BONDS OF LOVE
Chapter 1: Him
As he paced the length of the room, for a millionth time in the past hour, he flicked his wrist to check his watch. The second, the minute and the hour hands on that analogue machine had worked tirelessly for the past 35 years.
One of the most revolutionary concepts that science has suggested in the 20th century, is that time is not a universal measurement.
It doesn't matter how much our lives are governed by the same seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks, regardless of where we live on the globe, time is not absolute.
Neither to the space traveller, nor to someone waiting for their beloved at the airport,
or to one setting their eyes on their exam results,
or the anxious family of those awaiting outside the delivery suite
or to the farmer awaiting the monsoons,
Time is very relative.
His first task after awakening early morning, every morning, was to sit up, face the rising sun, look at his palms and recite the ancient shloka
कराग्रे वसते लक्ष्मि
करमध्ये सरस्वति
करमूले तु गोविन्द
प्रभाते करदर्शनम्,
He would then pick up the watch from the bedside table, wind the small round, silver knob on the side of the flat HMT time machine and fasten its straps on his right wrist.
A ritual, the former bearer of that wrist watch, his father, had carried out for 15 years before him. The ticking machine was the only material memory of his father, that he now carried with him.
As the hands on that watch approached the o'clock, his anxiety levels started mounting. The effects of adrenaline were palpable, as the activated sympthatetic system started to stimulate the adrenal glands, causing a surge of the hormone in his blood stream. Unknown to him, the sweat glands in his palms and over his forehead were activated, the cardiac rhythm was accelerated and blood was diverted away from the gut, throat towards the brain and muscles.
All of this was orchestrated by a microscopic part at the base of brain, the hypothalamus, that a mortal human is unable to control.
He stopped his walk momentarlly midroom, to peer over a copy of a Rembrandt painting which was mounted on the wall opposite the window.
He had studied it many times before, but today his dark large eyes were not observing any of its intricacies.
He had perceived how the Master had signed it in the top-left hand corner, 'Rembrandt'.
That was probably the first painting that Rembrandt had signed with his forename, as opposed to RHL (Rembrandt Harmenszoon of Leiden), a sign of him gaining confidence and recognition.
But, in those moments, the painting with its glass front, merely served as a reflector, so he could check his face for signs of nervousness and his 12 hour old stubbled chin, as he roamed his fingers over them.
He was going to meet with her, at the same time and at the same venue, as they had been meeting on prior occassions.
They would sit together to chat, she with her cappuccino drink with the milky foam still floating on it, and he with his weak black earl grey. Both despised each others drinks, yet , both shared a deep bond with each other.
Chapter 2: Her
Human bonds, like in most other animals, are borne out of physical and emotional needs. Homosapiens may claim a spiritual link too, but it remains unclear, if that exists between humans or with someone more sublime.
The moment his eyes fell on her, he was acutely aware of the inception of that bond.
She, in her 5 feet 3 inches frame, soft spoken voice, shoulder length wavy hair, was the epitome of shyness.
Her light brown eyes were always devoid of any accentuators. They were blessed with natural long lashes.
The eyes and mouth are reliable attraction magnets on the face of the feminine gender.
What eyelashes are to the eyes, Lips are to the face.
The eyelashes probably even do it better.
They draw a contrast between the eye and the eyelid.
Like lips draws attention to the contrast, between the mouth and the surrounding face.
Cosmetic companies, well aware of this, try to accentuate that difference. Thus improving the facial value of their customers and the bond value of their shares.
She, however, was in no need of these facial accompaniments.
Her oval face sported an unblemished skin with an unlined forehead with eyes which overflowed a mix of madness and love. Her dainty figure was lean, as if it was constructed only in 2 dimensions. Flambyoance had dissociated itself completely from her. A perceptive eye would notice the tapered fingers of a pianist, when she unclasped her hands whilst straightening the locks of hair that would wander over the side of her face to pin them behind her ears.
Chapter 3: Preparation
He had been practising his prose.
All he had to simply say, was a sentence with only 3 simple words...
Not that, they were never said before.
Not that, he was the first one to say them.
Not that, he would be the last one to say them.
Since, time immemorial, even before language had developed, the ancient primeval caveman must have felt those emotions in his bosom.
He had found solace in the painting.
In the glass covering of the Rembrandt, he gauged hisself in the reflection,
A man of somewhat below medium height, with a largish head which he carried a little to one side, showing a remarkable breadth of brow, the eyes were large, dark and very inexpressive. They were further concealed by the heavy drooping lids that were frequently half closed. They would, however, peer through your being, thoughts and emotions, if he was in the slightest bit interested in you.
The nose was prominent, large and rather symmetrical.
The chin and mouth indicated a decided firmness.
The whole expression and demeanour of the man evinced confidence, fearlessness that would be disposed to express itself in deeds rather than words.
As he was a man not used to the way with words, he found himself wanting and faltering as he practised.
"I.............."
He changed the tone in his mind whilst trying to sound earnest
"I............."
He checked the tempo of his speech, bringing in more emotion
"I............."
Somehow, nothing seemed right.
Chapter 4: Them
She smiled at him and sat on the green sofa underneath the Rembrandt.
The left hand balancing her cappuccino on her knee and the right gripping the brown handles of a light yellow satchel bag, which contrasted perfectly against her dark blue dress and blue Arabella medium heel shoes.
Strange, he thought to himself, on the wall in front of him hung a masterpiece and on the sofa in front of him sat another one. He recollected Oscar Wilde's thoughts,
Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter...
He thanked the divine artist in his mind.
Gripping his sweaty sweaty hands tightly together between his knees, he sat cross legged across her.
How much he wished, he held her closely.
Without turning his face towards her, he cleared his throat.
As dramatics was not his forte, he decided to keep it straight and simple.
"I...........",
He found that the words that normally emanate easily from the laryngeal box, processed and refined within the oral cavity to be phonated via the tongue and lips,
had suddenly deserted him.
A few moments of silence elapsed, to both it seemed eternity.
With the last ounce of courage,
His emotionless voice broke the silence, as he finally uttered those 3 words that he had been practising.
"I am sorry".
Chapter 5: The Chasm
In a fraction of that moment, the eyes, which were searching for a glimmer of hope in his, were motionless and devoid of any emotion. They were transfixed far out into a deep abyss.
He realised that she had not only stopped blinking, but was also momentarily not breathing.
He wished he could hold her hands.
His heart ached to reach out to her.
But the worldwide spread of the microscopic RNA strand had made that impossible.
He felt as if he was standing on one side of a wide chasm, trying to reach across to her, and wondering if she could hear him, or if it was his own voice echoing back to him.
Like a fog creeping over a moor, she stood still in daze.
Then like a suddenness of a floodlight being switched on,
full consciousness returned and realisation dawned upon her.
"Can I see my father, before they take him to the morgue?", her voice cut across him, like a knife through butter.
"I will ask the nurses to take you. Though, you will have to see him from afar ", he said with his gaze fixed to the floor.
" The nurses will give you the sterile gown, mask, gloves and footwear before you go in."
And so, as they parted,
She carried with her a heavy, but an empty heart,
as she had lost her father,
And
He carried with him a heavy,
but a bonded one,
as he would never ever again be a free man...
Suddenly, he felt very weary.
Whether it was the physical strain of the constant 14 hour shifts in the past 3 weeks without any break or the emotional turmoil of the demises, one couldn't be sure.
But his shoulders started to droop from the weight on his soul.
The long working hours, infrequent nourishment breaks, poor sleep and covering for his colleagues had sent his body into a catabolism mode, losing over 2.5kg in less than 3 weeks.
Before he could permit himself to drown in his sorrow, he saw the red light flickering with the loud shrill from the buzzer of cubicle 23. The oxygen saturation of Mrs Akhtar had dropped.
Taking a deep breath in, he straightened his crumpled blues and marched towards the wash basin.
Chapter 6: Bonds of Love
He wished he had the humility to realise the nothingness from which we originate and that surrounds us. The ache would have been less or maybe he would have found the strength to endure it.
That night, his tired body went through a self disciplined routine.
He changed into his night dress and unclasped the watch belt to keep it on the bedside.
He joined his palms together and recited his bedtime routine,
ज्या ज्या स्थळीं हे मन जाय माझे
त्या त्या स्थळीं हे निज रूप तुझे
मी ठेवितो मस्तक ज्या ठिकाणी
तेथे तुझे सद्गुरू पाय दोन्ही
जय जय रघुवीर समर्थ
He took his cell phone to check the subject heading on his whattsap messages, realised there was no birthday declared and so proceeded to delete all the messages without reading any. His exhausted mind neither had the time, inclination or energy to browse through them.
After more than 21 days he kept his phone on silent, as tonight, he was not going to be awakened in the middle of the night.
As many realise that sleep doesn't descend easily into tired bodies and minds.
Her thoughts kept bothering him. Like a woodpecker attached to his head, constantly pecking at his inner sanctum.
From the first day he had met her,
He had felt the warmth towards her.
Every day his feelings had grown stronger, and many a time in the darkness of the night, his thoughts still gravitated towards her.
She had treated him as fairly as any a woman would treat a man.
Yet, when they parted,
she was a free woman,
but he was bonded forever.
As he had looked upon her
loved her and cared for her since the first day they had met,
As a Father would to his daughter.....