LEELA, RAVI and THE END

PART 1: Leela

Leela adjusted the excess Kohl escaping from her lower eyelid with her fingertip. She batted her eyes and peered into the mirror, hung by her shut bedroom window, her face a kiss away from it. She carefully arranged strands of hair across her temple into disarray and rearranged them after stepping back to look at it. Even though she was trying to be who she was not today, she still preferred careless attraction to calculated appeal and even looking at herself in such detail bordered on the latter for her. She applied some lip gloss for extra shimmer and measured how to wear a pout. The colour in her cheeks was unnatural, warming up her copper skin to a rust. The other girls at college wore makeup all the time but Leela rarely did. There had been a many firsts for Leela lately and if things went as per her plan today there would be a lot more.

She had not wanted to step out of the shadows before. But now there was a push from inside, forces she could not control commanding her to do their bidding. She had put on a blouse under her sari that pushed up and revealed a lot of her bosom. She had got this blouse tailor made, shuffling her feet and nervously hiding her face beneath a veil of her long hair while the tailor had taken measurements. The tailor was 5 train stations away and not the one she usually went to, lest her mother should find out. She had picked today as the day for her deed as her mother had gone out of town. Leela stepped back from the mirror. “Nice”, she thought but missing some of the magic they called oomph. She slowly slipped the sari off her right shoulder and watched the chiffon slide. The plunge she saw sent shivers down her spine, her hands stammering to find the sari and bring it up again while her eyes darted across the room in fear that there might have been a witness to her obscene act. She sat down, calming herself.

Ever since Ravi had moved into the apartment above, Leela had felt like a woman. On fire.

Leela considered herself neither appealing nor revolting. Just plain. She was born when the stars were aligned to mediocrity. She was neither called on for beauty or personality contests at her college, nor was she caricatured on blackboards and bathroom walls. She was mostly unheeded. She knew she had beautiful eyes that rescued her otherwise common looks from complete anonymity. And she knew she had a bounce in her long black hair which would have been best complimented by a spring in her feet. But she was just not good at putting herself in the spotlight. Before long, her parents would fix her up with a nice man who would be as plain as the walls like she was, call it a match made in heaven, and she would never experience the rush of youth and romance. Since high school, Leela had spent many hours in her classroom looking at the popular pretty girls and hardly ever found anything very special about them. Finally in college, she had realised that it is not who they are, it is what they do and who they want to be. A few months away from graduating and she had did not know how to translate this realisation into action for herself or even if she wanted to, until Ravi came along.

Leela realised she had to make the choice to attract. With only her walls watching, she started trying to be like the other girls and pretend to be uncommon; slant her head the way Blossom does, always standing tall or picking a point of elevation to address her coterie; or smile coquettishly with her eyes like Sabina and talk with phony innocence; or wear disdain on her face like Sandy- Sandhya really- did while snootily appraising a teacher’s choice of attire.
Ravi had moved in two months ago and been a catalyst to her turmoil and the ensuing change. Leela stood on her balcony one morning drying and unknotting her hair when she saw him offload his trunks and suitcases from the taxi carriage. She had felt dizzy as her eyes zeroed in on him. He was simply the most attractive person she had ever seen. Her mouth had gone dry and she had to hold on to the railing as her heartbeat threw her off-balance. And then she day-dreamed about him every day; she ran her fingertips over his eyebrows, ran her fingers through his hair resting her palms to envelope his ears, and outlined the broadness of his shoulders with her scrutiny. She lay awake at nights knowing he was possibly just over her at that very moment except for many feet of space and cement.

But Ravi never noticed her. She had seen him nod at the other neighbours, even spoke to young ladies in the elevators but she knew she was invisible to him. Women swooned all around him and presented themselves to him with great fanfare.

Eventually, she decided it was time to make herself seen. He was no schoolboy. A young man like him, who could pick anyone he wanted with just a twitch of his fingers, needed a young woman who could offer him the world and she decided she would. She resolved she would make herself irresistible. That was when she had boarded the train to the tailor five stations and a world away.

It was time. Leela collected her bags, waved goodbye to her dad behind the dailies and shuffled out pretending to be all together. As if she had a fresh coat of paint on, the skin on her chest shivered from the air they had never felt before, through the chiffon. It was also Leela’s nerves. It was 8:20 and she knew she would very soon hear Ravi lock up upstairs. The open air staircases and corridors made it possible to not only hear all happenings but also to be seen by neighbours in the adjoining block craning their neck to hang sheets out to dry, or to water flower pots that hung on threateningly to pot rings strapped reluctantly to balcony walls or window ledges, or just by those who possessed curious eyes. So while she stood there for two long minutes or so waiting to hear Ravi lock up upstairs, she looked through messages on her cell phone, not really reading any.

Then Ravi clanked the grill outside his door shut and latched it. Leela threw her cell phone into her bag, waited 10 seconds for him to press the lift button and then did the same timing the lift perfectly. And while she held her belongings securely to her side, and hoped she would be alone with him in the lift for once to draw him in with her eyes unashamedly unwatched, she found her hands doing that which she would never have dared. She unhinged her sari from her left shoulders and allowed the folds to fall on her arm stretched across her abdomen. The lift had commenced its stop on her floor leaving time only enough for her to bring her fever to a boil and to borrow some confidence from air.

PART 2: RAVI

For most of Ravi’s 24 years, he got a lot of attention from women. Even as a very young child, teachers deliberated on his retribution or reward a little longer than the situation demanded. The aunties of the neighbourhood always stopped to enquire about his studies and commented on how emaciated he was getting while pinching his cheeks pretending to measure his fat. While there was a sure charm about him, he wore it with much humility and grace. At first he attributed the goodwill he received to his pleasing manners and industry rather than his looks. Ravi had always been a focussed child who understood the meaning of a goal and set his standards very high. This made him a darling of the grown-ups whose search for a model child, to showcase for their own children, stopped with him.

As he grew into a teenager, his charm ripened into a spell and though it was not his intention, girls around him were ever caught in a bad case of trance. Ravi realised this and did not like it. He did not want to be judged on his looks even if the verdict was in his favour. He picked modest cloths, sported basic haircuts, counted his toes as he walked and avoided any place that had too many girls. He rarely discussed girls with the boys as they would do little to hide their envy. “Things are too easy for you Ravi. You will never know what it is like to be one of us ordinary folk”, they would say. After a while Ravi stopped explaining that he did not really want things that way, for they would only roll their eyes and shrug their shoulders dismissing his plea as something he put on to make them fell a little less sorry for themselves.

But Ravi was no stone. Sometimes when he went out for a stroll to clear his head, and when the late night breeze would stroke his face, he could almost feel it also stir her long hair. He could then feel her holding his hands, warming the insides of his moist palm. He would watch her feet taking each step with his. Sometimes when he was in need of rest and repair from the mundane trials of life, he could feel her hands on his temple humbling a swollen vein. Sometimes after his morning meditations, he would feel her joining him in prayer, finally opening her deep eyes to him, inviting him home. Where was she? He knew she was out there.... somewhere. Who was she?

Ravi was in search of true love.

When he saw Leela for the first time, it was from inside his taxi as it pulled into the driveway of the colony he was moving into. Leela was airing her hair to dry in her balcony and as she turned her head around to catch the sunlight and breeze in her hair, Ravi realised the girl who walked by his side when he went out for a stroll on lonesome nights was faceless no more. The bustle of getting his luggage off and paying the driver had distracted him and she had left when he looked up again. It was not until few days later that he saw her again. Since then, he had slowly allowed her image to invade and take over his private moments.

He had learnt from his landlady, that Mr and Mrs Patil lived downstairs just a floor below his and their daughter, Leela went to college nearby; she would graduate in a couple of months. Such a gem of a girl, she had said. “Not like the tramps you find these days!”, she said, her hands symbolically waving and pushing away the air as if the tramps were strutting in front of her eyes at that very moment.

Ravi could not agree with her more. Ever since he had moved in, as if dictated by law, the young ladies and not-so-young aunties threw more than glances and smiles at him. From his perspective, the world had always been filled with those who saw him for what he looked like. Only Leela never looked at him. Perhaps, she will know me for who I am, he thought smiling in relief that he had finally met the One.

“Leela is the One”, he found himself saying aloud once and had celebrated his acknowledgement. Surely, she needs to know me and how she makes me feel. Perhaps, she thinks the same way. Perhaps those deep eyes which draw me in think of me. But what if she never noticed me, he thought in alarm, experiencing for the first time what the boys back in his hometown had tried to explain to him. Ravi felt like a novice and the thrill of vulnerability flowed through him along with all this love. He resolved that he would make her his.

So while Leela was planning a rendez-vous with Ravi , unknown to her, Ravi wrote her a poem:
Days and nights you have been with me,
a faceless angel of mystery.
Now after years of search and agony,
in you I found my beloved - my destiny.
Will you be mine, Leela?
Eternally Yours, Ravi.

“I will give this to Leela tomorrow”, he decided ecstatic about the poem he had written and doors it would open for him. He would meet her, hopefully in the lift on her way to college and holding her gaze he planned to give her the envelope with the poem. No doubt, she would be too shocked and shy and find him intrusive but he would persuade her. “I must try”, he thought as he slipped into his sheets.

PART 3: THE END

The next morning, Ravi was up early. He turned around and gazed at the floor and pictured her in her sleep below the mosaic and concrete and said aloud, “You will be mine today Leela and I will be yours”. This would be the day.

For the first time, Ravi looked at himself in the mirror from many angles and also practiced looking straight at her with as much subtlety and deference as he could. Would she look beyond all this and stay with him through it all till the end? Self-doubt walked in hand-in-hand with nervousness. He meditated a few extra minutes that morning to gain some composure. Finally he was ready to go, his satchel thrown over his left shoulder and the envelope in his right palm, secure.

Ravi latched the gate to his apartment and pressed the lift button. When the lift door opened one

floor below, Ravi was prepared with a smile. Soon it melted away. It was not his Leela who walked in. It was a demon with lust in her eyes, her cloths providing no modesty and her lips dripping hunger. She looked at him, pinned him to the corner abandoning her college bag to the floor and took his lips in hers. Her left leg was riding up Ravi’s and tying him to the spot. He allowed her to be done with her beastly act. He then quietly created space between them with his arm not wanting to touch the creature with his hands. Brows knotted, lips curled in disgust, Ravi stared at her breathless face ugly over her dishevelled sari which she had started drawing up. He pictured himself alone again on a moonless, barren night, Leela consigned to the legion of vacant women.

“Disgusting. You taste like cardboard”, he spat and walked away throwing the poem in the garbage can on his way out of the lift.

There is no place like home. Where is it?

PAST
On most days in Cincinnati, I could hear the calm, broken by small sounds that arrive one by one, each one waiting its turn to the ear, with no urgency. The soft not-so-distant whirr on summer Wednesdays would be Mr.Whitman’s lawn mower. On Thursday evenings it would most indisputably be, Ms. Eve’s from next door.

On summer evenings I could also hear the sprinklers showering gently on neighbourhood lawns, un-parching cracked veins under the apple trees. Children would squeal as they ran in and out of the sprinkler drizzle and only the occasional chime of the ice cream truck could get them away from the water theme park in their very front yards. On moonless nights, I often strolled along the streets watching stars or just sat in my backyard and sipped in cool lemon tea as the bejewelled skies revealed itself, one star at a time. And then I would hear Ms.Eve’s chime which hung out from the awning of her sunroom, and it would lullaby me to sleep.
In the wee hours of the morning, I would sometimes hear crackles of twig just under my upper storey bedroom window and I would tiptoe in a hurry to view deer reach up to the leaves of the magnolia tree.

I would sit for long hours watching, peering out from the dining room window and see the cars go by. Unfailing every season, the window set the stage and performers danced in and out. The same comforting interlude. Cincinnati taught me to breathe. One breath at a time, with no commotion. My house was by the Stop sign and every car stopped religiously at its altar. Some would roll as if out of obligation, the others would stop like their lives depended on it. The pause in between cars would give me adequate time to fix my cup of chamomile. And one by one, I would watch cars-big and small, rich and broke: trucks- trudging carriages of lawn care equipment or tree trimmings; and the occasional cyclist, go by.

I would not need to look at the clock, marking time with events unfolding instead. The mailman never failing to make his rounds across the streets just before noon. When he made it to my mailbox along his designated route, I knew that it was around 3:00 and the entourage of school buses would soon start. First the bus to drop off the kindergarteners would stop across the street, engines still purring on. It would blink its innumerable red lights and fold out its stop sign reminding any vehicle passing by to wait. The driver would only leave after each child was in his mother’s arms and waved goodbye back at the bus. The torrent of buses- preschool, primary, middle, high school- would continue for the next hour or so in periodic ebbs and flows. Clockwork.

And then there was the snow. Freezing the landscape. The small but sure footprints of deer, front and hind, after snow, would tell me how many came by the previous night. Some prints with shorter strides for babies following the mothers around. Some prints further apart with portions of snow gorged out around each impression for a deer that ran across in fear of a headlight, perhaps.

So on cold nights after I would shovel snow off the driveway, I would sometimes look around at the stillness with the only movement coming from smoking chimneys all along the street and the occasional breeze shaking snow off leafless branches. I would then draw down the garage door and retire inside and curl up in front of the fireplace with some hot chocolate. After locking up beautiful moments in a place in my heart, a place I knew not before that I had, I would make a pact of peace with the universe in gratitude and wonder what all the fighting is about.

PRESENT
Even from atop the 24th floor, I hear the noise of Singapore unceasing - layer upon layer of complex decibels wanting to be unpeeled. The sharpest clank coming from the construction site across the main entrance to my building- cranes splattering metal on metal. The unmistakable sound of drilling machines echoing from various construction sites is an integral part of the soundscape here. The screech of vehicles, braking suddenly rises from streets and lanes crisscrossing below. The screams of inspiration and instructions from tennis coaches thrown at young talents at the courts many feet below floats up to my balcony. The only respite from it all comes from dark clouds clapping loud thunder, a noise to drown out all hollers and cries.

The nights provide no escape. Motorbikes whiz through streets, simmering rich with activity as they pierce their way into my shallow slumber. I wake-up and look out the window but the night sky above provides no drama, staring blankly down accusing the city below of stealing the spotlight.

Every day-break, for just a while, there is a radiant veil of quite until the cycle starts again. The lift takes me down and I brave the street crossings. People splash around me purposefully, knowing exactly where they want to go. Soon I know, I will learn to get point to point, not trying to catch anyone’s eyes, not trying to greet them with Cincinnati’s customary “How are you?!” for I am begin to realize that faces are blank when they are lost in thoughts, plans and destinations. Brightly lit shops, peopled by eyes that want my attention, hawk their wares at me intrusively. No one else seems to mind.

I board the train after waiting behind the yellow line for just a few minutes, rubbing shoulders with strangers as I scramble to hold the only available strap hanging from the compartment roofs for balance, as announcements filter through- words in languages, known and unknown. I emerge from the train stations and rush onto the escalators that fasten my pace, unforgiving of my sloth, un-accepting of my desire to be a spectator as I walk. At first, frightful of the multitude of ways I could indulge my needs and pamper myself, I allow myself a foot massage and slurp some coconut water only just beginning to learn to ignore people around me. To find my sanctuary.

The warm air that thawed my bones when I got here from Cincinnati’s winter is beginning to embalm me and take me into its arms. Soon, I shall learn to rest to the rhythm of the clanking cranes, to the beat of the honking cars and then find myself in this sea of humanity. This hiss of the hoard below, alarming now from my balcony, will one day, I know, welcome me into comfortable anonymity. Not yet, but soon, I shall renew my pact of peace with the universe once again, for this too shall be home.

Statistically speaking, a large enough group isn't Normal unless some of them are Abnormal.

Dora

I hate Dora. Let me be very honest in my own blog. I read three books of Dora and one book of Strawberry shortcake this morning to a very happy Sneha and indisputably, Dora takes the shortcake and wins. This is why I hate her.

What kind of kid has eyes so big that you look into them for a while, and you cannot not look into them when you read her book, and sure enough a slight deep unreachable ache starts somewhere between the two eyebrows and magnifies as you go from one book to the other. It hurts to resist hypnosis tricks.

What kind of kid has a monkey, a backpack and a map for a friend? Now if she took the school bus with your child in the morning, would you not make a special note to the bus people that your child is allergic to monkeys so please keep her far away from the freaky girl?

What kind of kid is so clear in her head about what we "got" to do! When Sneha starts instructing her playmates in the playground every evening about how they "got" to hold the ball and how they "got" to throw it, very soon they push her away and start playing on their own. Wait a minute! This explains why the monkey is her best friend.

What kind of kid has a voice like that ,that could silence everyone else! If we had her in our household, would we not lock her up in a room and shut her up? Or perhaps, the kind hearted would at least take her to voice modulation or speech therapy classes.

What kind of kid lives in a town where the school is beyond a spooky forest and library is a boat ride away and oh! there are crocodiles in the river.

And why does she always have to go to three places before she gets anywhere and is this not all so predictable and repetitive? What's that? That is how kids learn you say? You mean by repeating the formats again and again. Well.... I don't mind at all if that is how Sneha has to learn about the 3 dangers in the world she has to fight to get to what she wants before Swiper the Fox but these books have to come with a pack of aspirin!!

My creative journey

My creative journey
One that will show me more
Torment me into joy
Sigh with me in relief
Sooth flaming skin with drizzles
Punctuate meaning into tattered moments

Push astray stubborn strands to clear my forehead
Put in place plans to welcome calm night falls
Take me by my little finger
And tuck me into deep slumber