Forever and a Little More

FOREVER AND A LITTLE MORE

BY PRANEET DABRAL

Copyright © 2017 Praneet Dabral

All rights reserved.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One

24 December 2012

‘Do you remember anything?' asked the handsome 58 year old to me. I glanced at my surroundings with least possible interest. As it used to be my favourite place during my growing-up years, a part of me was swamped with nostalgia, whereas the bitter part of my heart asked me to ignore the place. I ended up listening to my bitter half. In fact, the same I have been doing since the past few years. Even my wife can vouch for that. We were standing on a lush green field studded by a frozen lake right at its centre, imposing snow-capped mountains breathing down on us. A huge variety of flowers bloomed at the foothills of the mountains. It was a pleasant sight to behold. Even after all these years, this place remained devoid of human’s materialistic desire ensuring that it still retains its heavenly beauty. The 58 year old was my best friend, Hrehaan. I looked at him giving a dull expression and said, `Yes, I remember a lot of things but they aren’t worth reminiscing. We have been here many times, so not a big deal’. Hrehaan’s enthusiasm dimmed a little after hearing my dull reply. I felt a little bad that I hadn’t faked my happiness on seeing Paradise Land. Yes, that’s what this place is called.

I am Tanish Kainthola. I am visiting my hometown, Snowdon, after 34 years. I still don’t know why it is called Snowdon as it never snowed here. A few kilometres to north from here must definitely have snowed, but never here. It was maybe someone’s idea of a joke by naming my town as Snowdon, the place where snowfall never really happened. We definitely have our share of hail raining from the skies but snow, never!

Hrehaan is my childhood friend. Thirty-four years ago, we had shifted to Mumbai in search of work. After 2 months of vigorous struggle, we both had somehow managed to secure a job in the same advertising firm. Initially, it was difficult for us, being small-town boys, to adjust in Mumbai, but eventually we got comfortable there. I adjusted myself much better in comparison to Hrehaan. We worked well together as a team, and consequently our ideas were happily embraced by our firm. Hrehaan used to come here every year for a month, whereas for me, I got used to Mumbai. It was very modern compared to our small town, which was the main reason behind my attraction to this place. The same was the reason behind the dislike of Hrehaan towards the Mumbai city.. Though I got accustomed to its crowd and hectic schedule and started liking it, Hrehaan used to feel homesick. His early voluntary retirement had given him the opportunity to permanently shift to his beloved town.

I didn’t hate my town, I just never felt like coming here again. My parents unfortunately refused to shift to Mumbai with me. They had tried once but didn’t like the place. As they were simple town people by heart, Snowdon was the place where their heart had always resided. They used to visit my place in Mumbai, every year for a month. On 29 January 1978, I had left Snowdon and never thought of returning. After passing away of my parents, I didn’t sell my home at Snowdon. A lot of childhood memories were attached to it, and I wasn’t so emotionless that I could let it go. Just day before yesterday, I was back at the same house in the same town, which I had left years ago. My homecoming after 34 years was all because of Hrehaan. He needed my assistance in the shifting process, and I had reluctantly agreed. Shifting is almost over, and I am on leave from day after tomorrow. Both our wives had gone for shopping which I found funny as I feel Mumbai is a better place to shop than Snowdon, but I guess they both knew better. I knew what the truth was.

Actually my wife wanted to avoid talking to me. Shopping was just an excuse for her. Talking would have led to another of our long fights which was not unusual for us. The past few years had been difficult for both of us. I confess that I neglected my duties as a husband due to my work. It wasn’t my fault but I could have tried a little more. In fact, I hadn’t even tried a bit. Guess, I was taking her for granted, but after spending 30 odd years, with the same woman what do you expect? At least we didn’t part our ways to get rid of each other. Moreover, shopping was a blessing for both of us in disguise as our moods wouldn't be foul and we could enjoy our short stay in Snowdon. Even she was ready to leave Mumbai permanently, like Hrehaan and Simran, Hrehaan’s wife. Well, I was against the idea as usual. Lately, we hardly agreed on anything. After a series of long arguments, she had finally agreed to stay in Mumbai with me reluctantly. Taking advantage of our wives’ absence, Hrehaan and I decided to visit places which we used to visit in our childhood. It was like reliving our childhood again. I wasn’t as enthusiastic as Hrehaan, but I didn’t want to spoil his mood also. I had become an expert in spoiling mood for the past few years, and my wife would surely have liked to scream that from the top of the Mount Everest.

One thing which struck me about Snowdon was that nothing had changed. It seemed as if it got frozen with time which is considered a pretty good quality as not always the change is appreciated. It looked exactly the way we had left it, 34 years ago. Paradise land, where I am standing right now, was one of those places.

My thoughts were hindered by Hrehaan, `Come, let’s go. We have to prepare dinner before our wives return’.

`Yes, I just forgot that we were to eat at your place’.

‘Want to sit for a little while?’ he proposed.

‘Only if you want to’.

‘Hey! I know you also want to spend a little more time here. You have much better memories of this place than me’.

He was right. I had better memories but what about the bitter ones?

‘Let’s just sit for a few minutes for the sake of the good old times’ I said, trying to be a good sport.

‘That’s like a good boy’ said Hrehaan slapping my back in elation.

We settled ourselves comfortably on the vast green carpet. The wind scented sweet and pure which I almost had forgotten while staying in Mumbai where I was used to tasting carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, and many other things with scary names.

‘Hey! Tanish, would you please give a thought about settling here?’

‘I already have, Hrehaan. I like Mumbai’.

‘I know you don’t and you also know that for a fact. You are just not ready to accept it’.

‘Who knows? A miracle may happen and I might just change my decision’.

‘Really?’ he asked. His eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

‘Yes, but you know, I don’t believe in miracles’.

‘I do believe in them’.

I didn’t try to counter his statement. Miracles had stopped happening in my life long ago. When I look back today, it seems as if it was a different time altogether, a different life maybe. Sometimes, I feel as if I was just dreaming a long beautiful dream and had confused it with reality.

‘Last time, we visited this place and had scaled half that hill’ Hrehaan replied interrupting my thoughts.

I looked at the hill in surprise and replied,

‘Had we known it would be our last time together in this place, we would have scaled the whole damn thing’.

‘We surely would have, but who knew?’ sighed Hrehaan.

‘Pulling Simran to the top would have been a hell of a task for us’ I laughed imagining the scene.

‘Now that would have been a miracle’ he chuckled.

I was again jolted back to the memories of this place, and Hrehaan didn’t intrude again for a few minutes. I really appreciated the silence. The time was passing by slowly, and the darkness soon gobbled up the last few remaining rays. I was thinking about the last time I had been here. I was recalling the moments sitting here brooding about things and feeling completely despondent. It was my wife who had lifted up my spirits that day and kind of saved me from plunging into a sea of depression. The memory made me smile, and I wished things would return to normal between me and her. For a moment, I even considered shifting back to Snowdon, just for her sake. It would be a good way of apologizing and making things right with her. With that thought lingering on my mind, I stood up ready to leave and saw that Hrehaan was already standing behind me. I hadn’t noticed him getting up.

‘Come, let’s go. We are already late’ he stated.

I took one last sad-longing look at the beautiful place and departed.

On the way as we passed some kids playing cricket in the fading daylight, Hrehaan remarked, ‘Remember, those Sundays when we used to play cricket. Once I broke your bat when I hit Arjun for a six. Man, those days were super fun’.

`I think I still have that bat. I would have to search in the attic but it will be definitely there. Mom usually kept old things’.

`Really? Hey please, bring that bat before coming to my place. I would love to see it’ he said his eyes lighting up’.

`Yes, Sure’. I promised him.

As soon as I reached my place, I started rummaging through my attic. Of course, the bat was there. I couldn’t believe it. I put it aside and started going through other things. There were my old school books, my report cards, clothes and toys. Every single little thing of my growing-up years was stashed in the attic. I spared a moment to thank my mom. As I was glancing through the things one box, which was neatly wrapped, caught my eye. Other things were just stashed, strewn all over the place but this box was neatly wrapped in a black cover and kept aloof from other things. The person had taken intense care to wrap the box so as not to spoil the thing inside. It was a neatly done job. I could surely claim that I hadn’t done it. It must be mom's job surely. Dad wasn’t the person who would wrap and store things. Now I was very curious. The box received my whole attention.

Carefully, I picked up the box and felt its weight. It felt light as good as empty. I shook the box and could definitely hear some movement inside. It was hard for me to conceal my excitement. I covered my nose and dusted the box. As I unwrapped the box, the first thought that came to my mind was that the box was empty, and I had just imagined the movement inside but then noticed a small plastic bag inside. It seemed as if it contained a book. I opened the bag and voila I was right, it was a book. It smelled musty with age. Actually, I wasn’t totally right. The bag had a cassette too. The cassette had no label on it. First, I thought it must be a music cassette of some old movie, but then why would mom wrap a book and a cassette in the same bag? I opened the book and recognized my handwriting, and then the realization dawned upon me. I myself had wrapped and kept the book there. It was my personal diary which I had maintained ages back. I hadn’t read it in a long time. I had even forgotten what I had written in it. Excitedly, I opened the first page, and there it was written in bold letters - BY TANISH KAINTHOLA. No one knew that I kept a diary, not even my mother. Maybe she must have seen it after I left the house. I don’t know. She never discussed it with me or gave an impression that she had read it. I glanced at the date - 9 November 1978.This was before I left Snowdon.

Without wasting any time, I started reading the first few lines then felt a little uncomfortable in the attic. I was sitting in a very uncomfortable position and my back felt pain. I decided to read it on the banks of the river Mandakini that flowed nearby. That was a good setting to read. I stashed rest of the things hurriedly, took the book and left the room. Suddenly, I remembered something and came back. On second thoughts, I took the cassette with me. I looked at the bat and decided to tell Hrehaan that I won't be coming home for dinner. Hurriedly, I left the room, changed into a new pair of clothes and left the house. As I was locking the house, I remembered people didn’t lock their houses in Snowdon. Well that was the trend in 1978, this was 2012. I debated, ‘What the hell! There is nothing of value anyone can steal. Leave it. Let’s continue the trend’ I said to myself.

It was 7 in the evening, and there weren't many people on the road. There was a time when I recognized each and every person on the road by their name and house number, but now everyone was a stranger. At least, till now I hadn't met a single soul since my growing-up days. People were giving me polite nods as I passed them. This was a small town; everyone knew I was a stranger. I stared hard at them trying to remember their faces, but I guess I wasn’t staring hard enough. ‘It had been 34 years. People must have shifted or some of them may have expired’ I thought. Maybe I knew their father, mother, sisters, brothers, aunt or uncle who knows. I decided to approach a young boy just to ask his name, to see whether we know someone in common but then I remembered the book clutched in my hand and hurried along.

I reached the ground where we used to play cricket. I stood for a while at the entrance of the ground and enjoyed the view. It brought back very sweet memories. I took a long breath just to enjoy the smell of soft mud mixed with air. It felt divine. I imagined myself playing cricket there with my friends and my eyes moistened. Those were the good old days when everything was simple. The golden period of my life when the only worry I had was how to make runs or take wickets. Slowly, my eyes wandered to a brown coloured bungalow adjacent to the ground. Time had been cruel to it rendering it severely sun faded but still it stood tall and strong. I smiled. It belonged to Mr Jones. I stared at the top window and tried to imagine someone there. I thought I saw someone waving but that was only my mind playing wicked games with me. There was no one in the bungalow. The lights were switched off. The bungalow was ghostly dark. Mr Jones had left town suddenly many years ago, never to be seen or heard again. The bungalow was still his. I heard there was some caretaker but I don’t know who he was. I doubt even the caretaker knew where he was. He must be more than 80 now, if alive. I said a silent prayer for him wishing that he was okay.