Supriya Rakesh |
- Supriya Rakesh
The most
interesting thing happened to me this afternoon.
It was 2 O’
clock and like every other day, I was reading my newspaper at my office desk,
in a futile attempt to ward off the after-lunch drowsiness. Even the extra-strong
canteen coffee wasn’t helping. I could catch a quick wink in my office, but if
some-one happened to see me…well, that would not be good for my reputation!
So, I was turning
through the pages, when a news-piece caught my eye. It was in the right-most corner of the eighth
page. Local authoress wins an award for her second book. Maggie something, she
was called.
I smiled when
I read the name.
You see, back
in the day, I knew a Maggie. I knew a Maggie pretty darn well...
Part 1. Philosophy Majors
See, this was
a million years ago when I was still a young lad. Young, carefree lad- in
college, studying for my Masters in philosophy.
Why? you ask
me, shocked. I don’t blame you.
Papa did the
same thing when I told him. Now, who in their right senses wants to post-graduate
in philosophy? Not some-one who wants employment prospects for sure.
My father had
his plastics business that his father had set up when they first moved to Bombay.
Small as it
was; it had sustained a family of four for about twenty years. Papa had
secretly hoped since the day I was born that if nothing else, his precious first-born
son would take the plastics legacy forward. Still, in my family, we supported
each other even in the most ridiculous decisions. So Papa reluctantly agreed,
paid for my tuition, and prayed every Sunday that I would come to my senses
soon.
So, why would I do something so stupid?
Well, I had my own reasons you see. On
the day of my graduation, as I smiled for pictures in my black robes, the rising
star of Xavier’s college and the pride of the D’Costa family, I had no idea
what I wanted to do with my life. Absolutely none. The plastics store was a
good backup, but I knew I would be bored to death in a month, maybe even drive
my Papa bankrupt.
So, I needed some time to figure things
out. And more importantly, I didn’t want to work too hard. Take it easy, enjoy
life. So I thought- I like reading, I don’t mind writing long, boring essays,
my grades are no great shakes. What program would be easy to get into, and easy
to come out the other end? Well, it didn’t take a philosopher to figure that
one out!
There was also another reason for this
decision.
You see, a guy of 21, well, likes
girls. And a philosophy major meant that the four dudes in class were blessed
with a highly conducive demand-supply situation, when it came to the gals.
Yeah, I did take an economics class or two!
And among the four dudes, of course it
came down to persona, wit, charm and money- the first three of which I had in
plenty. The fourth, well, I could make up for by treating my girl like a
princess. Long
story short, I found a large number of girls keen to attract my attention. The
talent pool was good, and diverse. Tall, skinny, petite, voluptuous. I could
not complain about the variety, or the fashion.
So every season, I followed them following the latest
trends from that damn Cosmo magazine they all used to read. Like I said, I
wasn’t complaining. A dude likes it when a girl makes an effort. And tries to
look appealing to him. That way, everybody wins.
Which is why I
hated Maggie Pereira.
Maggie was the
sort of girl you wouldn’t even notice if she sat next to you. She looked plain,
dressed in drab colours, as if going to a funeral, every single day. She always
wore the same outfit – a white long-sleeved shirt, an asbestos grey skirt and a
chequered jacket. As if some-one hadn’t told her that school was over! Or there
were colours other than grey, blue and white. And did she know anything about
the invention of beauty salons?
The only
reason I even noticed her is because she spoke too much in class. She always
sat right in the front, on the first bench, that too on purpose!
From there,
she would bond with the teachers, answer their stupid questions, make strong
arguments about everything and refer to God and religion, in almost every
comment. Some-one told me her parents were theologians. Her father was a Theology
professor at an only boys’ college (seriously?) at Elphinstone, and her mother
was a Sunday school teacher!
So all in all,
she was the proverbial ‘good girl’- bookworm, teachers’ darling, liked by
everyone. Everyone except me. Damn, she got on my nerves every single day!
**
I am not quite
sure when or why I developed such a strong feeling of dislike towards the girl.
Maybe she ignored me at some point, or in general. Maybe it was because she was
so sure of herself, despite being so unattractive. Or that she such was such a
Miss Goody two shoes, what with all her funeral dressing and good manners. And
I hated that sort!
I couldn’t
quite digest the fact that she didn’t give me the least bit of attention, you
see. Remember what I told you about the whole demand-supply thing? So I was
used to the girls all dying to talk to me, flirt with me, bat their eye-lids at
me. But not she, the repressed child with Freudian issues.
The guys
laughed at me when I pointed it to them once.
“She has you
wounded buddy; looks like you want this chick real bad!!”.
Crazy
bastards. Can you believe that? I could not. That’s what I was telling Tina at the
movies that Friday.
Tina was a
chick from my class of course- tall, hot – the works. We were catching the
latest Hollywood flick (A rated and everything) at Sterling, I think.
“You know what
I am talking about right? You have seen her?” I appealed, wanting some-one on
my side.
“I don’t
know”, she replied disinterested, “She seems pretty nice. Friendly...”
“What!!?? No,
but she is definitely repressed right?? Why else would a girl be that way?” I whined
on.
As you can
guess, Tina lost interest in the conversation; and in me pretty soon. Let’s
just say I did not get lucky that evening.
Damn you
Maggie, I cursed. Just coz you have no action in your life, you’re ruining
mine!
**
The next few
days I kind of laid low.
Tina was
giving me the cold shoulder, the damage was already done. But also, I was kinda
worried about what the guys had said, and Tina. What idiots! I wasn’t that hard
up that I would be obsessed with Maggie Pereira.
I mean- look
at her.
May be, it
would be a good thing for her though. I would be doing her a real favour, by
liberating her. Yes, I could rescue her from her moral prison and show her how
life needs to lived. She needed some-one like me to do that, she needed me.
For some
reason, which I cannot fathom now, that idea, slowly and surely took a
stronghold in my head.
Stupid, I
know, but I became the self-appointed saviour of Maggie’s soul. Yes, basically,
I planned on seducing her, but only as a favour, for her own good. Become the
knight in shining armour, rescuing a damsel in distress. But how?
I thought
about it for a whole long week as I watched her in class, observing her every
move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I had to work out a new strategy,
you see. My usual plan of action would not work here- the boyish grin, the
witty one-liners, the flattery.
Yes, I was well
aware that ‘the good girl’ was immune to my roguish charm.
Part 2. Grand Plan
So I began to
formulate the plan, the grand plan to save Maggie Pereira.
It had to be
very clever, you see. And custom-made for a different sort of gal; the type
no-one would usually bother to seduce. But I had accepted the challenge, and
trust me to put all my energies into a project, once I set my heart on it.
So, to chase
the good girl, I started play-acting the good guy.
Now,
obviously, this meant a certain dent in my reputation, and grave injustice to
all the other chicks, who I would now have to ignore. It was ok, I told myself.
Most of them had enjoyed a little bit of me, and their souls were hence intact.
They could, for some time, do without me. Me marching on this noble path. And
on this path, I must walk alone.
Step one, I
had to do something to enter Maggie’s field of attention. Make her notice me,
so she would reckon with the force that was going to hit her, and blow her
mind!
I could not
help feeling a little smug (the rascal that I was) as I sat at my usual spot at
the back of the class, plotting. As I saw Maggie bent over her desk, making
eager notes in her boring notebook, my evil plan birthed itself!
**
See, it may
not seem like it from what I have told you this far, but truth be told, I was a
pretty smart guy. Like even book-smart.
May be not
Maggie-smart, but the ‘could-do-well-if-only-he-could-be-bothered’ kind of
smart.
I would breeze
through exams without as much as two glances at my books, it all just came to
me somehow. Even philosophy and shit. Just wired into my brain, the way
plastics were wired into my old man’s brain.
So anyway,
long story cut short, my plan would begin with me deploying my smart-missile onto
Maggie’s attention-field, and end with her eager for my smart-loving.
I started
reading up texts and stuff. It seems we had all been given a list at the
beginning of the year. I gave up my position of pride at the back of the classroom,
and slowly and gradually (so no-one would take notice); started shifting
forwards.
I began to ask
questions, make observations, even picked a smart argument with the teacher.
Within a week, I knew baby, she was taking notice. The first time I opened my
mouth, she looked behind (as did the whole damn class), with like a crinkle over
her eyes, in the shape of a question mark.
Then as I
opened my mouth more, she looked less and less puzzled. Though she didn’t speak
to me directly, I could see her agree with a nod, disagree with a head-shake
and most frequently, smile at my funny-guy comments.
Now I had to
take the game to phase two.
Actually talk
to the girl, perhaps ask the girl out for a coffee-date. In ‘good-girl’
vernacular, that meant a coffee-date while pretending to study.
**
So one day,
after class, as Maggie was collecting her notes and papers into her school-girl
satchel, the predator approached. Obviously I mean me.
“Hi, umm… Maggie,
right?”
She looked up,
surprised.
The whole time
I talked (32 seconds), I felt her eyes deeply boring into me, trying to decipher
my intentions. It was scary man, especially since I knew that my intentions
were nowhere close to noble.
I want to talk
over some stuff from class from class, I said.
Yes, the
arguments on post-structuralism or something like that. Just the college canteen. Just twenty minutes.
Oh, she took the bus to Bandra West? She’d get late, I understood. Just that I
had some very interesting observations on the points she had made. And I just
had to discuss them. Yes, with her.
Damn right I
did, why else had I spent the last three weeks studying?
Finally, after
what seemed like a whole day, she agreed.
Later, Maggie
told me she was heavily suspicious of me asking to meet her like this. She
wasn’t used to any of the guys talking to her much, so she thought it might be
a prank. I looked suitably pained at such an insinuation.
But this was
weeks later. By this time, I was seeing Maggie for coffee (and study) on a
regular basis. Yes, I had certifiably entered the good-girl’s good friend zone.
Part 3. Saturdays
Maggie did not
have too many friends, I soon realized. During those months of coffee and
study, I seemed to be the only one.
I wondered why.
Maggie was sweet and polite and well-liked in a oh-such-a-nice-person kind of
way, but I had never really seen her hang out with anyone. Maybe people found
her a bit weird, kept their distance.
I remember
asking her about it once.
“So, what do
you do on weekends?”
“Nothing much.
Sunday morning is church. That day is kind of for the family. We are all so
busy all week, so that’s when we really get the time…”
“Oh! My sincerest condolences to you. Hope
your Saturdays are better!” I smirked.
“Nope, pretty much the same...” there was a
twinkle in her eye.
“But why??” I whined.
I felt really sorry
for her. I mean, if I had to save her soul, I had to start somewhere.
“I don’t mind, really. We have some really great,
charged conversations at home. The kind you and I have. So I don’t miss having
friends my own age. Besides I see my cousins in the summer…”
“What do you
mean miss having friends?” I persisted, though I hadn’t missed her earlier allusion,
the backhanded compliment, the acknowledgement of our growing closeness.
“I have just
never been a friends-person. I don’t really get along with people...”
“What are you
talking about? Everyone likes you!”
“Of course
they do, what’s not to like?”
Oooh, I liked
sassy Maggie.
“I meant, I
don’t like most people. Small-talk is ok, pleasantries are fine. But, I don’t
know how to say this....it makes me sound like an awful person...”
“No, no tell
me. It’ll be our little secret..”
“It’s just
that... I find most people boring.”
I looked at her with surprise. I could see now
why Maggie didn’t quite fit in with the world. She found everyone boring, coz
no-one had really gotten to know her brand of interesting.
“See, you are
judging me, right there...”
“No, no. I am
way more awful than you” I laughed, pretending to hold my stomach.
“Of course,
there is you...”
“I am
flattered.” I grinned.
“So why don’t
you hang out with me, on Saturday?”
“May be I
will.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
A pause to
take it in. I had been just asked out by Maggie Periera!
**
That brings me
to four days later, the morning of my first date with Maggie.
The first signpost
of success. A hard-earned invite into Maggie’s world. I should have been patting myself on the back. But
instead, come Saturday, I actually thought of not going.
First things
first, I wasn’t quite sure it was a date. That was a big problem.
I was a simple
fellow, you see. When I went out with a girl, it meant a ‘date’. When I was out
with friends, they were dudes.
Both
situations were predictable.
If it’s a date,
I know it, she knows it. Both want the same thing, and both know what to do to
get there. I flirt, offer compliments, and make cheeky jokes. She dolls up,
touches her hair a lot, and laughs really hard while touching my shoulder.
It could go
well (as it usually did), or it could backfire (like the one with Tina). But
everything goes by script. No ambivalence.
But a date
with a friend, which might not actually be a date. But then again, it might.
What was my
plan here? How was I supposed to act?
Also, I felt a
little bad. Like I was tricking her or something.
Poor Maggie
thought of me as a friend, a nice guy. For
all my heroic conquests, I had never dated someone through deception, you see.
I had never really had to.
Come noon, I
called up Maggie to cancel.
“Oh, ok…” She
sounded disappointed, like she had expected it.
There it was,
the first friend she’d ever planned an outing with, was obviously bound to
ditch her. When she hung up, I somehow felt much worse than I had all morning.
Five minutes
later, I called her back.
“So I have
moved some things around...and…” I could almost picture her smile.
“See you at
5-30.” She didn’t let me finish.
That was the
first Saturday I went out with Maggie for a movie.
**
Maggie looked
nice on Saturdays.
She wore
colours- greens, violets, once even a yellow. As if she kept colours for the
weekend, like they were a special thing. Or maybe, I was a special thing. Still
no make-up, but I wasn’t going to complain.
I didn’t dare
to bring up her wardrobe choices. I was in the zone of trust, so I could if I
wanted to. But I had a feeling this was a sensitive subject. Some sort of guy-instinct,
I guess. You never, ever talk about something that can upset the girl. Especially
when things are going so well.
Things were
going well, so to say.
My social life
was now non-existent, rather willingly signed away. The chicks I was avoiding,
well for Maggie’s sake. The dudes were ragging on me, so I was avoiding them as
well.
I didn’t mind though.
My days were
full; full of Maggie of course. In the evenings I would read, since I had
nothing better to do, and since I needed to keep up with the class, and with
Maggie. Some of the books had even started to make sense, I was like ‘damn this
is kind of interesting’.
I had little
choice, you see. Maggie couldn’t come out evenings, and my Papa-Mama weren’t as
interesting as Maggie claimed hers to be. My younger brother, a bigger dimwit. But
who knew, he too would read to keep up with a girl some-day.
So the weeks
flew by like that; college, study dates in canteen, back home, a little TV,
some reading. But Saturdays, they were something else.
We were going
out most Saturdays. Usually, it was a movie. We’d head to Gaiety/Galaxy cinemas
for the latest blockbuster. Or sometimes a Hollywood flick, so a bus to Sterling.
If we had watched all the movies already, we would watch one for the second
time. Coz we had really liked it.
Else, we would
try one in a language we didn’t get, like that Italian movie onetime. Or was it
German? We almost got thrown out once for laughing too hard in a very serious
one, about World War, I think. Sometimes, we would just hang around the Band-stand
promenade or share a veg cheese toast at our sandwich place in Elco Market.
Maggie was
nice on Saturdays.
She was more
fun; as if coming out with me without her parents’ knowledge, and wearing
colours made her all wild and rebellious. Like she was two people- the smart, good,
weekday Maggie, and then this fun, silly one.
Of course I
took credit for it.
“Maggie, you
are getting fun in my company…”
“Yes Robbie. You too, in mine.”
**
Let’s cut to two
months later, to the tenth Saturday I would go out with Maggie.
I remember it
nice and clear. I am older now (wiser too I believe); and my memory is nothing
great. But this day I remember so damn well.
It was the day
I kissed Maggie Pereira for the very first time!
I was thinking
of her that morning, as I cycled around the neighbourhood to get some butter
for my Mama. She had been nagging me about it (Mama I mean), so I was like okay
woman, I’ll do it. I rode past a couple, being all touchy-touchy and googly-eyed.
And suddenly I felt sorry for myself.
When will I
have a real date?
I hadn’t
gotten talking to Maggie just to be her friend, you know. Evil or otherwise, there
was a plan, wasn’t there? What had happened to me, was I chickening out? Or now
that I didn’t hate her, find her repulsive or repressed, my grand project had
lost all meaning? Damn, would I be watching movies every Saturday forever and
ever?
Then I came
home, and obviously the grocery was all wrong and Mama was nagging about it all
afternoon, so I forgot about my misery till I finally saw Maggie in the
evening.
She looked
pretty, in a soft lavender blouse, her hair all fluffed up.
Next thing I
know, in the middle of the movie, she takes my hand. I know she is looking at
me from the corner of her eye; I notice her from the corner of mine.
On the screen,
a bloody gunshot action sequence unfolds, cars exploding and all. Maybe she is
scared and needs my manly protection. Or maybe she wants to tell me my breath
smells of chips.
So, I turn to
face her.
Just like that,
without any warning, she kisses me. Just one kiss.
On the way
back, walking on the pavement, we were both silent. It was weird to talk about
it. Like what was I supposed to say? Yeah, it was just weird.
Finally she
broke the ice.
“So have you ever
dated someone?” then she laughed at her own question. Of course, my reputation
had gotten ahead of my make-over.
“Yup…” I grabbed
the chance at some conversation. “Have you?”
“Hmm… sort
of.”
I was just
attempting small-talk you see, so you can imagine my shock when she said that. What?
I wasn’t going to be the saviour? There had already been one. What?
“Yeah, sort
of. Not a boyfriend. But something like that.”
I didn’t get
any further explanation. I didn’t want to press for more. I was too startled,
first the kiss, then this shocking information.
I’m an old man
now, almost touching forty. The wisdom of my years tells me, it was probably a
good idea. For one, it would have at least a little bit ruined, this vivid
memory in my head, of the day of the kiss.
Secondly, what
if she had started about my exes?
Part 4. Tripping
I did find out
the full story of this somewhat of a boyfriend. But this was another time,
another place, a couple of months later.
It was
summer-ish, I remember, and Maggie and I were going away for the weekend.
It took some
convincing on my part. She was still uneasy lying to her parents, especially to
sneak away out of town with a guy.
But what had
to be done had to be done. Very soon, college would shut shop for the summer and
she would be off to Goa. It was an annual tradition within the larger Pereira
family I was told, folks coming together over summer, at their house down by
the beach.
So I wouldn’t
see much of her for two whole months.
And she was
always saying she hadn’t really been anywhere. Not without her folks, at least.
She was always saying she liked adventures. She was always saying she was a
little tired of being perfect and obedient all the time. I made such and other
arguments till she gave in and agreed to our little trip.
To tell you
the truth, there was another thing kinda bothering me.
The whole
question of what were we? After the kiss at the movies, it was assumed that we
were involved. Assumed, but never spoken about. Neither of us knew how to talk
about this stuff I guess, or we just didn’t want to.
Maggie didn’t
need things defined and spelt out, at least not when it came to me. Most days I
couldn’t care less, it was fun and I wasn’t complaining. By then, she was more
of a habit, just a big part of all my days.
But he
continued to haunt me, this damn boy from her past. Who was he anyway, and
where the hell did she find him? And did that mean I was a ‘somewhat’ boyfriend
too? Did I make the cut to be called that?
Whoever he was,
surely he hadn’t worked as hard for it as I had. No, I definitely deserved a
more note-worthy position. Now that I think of it, I was a little bit bonkers, getting
all competitive and territorial with a dude I knew nothing about.
I just had to
make sure I was more than that, more than him. And there were only a few ways
to find out. So off we went for the weekend, I borrowed Papa’s car and we
rented out a place at an inexpensive resort in Matheran. And by inexpensive I
mean lousy.
It was a two
hour drive. On the way, we stopped for cold drinks thrice, played music at an
ungodly volume and talked even louder over the noise. Then, leaving behind our
car at a large parking lot, we rode two very muddy horses up the hills.
But yea, I
think it was pretty clear what was to happen once we got there.
Only now, it
seemed as though it was my soul that needed saving!
**
Which brings
me to the morning after.
And by that I
mean, the morning after I slept with Maggie Pereira. I will pause here for
effect. And some well-deserved applause.
When it
finally came to it, the moment of truth, it was just easy and normal. Maggie
didn’t play hard-to-get like some girls tend to do, just for the heck of it. May
be it had never been that difficult; or my months of hard work had paid off well.
Maggie is right, I remember thinking, as I lay awake, smiling at the ceiling
fan. There really is a fair God up there!
We slept in
late the next morning, and missed the free resort breakfast. At the time,
missing something free was quite a big deal. But it was fine, we agreed. The food
was going to be lousy anyways, plus everyone there, the staff and all, was giving
us strange looks.
So we decided
to go for a walk, to find us something decent to eat. We had worked up quite an
appetite, you see!
The red
mountain soil caked on our clothes, our shoes, as we trod up the winding path,
in the direction of Monkey Point. The whole time, I couldn’t wipe the silly
grin off my face. I might as well have been jumping up and down, shouting from treetops.
“Yay! Yay! We
did it! Yay!”
I don’t
remember this too well, but I said it aloud at some point, the dog that I was. I
wasn’t expecting what came next.
She turned
behind with a mysterious smile.
“Yeah! And you
are only the second guy I have done that with!”
**
It was six
hours later and all through the drive back home, I was trying to digest what
she’d told me this morning.
My face was a
bit red, I was sure, though I was trying so hard to keep it all together. Acting
all cool and causal, so she wouldn’t figure something was on with me. Though,
there damn well was.
Yet, I goaded
her to spill the beans (curious cat that I was) but hoped she would have pity
and spare me the details.
By the time we
got home, I knew all about Freddie. Maggie and Freddie. Freddie lived in Goa,
in the neighbourhood of Maggie’s little summer house. It made sense, that
Maggie would find a guy in the only place she had been besides home.
So Maggie had
known Freddie ever since they were kids. He was a couple years older, and
friends with all her cousins. Last summer, a bunch of them had headed off to a
beach party at Baga, to the other end of town. That bunch included Maggie and
Freddie, obviously.
At the party,
Maggie was really uncomfortable and wanted to leave. She couldn’t stand all the
smoke and dope and “people grinding on each other and calling it dance”.
Freddie had acted like a gentleman (the dog) and offered to keep her company.
So they had
wandered away, walking towards the empty side of the beach, a little drunk
themselves on some wine. En route, they made some more bad decisions, and long
story cut short, made out a bit at a beach shack.
“Then?” I was
visibly disheartened at this development.
“Then,
nothing…” Restored to herself the next morning, Maggie had been terribly
embarrassed; mortified at what had transpired. She hadn’t spoken to Freddie for
the rest of the summer and had been avoiding him since.
Back home, she
had continued to feel guilty, and had come close to confessing to her parents.
Later, mostly by default, she had made the more pragmatic choice of forgetting,
pretending the whole thing had never happened.
“That’s it?” I
asked, incredulous. She smiled yes in response.
I was relieved.
I still hated Freddie, with all my heart. But I wasn’t so threatened by him
anymore. Whatever the invisible competition was, I had already won.
“So are you planning to forget about this
little trip too?” I teased.
“Of course not!”
she was a tad defensive. “This time, I knew what I was getting into. Also, is
it really a mistake if done on purpose?”
Oooh, I liked
naughty Maggie.
Anyways, that
signalled the last word on the matter, and was enough for me to shut up. My
face returned to its normal handsome colour.
Old Freddie
hadn’t really ruined my weekend, although he had kind of tried to.
**
Over the next
few weeks, Maggie and I were certifiably bad!
Such few days,
so much to do, before Maggie left for the rest of the summer. So we spent every
possible minute together, mostly doing, well…each other.
One evening, Papa
and Mamma were out for a wedding or something, so I snuck Maggie home. I was
pottering around the kitchen looking for something to drink. Damn, where had Papa
put his wine bottles? Did he know I’d be looking for them?
Anyway, when I
got back, I found Maggie in my room, looking into my things.
“Wow, your book
collection, it’s really something. Not as good as mine, but still, really good!”
She was standing by the table with all my stuff dumped on it, trying to arrange
it or something.
“Would you
believe me if I told you they were all acquired in the last six months, only to
impress you?”
“I might!” she
laughed. “Wait, I could give you some more. I know what you’d like, blah blah
blah..” She was on the nerd highway again, racing off at top speed. I had to
stop her.
“Sweetie” I
said, in my most charming voice. “Books are the last thing on my mind right
now…”
She gave up.
We did find that wine bottle eventually, I think. And the rest, as they say,
was history!
**
Soon, it was
the last evening we’d spend together before Maggie took off the next day.
It was almost
6, I remember, and the day was winding down with a cool, humid breeze typical
of late April.
We were standing
at the bus-stop, busy at this little game we always had on. She keeps looking
at her watch, insisting she is getting late. I turn on my charm, persuading her
to stay just a little bit longer.
“Just five more
minutes! You know you are likely to miss me…”
Her eyes
gleamed at me, in the twilight kinda light.
“You are bad
company, you know that?”
“Yes,
terrible, terrible influence! That’s all I ever wanted to be…”
Finally, she
caved in. We wandered around till we found ourselves a nice park bench in an
empty playground. And spent the next hour just talking.
I don’t think
I have ever talked to anyone, as much as I talked to Maggie that night. And I
don’t mean it in a soul-baring, spilling-out-my-secrets kinda way. I mean the
sheer ‘number of words spoken per minute’ way.
Usually I talk
to please, choosing my words with masterful care, to get what I want. But that
night, there just weren’t enough words in the dictionary.
Later as I
walked home, after I’d finally let her go, there was a strange spring in my
step. I felt lighter, as if all the talking had made me shed kilos or
something. I wondered for a brief moment how my Mama was still fat!
Boy, what a
weird feeling it was.
When the
weirdness persisted for a whole two weeks after, I finally put my finger on it.
Damn it, Maggie Pereira! Could I be in love with you?
Part 5. Downpour
It was tough
to spend the summer alone. I’d gotten used to having Maggie around and everything
seemed like a damn chore without her.
My folks, they
didn’t believe in trips or anything.
“People don’t
need plastic in the hot months or what?” For Papa, his plastics were his whole
world; for Mama I guess, all seasons were just the same.
Earlier, I’d
just hang with the guys. But I was in no mood for their wise-ass comments.
“Girl got you
hooked bro…we knew it!” Those idiots. And I’d have no comebacks coz damn, was it
true.
So, I did what
I could do best. One eye on the calendar, fan on full speed, I lazed through
the dull heat; waiting for the rains, and for Maggie to return.
As the days
sizzled by, my restlessness grew.
May crossed
over to June, almost time for college to re-open. I didn’t know exactly when Maggie
would be back. She’d always said ‘end of summer’, but no day, or date or time.
We’d decided not to write or call each other, no postcards or anything. I
didn’t know, so I just had to wait.
Slowly, I
started to get paranoid. How would I even know if she was back? Would she call
me on the home telephone? What if she just dropped by? So, I stayed home even
more, lurking by the phone.
One day late
afternoon, the skies clouded up with the first signs of monsoon showers. Still
no sign of Maggie.
**
It was now a
week since college began.
I showed up
every day to class, expectant. One day late, that was common. Three days, no
sweat; many kids gone away for the summer hadn’t shown up yet.
By the fifth
day, I was cursing myself, and Maggie. Why hadn’t I bothered to ask her the date
of her return? And why the hell wasn’t she here yet?
When it had
been a whole week and a half, I knew there was reason to worry.
My bad
influence apart, Maggie hated missing classes. Even the professors were asking.
Was she ill or something? Was something wrong?
Week two, I
decided to ride by her house, looking for signs of her return. A huge lock on
the front door, no signs of anyone, the whole place looked deserted. I came
back feeling a little deserted myself.
Then one day,
out of the blue (or exactly three and a half weeks later), without any warning,
she shows up at home.
It was Friday
evening, my folks were usually out then, and she knew it.
The doorbell
rang and I just had the feeling it would be her; and there she was, standing at
the door-step, wearing a downcast smile and her usual grey sweater, holding a large
cardboard box.
“Hi…” I could
barely manage as I opened the door.
One look at
her and I could tell that much had changed between us. My head was bursting
with all kinds of questions.
“Just spill it
woman…” I wanted to scream. But she already looked so damn nervous. So, I
pretended to keep calm, and waited for her to tell me.
Maggie Pereira,
I thought. You are breaking my heart!
**
In the months
that followed, that conversation haunted me like a damn ghost.
It came back every-time
I was sleeping (or trying to), and every-time I was awake and thinking of
Maggie. Even Papa’s secret stash of booze couldn’t save me.
I still
thought about her, over and over, until I finally reached the conclusion that
it was all my fault. It was me, I was responsible for Maggie rebelling against
her parents and dropping out of college. For deciding to move out of her house,
out of the city, to live in godforsaken Goa.
She wanted to
experience life, it seems; in real, not through books like she always had. She
wanted to get out of the little box that had been her life, out of the world of
ideas, into the actual world.
To be honest,
it all sounded like a load of crap to me. But she went on and on…
She wanted to
teach little kids. She wanted to learn how to fish, and how to cook it
afterward. She wanted to swim at the beach, she wanted to learn to dance, blah,
blah and then some more blah..
“And I’ll
never be able to be all that, if I stay here, at home…”
I was quiet
the whole time, nodding with effortful understanding.
What could I
say? It was my fault. It was I who had liberated Maggie, rescued the poor bird
from her moral prison. That had been the scheme all along, had it not? And now
that she had gotten all free-spirited, flown too high, I couldn’t stop her. It
was all my fault.
I was curious
only about one thing, the dog that I was.
“Maggie, does
this have anything to do with Freddie?”
She looked
somewhat upset at the implication.
“No, of course
not..” Then, as I didn’t take off my non-believing glare, “I mean, he’s also
gonna be teaching at that same school in the fishing village…”
I didn’t need
to hear any more. So I said a quiet good-bye, accepting without protest her
generous gift. A large box of all the books she had owned.
“I have no
more use…but I want you to have them..”
Then she left,
promising to write, to keep in touch. Before she walked out the door, she
kissed me on my cheek and said a bunch of nice stuff.
But all I can
remember now is “You’re a good guy Robbie. A really good guy…”
Now, I know what
you’re thinking, that line is standard ‘dumping’ code. I knew, although I’d
never been dumped before. Yet, for some reason, may be ‘coz it was Maggie that
said it (Maggie who wasn’t like others), I believed her.
May be I
really was a really good guy.
**
Maggie Pereira
was good to her word. She wrote to me, more or less regular, for a couple of
years at the least.
I wrote back
whenever I felt like it, but not a lot. I was always paranoid that dog Freddie
would read my letters and feel all superior and proud.
“Ha ha! I won.”
or something.
Then she got
busier or maybe just thought of me lesser; the letters started coming by less
often.
The last I
heard she’d become a writer. Rising author in the Goa literary scene or
something. Maggie Pereira, back to her books, I’d thought. But that was four or
five years ago.
That’s why my
eyes kinda popped this afternoon, when I saw her name here, in the newspaper.
In the right-most corner of the eighth page, in the ‘Arts and Culture’ section.
‘Writer
from the city wins an award for her debut novel.’
I’m not even sure
if it’s the same Maggie. There’s no second name mentioned here. Wonder if she
ever married that Freddie, or anyone. Or if she took his name. I could buy that
debut novel to find out. On the computer, like kids do these days.
Still, it’d be
damn nice if she was the one who won that award. I’d be damn proud.
Anyway, as for
me, after Maggie left, the old predator lay low for a while. Didn’t meet anyone,
went into complete hibernation. My social life was anyways dead. You wouldn’t
believe it, even Tina had gotten engaged by then. Some guy named Andy; and from
what I hear, things between them are still randy-dandy.
So I just
spent all my time reading those books. They were huge and oh-so-serious! But
the only way to remember Maggie and forget about her at the same time. Papa got
surer I was going insane, and turned his prayers towards my brother as the new
plastics heir.
That’s what I
did for the rest of the year, and then some more. It kinda got interesting
after a point. So, come to think of it, I just never stopped. In fact, right
after I put this newspaper away, I got some reading to do.
Damn! Someone
is knocking on my door.
I overshot my
afternoon siesta today, thinking of Maggie and all. Now I must rub my eyes, act
all wise and important as I entertain some stupid questions.
These buggers
don’t get it, you see. I’m getting older now, almost touching forty. And even a
professor of Theology needs his rest!
Loved the characters and references to Bandruh brought back memories ❤️
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