Authors: Latika Sharma
Schoolmates (23 page)
The moment to crown the King and Queen had come. Kabir and I were sitting together.
“Ladies and gentlemen, once again we stand at the junction where one bids adieu to their seniors. It has been a fantastic learning experience for us with all our fantastic, talented and dignified seniors. If I were to quote a few, then our school will never forget Tejas Ahluwalia and Kabir Sharma, for all their numerous fights, but more so for three consecutive years of championship. The honour that Ms. Anjali has earned by winning the scholarship will go down as the standard yardstick for excellence, aimed at all youngsters in years to come. No one can ever forget the art displayed by Ms. Surbhi or the sheer beauty of Ms. Ayesha, Jagriti, Manavi, Mamta and all my senior ladies. Each one is a gem we are proud of.
Following the tradition, we realized how difficult it is to be an ideal candidate for the King and Queen. The student, who claims these two most awaited awards in the entire school tenure, needs to have displayed academic as well as social efficiency. Someone who all of us are proud of, someone who has been persistent in efforts and victorious in more than one arena. That someone who has been our role model, a stalwart of goodness and righteousness; and will one day fly high the honoured flag of our school.
So . . . friends, teachers and seniors . . . the King for this year is none other than Mr. Girish Mendiratta and the Queen is our very own head girl, the beautiful, talented and graceful, Ms. Riya Sehgal.”
Anjali and Kabir were the first ones to leap up in the air! As I stood up to walk towards the stage, Anjali hugged me and shouted in my ears, ‘Congratulation! I knew it”.
I turned to look at Kabir who too hugged me, without inhibitions and whispered, “Am proud of you Madam Curie ... I really badly completely want to kiss you all over again.”
Riya recalled that moment on the stage. There was a huge bouquet handed over to her and a crown placed ceremoniously on her head. Numerous pictures were taken she kept looking at Kabir all the while as he stood clapping and cheering in the audience along with Surbhi, Dev, Anjali, Tejas, Ayesha, Joy, Ronit and everyone else.
Riya looked at the picture in front of her. Girish was looking in the camera. She
. . .
she was looking at him Riya followed her sight again after so many years, as she looked at her picture in the yearbook.
Somewhere at its end stood Kabir
. . .
the boy she loved, and still did.
“Something has gotten hold of my heart,
Keeping my soul and senses apart.”
I
t was a sunny day in Chicago. A good weather to sit outside and sip a hot steaming cup of coffee. I was doing just that. My work was over here and I was pleasantly being distracted by those two girls, sitting opposite me. Teenagers . . .
Giggling and flirting was not new, in fact I was still shaking off the memory of those lustful looks I got from the flight attendant on my way to this place. I was not surprised, I must admit, I did like it. At a well maintained 34 years, who wouldn’t?
The thought brought a smile to my face . . . and led those two girls to blush with vanity. Din’t Riya always say I had a killing smile!
Riya . . . now that name brought back memories I could never run away from. And I had tried . . . so hard that I was almost on the verge of a nervous breakdown. But that was 16 years ago when I was young and impulsive. When she had left me, it had devastated my world!
I felt a shiver run down my spine as the ghosts of my past made yet another attempt to enter my conscious. I knew the signspretty well now; I also knew how to keep them out. It had taken considerable practice, but I did master the skill of keeping those painful memories of Riya out of my mind. I would not survive otherwise. I had taught myself to go on, to look for other valuable things in my life. She remains an important part of my existence; nevertheless I can’t let those haunting memories, of school, block my days now.
“Would you like something more Sir?” asked a pleasant female voice. Kabir looked up to see the blossoming face of a young pretty waitress, clearly smitten.
“Thanks that will be all.” Kabir smiled at her. Nodding her head gently she walked passed him. He smiled inwardly thinking how easy it was to predict women . . . atleast most of the time. He was exceptionally gifted with pleasing manners and a chivalrous manner that swooned women! It had worked those years ago, and it still did. Except . . .
“Thank you . . .” Kabir said picking his credit card and stepping out into the sun, walking briskly on the street, hailing a cab to take him to the airport. But before that, one stop at the ladies handbags store. En route to the store a silly little flash from the past amused Kabir.
“Why do you keep your hair so long?” Ms. Ritika Kapoor, their maths teacher had asked him once.
“I think they look good on me ma’am
. . .
besides, my stylist is out of town.” Kabir had smiled at his maths teacher. He was in eleventh and had grown to understand that you earn much more by being in good books of the teachers than in all the world’s examinations. ‘And my girl loves to run her fingers through them!’ he thought to himself.
“Look Kabir, this is a school not a fashion house
. . .
get them cut.” Mrs Ritika Kapoor was now their class teacher. She was not very particular about styles, although she did dress up each day, in full makeup and her expensive saris to come flowing in the class like it was a kitty party. And yes, we liked it, no complaints from the guys. Who will not like a hot Mathematics teacher??
As Kabir got of the cab, in front of the shopping mall, he could not suppress a smile. Riya had loved his flicks. She had loved everything about him. He never recalled a single day, when she would have complained about his looks. And recalling how informal his looks were, he wondered at how he has changed now. Formal wear, cool shades of shirts, dark trousers and a smart crew cut. Now wouldn’t Mrs Ritika K. just love that! And he was quite sure Riya would be proud as well. Many years ago, she had said he would look good in anything as he was genetically gifted with a great combination of genes that not only made him physically a magnate but also extremely pleasing to the female eyes.
“Do you thing I look shabby
. . .
like a gangster?” Kabir had asked her as they sat on ‘their spot’ that day. Riya was busy making chemistry notes, and Kabir had his accountancy booked sprawled across his long, well built, toughened athletic legs.
“If you are referring to Bony Sir’s comment today, then the answer is no.” Riya had said not looking up from the brick thick refresher. How I hated those Pradeep publishers!
“So YOU think it’s ok?” Kabir spoke again. Getting Riya’s approval meant the world was still a pleasant place to live in for Kabir.
“Yes. I think you look amazing . . . though you could tuck in your shirt, and wear black shoes instead of these sports shoes every day. You know how girls drool over neat and smart army men.” Riya had looked up finally, to my pleasure and passed her mischievous smile.
Walking in the big Chicago mall, Kabir was amused at how easy it was for her to steer him. How much he wished she was here to steer him again ... his flightless bird.
God! How much I love that girl!
His mind could never figure out if in all those years, what bothered him most was, his love for her or her absence from his life. Not a single day passed when Riya didn’t flood his mind, body and soul with her laughter, her touch, and her words. She was everywhere he looked . . . that flower vase reminded him of the day when he had broken one of hers, trying to escape her dad. That books section was what epitomised Riya . . . the book worm. And the elevators . . . god how can he ever forget that moment of pure joy in the elevators all those years ago.
“My god, the book store is on top floor; let’s take the lift Kabby
. . .”
Riya had said pulling my arm. We were in a shopping mall and it was with a disgruntled Anjali that I stood. Riya had come out on the pretext of shopping with Anjali, her best friend and now her alibi.
“NOWAY! I rather stand here with Anjali.” I had spoken giving Anjali a half hug, which she shrugged off immediately moving aside, towards the shoes counter and getting lost amid the long rows of shoes. Anjali had a ‘fetish’ for shoes, a new word added to my vocabulary by Riya that day.
“Really . . . well I am going and you have a good time with Anjali.” She knew I would follow. And I did. As we entered the elevator I made a sulking face and she smiled linking my arm with hers. I still recall the thrill her touch sent down my spine. Riya was not fashionable like many girls her age, but she had an ethereal beauty. Always simple yet so tempting, I loved her more with her simple white satin blouse and a pair of blue jeans, than with anything else. She wore those hoops and they touched the curve of her neck so tenderly that I almost wished I could transfigure into one. A touch of lip gloss and a hint of the most tender yet tempting perfume and Riya was a pure divinity.
The elevators opened in front of us. As is the custom in India, people outside wanted to rush in first than allow those already in to step out. So after much push and pull and a series of ‘excuse me’ we both managed to get in. The elevator kept filling and I saw it was getting too stuffy for Riya . . . she hated clutter. You should have seen her school
bag ... So as she looked desperately around at me I did what came most naturally to me.
‘Thank you god.’ Kabir thought picking up a hand bag at the mall. Chicago was a fine place to shop for one’s wife, thought he. As he paid for his purchase and stepped out to finally start for airport, Riya’s face that day in the elevator came rushing back to him.
“Riya . . . look at me.” I had said and then slipped over her walling the pushing crowd, by encapsulating her between my arms. I was tall, and she came completely in them, while I rested my hands on the arm rest of the wall of the elevator. We were a perfect fit. The crowd pushed at my back which I blocked, from her. This pushed me ominously close to her ... I could see the shyness in her eyes at being so close to me. I could study the minute details of her features, the mole on her cheek I so tenderly wished to kiss, the gentle flicking of her eyelashes in awe of our closeness, the thin smile dancing across her rosy lips and the sweet maddening shyness that was engulfing the girl I loved and drifting deep in my bones testing all my restrain and self-discipline which kept me from bending down and kissing her with all the love and desire I had for her. She must have read my mind and seen lust oozing out of my hardened breaths.
She was looking down clutching my shirt with one free hand as looking up would have brought our faces too intimately close to each other. My face was touching her bent head and I could smell the freshness of her hair. God that drove me crazy . . . being so near to her and yet feel miles between us. I am sure Riya knew what was going on in that love crazy mind of mine as she rested her head gently on my chest. Even through the fabric of her clothes, I could feel her heart beating. I knew it was fast as she was restraining her emotions as well. Riya would never, even in her dreams, publically display her emotions. Just to feel our hearts beat against each other drove a sense of pride and ownership in me. She was mine. I loved her, and I would hold her like this, in the cradle of my arms for our entire lives. But this need of kissing her, was overbearing at that moment. I had broken a feeble sweat on my forehead just imagining what it would do to me to feel her quivering lips against mine . . . just once.
All I did in those magical one and half minute was to whisper gently in her ear, “If ever there was a time to reprimand me Madam Curie it is now . . . just look up . . . look up . . . look up.”
K
abir was sitting at the airport, giving final touches to his report. Working furiously at his laptop he was unaware of the moving crowd around him. It had been like his ever since that fateful day, 16 years back when Riya and he had finally broken off. The world had ended for him that day. Work was what had kept him alive. Work and his love for Riya. Silly as it was, he loved her all the more. He was crazy about her; no woman in his life could ever fill her place. He had tried though, to hate her and forget her, he even tried having a couple of girlfriends, but all to end soon. He was never available . . . as he was still Riya’s.
‘Final call for flight LH-101 leaving for India.’
Kabir picked his hand bag and walked towards gate No. 4 which was to be his departure from Chicago, for now. Sitting in his flight he was drawn to a young girl, about fifteen years old, busy with a novel in her hand. Riya had been like that, he clearly recalled how mad he was at her for reading all the way to Bharatpur back in tenth grade. How he had flirted with every girl, sang love ballads and in all possible ways tried to distract her.
Kabir shook his head at his reaction to her dancing with Tejas that night. It had driven him mad with jealousy! He knew then that he had fallen for her.
Kabir sipped his coffee, and thought of that picnic.
“Here hold this for me Riya.” I had said thrusting my digital-cam in her hands before she could say no. I did it intentionally; it gave me a chance to go back to her. Before that, I had held her hands for the second time at breakfast, she was shivering
. . .
and so was I. I could have said ‘I love you’ then had it not been for her friends who came instantly. Anjali, never liked me, she had said so herself. But deep down inside, even she knew what Riya meant to me and the limits I would cross for her happiness. So I was passed and accepted.
“Kabir, please
. . .
take your things.” A shy Riya had said. I saw she was not looking at me.