“Sandwiches,” she said. I still used to
look away when she got up on the saddle with one hand on my
shoulder but she didn’t seem uneasy anymore. It should have been
clear to me that day that she loved me, for why else would a woman
offer to go see ruins swarming with goats, urchins and worse at the
edge of the city, alone with a man? But I was so convinced of her
superiority, utterly blinded by the belief, that this possibility
did not enter my mind.
It was a long ride
and the air was cold. Her gloved hands were on my shoulder but I
also felt her head dig into my back to keep the wind out of her
eyes, and all the way I wished it were something more than
necessity that made her do it.
We walked a lot
that morning, went over every remaining pillar and arch inside the
citadel of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq, then walked across the road,
up a causeway and into his splendid tomb, and from there, across a
rough stone-covered ground, to a smaller fort called Adilabad built
by the sultan’s successor, Muhammad bin Tughlaq. At times the walls
and stones in our path were too high for her and I had to haul her
up, but I did it dutifully, mechanically, determined not to betray
my feelings by sign or word.
***
After that
trip, I knew I would have to tell her. I reasoned with myself that
not telling also amounted to deception. It was very difficult, of
course, but I attempted it in a roundabout manner. She called it
B-A-T-B: beating about the bush.
We were sitting in
our amphitheatre after lunch, enjoying a rare blue sky and warm
mid-February sunshine. The other three had gone to return books to
the library. I started confidently since I wasn’t going to reveal
my feelings at once.
“I need your
advice about something important,” I told her, and she was all
ears. “Say, I have something precious, very dear, something that’s
good and I dearly value.” I had to stop because she burst out
laughing. “Sorry, go on, just don’t be so theatrical,” she said
patting my shoulder with her fingers. She always kept a tiny
handkerchief pressed into that palm with the thumb. Then my heart
beat quickened. How could I avoid the roundabout manner when it was
the safer path to truth?
“I’ll try,” I
said. “So there’s this great thing in my life. And then there’s
something I wish for that could make it even better. But there’s a
risk in trying for it. I might not get it, and if I don’t, I will
also lose what I have. What should I do?”
“I don’t get you,”
she whispered, her eyes trying to penetrate my soul, “I wish you
would not talk in riddles.” I chickened out. “Forget it,” I said
hurriedly and looked away, “you know how muddled my mind is. Just
forget it”.
“No, I don’t think
you are a muddlehead,” she said but didn’t press me then.
She had divined
the truth already but needed to hear it from my lips. A couple of
days later, we were walking in the lawn after class hours. The sun
had set and the sky was awash in an orange-pink dye. The breeze was
refreshingly cold and bracing. “Did you find your answer?” she
said. “To what,” I asked evasively. She stopped and looked at me
with arms folded purposefully. “Don’t fool around with me.”
“With you, never,
impossible,” I said grinning.
“Have I told you
you have an ugly grin?” she said.
“More than a few
times,” I said laughing.
“Out with it now,
what is this thing you want?”
It was a short
enough answer if only I had the courage to say it: “You”.
But I waved my
hand and tried to wriggle out with what seemed to me a plausible
answer. “Oh, it was about my bike.”
Her dismayed look
forced me to lie more. “I love my bike, you know that. I was just
thinking of adding fog lamps to it, but what if they damage the
electricals?”
“You wanted
technical advice from me! YOU!”
I saw the folly of
my tack. “Forget it, please, it’s nothing, and why do you
care?”
“But I do, and I
want to know it now.”
I
look away when she got up on the saddle with one hand on my
shoulder but she didn’t seem uneasy anymore. It should have been
clear to me that day that she loved me, for why else would a woman
offer to go see ruins swarming with goats, urchins and worse at the
edge of the city, alone with a man? But I was so convinced of her
superiority, utterly blinded by the belief, that this possibility
did not enter my mind.
It was a long ride
and the air was cold. Her gloved hands were on my shoulder but I
also felt her head dig into my back to keep the wind out of her
eyes, and all the way I wished it were something more than
necessity that made her do it.
We walked a lot
that morning, went over every remaining pillar and arch inside the
citadel of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq, then walked across the road,
up a causeway and into his splendid tomb, and from there, across a
rough stone-covered ground, to a smaller fort called Adilabad built
by the sultan’s successor, Muhammad bin Tughlaq. At times the walls
and stones in our path were too high for her and I had to haul her
up, but I did it dutifully, mechanically, determined not to betray
my feelings by sign or word.
***
After that
trip, I knew I would have to tell her. I reasoned with myself that
not telling also amounted to deception. It was very difficult, of
course, but I attempted it in a roundabout manner. She called it
B-A-T-B: beating about the bush.
We were sitting in
our amphitheatre after lunch, enjoying a rare blue sky and warm
mid-February sunshine. The other three had gone to return books to
the library. I started confidently since I wasn’t going to reveal
my feelings at once.
“I need your
advice about something important,” I told her, and she was all
ears. “Say, I have something precious, very dear, something that’s
good and I dearly value.” I had to stop because she burst out
laughing. “Sorry, go on, just don’t be so theatrical,” she said
patting my shoulder with her fingers. She always kept a tiny
handkerchief pressed into that palm with the thumb. Then my heart
beat quickened. How could I avoid the roundabout manner when it was
the safer path to truth?
“I’ll try,” I
said. “So there’s this great thing in my life. And then there’s
something I wish for that could make it even better. But there’s a
risk in trying for it. I might not get it, and if I don’t, I will
also lose what I have. What should I do?”
“I don’t get you,”
she whispered, her eyes trying to penetrate my soul, “I wish you
would not talk in riddles.” I chickened out. “Forget it,” I said
hurriedly and looked away, “you know how muddled my mind is. Just
forget it”.
“No, I don’t think
you are a muddlehead,” she said but didn’t press me then.
She had divined
the truth already but needed to hear it from my lips. A couple of
days later, we were walking in the lawn after class hours. The sun
had set and the sky was awash in an orange-pink dye. The breeze was
refreshingly cold and bracing. “Did you find your answer?” she
said. “To what,” I asked evasively. She stopped and looked at me
with arms folded purposefully. “Don’t fool around with me.”
“With you, never,
impossible,” I said grinning.
“Have I told you
you have an ugly grin?” she said.
“More than a few
times,” I said laughing.
“Out with it now,
what is this thing you want?”
It was a short
enough answer if only I had the courage to say it: “You”.
But I waved my
hand and tried to wriggle out with what seemed to me a plausible
answer. “Oh, it was about my bike.”
Her dismayed look
forced me to lie more. “I love my bike, you know that. I was just
thinking of adding fog lamps to it, but what if they damage the
electricals?”
“You wanted
technical advice from me! YOU!”
I saw the folly of
my tack. “Forget it, please, it’s nothing, and why do you
care?”
“But I do, and I
want to know it now.”
I
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