A Stone's Throw Away - *complete* Pg 14 - 02/01 - Page 7

A/N: Updating here after a while. This one is the first private face off between GK. Kesar's POV - from my POV...

The Secret Keepress!

I walked into my room, and the first sight of it in ten years stalled me in my tracks… it looked like a portrait of a space that had stood still, untouched by the sly maneuovers of time. Echoes of colors and laughter associated with every corner of it, filled my head, and a consequent bout of nostalgia washed me over – marked by the bittersweet welling inside, of this emotion they call home coming.

It took Gulaal only moments to find her way after me, and complete the picture by filling my space with her presence, and her words. Mumbling to herself about my disorderliness, and setting herself immediately to the task of putting things in order, picking out fresh clothes for me to wear... Some things never change…

And yet, some things had.

In the nick of time I salvaged the bunch of inlands her curious eyes had not missed even in the dump of my luggage – before (as I secretly and desperately prayed she hadn't already) she could detect her name in the address bars of each. Stiffly, at being nearly caught, I bid her to mind her own business.

Her business. My business… when had they ceased to be one and the same?

Ideally, the question should have been raised between us – perhaps I even saw a flickering of it in her eyes - but promptly she disguised it. Before I could tell how my snub had affected her, if or not even, she polished the expression with her smile, and returned to her spirited self, brimming with emotions, and gushing with talk. It was hard to say if I preferred her eye wash, over the hypothetical position of being confronted, or not. And in the meanwhile, on and on she went about how much I had been missed in these ten years…

Did she have an inkling of how those words cut me open? My Gulaal would have known. I'm not sure I can trust this one. Mentally, I lodged myself between the discomfiting prospects of fighting her, and fighting her pull. A tight line to walk, if ever there was one.

For the record, my dilemma is a testing condition – perpetually restless, easily provoked, and miserably guilty. Currently, at the sight of its cause brimming with exuberance less than a foot away, conflicting emotions were stirred inside of me, the demons ever so ready to be roused.

But in the background, I could hear her voice, impossible to block out… like the distant sound of an early morning aarti in the poojaghar... which once upon a time was my grumpy start to each new day as it would unfailingly disturb my sleep…dj vu crept in, making space for itself in the already complex concoction of emotions – as I realized how long it had been since I had woken up to one of those annoyingly assuring mornings of normalcy – it was no longer the same, and yes, just this moment I had to admit I missed it, terribly…

So dearly missed… her voice over in the background was telling me... for every day of these ten long years. How Mota Bha remembered me every moment; how Paan Baa missed meals day after day, my absence never wearing off her; how Reva and Devika shed tears over each missed rakshabandhan; how Talli offered daily prayers in my name; Gulaal continued to paint verbal pictures of the house and its people from the years I was away… every person in the house, since the day I was gone, has only lived in hope of the day I would return.

Perhaps my question at this point should have been, why then was I expected to exile from my home, my life, my people…? Yes there was my own acceptance to the idea, in my obstinacy to punish Gulaal, boycott her… but they didn't know that. She didn't know it. That was my personal reason. What could have been hers to distance me?

I couldn't concentrate on these questions that had haunted me all the years. And I couldn't seem to fix her with the cold gaze… or hate her for not knowing my questions, not giving me answers. Just this moment I could no0t – because I found myself increasingly distracted by the signs of gradual transformation in her features, as her words went from exuding an infectious excitement, to a contentment of sort – so earnest were her claims, the characteristic Gulaal effect begun to rub off on me, despite myself; until I became warily aware of the glaze underlining her eyes. As if on cue, the vulnerable Kesar I painstakingly hide inside, with an obstinate mind of his own, decided to peek around the wall I had taken a decade to build between us, and ditched me by asking her…

Aur tu? Tu muje yaad karti thi?

It was evident I had taken her by surprise. She lost track of words for a second, and in the momentary dilation of her eyes , the answer stared back at me. Answer to a rhetoric, really. Of all the things I had to ask her and clarify, this was nowhere on the list! Still, it mattered to hear her say it.

Hastily she turned away. Rebuffed me. Told me she hadn't missed me. Discretely wiping away that tear – as if she could hide it from me – but that didn't mean she wasn't trying! Why would she have missed me? Had I not been the stubborn one keeping such distance…?! So she had noticed. Didn't she wonder why? Did she knowwhy? Her fingers fiddled with the ornate earning… before her fist softly curled to settle with fingering the intricate neckpiece… nervous fumbles from the Gulaal! Now that was new!

Right! She had not missed me, I thought, mildly amused at these alien signs from her. Unbeknownst to me, the makings of a fond smile begun to betray my practiced discipline of expression…

And then she turned around. The sulking girl was a woman once again. Smiling,patronizing, she ruffled my hair, called me silly - how could she not miss me?! My adoring trance grew wary again, and even as the side of my eye went to her hand on my shoulder, my mind sought to get together the cold act back in place. And that's when she said, agar tuje yaad nahin karti, to Vasant aa jata, teri yaad dilane… jimedaari jo gaya tha saup kar!

My cue. To not be swayed. To focus. She wasn't my Gulaal. She was the secret keepress. She hadn't missed me – and I had never written her letters back… the only truth to hold.

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