Twisted Memories

Buried Memories brought forth by recent turbulence around the country 

The Guest on Our Doorstep

I still remember a dignified old lady knocking on our gate. I was barely sixteen at the time. I looked over the balcony and answered “Ji, Aunty?”

She looked up at me and I was taken in by her rosy complexion. My grandfather had that kind of translucent pink complexion; he was from Himachal Pradesh.

Maybe she was one of the old fogies from my grandpa’s generation who ma knew.

“Beta, mummy ghar per hai? (Is your mother at home?)” She asked and I assumed she was safe enough to let in despite my not recognizing her.

I let her in; asked her to sit down and told my mom a guest was waiting in the drawing room.

As she went down the stairs Mom told me to get water for the lady.

I went up the stairs grumbling about being made to help out.

When I bought water down I saw the lady crying and my mother sitting next to her. Had there been bad news? Had someone died?

Being a teenager I didn’t want to know. I offered her water. She wiped her eyes with her white lacy dupatta and drank the entire glass. It was a hot day. Maybe she had walked a lot.

I left the room and went back into my room, put on headphones and head banged to Bon Jovi’s – Lay your hands on me.

The desert cooler’s loud grumblings receded to the background as I increased the volume of my new Sony walkman. I was in Bon Jovi heaven.

My mother came in and spoke. I couldn’t hear her. I was annoyed. What now? I thought.

“Don’t let people you don’t know in.” She told me.

I took my head phones off

“But ma I thought she was from the neighborhood. She looked like one of those ladies Bauji knew”

My mother sighed and sat down on my bed.

“She was a Kashmiri pundit. A refugee. Her entire family was killed. She was visiting some relative and needed money. She is living in some temporary camp. No one wants to take her in.”

“Why did she knock on our gate?” I asked

“She was asking for money.” My mother didn’t use the word - begging

“I gave her one thousand rupees. “

My mouth fell open. In the nineties one thousand rupees was a lot.

She smiled at my disbelief

“I cannot begin to comprehend her suffering. It’s such a tragedy. This was the least we could do for her. But you don’t let people in if you don’t know them. Tell them to wait and I will let them in. Okay?”

“But ma – it’s rude to keep people waiting by the gate and-“

“And what? Do you know how many home break- ins there have been?”

She began to scold me and I went on arguing.

Cat Eyes

“Ohhh! he is coming our way.” My friend grabbed my hand and barked into my ears.

“Who?!” I asked loudly

“That fair dude with those cat eyes. Why is Shaan getting him here?” She tried to tug my hand and pull me away.

As the lights swung around the dance floor and people danced to trance music I watched the two guys make their way towards us. One of them was the subject of a serious crush by my friend.

“Let’s go Dee!!” She began to drag me.

I grinned and slowed my pace and let the guys catch up.

“Hi Shaan” I gave him a happy smile.

He blinked. I could hear him think- Why is she being so nice to me?

I generally stayed aloof with my friend’s crowd. I wasn’t really a discotheque goer but getting to know my friend’s crush was interesting.

“This is Asif.” He introduced cat eyes to the two of us. My friend’s face fell. He was a Muslim.

“And get this – he is from Afghanistan.” My ears perked up. From Afghanistan?

Asif shrugged and looked around at the people gyrating on the floor.

“We can’t talk here. Let’s go to the coffee shop.” I smiled. He too had noticed my friend noticing him.

Shan grinned and knew he was putting my friend in a spot.

“Sure! Let’s go to the coffee shop.”

We walked out of the discotheque and up into the 5 star hotel to the coffee shop.

The music changed and we got to hear the soothing tones of Kenny G playing his sonorous tunes.

We were led to a table that overlooked the pool. My friend sat next to me and clutched my hand. Her palm was clammy.

The guys ordered coffee for four. I was miffed.

“We could have wanted something else.”

“Yes Shaan, that was very sexist of you.” My friend finally showed her fiery side.

Shaan had been her chaddi buddy since school days. She bullied the man who silently loved her since first grade. He always indulged her.

He flung his hands up and said “Look we two can only afford coffee.”

I raised an eyebrow and remarked “We’ll ask for separate checks. Cool with you guys?”

Asif smiled “Where I come from ladies don’t pay.”

“Really Asif?” My friend asked and I pinched her knuckle for asking a stupid question.

His face became somber

“You girls don’t know what you take for granted here. Our women have lost what little sense of freedom they had. It’s a tough life there.”

“When did you come here to India Asif?” Shaan asked as he sipped his coffee.
He was no longer tipsy and that was a good sign since he had to drop us back home.

“Few months back. We didn’t have much choice. It was either grow a beard and follow their mazhaab or die. We left and this is home.”

“Why didn’t you go to Pakistan?” Shaan asked and my friend glared at him

Asif caught the look while he sipped his coffee

“No; it’s okay. It’s a valid question. I am studying at Delhi School Of Economics. It’s my first year.”

My friend’s face fell. Muslim and four years younger. I tried to control my smile at her quelling heart.

“So, wouldn’t you like to go back?” I asked

He nodded “With all its problems it is my home and I love it but they will kill me there.”

“Why?” I asked

“I am worse than an infidel. I am a disbeliever. I drink wine, I smoke, I date and I let my sister enjoy the same freedom. They’d shoot me at sight.”

His green eyes seemed to become like liquid sea of sadness and we all became quiet.

“Does that mean you will never get to go home?” Shaan asked as he made a gesture for the check to the Steward.

He shook his head “Not in the near future. We may move to London later on. We have family there. My parents like it here though. Summers they go to the mountains and winters they stay in Delhi. My sister and I have made friends. Life is good here.”

The check came and we girls grabbed it.

“We’ll pay.” We were adamant.

Shaan laughed and flung his hands up

“Fine! That much money stays in our pockets. We are poor people. We can’t afford to dine you people all the time.”

“When have we asked you for a treat? You are so ungrateful.” My friend stuck her tongue out at him.

Asif laughed and his cat eyes gleamed.

My friend and I gaped; enthralled by the handsome Pathan before us.
Shaan shook his head and sighed.

Waiting for the Train

I folded my arms and stared straight ahead at the dirty tracks. Naked towheads behind me ran screaming with joy; oblivious to the cares of the world. I ignored them just as I ignored their parents who went about their business around their hot shanties.

The smell of urine and defecation smothered my senses. I wanted to retch and struggled to look for a handkerchief in my shoulder knapsack.

“God! Don’t these people have any shame?” I muttered and stepped aside as a little tot yanked her pajama down and began to poop next to me.

“It isn’t their fault you know. The latrine there is full and the corporation doesn’t clean the mobile latrines.”

A Sardarji, barely five feet tall, spoke to me. I smiled at him and tried to act reserve.

“The train is taking very long today.” He spoke up again. He wanted conversation and I wanted silence.

I sighed. There was never an excuse for rudeness. He wasn’t a salesman I could look through. He was just some lonely uncleji wanting a word or two.

“I will miss my first two classes but taking the train to the campus is better than boarding Red Liners.” I responded.

The smell of fresh poop left by the little girl made us move a few yards further towards the ticket booth and away from the shanties.

“I’ve been taking this train since before you were born. “ His eyes twinkled and his bearded jaw wobbled.

“In fact my house was one of the first to be built in this locality. That time we had horses riding in from the Cantonment.”

“Well, our home was also one of the first ones to be built here.” I told him proudly. “It’s a nice place to live in; quite peaceful.”

He gave a dry smile.

“Yes, the locality is nice here but not the slums surrounding it.”

I shifted my bag. My shoulder began to hurt under its heavy load.

“Why do you say that?” I asked and wished the train would hurry up. He was a nice old guy but I could feel the wave of irritation surrounding my mind and drowning me in a filthy temper.

“During the 84 riots men from the surrounding slum area burned my house down.”

I stared at him in shock. The irritation in my mind ebbed way as if a plug had been pulled.

“My son was in the house. He died. I had gone to meet our neighbors and they didn’t let me out. I went mad trying to get out but they held me back. I couldn’t save my son.”

Tears rolled down his eyes and I averted mine. What was I to say? I remembered the circle of fire I watched from the roof of my house. I watched the Gurduwara flag waver and fall; I watched homes being set on fire.

The perfect circle my nine year old mind had thought.

It was clear memory. But what was I to say to him?

“I lost everything in that fire. From the window I recognized one of the thugs.

He worked in the electrical shop next to mine. And he still works in our locality.

He was never brought to justice.”

He gave me a wan smile.

“But people are nice here. A builder bought my land. I live on the ground floor and the other two floors have nice young families. The neighbors are nice, they look in on me but it’s not the same.”

We heard the train whistle and the chugging of the wheels. Army soldiers hung out of the door-less boogies. Pristine clean in their camouflage uniforms they looked fresh and happy.

Office goers crowded around the halting train and in the melee of people I lost sight of the slight sadarji.

I let myself be pushed inside the train and bumped against a Jawan who quickly stepped aside.

Grabbing the handle bar I stood and blindly stared out of the boogey at the naked kids as they waved the train goodbye. I never saw the Sardarji again.