Well,
Hello everyone. I had written a piece for something else long back. I just felt this suited Rishabh and Prerna so much. I hope you all like it.
Bouquets and brickbats are welcome.
Piu🤗
Part 2 Musings and Contemplations
Part 3 Freedom- Page 7
Freedom
Part 1- I am Coming
Basu Bari
Prerna placed a letter carefully back in a small tin box which had heaps of crumpled paper inside it, looking at her suitcase which was packed for a journey early morning. Technology didn't seem to touch them anymore. She could feel the warmth of Mr Bajaj's fingers in the curves of spilt ink handwriting. He would have used his Golden Filigree Fountain Pen, she wondered. "Why does he have to be so ancient?"; Prerna chuckled. She adjusted the pin of the gramophone again on the record to play her favourite song. The gramophone was the same rare gift which Mr Bajaj had sent her on Prem's 1st birthday. She never knew Mr Bajaj had a taste for music too.
When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No, I won't be afraid
Oh, I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
So darling, darling
Stand by me, oh stand by me
Oh stand, stand by me
Stand by me
If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
All the mountains should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry
No, I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me
And darling, darling
Stand by me, oh stand by me
Oh stand now, stand by me
Stand by me
Crooning a soft melody between her lips, she spread out her canvas on the hard stone floor which was cold and gritty, dust and crumbs from Kukki's playdough clung to her bare feet. Kukki and Prem had slept long back in their room. Clearing a little space on the fluffy floor rug, she landed on her knees kneeling. She started to sketch the lone solitary figure which she had seen in her dream last night.
The more grey streaks her charcoal black pencil drew on the pale white paper, the louder her singing became. Fingers smudged and fringes falling on her face; she couldn't be happier this moment. She had finally managed to give the perfect grey shade to the portrait's salt & pepper hair.
The Indian Ocean, Karaikal Beach, Pondicherry
He gulped at his oxygen and couldn't decide where to look first as the bubbles swamped over his wet suit. The astounding lacy fans of red coral reef swayed with the water current under the sea where lines of fishes hovered around him like a swarm of bees on a honeycomb. Golden, red, magenta, purple, olive, rainbow hues-he just lost count of the various panorama of colours around him. Rishabh's scuba diving suit was heavy! But the feeling of emptiness even with thousands of blue bioluminescent sea planktons above his head couldn't be suppressed. The ocean bed was a little engaging as Rishabh floated with the current, crawled his way through the undersea mountains. He kicked his feet to propel himself forward, absorbing nature's unique dance of glory in the form of flora and fauna.
Finally, with long sweeps of his robust arms, he propelled himself to the surface, pulling the straps of his heavy gear & tank at his shoulder blades. With a gasp, his head bobbed up to the surface of the water.
Even after hours of this escapade, the fire in his heart had not doused as yet.
When his feet touched the shore sand, it was already twilight. Moonlight covered the vast stretch of the sand like the pall of gloom covering his soul. It had been almost a year. Undeterred, Rishabh had tried to control his shattered life into bits but had failed.
He jumped out of his suit shrinking into his shorts wiping of the droplets of salted water from his body. He lied on a mat beneath a coconut canopy at the silvery sand beach in Pondicherry after being a silent witness to the prosperous marine life. The swaying palms from the crystal blue lagoon nearby brought in the sea breeze which mingled with the curls of his cigar smoke in the air.
Rishabh's staunch sense of self penance and unemotional attachment had scuttled him from one place to another for the last one year. From trekking in the Himalayas to paragliding -he had redone it all finally settling in for Pondicherry for the previous three months. Perhaps, his French cousin connections had brought him here. He had always been a beach lover, and his sun-worshipping had given oodles of bliss in the form of a smooth golden tan in Pondicherry. His impressive seclusion in a small cottage owned by his cousin providing a brilliant sight of the sea gave him some sort of peace for specific days.
His distant cousin owned the centuries-old pastry shop in the cobbled alleys of Pondicherry near Karaikal Beach with a breathtaking view of the confluence of Arasalar River and the sea. Rishabh used to stroll or sit leisurely on the seashore for hours watching the dolphins playing merrily. Even they had companionship! His cousin was a rakish vagabond who barely cared for anything but money. As long as Rishabh gave him money; he had no plans of confused intimacy and familial ties.
Rishabh was happy smoking cigars, drinking like a fish being a patisserie at his cousin's French bakery baking Coconut cakes, Crème brûlée, Crêpe Suzettes and Custard tarts. Who would have thought that the mighty Rishabh Bajaj would find solace in baking? He had secretly watched Prerna kneading the dough for Anurag in the kitchen once. A pang of jealousy had hit him hard at that time. If only she had given him a chance, he would have cooked for her too. All she wanted to know was Mr Bajaj, she barely made an effort to understand the real Rishabh.
The French had left Pondicherry ages ago yet the French girls could be seen all over the beaches.
The muddy deep-brown eyed man with salt and pepper hair, tattooed torso with exotic golden skin was quite popular among the young females. No one knew the indomitable Mr Rishabh Bajaj there. There was a certain lady who wanted to have golden brown-eyed babies with caramel complexion like the meringues he whipped. None appealed Rishabh who himself was confused about his identity. At the beach, Rishabh sipped the last gulp of his whiskey beneath the benign gaze of the stars in that twilight. He read the letter which had arrived just a few days back out of nowhere.
He reread the words teary-eyed.
"Mr Bajaj,
Thank you for sending Kukki here for her summer break. Prem giggles all the time when she plays with him.
I wish Anurag would just look at him once. It has been months, he has stepped in our room. I wish..."
Rishabh's eyes welled up, and heat rose up in his ears. He couldn't read anymore.
The Pondicherry Cottage
The clock had just struck 2:00 a.m now, and he was desperately waiting for the sun to shine and the laundry boy to bring the suit back. He had kept that letter too in his cigar-case carved in buff leather.
He wound the pin of his own gramophone record and muttered over his phone, 'Mr. Mehra, book my tickets, now!"
He kept on humming and spluttered, "Why do you always get fairy tale endings, Mr Basu? I am coming!"
The gramophone record revolving came to a halt, and Rishabh got up from his place to light up his cigar.
Though he had decided to let the chips fall as they may yet in the flying embers and between the intense rings of smoke, his anguished face became more explicit, and his sinister eyes darker.
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Please listen to this song while reading the piece. I hope it matches up to PreRish.
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