis song? I love that song!”

“Who doesn’t? But…”

“I must say that you and John are two crazy Elvis fans I’ve seen.”

“That’s nice… but I’m not talking about Elvis here.”

“You guys are capable of talking about anything else?” he chuckled.

“Jimmy!!”

“Okay, okay, I’m serious now. Falling in love, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah, never gave it that much thought. Why do you ask? You in love?”

“No man! I hadn’t thought of it either but Bonny said that I am a woman now so it’s my time to fall in love.”

“Oh! I don’t know. It must be your time. You know your time.”

“But whom should I fall in love with?”

“How will I know?”

“What do you even know?” I asked quite irritated.

“It’s Wednesday.”

“So?”

“We have two games class which means we get to play extra.” his eyes brightened up.

“And I get to excuse myself for one class and read in the library.” I said equally excited.

“You read at home anyway, play with me in school at least!” he pleaded.

“No, Jimmy. Two periods of games is too much for me. I’ll read. It’s so peaceful in the library.”

“Fine!” he frowned.

“Hey! Don’t be mad.” I pinched him playfully on his arm.

“Alright I won’t. But I gonna take the window seat on our way back home today.” He demanded innocently.

“Done!”

We got a lot of assignments that day in school yet despite the work load, John suggested Jimmy and I go cycling for sometime every evening to clear our minds and study for an extra hour every night to complete the work. We had thirteen subjects in school and suddenly all the teachers decided to bombard our peaceful lives with truckload of projects and test-papers. We worked together on our assignments with either John or Mr. Rodrigues guiding us. Jimmy was a restless child and kept on taking washroom breaks every fifteen minutes and roamed around the house. While Mr. Rodrigues was a strict teacher and punished Jimmy in the corner every time we studied with him, John was the calmer one and promised Jimmy a fun activity if he finished one assignment in one sitting. John kept his promise. Jimmy learnt to bake cookies and muffins and also took one box each of cookies and muffins home.

We finished all our projects and assignments on Sunday and while Mr. Rodrigues helped us wrap up, John prepared a delicious meal as he had promised Jimmy. Mama joined us that night for dinner after many months. There were six of us at the table that night. Mr. and Mrs. Rodrigues, Jimmy, mama, John and I. The table looked so happy and full, like one big closely knit family, pictures of which I saw on books most of the times. John and I couldn’t help but feel Rafi Chacha’s absence. For a little while I wished even papa was there. But Rafi Chacha captured whole of my mind.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, you get a small bowl of water.” Jimmy said heading towards the back door opening out to the backyard.

“What? Bowl of water?”

“Yeah, get it. I’ll be back in the meanwhile.”

“Where are you going? It’s dinner time. Everyone is ready.” I shouted after him but he was already gone.

Goodness knows what this guy is up to now! I sighed silently while getting a bowl of water. Jimmy came back in two minutes holding a few Shiuli flowers in his hand. He arranged them in the bowl and kept it on the table in front of one of the two empty chairs. I looked at him quizzically.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked him.

“You’re always missing Rafi Chacha and tonight there’s this big dinner of all of us together, so I figured you would miss him more. Now he can’t be here but the Shiuli tree is supposed to be here for you whenever you think of him and want him by your side. I thought maybe some Shiuli flowers would be nice, you know… like it’ll be like he’s here in the form of these flowers.”

“Jimmy!”, I hugged him tearfully, “this is so beautiful.”

“You feel happy?” he asked hugging me back.

“Extremely happy! Thank you so much man!”

“Well… that’s what friends are here for. I’ll help you feel happy when you can’t feel happy by yourself.”

“Always?” I asked him.

“Always.” He smiled.

9. Friendship Brings You Courage

“Reva!!!” Jimmy called out one evening from his balcony later that September.

I was snuggling comfortably on my bed, reading about Oliver being denied extra soup and wondering how could Mr. Dickens write something so sad in a beautiful manner. Jimmy was right when he told me earlier that year that he wasn’t much of a reader. In fact, he wasn’t a reader at all. He hardly ever read anything out of what was taught in school. He enjoyed prancing around and being naughty although, he loved listening to stories. He was very keen on learning about new people whom he had never met and displayed great interest about every little fact about Rafi chacha. He would spend hours with John and me, listening to their tales from boyhood years. Jimmy might have had a flair for sports and couldn’t patiently sit for a long time and read or write or paint, he was a patient listener. I told him all the stories that I read in the books and he never complained about how long I had been talking. We couldn’t bond over books or poetry, but we bonded over our understanding and our effort to be available for each other no matter what. Looking back in time to those innocent years of my life, I realize that friendship with Jimmy was the easiest relationship I had built with a person quite different from me the best relationship I have shared with anyone except John and Rafi chaha.

“Yeeesss Jimmy… what is it?” I asked slowly walking to the balcony.

“Guess what?” he sounded very excited.

“Mr. Rodrigues gifted you a new Beyblade set? I am not in the mood to play right now. You have to wait till…”

“No man! Take a second guess.” he said.

“Okay, ummm… Mrs. Rodrigues is making roast pork for dinner?” I took a wild guess.

“Nopeee… one last guess left.”

“Is aunty coming to visit you?” my voice trailed off not sure if I going in the right direction or hurting his feelings.

“Well… actually papa is coming. Next week.” he smiled widely.

“Wow! That’s great!!” I was very happy for him. He never expressed but I had seen how much he missed his parents. He had spent eleven years staying with them and this sudden change in his lifestyle was hard on him sometimes. Although he was talkative, he hardly shared how he felt about suddenly having to leave everything behind and start a new life in a new country. Ever since I was born and learnt to understand things, I never had papa staying with us. I have absolutely no memory of papa spending a full straight month in the house and yet it hurt whenever I thought about him. I understood how hard it must have been on Jimmy.

“So, Jimmy? Any plans for next week?” I asked him that evening when we went out with our cycles.

“Not yet. I know he’s going to take me shopping. We did that a lot back in Italy and the States. Oh! And, we’ll definitely go out for dinner or lunch, he loves food.”

“Awesome, man! You’ll have a lovely time.”

“I hope so.” he said quietly.

“Hope so?”

“Yeah I mean… we were not that close even when we stayed together. Now, it’s been around more than nine months that we’ve seen each other and he doesn’t call that much. So… you know…”

“Yeah, I get it.” I lied. I really didn’t know what he meant but I didn’t want to hurt him saying I didn’t understand how he was feeling. It is always comforting to know that your friends feel with you and live with you and amid everything going on in his mind it was only fair that he felt comfortable pouring his heart out.

Mr. D’Mello arrived next week and the night before his arrival Jimmy asked me to take care while cycling and didn’t look quite as happy and excited as he had been earlier when he had got the news. I asked John to walk me over to Jimmy’s house after dinner. While John sat talking with Mr. Rodrigues downstairs, Mrs. Rodrigues was packing Jimmy’s trolley when I went to his room.

“Where are you going with a trolley?” I asked surprised.

“He’s going to stay with his papa for a few days dear, while he’s in town.” Mrs. Rodrigues informed me.

“What on earth are you doing here now? It’s past dinner time.” Jimmy said surprised on seeing me.

“Nothing just… came to check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“Yeah… it’s good in a way. I got to meet you before you left tomorrow morning.”

“I would have met you before leaving anyway. But, thanks for coming. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“Grandma, we’re gonna go out to the balcony for a few minutes” he informed Mrs. Rodrigues  and we went out to the balcony.

He was very unsure about spending a week with Mr. D’Mello in the hotel as there was a certain distance between the father and son although, he admitted that his father was a fun person to hangout with. I assured him that everything would be fine and he would have a great time with him. He didn’t want to give into the idea of having fun, neither did he want to reject the possibility.

“Do you think my parents might have resolved the differences between them and that’s why he’s coming to see me?”

“I don’t know Jimmy. Had that been the case, wouldn’t both of them have come?”

“Maybe mama’s busy with work.”

“Might be.”

“Maybe he’s coming to take me back with him.” His eyes lighted up.

“Oh Jimmy! So good to see you in high spirits.” I lied. I was indeed happy to see him have hope about his parents reconciliation but deep inside I was being selfish and I wanted my friend to stay. After Rafi chacha passed away, neither John, nor I got the opportunity to miss him and feel lonely for a long time because of Jimmy. He moved in next door and came home everyday to fill the house with love and laughter. We often thought of Rafi chacha… in fact we thought of him everyday. It was impossible not to bring him up for he had been such an integral and important part of our life, but Jimmy’s presence didn’t allow us to be deep in mourning. I wished with all my heart that Mr. D’Mello was just coming to visit his son and not take him back. Although later, I regretted it.

“John, why do you think Mr. D’Mello is suddenly coming here?”

“Maybe he wants to see his son.”

“You think there’s a possibility of him and Mrs. D’Mello getting back together?”

“There might be. Why do you ask?”

“Then there’s also a possibility that Jimmy might go back with him.”

“Yes…”

“Oh John! I’ll lose a friend again. I lost Rafi chacha already.” I broke down hugging him.

“Not at all. You never lose a friend. You haven’t lost your beloved Rafi chacha either, honey. He’s physically not here talking to you or singing with you. He doesn’t dance with us anymore, but he is there in us. And, Jimmy is not even going to Christ. He’ll be here. You can send him those things called the e-mail and you can call him.”

I still wasn’t convinced.

“Be happy for your friend sweetheart. That’s the core of true friendship. Be happy for him even if it hurts you a little.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. If you’re his true friend you can.”

“But how?”

“Because a real friendship brings with it a lot of courage, young lady.”

I didn’t understand what he meant. Just as always. But those words were calming. Just as always.

 

 9. Suspense is the Spice of  Life

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my father care for me. Maybe he does but I’m unaware. He never shows his love or concern unlike the other fathers I see around. I can’t remember papa staying home for more than two weeks, nor does he call me everyday to talk to me. Mama tells me sometimes that he calls her in her cell phone during the day when I’m in school and he asks about me, but of late I have a feeling that mama makes it up seeing how much I desire to have him care about me.

Last Sunday when I spoke to him over the phone, he didn’t know that I had won the first prize for creative writing competition although mama had told me that she had informed him about it. Maybe he forgot due to the workload. I don’t know what it is. I can only speculate. Had he been here, he’d have taken me out for a special ice cream perhaps, just like the regular fathers do. It’s not often that I visit Bonny’s place but every time I’m there, her father is always home. Even Anton has his father around. It’s only Jimmy and I who don’t have a normal family. Nonetheless, I am thankful to have a family and friends like Jimmy, Bonny and Anton who cared about me, unlike poor Oliver. Reading Oliver Twist helped me see my life and myself as a privileged human being. Maybe papa doesn’t love me all that much and I get to be around mama only for a few hours each night, but I had John who stayed by my side all the time, I had Jimmy who would come over anytime I said I needed help. Just like Jimmy has made peace with the truth of his life, I’ll try to make peace with it too. I just wish I knew for sure what the truth is.

Probably I’ll get to know with time. But sometimes I feel that even with the knowledge of my father’s feelings towards me, I’ll still wonder what it feels like to have a regular family like everyone else. Sometimes when I’m not engaging in any productive activity, my mind often wanders off to a parallel world where I stay with mama, papa, John, and grandma and Rafi chacha are alive. Papa drops me to school each morning and John goes to pick me up and buys me an ice cream. Back at home grandma stays ready with a delicious lunch and then I sit with them as she feeds me and John tells me stories. In the evening as mama and papa return from work, I run and leap into their arms and they cuddle me while I break into squeals of laughter… on Sundays we go to church together and then I play with papa and John in our backyard and all of us along with Rafi chacha have a big lunch… it’s a pretty vision I have… I don’t know if I’ll still have this picture perfect image of my family when I get to know the truth though… I wonder still, how nice it would’ve been.

-Reva.

 

I closed my diary finishing my entry. I had seen John chronicle his events in his journal. He had a box of these journals where he had documented his life and times over so many years. Sometimes he would read to me an incident from an old journal from the fifties or sixties and as I grew up, I was fascinated by the idea of documenting my life and innermost feelings in a journal.

“Write about everything you see and feel,” John told me, “for many years later when you read your old entries, you’ll know how much you’ve grown up. Your journal is your time capsule. You can travel back in time whenever you wish.”

“What about travelling ahead of time? To the future?”, I asked him.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Won’t it be amazing to know what the future holds for me?”

“No, sweetheart, your life will lose all its charm if you get to know what lies ahead. Each day is an adventure because we are unaware of how the hours will go by, what incidents will unfold. Just like variety, suspense is the spice of life too. The less you know, the more fun you have living it.”

“But John, what about protecting myself from some impending danger?”

“That’s growth, and to grow, you need time young lady.”

I sat in my room for some time. It was nearly four in the afternoon, around the time that Jimmy came home to chat with me before we rode off on our cycles. It had just been a day that he had gone to stay with his father and I already wished he hadn’t gone away. My heart sank when I remembered the possibility of Mr. D’Mello taking him away at the end of his trip to India and prayed hard to Jesus to keep my friend near me.

I sat in the balcony looking at the Shiuli tree and humming one of Rafi Saab’s songs when I heard mama call me from downstairs.

“Jimmy’s on the phone for you, come and say hello.” She called out.

I was overjoyed and skipped down the stairs only to get a quick scolding from her reminding me to be more lady-like. I couldn’t stop to listen to her. Jimmy was on the phone and that’s all that captured my mind.

“Hi Jimmyyyy!!” I said picking up the receiver.

“My my, that’s some super excited Reva.” He chuckled.

“So, how’s it going with your father? Are you having fun?”

“Yeah, we’re having lots of fun. He got me some really cool gifts and some of my old toys too.”

“Wow! That’s great man, I’m so happy for you.”

“I know right! It’s so nice to be with him again after so many months.”

“I know! By the way, did he tell you anything about that?”

“What?”

“Reconciling with your mum.”

“No. He didn’t mention mum that much. Mum knows that he’s visiting me and they did meet a couple of times in the last few months but I don’t think they’re back to being friends again.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

“It’s cool man! He didn’t say anything. Maybe he is keeping it for later or something.”

“Can be.”

“Anyway, the reason I called. What are your plans for tonight?”

“You’re asking as if I’m a twenty year old all ready with rocking Saturday night plans and stuff. I’m just barely thirteen. I’ll be in my room reading or with John in his room, hearing some of his stories or something… why?”

“Papa was wondering if you could come to dinner with us.”

“Oh!”

“Can you?”

“I guess… I’ll have to ask John once.”

“Put him on the phone, papa will speak to him.”

I called for John and went to my room not knowing whether to be excited or not about dinner. What if Mr. D’Mello didn’t turn out to be a fun person? What if he was asking me to dinner to inform that he’d be taking his son away with him? Oh!

John obviously agreed that I could go with them and he informed me that Mr. D’Mello and Jimmy would come pick me up at seven that evening. For a change, mama seemed interested and bothered to dress me up for the occasion. It had always been John who picked my outfits and as I grew up, I chose my own style. I wasn’t a very fashionable kid, for apart from school and assignments, the rest of time was devoted to the garden, reading, writing, painting and music. My engagements were more than the time I could manage. I didn’t care about looking pretty or fashionable and unlike other girls from my school, I wore my hair short till my shoulders and just wore usual Goan style clothes. I proceeded to read for the remaining of the evening till it was time for dinner when mama came and asked me what I planned on wearing.

“I don’t know. Whatever I find as soon as I open my cupboard and am comfortable in.”

“Hey, you’re almost a teenager. Dress a little more, wear some make up.”

“I don’t own any make up.”

“What? Don’t your friends wear make up?”

“They do but…”

“But, what?”

“I don’t know what make up to buy and wear and… even John doesn’t know. My friends in school have their mum to dress them up and tell them about make-up and stuff. But you are almost always busy so…” saying so I looked away. I felt overwhelmed about Jimmy’s father caring enough to come and meet him and the possibility of his parents getting back together whereas papa came once a year for a little more than a week and mama stayed with us for namesake. Suddenly there was an intense urge to cry about not having a regular family, not having my parents care for me. But I didn’t want to spoil my mood or hers by crying. Nevertheless, she understood that I was keeping her at bay about the feelings in me.

“What is it, hon?” she asked me lovingly.

“Nothing, mama. Just sometime I wish I had more time to spend with you and papa, you know… like my other friends.”

“Well honey, your parents are busy.”

“I get that.” I said, not wanting to drag the conversation any further. I’ve never had any heart to heart conversations with my mother while growing up and that evening although seemed like a perfect opportunity to bare my heart to her, I didn’t think I was comfortable enough to do it.

“Well, how about we go shopping tomorrow evening?” she asked suddenly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay, sure. We’ll go. Yes!” I jumped up from the bed. I had never been out shopping with her ever. John and I always did our Christmas shopping. Mama bought us gifts on her way home from work and papa got us gifts from the States every year. I was incredibly happy at the thought of spending a Sunday evening shopping with mama. All at once the scattered pieces of my family started coming together and I had a new hope of seeing my family together in our house always. I looked at mama and she seemed happy too. She dressed me up in a cute t-shirt and jeans and showed me how to apply lip gloss. I remember admiring myself in front of the mirror for a long time, given that lip gloss made me look pretty and feminine like the other girls of my class whom I met during vacations and they’d be all dressy like a doll. I’m growing up! I thought to myself and blushed for the umpteenth time before Jimmy came running upstairs to call me. He was much too excited to notice that I looked different but that didn’t matter. I skipped down the stairs with him, bid bye-bye to mama and John, greeted Mr. D’Mello and walked off with them, all the while thinking about the wonderful Sunday evening to come.