Crush(ed)
As I pedaled leisurely down the bend, I was not concentrating on the road. I was looking at the house that stood on my right side, a couple of blocks away. I looked in anticipation, but I felt a sad pang. I couldn’t find what I was so eager to see. I had pedaled right in front of the two-storied house. I was almost staring into the balcony, oblivious to the other cyclists and occasional vehicles that whizzed past. My heart sank as I was just crossing the house and then my heart skipped a beat and did the salsa.
There is no age to fall in love. Who else would believe this more than me? For, I fell in love when I was 12 years old. An awkward adolescent, with baby fat, tanned skin, big black eyes, long unmanageable hair, almost always fashioned in plaits, and adorned in home-stitched clothes, I was not a very pretty girl. But then twelve year olds are not supposed to be pretty. They can be coy or playful, they ought to be chubby and they can get away with their tanned skin and oiled plaits by being good in studies or sports and they don’t need to worry about fashionable dresses, till they are neat and cute. Even I was not worried about looks or dresses, till sometime, but then suddenly I fell in love and vanity struck me on the head.
Love. The very word didn’t fit in the life of a pre-teen. It is alright to fall in love when you are in high school, but it seemed I had just run too early in my life, into forbidden grounds and was taken prisoner by Cupid, at the first instance. When I look back and try to decipher and even shun away my feelings as infatuation, I realize, it was really love, for what else could be so pure and yet so painful. Years have gone back, many lovers have come and gone, many times the heart broken and mended, and yet the hurt and the flush of the first love gives the heart solace. The heart is meant to love and its solace can lie only in truly loving, and then believing, and then continuing to hope.
Sanjay got out of the Ambassador and accosted the three Singh children, as they alighted out of the bus. I had already got down and was looking for Papa but couldn’t see him anywhere. Sheetal, two years younger to me, asked, “Uncle, hasn’t come?”
I said, “No, seems he is late. I will wait for him at the fruit shop.”
Siddhartha, who had gone to keep his school bag in the car, came back running to me, as the school bus pulled away. He panted, “Sanjay Chacha says that your Mummy has asked you to come with us, as your Papa had to stay back for a meeting.”
Sanjay, was with us in nearly two big steps – Oh! My God, he was so handsome, so tall, so much in control.
He looked at me and said, “Hi Ananya, you can come with us.”
I should have been scared, awry of a stranger, but I was dumbfounded. I was struck, by Cupid! I looked at Sanjay wide eyed and almost squirmed in my skin as he took my school bag from my back. I suddenly became aware of my sweaty face, sun tanned look, my unfurled plait, and after-school summer stink. I almost moved away from him, and Sanjay looked at me amused, “Why! Are you scared? Come on, you will be home in another 15 minutes.”
I looked up at him – how he towered over me – and I followed the chattering jing-bang quietly into the car. I took the back seat, and I looked at Sanjay sneakily, as he took his place at the steering wheel. I did not want to reach home in fifteen minutes, not even fifteen months, maybe fifteen years would suffice.
I heard every word he said, sapped in each move, each gesture, and I drowned myself in his gleeful banter, as he spoke to us.
“Does Ananya always remain so quiet? I thought you said she was the “extempore queen” of junior school.”
My heart fell into my lap, as I heard Sanjay take my name and playfully enquire from Sheetal as to why I was so quiet.
“Maybe she is scared of you,” Sheetal nudged me as she answered Sanjay’s questions.
I smiled and could only say, “No, no, I am not scared.”
“So, which class are you in?”
I was ashamed; I wanted to say I am in high school. But I heard myself say, “I am going to go to class VII.”
“Wow! You are a big girl.”
I was so happy. I picked up my heart from my lap and quietly placed it inside. I also placed Sanjay inside my heart.
As Sanjay pulled up in front of my house, I picked up my bag and said Thank you. I should have said, thank you, Bhaiya, as is the Indian custom. But I knowingly, didn’t give him the title. He wasn’t my big brother – he was my first love. That afternoon, I gobbled down my lunch, didn’t take my afternoon nap and finished my homework in the wink of an eye. I had some other plans for the evening. At 6:00 pm, I asked my parents permission to go to the Singh residence to play. Mummy was reluctant and asked me to study. I said I have already finished my homework. After much hankering and Papa’s interference, I was given one-hour playtime. I was nearly in tears when Mummy had said no, but now I pranced happily out, straight to Sanjay’s house.
Sheetal and her brothers came out to meet me, and were discussing what game to play. I was least interested. I wanted to see Sanjay. I wanted him to see me, all clean and fresh, in my pretty pink dress.
“And where is your Chacha.” I asked Sheetal. I knowingly didn’t say Sanjay Bhaiya.
“He is sitting inside.”
I picked up the message and immediately said, “Let’s go in and play Ludo, as it is very hot outside.”
Since, I was the oldest of the three kids and I also didn’t get to join them very frequently for evening playtime, they agreed to the idea and we went inside.
There I was standing face to face with Sanjay, who was checking out some music cassettes.
Samrat asked him, “Chachu, do you want to play Ludo.”
Sanjay replied in the affirmative. He played the songs of a recent Hindi movie and sat down on the carpet, where we had set up our Ludo board. I was at my best behavior and I sat next to him and I hoped that I would win the game so that I could impress him. My mind kept on going to the lyrics of the songs that played in the background. Each romantic line sounded meaningful, the soft music filled the ambience and I thought that I saw Sanjay looking at me and trying to talk to me. That evening was one of the most beautiful evenings of my life and for the next year, my life revolved around only one aim – how to meet him, how to see him, how to talk to him, and how to let him know that I loved him.
Life became blissful. I was in love and I had an object of affection. In my childlike mind games I gave Sanjay the lead role. I always imagined being with him and I talked to him when I was alone, he was in my thoughts, and I dreamt of him. I told him all my woes and I told him all my troubles. I cried into his lap, when someone hurt me, when the teacher or the parents scolded me, when I failed to get into the basketball team, or when I found Sanskrit too difficult. I dedicated all my good marks to him and I dedicated all my trophies in school competitions to him. The fact was I actually never spoke to him; I just let my mind weave wonderful moments of sharing and togetherness. The fact was he never actually noticed me. The fact was he was nearly twelve years my senior and he was in college and he had a world of his own. I was just another child.
But he was my hero, he was my idol, he was what my heart craved for. There were days too many when I would not see him and yet each day I would wake up with anticipation and I would go to bed with hope. Each new day, meant a possible new opportunity to see him. I would sit by the drawing room window, on rainy days, when he would play football in the light drizzle in the colony playground. As he ran through the puddle filled fields, maneuvering the ball to the goal, for me, he became the world’s best football player. My heart ached mercilessly when he fell on the ground, all muddy and wet, and rolled over on his stomach, when kicked by an opponent’s heel. How I wish I could have rushed out and helped him and nursed the bruise on his elbow.
As the Gulmohar trees started shedding their red flowers and the autumn auburn filled the evenings, I was allowed to cycle around the park, with other children. I would be least interested in cycling and I would park my cycle and sit on it, to see his sweaty facing glowing against the yellow bulb of the Badminton court, where he enjoyed each serve. I almost prayed for his victory and for me he had won the world cup whenever he won a half-an-hour long fun match. And I would almost die of pleasure, when he would lend his racquet to me and teach me how to serve. I thought he was doing this especially for me, because he loved me too.
My love was a secret. Only I knew it. Even then the child’s heart within me knew that feelings of love, at my age were taboo. I couldn’t share my elation, my pride, my fears and my love with anyone. And I didn’t want to share it with anyone, other than Sanjay. I would imagine how we would someday declare our love for each other and spend time with each other, eat ice-cream together, listen to songs, watch movies, play Ludo and Badminton and how I would one day become a part of the Singh family. I was neither aware of the intricacies of it all nor did I give it a thought. And, never did I doubt that we would not be together, until that day….
I was too young to have a broken heart. But not only was my heart broken, it was shattered, when it was dropped from a height. That fateful day, Sanjay came to our house. I sneaked into the drawing room, as Papa sat with him and asked him regular questions. I coyly sat next to Papa, savoring each moment of his presence in my house and listening to each word Papa said to him. Papa was being nice to him and I liked it. My heart of course was pounding like an engine and I was on seventh heaven of delight. Sanjay had come to visit us and I saw it as a great sign. Maybe he wanted to see me; maybe he had come only for me, since we hadn’t seen each other for quite some time. Sheetal had told me that he had gone to Nepal for some work.
“Uncle, I am getting married. The marriage is one week from now. Please do come with Aunty and Ananya.”
What, did I hear it right? He said marriage. Whose marriage? My heart was drumming fiercely in my ear and I could not hear what Papa was saying and now what Sanjay was saying to him. He extended a wedding invitation. Papa took it and I almost snatched it away from Papa’s hand. “
“Sanjay weds Nitya”
I looked at him. He looked so fresh, so happy, as he spoke to Papa and then he got up to take leave. He looked at me and said, “Do come with Uncle and Aunty. There will be lots of ice cream.” I tried to smile at him. Papa accosted him to the door. I turned the wedding invitation in my hand, and I toyed with it and then suddenly a tear, dewy and white, fell onto it. I wiped it away and took the card to Mummy and gave it to her, “Sanjay Bhaiya, is getting married.”
We did go to the wedding. Mummy stitched a beautiful blue silk dress for me and I let my long hair open. But it broke my heart to see Sanjay in his wedding suit, standing tall with his pretty wife. I did not share my secret love with anybody and now I couldn’t share my secret pain. They said love grows stale and pain subsides. Neither did my love, nor did my pain grow less with years. It was my first love and for years after wards, the shadows and the memories lingered. I still dream of him and I still wonder if he really never knew my love for him. Maybe, he did and maybe across the distance, he still thinks of me!
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