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| On the banks of Peacock Lake... |
LimeStone,
Peacock lake bank,
University of Hyderabad,
GachiBowli, Hyderabad
To
Jaykrishnan CA
Times
Dear Jay,
I am a lime stone. Shahabad variety.
Born and brought up here as my address specifies. I have seen few
centuries.. The oldest of this area. The tallest of natural stones of the
campus. Not like the red bricks, juvenile,
which body the campus building.
I am now corroding due to the acidic rains of
last scanty monsoon. I have a story to tell you. I tried to tell the many
lovers who used to sit on me, share their amorphous, and tempestuous love for
each other. They never noticed me. It’s
my story, through your day Jay.. You may say I am antediluvian and avoid me.
But my Bio is replayed again with you Jay..I hope you can come out of this
vicious circle..I want you to learn what Abhimanyu didn’t.. Abhimanyu of Great
Mahabharath..
A preternatural talent to
praise of, he could be a surrogate sleeper for all the colleagues working night
shift as sub-editors at “Times”, at times even influencing his 3 year old alarm
to sleep for an extra 24 hours. May be induced by the high dose of Valium, the summer
heat of Hyderabad or the heavy and piercing Moreen fabric of the bed could
hardly infringe his day time slumber till quarter to 6 when he woke up to his
nocturnal blues of monotony.
“Oh!! It’s the day of
Sukoon..”, the annual festival of University of Hyderabad of which he was
supposed to make an article for Sunday Times. Gachi Bowli dawned in him as he
took his tablet even without washing his face. With 2400 acres wide campus
upholding the majesty of a highly scholarly crowd, striving to be the pioneers
of tomorrow, University of Hyderabad had all the pride worth of portraying. Verities’
may vouch the campus being a true representation of India with students hailing
from all 28 states and national territories. So being at Sukoon evokes long
lost patriotism in vibrant shades of India. His thought process was traversing
the right direction articulating and converting to word processor. Abruptly diverting, her smiling face permeated
him; she whose charm and love held him tightly for the last few years like a
noose on a pearl bag of Hyderabad. She was capable of it, as she was a senior,
mature and stable. Emoting traces of jealousy, curiosity or mockery for this
love with senior, onlookers were never a scarcity. She has loosened her grips
to scatter his life like pearls rolling in no direction. “Kash, the Sukoon had
brought some sukoon to my life”, he sighed. He longed to reach the still cool
shades of her life, to perceive the calmness she exuded and to enjoy the safety
of her abode. She never spoke a word to him, she whose skin bore a scar of
their names. She wrote it with a pain so physical which evaporated over time.
But, in his heart it still festered to ooze the gore and pus. “How can she be
so much a lady of “avoidance personified”?”
Well, I don’t know what happened between you and her as it was below
the “Neem” tree with whom I lost connection years back. Today was special; it’s the
anniversary of their break up, a day she said she will be leaving him forever,
last day of his Sukoon.
No. She’s not. She’s still
a good listener, though she never uttered a word. She was not hesitant to
shadow him from the turmoil of his turbulent, boisterous mind, adapting from a
love-lorn boy to a mature single man responsible for his family and a
journalism student to a convincing employee. He worshipped Thursdays, off days
for bestowing him with a chance to embrace her. She succumbed to his trivial
tantrums and provided him a safe haven for unburdening his venal thoughts.
Showing his ID card to
Babji standing at the security gate, he flashed a customary smile and rode
impatiently to the 4th street inside the campus to reach her,
heeding no attention to Babji who was saying something indecipherable. She was standing
there in dark, watching him as he parked his two stroke bike on the side to
embrace her. He stroked her hair, dark in the night; he kissed her with
affection which choked him, the last few minutes of intimacy. He devoured her
with all the passion and intrepidity which the darkness of 4th
street provides. As he lay awake next to her, he ruminated the past interfaces
with her, ridiculing him for arriving at this predicament of leaving her.
She spoke, “Oh my friend,
today I tell you the story of the lime stone who loved me”, her skin wrinkled
to give a vague glimpse of melancholy, something new for him.
Last week, when you sat on
him, he was telling you the story. You never heard him, like you didn’t hear
Babji today.
“How you know Babji was
speaking to me?” He had many questions to ask though he stopped at one. He was
happy that she spoke and upset that she called him a friend and wondered
whether she is telling another love story.
“I can see him from here;
he is still standing at the security gate. I can hear him. He needs some money
for his daughter’s treatment”, she told.
She who was the tallest Neem
tree of the 4th street was speaking to him. She who bore his and his
lover’s name on her bark, her sylvan instincts never cared for the limestone
when she was young, fertile and amoral.
“Just like you, he was
heedless and stubborn. I ignored his unrelenting mind and body. He adhered to
his yearnings and his desires conquered him. He got cursed, stunted mentally
and physically. His progression got truncated and became a limestone. Just like
the Bible says, Lot’s wife who looked back at the sin, or the city of Sodom,
became a pillar of salt. Or like Ramayana says,” Ahalya became a stone when she
sinned”. You are also sinned and cursed my friend. “
“He is still a stone, not
moving in life, but trying desperately to rise above the red bricks art’s school
building to get a peek of me”. He still has his head turned towards me.
She stopped. He looked at
her. He has always seen her verdant leaves, voluptuous branches and fragrant
shadows. Now, with heaping cigarette butts littered around her, dry leaves falling
on the sides, she is no more a blissful angel of the campus. She is just
another withering tree of acid rains, who had seen enough to tell him her
centuries old story, to awaken him from the sleep of blemish. An imperfection
he wore for one long year, ethylating, nicotinizing and lastly hallucinating,
masquerading the victorious master’s degree, campus placement and a plum job.
Wake up Jay.. Its time to
heal..
All the best..
With unprecedented & unrequited love,
Lime Stone of Peacock Lake
Thank you Mr. Shamseer Mambra and Midhun Raj U R,Sub-editor,The Times of India Hyderabad.
