Sequined memories

 

Standing by the mango tree, he gazed into the vast and bright firmament. Clouds were beginning to gather and seemed to be moving at an inexplicably fast pace, as if swarming the entire universe. He stood rooted to the spot even when a big plop struck him with merciless energy. He hadn’t even changed the angle of his neck, a curious onlooker would have mistaken him for a life-like statue, so engrossed, lost and in a seemingly suspended animation trance was he.

A loud clamouring sound startled him out of his reverie and created a severe clash in his already ambushed mind. Ambush yes, for that is what it seemed like to him. A deluge, a kaleidoscopic rush, struck him and he staggered a bit before stabilizing himself by leaning on the mango tree trunk.

Sequins, dazzling sequins, a flash, an alluring smile and a swish of the head, are all that it took to clog his mind and heart. It had been a hot and sultry day, he clearly recalled: he had rushed out of the cafeteria where he usually spent some evenings after a long stint of solitude following a long hectic day.

Work days are work days, he said aloud as he walked across the long corridor flanked by work stations on both sides, with the boss sitting at the farthest end. The place was green,  with beautiful plants most of which were grown using  hydroponics. Again the mango tree took shape at the far end of the hall and this time just behind the boss’s head. He closed his eyes and focused again as he came closer to the clear glass door, which if it wasn’t for the red sticker on it subtly displaying the company logo, one would bang into it several times in a day.

“Good afternoon, I have a small errand to run this evening, so I would like to take two hours off.” The boss, a reasonably accommodating person and an empathetic lady retorted, “Don’t you think this is happening a little too often, you are okay, right?”

He sank into the chair opposite her and sighed, “Well I think I am okay, will tell you if anything is otherwise, but really I have to go today.” Being the flexible and understanding person she was, she just nodded her consent; but quietly studied him as he averted his eyes, forced a smile and lifted himself from the chair, gesticulating a goodbye.”

Mrs. Banerjee, the boss, had been through tremendous hardships and emerged a seasoned winner, ready to take on new challenges every now and then on both the professional and personal front. Many looked up to her as she was a motivator beyond compare. Even though she was a hard task master she had a completely different side to her personality when it came to human relations. Mrs. was an epithet she used to ward off undue attention which didn’t cease in spite of what she called the protective armour. There had never been a Mr. in her life though, a fact known only to him and another close associate. The world only knew what she wanted them to know about her life.

He walked with quick short steps and approached the café, hoping that no one had taken up his favourite spot, a table at a vantage point, just opposite the mango tree. He usually parked his cycle behind the café where it was hidden from public view. The café staff were well aware that he was a regular customer and only needed the place to himself for two hours every third Saturday of the month.

Since he was no trouble for anyone the café staff made allowances and accommodations for him, often putting the reserved sign on the table, especially since the time when another customer had wanted to sit at the exact same spot three years ago.    

Three cups of coffee was his maximum intake and sometimes a small pastry was thrown in, on the house. But that was extremely rare. He would read for about one hour and then just remain fixated to the mango tree.

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It was a regular Saturday evening when for some reason he had left office a little early and it had begun to rain heavily. He was held up under the dense mango tree bang opposite the café. It protected him from the rain and just as he was planning to take a leap across the plaza, for the café he saw a flash, a sharp lightning burst: sequins, blue. He leapt at the speed of light and followed the movement and screeched to a halt suddenly around the bend when the blue sequined apparition stopped midway and with a swish of her head looked him straight in the eyes. Time stood still, nothing moved as the drumming in his ears rose to a crescendo and it seemed like a million years before he could breathe; all he mustered in the moment was, “Gosh, I can’t breathe.” She in turn beamed the brightest smile and in a lilting voice said, “You seem perplexed, just count to ten and take a deep breath, you will be fine.”

            The feeling that swept over him was best described as warmly frozen. A trained, astute and seasoned newspaper journalist he was well aware that this was the craziest oxymoron, but in the moment he realized he was more of a warmly frozen moron. Tongue-tied, jaw dropped and oddly dazed idiot, she in turn just traipsed out of sight, flashing and straight into his heart.   

            A call on his mobile phone yanked him out of his state of suspended animation and he rushed out of the street for the story he was supposed to cover more than an hour ago.

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            His fingers danced on the keyboard, much after the day shift staff had left and the late night shift staff were trickling in. The rain refused to relent, creating a strange sound alternating between a combination of a musical masterpiece and a cacophonous din: punctuated by his feverish and frantic typing on the keyboard.

            A young intern walked up to him and exclaimed, “Oh! Lord Sir! He continued tapping on the keyboard, oblivious to any presence and just paused for a minute, looking at the raindrops reeling down the windowpane making crisscross patterns reminding him yet again of the blue sequined memories: warmly frozen;  

            The intern, an overtly inquisitive and empathetic person too, could tell something was amiss and hence insisted that his super senior make eye contact with him. Everyone in the newspaper looked up to SS or super senior professionally, but knew that personally he was not a very strong personality. However, no one knew why he was so. She was determined to get her answer today. Such is the fervor of youth

            The intern thought of putting on her investigative hat and decided to approach Mrs. Banerjee the next morning.

            For the first time in the six months the intern had been in the office, this was the eighth episode as she had chronicled in her diary, with a distant dream of writing a book on SS, as the entire office addressed him.

            She mustered up all her courage and walked in to Mrs. Banerjee’s room and slipped in without knocking as madam had her back to the door. The intern cleared her throat and said, “Madam, do you know anything about this weird combination of sequins and midnight blue?       

            The intern could not speak a word when she saw a long flowing midnight blue stole in Mrs. Banerjee’s lap, her hands clenching it tightly. There was nothing left to say for as she had peeked over SS’s shoulder the night before, she had read the line, ‘sequined memories keep me alive and I die several times, knowing she can never be mine’. 

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             Fifteen years ago they had met and dated: a whirlwind romance that one only comes across in books and movies. But it wasn’t meant to be. She then under the garb of Mrs. Banerjee, took over as the Editor in chief three years ago that’s when life became a living Heaven-Hell for him and the mango tree the only witness to their first encounter his refuge.

Sequins and blue, midnight blue, was a colour deeply embedded in his mind. He just couldn’t seem to shake it off.

The intern walked home that evening her eyes brimming over.    

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Copyright Suverchala Kashyap