Chapter 1

3 years ago

Bluegrass

@Bluegrass

सहमी-सी चुप में जकड़े जाना बुरा तो है

To be entrapped in a fearful silence is bad indeed

सबसे ख़तरनाक नहीं होता

But it is not the most hazardous

कपट के शोर में सही होते हुए भी दब जाना बुरा तो है

To have your righteousness trampled by greed is bad indeed

जुगनुओं की लौ में पढ़ना

To read by the light of fireflies

मुट्ठियां भींचकर बस वक्‍़त निकाल लेना बुरा तो है

And to only see time pass by with tied fists are bad indeed

सबसे ख़तरनाक नहीं होता

But are not the most hazardous

सबसे ख़तरनाक होता है मुर्दा शांति से भर जाना

The most hazardous is to be filled with a macabre quiet

तड़प का न होना

To not be restless

सब कुछ सहन कर जाना

To endure everything

घर से निकलना काम पर

To go to work, nine-to-five

और काम से लौटकर घर आना

To return home in the evening.

सबसे ख़तरनाक होता है

The most hazardous is

हमारे सपनों का मर जाना

The death of our dreams

सबसे ख़तरनाक वो घड़ी होती है

The most hazardous time is

आपकी कलाई पर चलती हुई भी जो

The one which ticks on the wrist

आपकी नज़र में रुकी होती है

But remains stunted in the eyes.

Imlie didn't know how her day had turned out to be this way. As her camera fell off and was caught by a sleezy portly customer, her entire life flashed before her in a split second. She remembered that time—she must have been seven or eight— when she had reached the pinnacle of her jhula in Bishen kaka's mango-grove. She remembered the utter exhilaration of touching the sky and the utter vertigo of looking down. She remembered falling down like Icarus, calling for her daddah only to not have anyone around to catch her. She remembered the feeling of soil on her scalp, and the metalic taste of her own blood.

Daddah had taught her how to dress her own wounds that day, but, try as he may, he couldn't teach her to not be irrationally fearful of heights.

Truth be told, she hadn't been this scared that day. Even a deeper secret be told, she hadn't been this scared on the day she was forced to marry Aditya sir. Not when ABP and her had to face Atank. Not on the many occasions she had had to save her ex-husband.  Frankly, not even when the Madame of the brothel had browbeaten her into presenting herself to her clientele just a few hours ago.

Imlie had to admit that she could be naïve and brave simultaneously. Not exactly a delicious cocktail, that. She always had been a bit naïve that way. Her school had been poorly equipped with even poorer teachers. But, she grew up with yellowed, tattered books of Hindi poetry. Poetry of Kabir, of Paash, of Dinkar, of Meera. If she found herself a little too brave and a bit too trusting, she didn't realise it.

She had been naïve enough to not double-check the address of her assignment. Naïve enough to not recognise a red light area. Naïve enough to not recognise the innuendoes of the Madame just as she had been naïve enough to think that her sister could so easily forgive her, and they could all live happily ever after. The sequined pink fabric was biting and itching into her skin. Naïve enough to think that she could make it work with a man who refused to see any contrary opinion even when presented with evidence.

Imlie caught herself having a bitter taste at the thought of her ex-husband. No, she had never been this scared before for she had never been at the edge of losing her being, her name, herself ever before. She often did not know what being Imlie meant; she had been an unwanted child, no one had seemed to love her or want her or need her apart from her ostracised mother and her foster father. Her parents were not literate, but they were brave. They had little in terms of money but their sense of self was so inescapable, she felt small yet invincible in seemingly contradictory ways. So yes, while her life had faced one upheaval after another in the past year. And even if her quotidian ways of life had gone for a toss ever since she had met Aryan sir, she knew that she won't lose out on being 'Imlie' no matter how elusive the concept was to her. Imlie, who tried her best and— she had to admit, sadly— failed at providing a better life for her tiny little family. Imlie, who knew that Amma had turned every one of her little or herculean dreams into a personal penance. Imlie who couldn't sit quietly for a second because her aspirations turned louder than the wheels of a clock.

मुट्ठियां भींचकर बस वक्‍़त निकाल लेना बुरा तो है

सबसे ख़तरनाक नहीं होता

सबसे ख़तरनाक होता है मुर्दा शांति से भर जाना

तड़प का न होना

And to only see time pass by with tied fists is bad indeed

But is not the most hazardous.

The most hazardous is to be filled with a macabre quiet

To not be restless.

The heat of the old bawd's smack hadn't burnt her as much as the fact that that Imlie could die in imminent seconds. Perhaps, the world wouldn't stop spinning, and no one's life would be altered in a significant way. But she'd miss that restless Imlie, damn it! She would miss the girl who felt too much, and dreamt too much, and wanted to love too much even if she didn't know how to be loved. She knew that Amma's lifelong penance in raising her would fail if her dreams were to die today. No. No. No.

सबसे ख़तरनाक होता है

हमारे सपनों का मर जाना

The most hazardous is

The death of our dreams.

She was drenched in pink, the brothel seemed to be filled with different shades of pink and yellow. The pink stung her eyes and made her head hurt. Rathore mansion was one of the most beautiful houses she had ever seen. A cream-yellow kothi with pink Amaltas hanging all over the parapet. The oldest part of the house had a mammoth pink Bougainvillea vine entwined on the walls. She often found herself languishing under it with a book whenever she could stay back at home. Rathore mansion, her home. Funny that!

Her mind was running a million miles an hour. It would be pathetic if it was the last time it ever did that. She didn't feel strong anymore, she felt as fragile as the golapi khiza vine in ABP"s courtyard. Arpita didi and Kakima could not take another trauma to their barely tethered semblance of a life. When one grew up unwarranted, illegitimate, one made friends and parents out of God. One never stopped to contemplate why indeed might the Almighty wish to befriend a small speck of humanity. One just loved God and befriended God. And so she did; she prayed to her friend fervently, though not single-mindedly. Her mind kept running to Akkadbagha. He would smile even less if she were to be lost. He didn't know that she felt each of his tiny, capricious smiles as a soft gaze— a weird man was talking about her so crudely now; he was dragging her to a room. Oh she knew, she had always known that ABP would graze down the entire world, brick-by-brick, till he found her, like he always did. And, she wanted to be alive when he did. If her faith was racing against time, she would fight on his team. Time would have to die before her spirit did. She would physically kill and die before that happened.

Her eyes adjusted to the soft lights of the room, her head felt lighter than it had the entire day. She would fight! She just had to— for Imlie, for ABP. So she did. But that man, whoever the hell it was, seemed so unfazed. So insurmountable, dodging everything that she threw his way. Was she going to be beaten down by the cruelty of men once more? No. No. No!

 The screwdriver in her salwar did not impede her gait anymore. No, it felt like a vestigial organ that had come to life after eons. She aimed for his eyes like Arjuna and the fish. Till... Till her eyes met his.

She didn't know when she had come to recognise his eyes as if they were her own. She did not remember, even register when had she started drawing courage from them, when she had started seeing them as reservoirs of life. Maybe it was the time when her ex-husband had humiliated her into staging his pre-wedding photoshoot. She had fleed from there, in utter shame and cowardice. Till her eyes had met his just like they did now. She didn't know what they had said to her. Maybe only that he was there with her. But she had felt brave again. She was, now, feeling alive again. As if someone had shielded Icarus from the cruel, unyielding heat of the sun. Making it nurturing and bearable. As if someone had miraculously conjured an Oasis in a parched desert. She had never felt this breathless and this alive simultaneously. She was safe. Truly. That he was here. She was hugging him, for how long she did not know. He had hugged her once before when she had been rendered untethered in her concern for her ex. He had absorbed all her pain silently.  She had hugged him once before, unknowingly, in utter jubilation. Only to fight with him moments later.

It was only when he cradled her head in his hand that she knew, for the first time in forever, that Imlie, who had never truly had a father and never truly been anyone's wife, had him.

Was his. And she did not know what to do with that.