Obscurity 1

Her mother's tear stained eyes got fixed in the horizon and moved
along the train's path, obliterating the trees and the poles that
rapidly passed her by. Meera shut her eyes to get away from them, only
to find them still pleading with her from within a luminous darkness.
When she opened them, she found herself being stared at by a pair of
bushy eyebrows.

'Mother?' a crackling voice asked immediately as if it had been waiting
for this moment. The owner of those bushy eyebrows and earth shattering
voice was a very fat and very old lady. 'Yes,' Meera nodded, trying to
push tears back. The old lady seemed satisfied and nodded her head
vigorously making the loose folds of her skin shake.

'Where are you going?' The old lady crowed again peering at her.
'Delhi.'
'Live there?'
'I have a job there.'
'What kind of job?'
'I am an Architect.'
'Oh! Engineer,' said the lady, her interest diminishing a little. 'What
does your husband do?'
'I am not married.'
The last answer unsettled the lady a bit, for a moment she was quiet.
'Engaged?' she queried after a few minutes.
'No,' said Meera, crushing her hopes.
'Any plans to get married?' persisted the old lady, refusing to give
up.
'I don't know,' said Meera, lighting dynamite to the old lady's hopes
and blowing it to pieces.

The only thing I know is that I don't know.

The train moved, dragging her life along. The thundering steel grinded
on; through green fields, ruined houses and stations filled with people
preparing to depart and ones who came to see them off. Some stations
were old and tired, watching the same scene enacted day after day, week
after week, year after year. And there were some passive ones, ignored
by most trains, silent and lone witnesses. There were also few that
were hyper active, with busy hawkers selling hot snacks and beverages
for the hungry or bored passengers.

"Rolling stones gather no moss."
Who wants moss?

New Delhi was hot as the train screeched stop at the station early next
morning. Meera found the platform littered with flies, empty snack
packets, and leftovers of chana kulcha as she stood sweating amongst
the heap of her luggage, wondering with a hollow pit in her stomach if
anyone would arrive to receive her. The sight of Neenamasi's tall,
grandiloquent figure sailing towards her made her sigh with relief. A
distant aunt of her mother's, (no one knew how old she was), Neenamasi
smiled as she hugged Meera and made smacking sounds around her ears.
How her skin glows, Meera said to herself as she placed her cheek
forward.

The conditioned air in the car provided a huge respite from the heat.
Delhi seemed to be full of green trees and wide roads. The roads were
much wider than back home in Palanpur. The buildings, too, were bigger
in scale. Meera liked the white colonial arcades in the Connaught
circus: they reminded her of Calcutta, the city of her childhood
memories, of the river Ganga flowing between forever-green banks, of
coconut trees and tiger prawns..

'What are you thinking so deeply about?' Neenamasi asked.
'Nothing.'

Neenamasi lived in a white colonial house in Nizammuddin, an old part
of New Delhi, with her widowed daughter Shanti. Taking Meera to a
u-shaped room with pink walls and purple curtains, overlooking part of
a lush garden, she asked, 'Like it?' Meera looked around at the
teakwood bed, old and solid, flanked by two ornate brass wall bracket
lights, a cupboard and a small William and Mary dressing table- a
luxury she never had in her entire life, and could not conceal her
happiness.

'It's great,' she said shyly.

'You look nice when you smile.' Neenamasi remarked dryly.

Breakfast was an elaborate affair with hot aloo paranthas, bread,
toast, pears, curds and freshly made butter. They were seated in a
colonnaded veranda at the back of the house. Bright potted ferns hung
delicately from the beam of the veranda in a rhythmic pattern, in
between white plastered columns.

'Where is Shanti didi?' Meera asked, as she dug into the
paranthas.

'Shanti has gone to the doctor.' Neenamasi said, with a faint trace of
irritation in her voice, adding, 'Would you like to call up your
mother?' She conversed with her eyes shut, so that her eyes would not
strain more than necessary, she told Meera.

'Yes, if you don't mind.' Meera answered a little loudly, since
Neenamasi was also partially deaf.

'Of course I don't mind. But make it short, girl. I am an old woman
with no one to take care of me. I survive on my late husband's
savings.' Neenamasi's husband was a prominent lawyer in post
independence period. She had also participated in the Independence
struggle and one of her prized possessions was a group photograph with
Indira Gandhi.

On the phone Meera's mother warned her about Neenamasi's temper.
Shanti, a fat, short, and dumpy woman, with a fatigued face and
resigned expression- a striking contrast to Neenamasi's stately
demeanour- joined them shortly. Barely acknowledging Meera, she sat
down and let out a deep sigh.

'Ahhhhhhhhhh&;#8230;my intestines!' she began, but before she could
add some conventional words to her greeting, Neenamasi cut her short
saying, 'Meera has just arrived,' then, pointing (rather facing with
her eyes shut) at Meera, she said, 'and needs to freshen up.' Meera
took the hint and made herself scarce.

There being no attached bath to her room, Meera had to share her
bathroom with Neenamasi, or, to put it a more appropriate way,
Neenamasi had graciously condescended to share her bath with Meera.
Soft light filtered through a large window with chintz curtains,
lighting up the pale pink bathroom. Neenamasi carefully explained to
Meera in which position she should stand (the shower was above the
bath) so that no water fell on the floor. As a parting note, she
advised Meera to rinse herself with Dettol at the end of her
bath.

'I have herpes, and not that it is infectious, you take precautions.'
She informed.

Meera wondered what herpes was as she took her bath. Later she checked
the dictionary and found it to be:

Herpes n. a virus that causes chicken pox, shingles, and cold
sores.
The word originated from the Greek word herpein that meant to creep.
Meera swallowed hard. In her mind she made it a point to ask Joe when
she met him.

Joe was her college friend- her only friend in Delhi, working in an
office in Green Park. He shared a servant quarter with another friend
of his. Joe was five feet seven inches tall, honey coloured, resembled
Bon Jovi and was considered good looking by most except Meera to whom
he looked like a very mischievous monkey. Joe was also the lead
guitarist in a band called 'The Hedonists', comprising of young
students from Mizoram and Shillong and although she had never attended
any of their concerts, Meera knew that they were very popular amongst
the college crowd. 'We are world famous in Delhi,' Joe would often
say.

Her friendship with Joe began from their days in college where he saved
her from being ragged on the very first day. She was so scared that she
hurriedly hid inside a room that had strange white porcelain
contraptions hanging on the wall. By the time she realised it was a
men's' toilet, a senior student walked inside and what followed was
history as far as the college was concerned. This was when someone told
her 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.'

Joe was a year senior to her and helped her with notes and books. Her
friends never understood her relation with Joe, they warned her not to
hang around with him. Joe was known to be wild and addicted to hashish-
said it brought him closer to Lord Shiva, because according to Joe,
Lord Shiva also smoked dope up there in Mount Kailash. He was a great
fan of Jim Morrison and kept a large poster of 'God', as he called him,
on his wall.

She called up Joe and they decided to meet in the evening. At lunch,
Shanti discussed pins and needles- one of the many ailments she
suffered from.

'Sometimes when I eat, I can feel the food travelling all down me,'
Shanti began tracing her one hand over her food track and with the
other, shoved a piece of chicken down her mouth, 'and when it reaches
my stomach, it pains here. Oh, it hurts me so bad. And later at night
when I am half asleep, I get pins and needles all over me. I feel as if
one million needles are being pinned down on my entire body; my hair
stands up.'

Meera tried to picture her sitting up in bed with all her hair standing
up with Neenamasi lying next to her as she listened to Shanti's woes
for what seemed like forever until Neenamasi intervened and asked Meera
to take rest, much to Shanti's chagrin.

'We were just talking to each other.' Shanti said ruefully. Neenamasi
did not reply but merely asked the servant to collect the dishes.

'I have to meet a friend.' Meera told Neenamasi.

'Where does she live?'

'He lives in Green Park.' 'He' made Neenamasi raise her eyebrows.
Shanti, who was about to get up from her chair, sat down again.

'Who is he?' she asked, agog with curiosity.

'A college friend.' Meera replied.

'Why do you have to meet him today? Neenamasi's tone was a little curt,
then added,
'You know, Green Park is quite far away,' after a brief pause said,
'Girl, this is Delhi, not your Palanpur- here you don't roam around
alone. Ask your friend to come and see you.'

What was left unsaid was that she would like to meet Joe and judge him.
It was not as if they were going around, but Meera felt she would not
be comfortable with both Joe and Neenamasi sitting next to her at the
same time.
* * * * * *

Meera's office was in an old house renovated to an office, in a shabby
residential locality. As she stepped in from the dirty street full of
garbage dumps and pigs, she found the cool, white interiors dotted with
green plants to be surprisingly pleasant. Her Boss, Sarbjeet Singh
turned out to be a greying bohemian, over six feet tall, attractive in
a subtle manner. He had a roaring voice, and spoke as if he was
addressing a classroom. Giving her a vigorous handshake, he introduced
her to his staff and left for playing golf, a ritual he never missed.
Meera studied the office drawings and tried to familiarize herself to
the office as the day dragged on, and was glad when at five o'clock the
office closed she left to meet Joe.

Joe's room was on the top floor of one of the many ochre coloured DDA
flats that Delhi seemed to be infested with; she did not need to knock
on the door: the room was wide open. It was bare with only a chattai
spread on the floor and a small television in the corner. An aluminium
trunk covered with a black sheet stood in a corner with a cane
bookcase. Cassettes were strewn on the floor and music blared through a
player. Posters of Jim Morrison filled the walls and a yellow
incandescent bulb lit the room to the best of its ability. A Hawaiian
guitar rested on a cane stool. Meera hesitated and stood by the door.
There was another door in the room from wherein sounds of someone
having a bath could be heard.

Nothing else happened for some time, so she sat on the stool and began
looking through the books ranging from Architecture to P.G.Wodehouse to
pornography to music and T.S. Eliot. She picked Bob Dylan's biography
and just as she began to flip through it, the bathroom door opened. Joe
stepped out wrapped in a grey towel. The suddenness shocked her; she
jumped on her stool and began to move out.
'Oh shit!' Joe exclaimed, adding, 'Oh shit. Sit, sit. I'll be back in a
minute.' He grabbed a pair of trousers lying on the trunk and went
behind the door.

'There was no one to ask so I sat down. I am sorry.' She explained as
he put on a grey T-shirt.

'Shut up!'

'Shut up' was Joe's favourite word followed by 'Oh Shit' and 'Oh
fuck!'

'So, what's up? How was your first day in the office?' Joe asked as he
pulled a pair of socks up.

'Okay,' she said, adding, 'are you going out somewhere Joe?' as he
applied cologne to his face and combed his hair.

'Correction,' Joe said briefly, 'we are going out.'

'Where?' This was exciting.

'Ah you women, always curious.' Joe smiled, making his cheeks dimple
and colour of his eyes lighten. As Joe put on a black leather jacket,
Meera exclaimed,

'Surely Joe, it's not that cold!'

Joe merely nodded his head and wrinkled his forehead, reminding her of
a perplexed monkey.

'Let's go!' he said, and as an afterthought asked if she wanted any
water or tea. 'Don't say yes because there's neither water nor tea. I
used up all the water for bath and there's no gas so no tea.'

There seemed to be nothing else to say- Meera just smiled and they left
towards the destination unknown to her. Joe had a 100cc Yamaha that he
rode as if it was a motor cross.

'Don't think I'll be scared. I am used to speed.' She shouted as she
waved her head in synchrony with Joe's waving torso that moved from
left to right.

'That's what I like about you!' Joe hollered as they rode past
fly-overs and heavy traffic.

'Joe, I have to get back by ten. Neenamasi will be furious if I get
late.'

'Forget Neenamasi. Forget all masis of the world! ' said Joe and parked
outside a telephone booth.

Neenamasi was asleep, Shanti informed her in a morose tone, adding she
was waiting for Meera to join her for dinner. The thought that she had
missed hearing about Shanti's internal organs pleased her and she did
not apologize for not coming.

Joe was looking at her when she hung up.

'What happened? Why are you staring at me?' She asked.

'Do you still have to take permission for a night out? '

'First of all I was not taking her permission- I was merely informing
her; secondly, she is my Aunt. Here in Delhi, I am her responsibility.
So, it is my duty to inform her about my whereabouts. Joe, she is an
old lady, I cannot upset her.'

Joe did not say anything but merely kicked the motorcycle to start and
headed towards a college where a rock show by 'Honey Drippers', the
current national rage, had been organised.

Huge banners of the show decorated the gate; faint strains of the
concert could be heard as they approached the venue. A student came
towards them and shook Joe's hands, leading them in. In a large open
space, a stage had been erected where the lead singer in jeans, a
sleeveless T-shirt and a red bandana over his forehead was singing
amidst psychedelic lights and hysterical fans, mostly students who
waved their arms to and fro and swayed to the music. The singer seemed
bursting with passion as he went on transmitting electric energy to the
audience. An ecstatic Joe began to sing along the music and dance. He
held Meera's arm and raised it as they both swung to 'We will, we will
rock you!'

The student whom they met at the gate came up to Joe and whispered
something. Meera could not catch what he said but followed Joe as he
moved out through the crowd. They reached the backside of the college
where pale moonlight fell over a stretch of undulating lawn bordered by
henna bushes and flaming Laburnums. Faint strains of the concert could
be heard and as Meera looked at the bushes, she noticed that one of
them was shaking. The student took out a pouch of grass while Joe was
rolled a cigarette and emptied its contents. He was short, dark and
continuously ran his hands through his hair. When the joint was made,
the student looked furtively around and finally lit it. He had a
squeaky voice and hardly spoke except to say yes or no. He and Joe
shared the joint, inhaling deeply and not wasting a single minute while
it was lit, as if it was some magic potion, precious and not to be
wasted. Meera concentrated on the shaking bush as two bodies suddenly
jumped out of it and fell on the grass. This scared them and the joint
fell from Joe's lips. He tried to pick it up but it was too late. The
tip had separated from the cigarette and lay burning on the
ground.

'Oh shit!' Joe exclaimed loudly, thereby startling the couple in the
bush. Quickly they disentangled themselves and fled. Meera chuckled as
the student and Joe looked at each other in dismay. Joe laughed and
they headed back to the concert, dissolving in the crowd. Grass made
Joe silent and aloof. Now, he was only smiled quietly and shook his
body gently to the rhythm. His eyes were dilated and pupils pink at the
edges.

As the night moved on, the enthusiasm in the singer's voice began to
fade. After every song, he would request an end but the crowd wanted
more. Finally, at two in the morning, he called it a day, almost
passing out.

Meera spent the night at Joe's place, curling up against a wall and
trying to sleep in an unfamiliar room. A very tired and stoned Joe
crashed out immediately.

It took her a little while in the morning to remember where she was.
Joe was still asleep and leaving a note, she left for Nizammuddin at
five in the morning. Neenamasi was taking her morning walk, welcomed
her with an ominous silence. Meera quickly finished her bath and left
for office with glazed eyes. Joe called her at lunchtime.

'Where are you?' Meera asked.

'I am calling from a booth.'

'You bunked office!'

'I just got up. How can I go now? It's too late.'

'You are cool, aren't you, Joe?'

'I'm sure my office will not stop functioning if I am absent for a day.
By the way, did you sleep well last night?'

'You mean this morning.'

Joe wanted her to come again but she declined not wanting to upset her
Aunt. Also, she wanted to sleep.

At the office, Meera worked under Maya, the chief Architect and
Sarbjeet's right hand. Maya had been working there since her graduation
in 1970, was single and lived in a flat nearby.

Timid and soft spoken Maya wore excellent saris; most of them bought
from expensive ethnic boutiques, yet ended up looking dowdy perhaps
because of her oily hair and lack of confidence. Maya belonged to that
elitist part of society where it was fashionable to be Indian and gross
to have an attitude. Originally from Kerala, she came to Delhi as a
student, got floored by Sarbjeet's ideologies and architectural
thoughts, joined his office and never went back. Maya was ferociously
loyal and overtly dedicated to the office- office was her life, without
it, she did not have any identity. Meera wondered why she never started
on her own- she was quite talented.

Good for Sarbjeet to have such a sincere and dedicated employee.

Maya revelled in thinking like Sarbjeet, acting like Sarbjeet and
behaving like Sarbjeet. When Maya said, 'We think,' it meant, 'Sarbjeet
thinks'.

On one rare occasion, she said 'I think', and meant 'We think', but it
turned out to be 'Maya thinks'.

An exhibition on space had been organised, and since the subject was of
architectural interest, the entire office went to visit (not Sarbjeet,
of course). Impressed by the series of colourful banners with quotes on
Space that were displayed along with black and white photographs, Meera
began praising the display, joined by others. But Maya was not so sure.
First of all, the show had been organised by a high priestess of Indian
Culture and of course she was a pseudo (pseudo was a very fashionable
word in Maya's circle), so how could the show be authentic? Also, what
had they done really? Instead of expressing space all they had done was
to hang banners. Honestly, she was disappointed.

Next day at the office, Meera asked Sarbjeet whether he saw the
Exhibition.
'Yeah, it was great!' he said airily.
'What did you like about it?' Another member of staff inquired.
'Well, for one thing they took great efforts in researching about space
and I loved some of the quotes.' He answered, nodding his head,
'Excellent, excellent.' Maya looked pale as she bent on her drawing
board. No one said anything, yet for two whole days, Maya was in a foul
mood.

After that night at Joe's place, Meera did not visit him in the
weekdays. Neenamasi did not speak to her for two days, thus providing
Shanti with an opportunity to talk more. Shanti was dissatisfied with
the whole world- her own mother included.

'She steals the biscuits I buy for myself. I hide them in a steel
container, yet she
finds them, I don't know how!' Shanti moaned.

Now, that was mean but hide them from your own mother?

'She also eats my Horlicks.'
What!!!

They were returning from the local dispensary, Shanti's loud
lamentations poisoning the serenity of the surrounds. Meera had no
choice but to listen and nod her head at appropriate moments. It was
difficult to take sides and impossible to stay neutral.

Shanti had this fetish about visiting the dispensary and till Meera
took a look at the ninety-year-old doctor, she almost believed that
Shanti was in love with him. Often, Shanti bribed her into coming with
her to the doctor, promising to offer an ice cream- ending up by
offering her chewing gum instead, the supply of which never ran short
in Shanti's purse.

Neenamasi was unduly critical about her manners (Meera's), and obsessed
with the cleanliness of the room and the house (she would send the
servant anytime in the day to clean the room thereby depriving Meera of
her privacy). She resented Shanti spending time with Meera and took it
out on them in strange unreasonable ways. One day she threw a tantrum
when some water spilled on the bathroom floor. Flying into a nasty rage
she began making snide remarks about Meera's upbringing. Meera got even
with Neenamasi by making faces at her when they were alone. From that
day Meera was barred from using Neenamasi's bathroom and instead had to
use Shanti's dingy one without any windows.

Shanti, on the other hand, would wait for Meera as she returned from
work and would endlessly go on about her illnesses, most of them
imaginary. She seemed to be made of several incoherent facets-
sometimes she was very quiet, not saying a word, at other times she
would go on and on and about her health or would laugh hysterically at
nothing. Meera found this incomprehensible till she discovered Vodka in
Shanti's shampoo bottle. This explained her innumerable visits to the
toilet and undue attachment to chewing gum.

Sometimes as Meera would be ready to leave the house, Shanti would
plead with her to take her to the Doctor- her pins and needles were
hurting her so- unable to refuse Meera would agree and end up being
late for appointments.

Being a devotee of Sai Baba, every Thursday Shanti would go to the
temple and bring one besan ladoo, which she would distribute to every
one present, always keeping Meera's share that would be consumed on her
return from office. Shanti used to wear a ring on her left hand with
Sai Baba's picture on it.

One day, she asked Meera, 'Why am I so unhappy even though I pray to
God everyday?' Meera thought for a long time and said,
'Maybe because you wear this ring in your left hand.'
'What is the connection? Asked a puzzled Shanti.
'You see, you wash in the toilet with the same hand so maybe Sai Baba
feels uncomfortable.' Shanti laughed and said,
'God is above all these things.'

The long and short of it was that what seemed like heaven only a few
weeks ago, had now turned into a boring and overwhelmingly tiring place
to hang out. Her only relief was on weekends when she escaped to
Joe.