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A Date with PriyaThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Dipankar Dasgupta | |
| Thursday, 14 August 2008 | |
 It was a typical winter evening in Kolkata. Velvety and mellow.
Yet Mrinal was sweating. He had been sweating since the previous day. Lovely Priya had promised to visit his home. She was a classmate in college. Mrinal had been staring endlessly at her since college started. Inside as well as outside the college.
Nothing mattered. Except for Priya returning a smile. Except for her shining eyes and her fascinating face.
He had found the courage to visit her home. To try and see her alone. But she lived with a sister and an aunt. He ended up entertaining the ladies with intelligent conversation. But Priya remained a distant dream.
There was no point chatting with her in Coffee House. Too much competition there. A quiet little nook was the call of the day!
Mrinal struggled and finally managed to accomplish the impossible.
'Say, why don't you visit us one of these days?' he uttered as casually as possible, keeping the quiver out of his voice. He was careful to use the word 'us' instead of 'me'. Priya should know that he lived with his parents. There was a moat at least that Mrinal would need to cross even in his own house. But Priya didn't appear to be overly worried.
'Sure. Why don't you draw me a map? I'd love to see your home.'
Mrinal wrote down the address and drew the map, ensuring that his nervous fingers didn't reveal instead the way into the hidden recess of his mind.
He bought two tickets for his parents to watch the latest Uttam Kumar movie. It was a craze and he knew they would love the trip.
'I never buy you presents,' he told his mom. 'It's always the other way round,' he said smiling. 'This time I pay and you enjoy. See? I am not the spendthrift you believe me to be. I saved this money out of my income from the tuitions I give.'
The elderly couple found it hard to hide their tears of joy and by quarter past five in the afternoon, he had managed to pack them off. And then he waited, heart thumping.
Would she keep her word? He did not have enough confidence in himself to expect the impossible to happen. But it did. The door bell rang and she waited there as gorgeous as ever, in a cream coloured silk saree and a soft grey cardigan. She wore no jewellery, but the warmth of her smile compensated.
He welcomed her into the empty house. She didn't ask questions, but she looked around the living room expecting a voice or two from adjacent rooms. Nothing but silence greeted her. If she was surprised, she hid her reaction with ease.
Mrinal was well prepared. He had a recording of a Royal Shakespeare Company production and he asked her if she would care to listen to some of the greatest actors from England.
'Which play?' she asked.
'You guess,' said he in response and then turned on the player. In tune with a soft piano in the background, a young man's voice said:
'Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?'
And a woman's charming voice whispered back:
'But to be frank, and give it thee again. ... My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. ...'
Mrinal moved to a chair next to her. He knew it would be too melodramatic to tell her it was Romeo and Juliet that was playing. He leaned towards her instead and asked, 'Do you recognize the play?'
She frowned, trying to figure out. Mrinal didn't know if she knew, but it was immaterial. The sensuous melody of the piano said all he wanted to say. He shifted closer. The perfume she wore reached out to him. She adjusted her saree across her left shoulder as she sat more cosily in her chair. The silk rustled, touching Mrinal's hand for a brief second.
Silence reigned supreme as Priya turned sideways and smiled at Mrinal. The frown had disappeared. Her hands lay placidly on her lap.
'Is this an invitation,' Mrinal thought.
His hand inched closer in her direction when a harsh noise disturbed the scene.
The doorbell!
Mrinal almost jumped in alarm. It was too early for his parents to return. He waited, struggling not to lose his composure, when the bell rang again.
'Oh s***!' he said silently, as he gnashed his teeth and went over to answer the door. An aunt, this time Mrinal's, stood there with her teenage daughter. They were regular visitors and did not need to keep anyone informed about their visits. Without waiting to be invited in, they came and crashed on a couch. And then, noticing Priya, they stared at her curiously for a while.
'Where's your mother,' asked the aunt, suspicion plainly written on her face.
Mrinal stammered 'They have gone to see a movie ...'
It was a bombshell. The aunt and her daughter immediately transferred their attention to Priya, studying her with deep attention now.
Priya stood up. She was obviously uncomfortable. 'It's getting late,' she smiled politely. 'Can you please give me the book I came for?'
For a second, Mrinal was dumbfounded. 'Book?' he asked and then understanding dawned. Priya may not have known Romeo and Juliet by heart, but she certainly had better presence of mind than Mrinal.
'Oh yes, the book ...' Mrinal disappeared inside the house and came out with a copy of David Ricardo's Principles of Political Economy and handed it over to Priya. She looked at the book and her eyes twinkled. She was not an Economics major!
'Thanks a lot,' she said and disappeared through the front door into the foggy darkness of the Kolkata winter. Mrinal, swearing under his breath, came back and sat down to entertain the guests.
They conversed idly for a while, Mrinal keeping up the show in monosyllables. The aunt and the cousin were bored soon and decided to leave. But Mrinal knew that Priya was now at least halfway back to her home.
He recalled the aunt at Priya's home and shook his head violently. 'Pretty little aunts, do you know what damage you've caused?' he yelled in loud despair.
Something like a reply greeted him from the corner of the empty room. He stared at the audio player with vicious but impotent rage. It was still on.
The play had progressed in the meantime he realized, for he heard a dying Mercutio deliver his immortal line:
'Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, it's enough.'
Copyright 2008 Dipankar Dasgupta |
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 22 August 2008 ) |
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