What happened? I don't know. How it happened? I have no clue. But somehow I reached Pune, my home. Like a man in trance, I walked wherever I was pushed; I nodded on whatever I was asked, breathed whatever came through my mouth, unable to grasp any sense of time or space. For the first time in my life, I didn't think what I was wearing, how I looked, if my hair was combed, if I shaved my beard, if I had put on the appropriate perfume, if I carried the Ipod with me. Nothing. I felt nothing. Who tugged the phone out of my hand? Who booked the tickets, grabbed my passport, locked my apartment, drove me to the airport, finally got me on the plane and was now discussing the address with the taxi driver, I didn't know. But vaguely, I was aware of a familiar voice- Jay's voice in the background.
I reacted or to say the correct word is-broke down when I saw her, Shuchi, my sister. Her body, lying still, like a lifeless nymph. Again, it is hard to tell...to relive those memories, the worst moment of my life- ever. It wasn't hard. No. Hard does not justify the feelings. It was brutal, it was cruel. As if someone scooped my heart out of my body. Why? Why? Why? Why was I living these moments? What had I done to deserve them? I asked the world, the god, the nature in which Shuchi always believed, relentlessly. Someone said that you need to be strong to support your mom and dad but no, I wasn't strong. I wasn't strong ever. Strong wasn't me. I was not the unemotional person I always portrayed. I was sensitive and I was shattered, crumbled down like a fallen falcon. And let me be this mess now. Let me cry my heart out, was all I pleaded.
People say that time is the best healer but I couldn't feel the healing on me. Fourteen days had passed since Shuchi's death. There was not a day when I didn't see my mother crying or my father wiping his sleepless eyes. Nothing was same again. The house that always used to be alive with my sister's loud giggles and fragrant with my mother's cooking was now silent in gloom. It had become so quiet that at times I wondered if there was anyone in the house. I and my parents hardly talked. All we did was to gather on meal times. I locked myself in my room and made no efforts to come out because every now and then people came to offer their sympathies and I refused to be part of it. It stirred something very deep and painful inside me and I was scared that I might shout on people who, it seemed to me were present only to jab my wounds again and again.
Across the hall was Shuchi's bedroom, her door covered with radium stickers. I hadn't been able to gather enough strength to go to her room. There was a time I used to employ all my wits to find a way to sneak into her bedroom which according to me was one of the most interesting places on the earth. Unlike other girls one could find strange gadgets, books and games in my sister's room. The strangest, the most unique of the market used to be on her shelves. Her walls were always covered with quotes - ones that would stop and make you think and behind those quote frames used to be her hiding spots- where she'd write her passwords or bank account number. Five minutes before the meal, my mum used to call everyone and Shuchi would open her door ever so slightly as if she had a top secret experiment going on there. I realised her ruse when I reached my teenage that it was nothing but to evoke my reaction. Now, I stand in the hall at night, looking at the door, waiting for her to come out, not ready to believe that it is closed- forever.
Jay, after five days of funeral, went to Jalandhar to meet his family. He called me almost every day to know if I was alright. I hadn't told my parents about what happened that day, two weeks ago in London and Jay advised me to just keep it to ourselves as it would nothing but stir the supernatural beliefs.
'Your sister died, like hours ago and then she wandered into your apartment. And not like a whitish-glowy glimpse but like physically. Like you saw her, I saw her; talked to her, touched her...,' 'Jay' '...I know I'm sounding all fussed up. But it's not just peculiar but out of the world. And I'm not saying that people won't believe us but I feel that there is a deeper meaning to all of this,' Jay said.
Jay is superstitious. He possess inclination towards believing supernatural aspects, my logical mind said but what about what I experienced, what I saw, what I felt? Day and night Shuchi's last words- 'DON'T GIVE UP ON ME' drummed in my ears. The time I turned away from her, hated her so much that I didn't wanted to even see her face again. Why? Why I was so blind with hatred and anger that I didn't for the last time see my sister's face, disregarded the plea in her voice. Why didn't she tell me that she was...?
I took the tennis ball out of the corner of my cupboard and threw it against the wall of my room. It was something that I used to do when I was small. It helped me a lot in thinking things straight. As the ball bounced back to me, I rewinded whatever happened that day. Shuchi coming to my apartment- but who let her in the building,- ordering my favourite breakfast- going to Thorpe Park which I always wanted to enjoy with her-you forgot her hair was wet in the train- calling Meghna at home-so she wanted to meet her- and then the fight. I breathed heavily. A lot of things were unexplained. If Shuchi was dead then how did she come to London? It was her ghost idiot, and ghost doesn't need planes to fly. But why? What was all that?
The doorbell chimed and despite my abstraction, I heard my name. My mother was calling me. Who is it? I wondered. I was not in the mood to greet or meet anyone. I sulkily entered the sitting room and saw Bhaskara, sitting opposite my mother.
'Bhaskara is here. He wants to talk to you,' my mother said and on the pretext of getting tea, went inside the kitchen.
Bhaskara, Senior Inspector Prasannogupta Bhaskara was my sister's childhood friend and classmate, one of the most true-hearted gentlemen I have ever known. Many a times he had saved me from bullies in the school. I had met him at the funeral. It was his team that had found and lifted the jeep out of the river. Someone mentioned that he was transferred to Pune a month ago. I wondered what brought him home.
'Bhaskara...' I shook his hand.
'Neil,' he opened his mouth and then shut it as he noticed something over my shoulder. A maid carrying a tray in her hand entered. Bhaskara gestured me to sit as the maid poured out tea in the cup. He opened his mouth again and then his lips curved into a tight smile as mom entered with a plate of biscuits. With mom in the room, Bhaskara started the conversation with how shocking Shuchi's death was and how fondly he remembered her. He shared a few of the adventures they had in the school and for the first time in days, I saw my mother laughing. Of course her eyes were tearful, but when she heard about the time an angry cow butted Shuchi in the slush while returning from school, she couldn't contain her melodious laughter. It was music to my ears like a hint of gentle fragrant breeze after the storm. I had forgotten how beautiful she looked when she laughed. To be honest (it suddenly struck me) I had forgotten and neglected a very important fact. In my grief, I had completely overlooked the anguish of my parents. Shuchi was my sister, my friend, my accomplice- her death rattled me to the core; very conveniently I took my time and had been hiding and lamenting for her in the comforts of my room. But what about my father, what he must have endured when he cremated his daughter's body? How painful it must be for my mother to entertain every guest who came to reminisce about her dead daughter every single day? How could I be so blindly selfish to leave them alone to face the world when I should be holding her hand whilst we wade through this mire of sorrow?
My mother must have realised my feelings as when she looked at me, her expression faltered but she immediately lightened up when Bhaskara recited another of Shuchi's stories.
Bhaskara's visit, I admit was definitely a boon in disguise. He reminded us of good old times of our lives, the life that I had forgotten I had lived in my house. After a very long time, we had a normal chat as he took us down the memory lane. At half past four when he rose to leave, my mother gave him one of her rare hugs and asked him politely to keep visiting. He also hugged me and I was astonished when he whispered- five o'clock. Meet me at Pili Pahari.' I looked at him with a questioning glance but he did not give any expressions of surreptitiousness. Pili Pahari?
Pili Pahari was our adda as well as the codeword amongst Bhaskara and my sister. Whenever they wanted to have a secret conference or a break from routine, they travelled to Pili Pahari. It was a small hill, secluded by a kilometre from the main town and was given the name because it was always covered with a small patch of yellow poppy flowers. At four o'clock on the excuse of needing some fresh air, I went out of the house. My mother did raise her hand to stop me but I saw my dad gesturing her otherwise. I knew what she meant and I assured her that I was taking out my old bike not the car.
It was the first time I was out of the house in last two weeks. The fresh breeze did felt good on my skin. A mixture of feelings embraced me as I drove through the familiar roads once more. Some places looked exactly the same, like- the tafari wala outside the college gate handing out tea to his eager customers, most of whom were college students; his poker-face, his clothes, his spot, just the same; the samosa-patties shop where I had eaten numerous samosas, the old sweet corner from where we bought all our mithais, the old garage where my old bike had spent nearly one-fourth of its life; they appeared as if the dust of time never crossed over them.
However, not everything was left old and wonderful. At some places I saw this new buildings rising up like cement mushrooms. Earlier I used to be fascinated, wondering what it would be like to work in these hi-tech buildings. Honestly, I applied for the companies who had a fancy infrastructure. But today, I see them in totally different light, light of Shuchi.
At every new construction in town, Shuchi used to screw her face saying that it's nothing but a lump of cement- an ugly scar in the face of nature. Do you know how many trees they cut down for making one building of this size? she used to say. At that time, I used to argue that she didn't belonged to the world of progression but when I saw a newly constructed parking stand in place of an age-old peepul tree, which I clearly remembered used to be on the corner of the road, I agreed that those offices did looked ugly.
As I reached the outskirts of the city, the air changed considerably. The green of the trees provided a soothing view to my eyes and I felt a hell lot of weight lifted off from my lungs. This was Shuchi's favourite road. I was ten when I first travelled through this road. Sitting on the scooty behind Shuchi, I had my gangling hands on her shoulders in a tight grip. She wasn't a rash driver but I was a nervous rider. At every approaching vehicle, I would pray to Lord Hanuman and if I see a truck or a bus coming near us, I would shout in her ears- 'If you haven't seen there is a bus coming from left side, it is the right time to open your eyes now.' My dad always scolded me for talking while driving but Shuchi, never shouted. In fact, she was the one who taught me driving scooty. And still you didn't pick any one of her calls. Your stony heart didn't melt when she...
I drowned the sound of my over-talkative mind by revving up the bike and reached the bottom of Pili Pahari. I parked the bike near a bush and began my ascent to the top of the hill. As I trudged up the age-old, beaten path, flashes of my first climb flooded my mind. Never touch that plant Neil, it will make you itchy; don't step on this stone, its covered with algae- you might slip down; never pluck a flower in the evening- the plants are sleeping....words of Shuchi warned me at every step. As I reached the top of the hill, I was enveloped by brisk wind- slapping and jostling me from all the sides as if trying to see if I was the same old boy who used to come with her sister for watching sunsets. I don't know why but somehow I didn't feel welcomed. I moved towards the other edge of the hill where the wind was bit subdued. Here the knoll was covered with the bright yellow blanket of Dandelions, Pili Pahari in its full blossom. I looked around; the grass was all wet from the early showers. I forgot to bring the mat and had it been another day, I would have stood up on my legs for as long as possible, careful not to ruin my pants but today I wanted to sit down. My legs were turning into jelly and I was not able to control my body's impulse as I flumped down on the grass. Slowly cold entered inside my trousers. It did felt uncomfortable at first but as my bum got used to the chill and numbness following it, I tried to experience the calmness Shuchi always talked about.
'Alright, you can't sleep like that here.'
I opened my eyes to see Bhaskara's face upside down, staring at me with amusing eyes. I got up as he sat beside me.
'It's just the same. Isn't it?' he said. 'Shuchi found this place. She actually saw it from the car when you guys were going to Mumbai.'
I nodded in assent but honestly I couldn't recall about it.
'Do you remember how much time we have spent here? During summers, sometimes after tuition classes and in college...,' Yes. I remember it all. And I don't want to remember it. Not now, not today, I am not ready for it.
'You wanted to see me,' I asked.
'Yes. I have a feeling that Shuchi's death wasn't just an accident. Perhaps, she was killed.'