Emotional Atyachar

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.