Memory takes me to the ten furlong long metalled road that
stretches from the college gate to his house. We were done with the last exam
of the sixth semester. A local bus strike and I decided to stay with him. On
the way back, he was admiring everything that he saw, from the setting sun to
the chirping birds. Saffron hue in the
sky always reminded me of our Physics teacher who explained the theory of
scattering. She wasn’t beautiful, hence the setting sun. Soon we reached his
house and exchanged formal greetings with his parents, after which he took me
to his room in the upstairs. We talked about something; some (fateful) sentence
of mine lit a bulb(rather burst a ladoo) on his head. He quickly opened one of
the runners of the side table of the bed on which we sat. He opened a black folder and showed me all
the greeting cards he was gifted with, sorted in the chronological order. The
first one dated a decade back. He
flipped through one by one and told me how much important it was to him and how
he felt when he received those; spending approximately 10 minutes on each card.
For the first time in last half an hour, he looked at me and I was in that
phase of yawn, when the second one starts before the first finishes, giving way
to a deadlock of yawns. I could see a rainbow on his eyes…again theory of
splitting of white light as it passed through my filled eyes, as a by result of
persistent yawning. But that didn’t deter him. He took out one from in between
and told me that it was the most valuable among all the other cards. And he
tossed it on to the bed. And my eyes were fixed on price above the barcode.
‘Indeed its, Rs.275’ I muttered before I realized that it was the value of the
sentiments behind them that he meant. To compensate for which I showed some (fake)
interest to go through the rest of the cards. Yawns were now like sea waves,
one after another. Hours went by, and we were off to sleep.
Early morning 8 o’clock and I woke up to some nasty sound of
some bird. I did not find him next to me. As I got up, I found him holding on
to the window grill staring to the paddy fields that extended till the horizon.
“How do you feel when you wake up to the innocent chirps?” he asked with a
spark in his eyes. “That’s a feeling
beyond words..” I replied meaning what I said. “See the winds and the blades of
paddy waving..” Shut…I entered the bathroom. Two more hours and the first bus to
my place would start from the nearest bus stop. To escape from the second
episode of the greeting card story, I meticulously planned to go to Chaaru’s(one
of our mutual friends in the college) house which was less than half a kilometer
from his. Had the breakfast and we were there. ”So, what did you do yesterday.”
The question I dint want to answer and he picked it up.”Well, we went through all
the greeting cards that I had and so on..”. “Wow!! You too keep them all.” The
vibe when two apostles of greeting card safe keeping meet is extra linguistic.
She quickly went inside and came out with a black folder (I seriously doubt what
has the black color to do with greeting cards ?) Now it was her turn to through
the chapter of sentiments and my friend etching everything that she said and in
between for a change he shared his stories to which she listened. Like a
spectator of tennis match, I kept swinging my head. Time showed a little mercy, and said “I need
to go”. I told him that I will go from there and that he can spent time with
her. He was more than happy to stay there and resume the give and take story.
On the way back home, in the bus, I introspected and realized that I don’t belong
to people of my age group. As the bus moved, I framed an action plan to become
more sentimental. As soon as I reached home, I collected 3 greeting cards, (2
of which laid under my bed which otherwise it would have been in the dust bin,
given my mom’s respect for sentiments) and one inside the semester old, yet
pristine “Analog communications” textbook. Next task was to get a black folder
and I found a battered one. I dusted them to look new and in short time, it
looked. I care fully placed the cards inside it and vouched to myself to
respect sentiments sent through greeting cards.
Now I too have a collection which I can show when they come to my house.
Six months later :
One of those days in the year before the local festival,
when we sell the once-up-on-a-time used and now good-for-nothing things. My mom
segregated the items and I was the porter. Last but not the least were bundles
of newspapers. “Take this too” and I saw the black folder flying in air and land
with a dull thump on to the left pan of the balance and accounted for 100 more
grams. And my mom came out of the front
door. It took me a minute to realize that the folder that lay on the balance,
for which the bargain would begin soon was the testimony of my sentiments. Adrenaline
rushed through my veins, for undermining my sentiments. “Do you know the value
of that ?” I yelled loud enough for the vendor to drop the balance from his
hands and for my dad to take his eyes from the newspaper. A casual “what are
you taking about” question pounced on me. “The one that you just threw out. Did
you check what’s inside that ?” “Yes, it looked like some…” . “Oh!! So you knew
and then you flicked it in air?” I couldn’t’ help being one of the theatrical
actors. Father interrupted the scene. And he took my side “To know the value of
this, you should at least be a graduate” I couldn’t really make out the
relation between graduation and comprehending the value of sentiments, still ,
I stood by his argument. He walked
closed to the vendor, who forgot to shut his mouth, since the scene broke out.
Picked up the folder from the balance. Flipped it to find the price label which
read Rs.175. What happened next, was an eye-opener. He opened the flap of the
folder and inverted it to empty. The folder was sophisticatedly aligned so as to
drop all the greeting cards right onto the balance and he walked back. “See,
you don’t know the value of this. Rs.175. you would have sold it for less than
10.” Mom apologized then and there, for the Rs.175 folder, which otherwise she
would have lost. My greeting cards hanged in the balance…I realize, with this
progeny, I cannot value greeting card sentiments.
Years later, few days after marriage, my wife took out a
black folder from the shelf and asked me to sit beside her as she went through
them. Sentimental stories unfurled. Praise the lord.
