On time! she thought and looked out of the window to see the black on yellow letters reading ‘Nagpur’ slowly come into view. She closed the book she was reading and dumped it in her enormous purse. “So, I am here… ” a sudden panic gripped her. What exactly was she doing here? What was it that had prompted her to act in such an impulsive manner? Nilanjana got up with resolve to go through what she had started out to do.
Hawkers with baskets of bright oranges called out to passengers “ Nagpur ke santare.. meethe raseele”. Nilanjana was transfixed… “Just like nani said” she thought. Ninlanjana ki Nani ki Kahani- NKNKK was quite the Karan Johar kind of potboiler. It had complicated characters, a heart-wrenching story that was fighting another kind of war and was set in a backdrop of grandeur while the rest of the nation was still in turmoil. This was Nilanjana’s favorite bedtime story, told to her by her choti nani. Nani had been a spirited old woman till the day she died 15 days ago.
Now, Nilanjana found herself at Nagpur railway station with a bundle of old love letters, a copy of “A Tale of Two Cities” and a yearning for something she could not quite name. She flipped open her cell phone and decided to call the number that she had traced. It seemed to ring on endlessly… she panicked again.. was this trip of hers all in vain?
“Hello”…. a deep-baritoned young voice answered.
“H..ullo” Nilanjana’s own voice trembled. May I speak with Shri. Teerath Lal Ji.
A short silence followed
Who is this?
Actually…. Well… this is Nilanjana …. Teerath Lal Ji won’t know me, but you can tell him … Ratna’s granddaughter wants to speak to him.
A longer silence followed
Teerath Lal ji passed away 15 days ago.
Nilanjana gasped and stayed on the phone too stunned to speak.
Where are you? Asked the deep-baritoned young voice.
Here, Nagpur, railway station, platform 1 – Nilanjana blurted out.
Platform 1! … so, Ratna told you…..
Yes, said Nilanjana… suddenly tears rolled down her eyes.
Wait there, I’ll come and get you.
But how will I recognize you and how will you know me?
The phone was already disconnected. Nilanjana felt numb. She searched for a place to sit and found a rickety bench next to the orange-wala thela. She wondered whether she should call the number again. “Pal, pal, pal pal, har pal, har pal… kaise katega pal.. har pal” her cellphone rang. It was an unknown number, she picked it up to hear the baritone voice once again.
“Sorry, I was a little flustered earlier.. I never expected to hear from Ratna…”
“Ratna’s granddaughter” corrected Nilanjana.
She could almost hear the voice at the other end smile. “Nilanjana” repeated the voice as if trying to find some meaning in that. There was an awkward pause which was interrupted by the loud and raucous call of the orange-wala… “ Nagpur ke santare.. meethe raseele”.
“So, you are sitting next to the orange-wala?” He asked.
“Yes, just like Teerath Lal ji” said Nilanjana.
“Don’t go away, I’m driving there as we speak, should be there in half an hour” said the voice.
“How will you know me and how will I recognize you?” Nilanjana asked quickly but the phone was already disconnected. She had half a mind to call back but decided against it. She had called Teerath Lal ji’s landline, the one that had taken her around 5 days to trace based on nani’s stories. It was a lot of trouble but amazingly proved people could still be traced without the help of Facebook. As for Mr. Baritone Voice, Nilanjana was sure he had copied her number from the caller ID of the landline.
Nilanjana looked around and tried to imagine how this place might have looked all those years ago when her choti nani, Ratna, first came across Teerath Lal. Ratna was a student of Loretto Convent, Calcutta and was quite a free-bird for her times. After finishing matriculation, Ratna was travelling back home for the mid-term break in August and this time Sr. Sylvia was accompanying her instead of her father. The train had stopped at Nagpur and Ratna remembered that her mother always spoke of famous oranges from Nagpur. Ratna with her two long braids folded in half, Ratna with her dancing eyes, Ratna with her free spirit got down jauntily from the train and walked up to the orange-wala.
“Kaise diye bhaiya, santare?”
“Apke liye sirf barah ane ki tokri” replied the orange-wala.
“Kyon loot-te ho, bhaiya… videshi gaye to aap ne unka kaam le liya kya?”
Ratna had looked in the direction of the voice to see a wheel-chair bound young man with a copy of ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ in his hands.
Ratna asked him “how much should I pay him then?”
“Not more than eight annas,” said the young man.
Ratna proceeded to choose the oranges. She had found the man quite intriguing indeed. That voice commanded respect. Dressed simply in a white kurta and pyjama, he held his head with dignity and pride even in that wheelchair! She wanted to speak to him a little more. That was against all advice she ever received from her mother, but she was Ratna, free-spirited and bold and she would definitely speak with him.
“Where are you going?” Ratna had asked.
The young man had looked up at her half-surprised and half-amused. He smirked “Young lady, no one seems to have advised you on not striking up conversations with strange men.”
Ratna had flipped her braid with one hand and had replied haughtily “I am allergic to advice.” She then had proceeded to ostensibly pay the orange-wala a full “bara-ana” for the basket of oranges.
The young man had laughed… “The advice was free but… if you were so intent on paying the extra 4-annas.. you should have given it to me”
Ratna raised one eyebrow daintily, inspected the young man from top to toe and then looked at the basket of oranges very theatrically, “The oranges are definitely more palatable… so, my 4 annas are well-spent”.
“Rich businessman’s daughter, I see” the young man had said.
“Rich businessman’s daughter” Ratna had raised her dainty nose in affirmation.
The young man had smiled, “Good to see a spirited young lady like yourself, hope you can direct your spirit and energies towards the good of Hindustan.”
Ratna had felt sorry immediately for her haughty behaviour and had decided to make amends by offering one of the oranges to the young man and he had graciously accepted.
“I am waiting for my train to Delhi.” He had said simply.
“Are you going there to hear Nehru speak?” Ratna had asked.
The young man had nodded his head “I want to be a part of history too. I want to see a future full of possibilities. I want to believe that we are eventually going to grow out of all the madness that is going on now,” he had said pensively and then smiled and started peeling the orange… just then ‘splat’ something grey and white had fallen on the peeled orange. Both Ratna and the young man had looked up to see a smug little pigeon looking down at them with a very pleased expression. Ratna had burst into laughter and soon the young man had joined in too.
“Just my luck” the young man had said.
“Don’t curse your luck” Ratna had said and handed him a few more oranges just as the whistle had blown. Ratna rushed back to her seat. The train had started slowly moving as she had reached her window seat. She had seen the young man wheel his wheelchair to her window really fast and stretch his hand to give her the book he was reading.
“To keep you company” he had said.
She had opened the book and found his name and address written on the first page. Teerath Lal. So that is what his name was, she had smiled. She had finished reading “A Tale of Two Cities” by the time she reached Mumbai and also somehow memorized his address.
Mumbai too was abuzz with the chaos of partition and Ratna’s father’s friends often gathered in their drawing room sipping endless cups of tea and discussing the total mess and what should be done to get around it. Ratna, on the other hand, could only think of Teerath Lal’s words “I want to see a future full of possibilities…” One fine day she had just picked up a pen and paper and written him a letter telling him of her beliefs and wishes for the women of India. A reply had followed shortly and the two and fro traffic of letters had followed at an excited pace. A new story had slowly developed. A story whose protagonists had imprinted their thoughts and ideas into each other’s minds. Ratna had come to know that Teerath Lal had been beaten up badly in the riots just before August and had lost the use of his legs. He was a Maharashtrian Brahmin and she a Bengali merchant’s daughter and even in the times of India’s newfound independence, they were still far from the freedom of exercising their will without something akin to demonstrations, riots and bloodshed.
Teerath Lal had been threatened with dire consequences by Ratna’s brother if he ever wrote to her again, dire consequences that he would never hear from Ratna again. Free-spirited Ratna raging with the fire of love had fought her parents and tried to elope from home at a time when the streets were still burning with hatred of fellow men. She had paid the price and was brought home by her brother who had picked her up from the streets with a battered body and ravaged spirits. Teerath Lal’s letters had stopped for fear that his sweet Ratna’s life was in danger. Ratna, on the other hand had spent days locked in her own room trying to salvage all that she considered precious to her: Her sanity, her belief in a new India and over everything else, her love for Teerath Lal. She had found strength in his old letters to carry on for a lifetime. She had stubbornly never married and had stayed in the out-house of her father’s kothi. She had taught underprivileged children from there and slowly built up her inner strength and regained her spirits. She had seen India grow and slowly take on an outer lustre and become “India Shining”. She had come to be loved by her sister’s and brother’s children and their children. She had never been united with her only love, Teerath Lal, but she had become everybody’s beloved choti nani.
Neelanjana was Ratna’s sister’s daughter’s daughter. Ratna could see a little of herself in Neelanjana, who lived in this emotionally chaotic India of today. She understood Nilanjana’s need for a belief in love, a romantic love that was beyond all reason. It was because of this that Ratna had shared her story with Neelanjana.
“Pal Pal pal, pal, har pal…” Nilanjana’s cell phone rang again, she was woken up from her reverie. It was Mr. Baritone Voice calling. Neelanjana felt a quiver of excitement run down her spine. She took a deep breath and answered.
“Yes, Nilanjana here”
The deep-baritone young voice replied from right behind her, “ Hi, I am Neelesh”.
Neelanjana turned around to see a totally TDH young man standing behind her in a white churidar-kurta looking amazingly dignified. She had been overcome with a sense of deja-vu, she felt she was Ratna and there was Teerath Lal standing right before her.
Neelesh told her that he was the only progeny of Teerath Lal’s adopted son and had inherited almost everything from Teerath Lal, including Ratna’s letters.
Nilanjana blushed and offered him an orange brought from the thela.
They both looked up spontaneously to see a pigeon with a smug expression looking down at them and waiting for an opportune moment.
They both burst into laughter.