Memory Lane: Sinking Bubbles
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The rain was incessant. Monsoon had lingered unusually long that summer. We sat in the café supposedly waiting for the rain to subside. It was almost 5 30 in the evening as we sipped our second glass of tea. Onto the third month of high school, I had finally found my niche of friends. It felt good. We had dubbed the café as “The Malla Hotel” though the vote was not unanimous.
“So, who’s Moti?” Romin broke the comforting silence. He sat stretching his neck to the side ensuring he did not miss any of the ladies he hit in class that were passing by the café. We all turned to Suman as he blushed exposing his two red cheeks that girls died for. Suman was in a league of his own. He cheered up us all with his sixth sense of humor and found laughter in the most grave of situations. Before he could divulge us into his uncanny romance, Romin disrupted once again.
“shhhh.. Shivani” My heart pounded as she made a surprise entry into the café. Suman nudged me with his shoulders. Before I could muster enough courage to stand up, Romin had already approached her and brought her a cake and a cup of tea despite her disapproval. We made a room in our circle and she sat down opposite to me. She gracefully swerved her head sending her wavy hair to the back where they belonged revealing her angelic face.
Bantering along, Suman asked her “Shivani, botany practical sidyo?”
She nodded her head slowly and finally spoke “Aan..tara euta question thiyo” She rubbed off the flake sticking to her lips with the napkin, “Tyo compound microscope kasle invent gareko ho?” Suman was a natural telepathic in these states of affairs.
“Oys lai thaha cha” he smiled wryly. I nervously stammered “ aa aa! tyo Zacharias Jannsen ho jasto lagcha.” My pursuit of trivia indeed hadn’t gone in vain.
Shivani smiled as to thank me, “eh hai. Aroo le ni tyai bhandai thiyo.” Our eyes met and her eyelashes fluttered. I was about to ask where she lived, though I knew she lived near Maligaon, when Romin saw someone else. I motioned him that he should get her cake and tea as well, but Romin wouldn’t move an inch. Instead, he sat there ogling at her giving his usual Shah-Rukh-Khan pose.
Suman came to the rescue again shouting at top of his lungs “Srijana, ma pani cake khane. Tyo thulo chai!” She stood there smiling at us. She stood there smiling at Romin.
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After a year of arduous experience, we had finally got the drift of our HighSchool. We loved biology ‘cause it wiggled, we hated chemistry ‘cause it stunk, and how we despised physics, it never worked out. Then we had English, taught by a professor from Bihar. It was a perfect respite at the end of the day from otherwise painstaking courses.
The professor was utterly confused that day reciting the “ghost ship” that he got lost in his own stream-of-consciousness. The class, tired from the whole day, delved in their usual merrymaking: either by sleeping, by intentionally forgetting to bring the book so that we could sit together, by dropping the geometric boxes to annoy the teacher, cracking jokes, passing random notes to girls with random guy’s name on it. LBU (Last Benches’ Union) always had a ball in the class.
Romin was making small paper balls and throwing at Srijana who sat two benches across. She pretended to be angry every now and then, but she was loving every moment of it. Occasionally he’d aim and throw at gals sitting way in front of the class who’d smile when they found out it was Romin.
Romin poked on my back. I turned around, and saw Romin holding the paper ball motioning to hurl it towards the front. I followed his eyes and to my horror I realized what he was about to do. I shook my head in despair, but why would he listen to me? He let it go: it whizzed past me, narrowly missed the first two rows and hit the target right on the cheek catching her totally off guard. Her cheeks grew red both with anger and pain. Shivani abruptly turned around. I turned around with similar anguish. Romin was nowhere to be found. Betrayer! I looked back at her trying to assure it wasn’t me. She’d have none of that. She looked at me with utmost despise and mumbled. I couldn’t hear her physically but whatever she mumbled, it took our two worlds so far from each other that they would never converge again. I fell off the cliff!
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The drizzle was incessant. Winter rain that had lingered was unusually depressing. We sat in the café supposedly waiting for the rain to subside. It was almost 5 30 in the evening as we gulped down the second glass of beer. Onto the last three months of my high school, I had found the last niche of friends. It felt good. The café we’d dubbed “The Malla Hotel” had reached unanimous verdict. “So where’s Moti?” Romin asked in a poignant tone looking at the deserted street specifically looking out for someone. We all turned to Suman hoping he’d finally divulge his sketchy romance for the good part of two years. He was just beginning to blush when Romin raised his eyebrows.
I looked out into the street. My heart pounded seeing Shivani looking at us. What an irony! Her ever- charming smile had turned into deep seated hatred. She scorned at us as she walked away. Before she crossed the street, she turned around one last time and swerved her head frantically to send her wavy hair to the back where they belonged.
“Let’s order some sekwa…and some beer.” I proposed. Everyone readily obliged.
Bantering along, Suman asked me “Did she have a lot of questions about Botany Practicals?” An icy cold chill ran down my spine. I poured him a glass as to thank him for what he’d done. The silence surrounded us once again.
“So, Sunday is valentine’s day” We turned deaf ears to Suman. “ Smriti is treating me with fries and icecream” He burst into a boisterous laughter. I could never tell how he pulled it off.
“Sunday is also Shivaratri” Romin said in a cold tone still looking at the deserted street. “Do you guys want to meet near Pashupati in the evening?” We shrugged to agree to his motion. We saw Srijana passing by indifferent to the café and its usual suspects.
Suman shouted at the top of his lungs “Srijana, ma pani cake khane. Thulo chai!” She turned around with a baffling expression and stood there motionless looking at us. She stood there motionless looking at Romin.
I asked Romin what had happened. He didn’t move an inch. He sat there looking back at her until she got into the minibus and went away. I kept pushing it. Finally, Romin took a deep breath, looked into my eyes and said annoyingly “K K huncha k, timi bujdainau!!”
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That weekend, my sisters dragged me to see “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai” though they had seen it myriad times before. I couldn’t believe what I saw in the movie. It cracked me up to the fullest.
Almost soberly stoned on a Sunday evening, we sat there on top of the hill looking at the polluted holy river. It felt good to be with friends especially now that I had sustained a permanent injury. Suddenly I remembered what I had watched the day before and punched Romin on his shoulder which took him by surprise.
“K bhayo?” He demanded.
“Mula! Asti kun filim ko dialogue hanya”? He looked at me as if he were confused for a moment and then burst into his peculiar laughter. We saw Suman coming from afar wearing his usual smile and a coat of humor.
Putting on Suman’s suit, I wished Romin “happy shivaratri!”
“Soaltee!Jai Sambho!” he responded with a smile.
I could see the sinking bubbles vanish into thin air. The weather cleared out drastically around Kathmandu and us. Forever!
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