Art Stop (Short Story)

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Sundown

All pictures taken from a recently held art and sculpture exhibition by students of West Bengal State Akademi of Dance Drama Music & Visual Arts, Rabindra Bharati University. PHOTO CREDIT: Pramita Bose 

 

BY PRAMITA BOSE

It was blistering hot! The sun overhead glared with its burning eyes to intensify the heat and sometimes cast a broad grin as it baked the earth. The blackish-grey asphalt on the road surface melted; the parched ground groaned in silence — thirsty for rain — and the fatigued denizens got roasted as they carried on with their usual chores. Their aching limbs, warm breath, sweat of the brow and a never-ending trudge on the struggling stretch of life brought them to their destination, willy-nilly.

While a lucky few could stay put in this torrid weather, many had to venture out, reporting to duty — be it emergency or otherwise. The long deserted road leading to the City of Joy's cultural complex wore a different look today. This was quite unfamiliar to the eyes of those daily shuttlers, who are more accustomed to a loud city, ceaselessly brimming with a flurry of activity. The commonly crowded hub and its adjoining areas swarming with intellectual culturati and office traffic on the other days always appear a kaleidoscope of sorts, making the 335-year-old Kolkata — steeped in rich history and heritage — a melting pot of ideas, colours, aromas, customs, music, theatre, literature, cinema, distinctive performing art forms, art and aesthetics, et al.

Stepping out of her car that halted in front of the city's revered Drishti fine arts gallery, Kajal already felt jaded and sapped of all energies. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with her towel hanky, she asked her driver to park the vehicle somewhere in a nearby lot. Shielding her eyes from the scorching sunlight with her left-hand palm, she crossed the gallery gate and entered the environs where a lush green manicured lawn dotted with potted flowery plants greeted her gleefully. That verdant spot looked like a plot of oasis amid a sweltering desert with blazing yellow sands. The pebbled pathway led to the premises of the venue and its foyer area. Trotting into the portico overlooking the adjacent paved sun-kissed patio, she stood under its roof to experience a moment's relief. She gasped and uttered a "phew!" and then fished out a tiny mineral water bottle from her handbag dangling over her shoulder on one side. She immediately guzzled in the water at one go, gulping down her throat generating a thirst-quenching sound at intervals. She was almost dehydrated. Though the drinking water felt like a boiling liquid drenching her insides, she felt relaxed and satisfied. After a few minutes' respite, she climbed up the steps to go inside. Signing the visitors' register she left the comments section empty. She quickly moved inside the AC-regulated north gallery and started glancing through the collection on display.

To save the expensive fuel, she had kept her car AC off right through on her way while coming and played a balancing game with the window glass. As long as she could brave the heat wave, hitting her cheeks and hurting her eyes, she would keep the shutter pulled down but after a point of time, when the mercury level would surpass her endurance level, she would no longer remain calm and spontaneously roll up the glass only to experience stuffiness inside the carriage. Now cooling off in an air-conditioned atmosphere, she felt much at ease and comfortable.

As she checked every piece of artwork mounted on the wall, she sensed a magical connection with the exhibited oeuvre as well as the surrounding milieu. She felt being transported to a surreal world where lines, sketches, linocuts, shades, hues, figures, portraits, compositions and thoughts interacted with her innermost soul in their own idiom borne by silence. She could as if unmistakably read the creative minds of students from the visual arts and sculpture department of a reputed government college as they all deftly communicated their themes through their craftsmanship in their works.

Where words and articulation fall short, feelings and emotions take over. Their heartfelt assertions were conveyed in crystal clear manifestations of their creations. Yes, there was an array of abstract gems and outlandish pearls but art is after all subjective, right? What Kajal as a gazer could gather from a particular title may not find parity with another aficionado’s compass of understanding. Not necessarily, a similar chord has to strike in every sensitive and insightful individual. Reflections differ from person to person, leaving behind varying images in the same mirror. The brook of contemplation might have one source to draw from but it flows via varied channels in different directions among people with diverse perceptions.

Loneliness in retirement; a grand celebration of festivities; memories stocked inside a refrigerator; an abode girdled with bowers, blossoming gardens and citrusy orchards; a war-ravaged skyline and the tormented topography below ripped apart with signs of mass destruction strewn everywhere, a surge of billowing flames ejecting a blanket of smoke with a pall of gloom settling in; the proverbial race to the championship podium…all this and much more thronged Kajal’s mind-space only to weave a tapestry of mystifying imageries on its canvas. Delineating an indelible imprint, the works laced with immense profundity and esotericism deeply immersed her into a trance, temporarily detaching her consciousness from her immediate backdrop.

“This is like a bottomless pit of an ocean, never really lucid to fathom,” she muttered under her breath. The beautiful vignettes, some stark and some subtle, hovered over her constantly as she moved through a meaningful journey. She marvelled at the creations, drowning herself in a stupor. She froze for a minute but the time seemed to have stood still until eternity, benumbing her bodily presence from every inch and pore. The underlying essence, the hidden messages, the unspoken terms, the unread texts, the inscrutable captions…each intangible element faced her to express in eloquence what it carried and concealed inside. The central subject of the exhibition had a prosaic mosaic on the surface but was placed in an otherworldly poetic arena buried under its multiple layers.

In the sculpture segment too, Kajal was confronted with a quaint suite of specimens that triggered a bullet of debate and discussion on her impressionable mind. No matter how impenetrable the crucible of creativity looked to her, it unspooled an evocative thread to ponder over.

As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words, in the same vein, a painting, a photograph or a sculpture has the capacity to emit its own intrinsic brilliance to its viewer without any external help. The art connoisseurs may derive their personal interpretation with a distinctive ray of enlightenment. Wood, bronze, terracotta, paper mâché, plaster of Paris and what have you made the row of sculpted figurines come alive in the west gallery hall. Kajal stood there absolutely awestruck, as if she had accidentally strayed into the Daliesque (eminent Spanish surrealist artist Salvador Dali) domain of surrealism. It’s a dream realm — of course bordering on the out-of-this-world horizon and yet so relatable to our earthly mundaneness.

The incessant fight for space inside a crammed and a fiercely competitive cubicle of society was denoted by a conveyance with passengers spilling over from all sides; two kids — a boy and a girl — vying for the top prize in a merit test were shown to brandish their contesting spirit, physical and mental abilities as well as their undying vim in an electrifying sport; the blue planet tilted a bit under the heavy weight of the myriad mammoth skyscrapers and other gigantic structures, heaping on the earth’s crust, thanks to the construction frenzy of powerful hands; a bed-ridden pain-stricken patient laid indefinitely on his hospital stretcher on the surface of an enormous hot water bag; a horde of hopeful candidates seated with empty pitcher heads was made to wait with anxiety as if for a job interview call wherein an assessment of their unannounced capabilities would be conducted in a nerve-rackling atmosphere; two sturdy men engaged in wrestling grappled each other in such an aggressive way that their hands and faces seemed to have merged or melted into one another in a combative posture; a crumpled hot tiffin carrier and a crushed plate symbolising the quintessential lunch meals stared squarely in the eyes of an onlooker, bearing testimony to the toils and travails of the proletariat (working-class masses) and office goers who leave no stone unturned to earn a decent living to make both ends meet and feed several mouths; a bevy of luscious lips alluded to all that was sensuous, sinfully delicious and provocative, suggestive of love, longing, desire, lust, craving and other secretive wishes of the heart.

Suddenly jolted out of her reverie, Kajal realised being alone right at the gallery’s dead end and she took out her mobile from her purse to check the time. Already, an hour and a half had slipped by ever since she came in. She had seemingly escaped into a separate sphere and dwelt there for a considerable period of time only to be back with a jerk — as if someone tapped her on the shoulder to restore her attention — to the present setting. Evidently, she regained her senses as just then a voice from the managing staff monitoring the entire showcase with watchful eyes broke the quietness and torpor of the air around. “Madam, please don’t forget to jot your valuable remarks in the comments section before you make an exit,” requested a middle-aged bespectacled man from under his hat. “Sure!” Kajal replied politely with a smile. “Can I take some snaps with my phone camera?” she pleaded in return. “Yeah, but be careful enough not to touch and fiddle with the artifacts,” he insisted. Kajal nodded in agreement. She kept clicking to her heart’s content from different angles comfortably until the outcome appeared self-assuredly satisfying to her finicky eyes. The extremely interesting exposition drew dilettantes few and far between on a lazy summery afternoon, which was quite obvious comprehending the sultry weather. Much opposed to a packed house, the haven of all things arty impelled Kajal to rewind her memory to recollect flashes from her previous visits to the site as a print media journalist.

As old habits die hard, she invariably penned some crucial notes and keywords on her mobile documents page and slowly proceeded to push off. Prior to her departure, she framed her opinion in measured diction. ‘A treasurable and engrossing trip to all things aesthetic and stimulating!’ she wrote with her trademark slant handwriting. Kajal was visibly overwhelmed by the trove of experimental, mature and futuristic works of today’s art pupils (who will be established creators tomorrow) unveiled at the prestigious location, underscoring their sheer talent, perspective and perseverance. She picked a glossy pamphlet from a pile at the reception desk and noticed the institution’s contact number and web address clearly in print overleaf. As an art enthusiast, she was all agog to speak to the ebullient learners from one of the highly well-esteemed city art precincts. This, in turn, would assist her in amassing adequate matter for her creative write-ups that she keeps posting on her newly-initiated blogsite.

After this self-imposed assignment that saw her hunting fodder to get her creative juices pouring, Kajal strode outside to call her chauffeur. She stood there for sometime scanning the vicinity around when she sighted the nearby tea and snacks joint. A pack of people sat outside on the benches chattering and resting awhile before the stall got busy preparing their fare for the evening customers to amble in. On the right side of the gallery entranceway, large posters and flex banners welcomed inquisitive visitors with the teasers of upcoming theatre shows, and other cultural and musical events. Kajal flicked through the date, time and the auditorium of a string of plays to be staged at the current venue and elsewhere. It’s been ages, she mused, that she had watched a theatrical rendition. The heat was gradually subsiding as the dusk approached with the flaming orange sun seemingly painting the sky with its palette of rays before setting behind the towering high-rises. A flock of birds flapped wings, chirped and swooped away to soar in flight towards their nests before the evening in a dark cloak descended.

The stream of thoughts that preoccupied Kajal’s mind was suddenly interrupted by her honking car, which she saw coming from a distance. She hastened ahead to get into it. The driver rotated the steering to swerve to the middle of the road and accelerated the velocity visible on the vehicle’s speedometer to take the left lane before the signal turned red. “Shekharda, take me to the Winston Café at Pine Street,” Kajal instructed before she looked outside to inhale the warm yet tolerable breeze, cosier than the searing noontime loo-like gusty wind that was pounding against the window. Navigating the traffic snarls during the rush hour, Kajal’s hatchback sedan finally reached the location after 45 minutes. She got down on the sidewalk to quickly hop to the coffee shop and before she could fling open the door, the guard in uniform at the entrance ushered her in with a courteous smile, “Good Afternoon Madam! Please come in. You may keep your belongings on the right side,” he gestured with his hand, pointing towards the direction. A portly man was seen collecting things and handing out a token to the guests trooping in. It was actually a coffee bar-cum-reading lounge with an impressive store of oversized hardbound coffee-table tomes enclosed within slick covers and bearing titles in large fonts featuring bird sanctuaries, eye-arresting artifacts, rare curios, architectural splendours, fascinating handicrafts, gorgeous mocktails like Margarita, yummy dessert delights, silken rhapsodies woven into saris, travelogues with heavenly vacay locales and resorts, mind-boggling tech gadgets, attention-grabbing landscaping, squeaky clean metalled roads, lofty mountainous bridges, extensive aqueducts and lengthy meandering highways among others. This apart, the little library is replete with a select few books on photography by prominent snappers, fashion magazines, sections on cryptocurrency, finance and entrepreneurship plus rows of limited editions on classic literary texts like poems and novels by celebrated authors as well as the paperback volumes of current-day bestselling writers.

Not a full-fledged bookstore but its mini cousin looked good enough to satiate the cultural taste buds of the metropolis with an air of serenity and hospitality to a fault. The cool and composed air inside exuded tranquility, far from the maddening din, and the heat, dust and grime, that Kajal had to deal with during her commute. She took out a writing pad, pen, purse and her cellphone from the inner zipped pocket of her beige fabric tote bag — embroidered with colourful applique work — on special permission after explaining her purpose of visit to the venue. She was let in with a magenta-pink token that looked ditto a guitar pick. The number inscribed on its surface read 20 in purple. Passing down her bag to the collector who kept it carefully on the shelf of a black wooden rack, Kajal advanced towards the 60-seater floor area to catch the spokesperson of higher authorities, who she thought could be present near the counter if not in his office room.

The countertop has a texture of white venation on Prussian blue base colour, easily attracting eyeballs from every corner. The live kitchen behind with ovens heating the patties, pastries, cupcakes, croissants, sandwiches and other foodstuff has a rusty red brick wall, giving it a classic appeal. Chefs in aprons, hats and bowties are catering to the day’s orders like busy bees. There is also a takeaway provision with transparent showcases displaying mouthwatering tidbits. A waiter receiving platters filled with goodies from underneath the rectangular glass partitions to serve refreshments at the table on order placements smiled at Kajal with enquiring eyes. “Hi, am a food blogger...looking for someone from the managerial rank to talk to regarding this place. Is anybody available now?” asked the visitor. “Yeah, Ma’am. I’ll call the manager Sir. He’s around somewhere. Let me look for him. In the meantime, you may please have your seat. Come, this way,” the man in a white-and-maroon uniform showed her a round table with a curvy chair placed alongside it.

The scattered footfall seemed to thin out and reduced to almost naught at this hour. “Guess, as long as the sun remains wide awake during these long humid months, the restaurants, cafes, bars and bistros would wear a dull look during the day. For who would sneak out in this wearisome weather?” doubted Kajal. The digital clock on the wall was hurriedly ticking towards half past four. Kajal settled down at a teak-wood table with a cushioned cane chair that bore paisley print in earthy tones. The furnishing struck a perfect contrast to the white marbled flooring below accented with a golden texture. She put all her knickknacks on the table and zoomed in her mobile camera lens on the ceiling above. She took a closer view of the architecture and the interior décor, which subtly combined vintage and modern designs with élan. Attuned to classic café culture and its typical elements, the decoration boasted a big painted ceramic kettle, a voluminous porcelain samovar, cups and saucers, spoons, a milk pot, a clay sugar holder, hilarious doodles and arty patterns on the walls, giant Easter eggs, streamers and so on and so forth. The track lighting arranged in a big square frame replaced the erstwhile chandelier roof while pendant lights in inverted lotus, tulip and bowl shapes were hung from specific points lending a candlelight ambience. The flower petals received vigorous brushstrokes of paint on the edges to render a natural effect. It’s a century-old coffee shop, still going strong with its legacy intact even in the electronic and e-commerce era. Kajal just turned her head around to get a 360-degree view of the crowd and could notice only yuppies and techies having hi-teas over business meetings. In her last visit, she had even witnessed corporate luncheons in progress at the tables booked in advance. “Really! Mannada’s coffeehouse adda session no longer exists it seems. It is as if faded into oblivion,” Kajal whispered to herself, referring to the legendary haunting Bengali melody of yesteryear's illustrious singer Manna De. The elongated tawny leathery settees with soft headrests and fluffy cottony seats against the wall could be an apt nook for a jobless, aimless, penniless and hungry-thirsty vagabond’s afternoon siesta, who usually had to make do with humble spots as in under a tree shade, at the foot of a roadside statue, on pavements and stony steps, inside a park until the cops come and baton him out or often at bus terminuses and even on railway station benches.

Kajal suddenly had a gut feeling that a pair of curious eyes was keenly observing her a couple of metres away from where she was seated. She looked back instantly only to find a white-collared professional looking at his laptop monitor in deep focus, stationed diagonally opposite her table. His eyes looked intense through his rimless spectacles. One thorough glance at him and Kajal could figure out even from a distance that the guy had large eyelashes. Kajal noticed the man’s — who prima facie appeared cerebral to her — wardrobe, inspecting it in detail as her current subject of study. A full-sleeved shirt in solid bottle green colour with a light grey tie, slightly loosened and matching his bottom wear (a pair of trousers) unfurled a suave personality, while his natty dark brown shoes rounded off the day’s getup to make him look dapper from every inch. An off-white folded handkerchief with its conical end peeked out from his left side chest pocket. He kept his pinstriped powder blue blazer dangling over the backrest of his seat. “Tch! Poor fellow…damn these business suits of honchos in humid summer. Thank God for the AC and air-cooler invention,” she sighed in mind. He checked the time on his wristwatch, much opposed to the current-day habit, as people usually follow cellphone or laptop/desktop timepieces while surfing the net, watching viral videos or playing games and getting glued to social media. She thought it was merely her malobservation and mentally chuckled at her stupidity. She even imagined shrugging her shoulder and smacking herself on the head for this gaffe. She conjectured that she had just overread and misinterpreted things. She suddenly grew conscious of her gaze so long being fixed on a stranger and contained her private thoughts to prioritise the task at hand. After all, she had to strain her neck angularly to catch a proper glimpse of the man in question.

Meanwhile, assistant manager Subham Moitra arrived and exchanged pleasantries with Kajal, who in turn stood up to shake hands with him cordially before settling down for a chat. Moitra pulled out the chair right opposite his guest’s and sat down to address her queries. She briefed him on her ongoing project revolving around the city’s famous chains of coffee joints. “I see, that’s interesting. How long have you been blogging?” asked the host. “Oh, I’m just a beginner. Only a month-old on the block! Taking baby steps to find a toehold in the virtual domain. Basically, I’m collecting material for a number of articles to be posted consecutively. The café series is one of them,” she replied beamingly. “Wow! That sounds promising. Wish you all the best for your fresh pursuit. Hope to see you emerging with flying colours,” obliged Moitra graciously. Kajal immediately returned with a glad “Thank you Sir!” joining her palms in a namaste fold. “So now tell me, what do you want to know about this place?” queried the vital and reliable source. “Everything Sir. Its over 100-year-old history is enriched with a priceless legacy. It was founded in 1922 by an Englishman, right? Though there are innumerable articles on this legendary coffee room on the Internet and much of it I happened to read on its website page, still I wanted to hear its story from the horse’s mouth, as they say,” chortled Kajal. “Recently, I also chanced upon eminent food historian Purab Kamath’s YouTube video on Winston Café, which was enthralling, to say the least,” she reminisced. "Yeah, that was a food feature on beverages by that popular YouTube channel,” informed Moitra. “The Grub Gab,” chimed in Kajal. “Correct!” said Moitra, adding with appreciation that “the episode went instantly viral. They keep doing some brilliant work on food-related stuff and it’s a smart clip of infotainment I must say!”

Narrating about the original builder and owner of Winston Café, Mr. Winston Baker, Moitra recounted: “He was a knighted Britisher and a compassionate Samaritan, so ideally known as Sir Winston Baker. He had actually visited India in the early 20th century during the era of the British Raj and founded Winston Cafe in the spring of 1922. So, it's been exactly 102 years. Back in London, he was a renowned retail giant and had owned established chains of coffee bars, ice-cream parlours and eateries. He even had a vintage mansion to his name — Winston Estate — in the English countryside, which he ran as a hotel and welcomed guests all the year round. He was also associated with a lot of philanthropic programmes, animal welfare and charitable institutions, doing his bit for the common good by offering his selfless service to mankind and those stray, defenceless creatures. Thus, his body of community work was nationally recognised. Although he had retained his businesses back home, his colonial bases over here changed hands soon after India’s independence. The current proprietor Mr. Umesh Bansal's grandfather Mr. V. K. Bansal had purchased the property from the Bakers in 1952, which was doing brisk business even then, and brought it under the flourishing stable of the Bansal House conglomerate. We all know that the banner is a behemoth with schools, hotels, coffee lounges and bookstores floated under its umbrella all across the length and breadth of the country. So, the only add-on to this cafe was its reading unit, gratifying the city booklovers with their likable pastime. As you just confirmed, much of this trivia is available on the net and on our coffee room website, yet as an employee of this prestigious place, I felt accountable to narrate some bits of the story, which might help you piece things together seamlessly.”

Kajal was listening with rapt attention, her eyes seldom blinking. “Thanks a ton, Sir, for this input. This means a lot. There is also an amazing factoid about this street getting its appellation Pine. Isn’t it?” the scribe asked the titbits provider. “Oh yes! That is a piece of local folklore circulated everywhere for ages now. You may call it hearsay. For there is no written or recorded document to substantiate its veracity,” continued Moitra. “It is said that when the state public works department under the British government was planning to beautify this area with an avenue of tall trees including the street outside and the main road ahead, then Sir Winston Baker was also roped into the ad hoc committee meeting to deliver his suggestions on drafting the initial blueprint of the broad vista coming up as one of the erstwhile Calcutta’s key landmarks. It is at this juncture that Mr. Baker had expressed his desire to see columns of coniferous pine trees on either side of the stretch that will mark the address of his café under construction then. You see, not all Britishers had sailed to India with the intent to rule its land and exploit its wealth. Many had actually come with the sole objective of thriving in trade and commerce because of its rich resources as well as the conveniently located ports and sea links for smoother navigation. Understandably, Sir Baker had imagined a similar panoramic view with snowflakes falling all over, which he is so accustomed to back home in England during the winters. Since he was a foreigner, he had little knowledge about the soil and the regional climate being not so conducive to sowing and growing pine trees in this part of India. Usually, hill slopes and mountains abound with coniferous forests like the evergreen pine rows in the Himalayan range. In Kolkata, peepal, banyan, bakul or Indian medlar/bulletwood, flamboyant tree or krishnachura, etc. are generally planted all over for their cool shady boughs and bowers to provide protection from the heat. But the fable surrounding Baker sahib stayed in public consciousness for decades and was spread by word of mouth throughout the town. So, that’s how the street came to be dubbed Pine Street, the favourite tree of an enterprising British baron,” he elaborated in detail.

“Remarkable indeed!” pronounced Kajal, looking dazed and seemingly forgetting to bat an eyelid. As an afterthought, she chipped in: “While reading up on the nomenclature of roads and streets of the yesteryear Calcutta for an assignment, I came across a lesser-known fact that Pine Street was called Central Garden Street in the olden days before it got its present name because of its geographical location and a nearby sprawling mango orchard of the then powerfully rich and the famous aristocratic landlord Shri Mahendrapratap Banerjee.” It’s true that the Banerjee household still stands strong in the vicinity with its traditional commemoration of the Durga Puja on its patrimonial premises by its current progeny. The mansion is a red-bordered white edifice etched with the past glory of architectural beauty, style and magnificence of Bengal. For many travellers to the city, it's a photographic delight even to this day either as an amazing foreground or a breathtaking backdrop! “Hmm, I’ve heard about it. Actually, if you study the nitty-gritty of any historical city, you'll stumble upon a treasure of anecdotes and archival material on it, which add varied dimensions to its character,” shared Moitra. “Well, this is all that I knew of and am sure my predecessors would have done far better with much more insightful info. You see, many old-timers alongside today’s tourists from abroad, often return to pay a visit to this place, rekindling their fond memories. A lot of them have mesmerising tales to share. A fortnight ago, a senior Swedish couple had dropped in after 40 years. During their last visit, they had met the Bansal patriarch (before his demise three years later at the age of 93) who had bought this plush yet classy property from the Bakers. The Johansson couple was even in touch with the descendants of the Baker family. So, you can well comprehend how enchanting my profession could be at times after bumping into such incredible characters and heeding their riveting sagas,” summed up Moitra with a quip. “I’m jealous,” retorted Kajal in jest. “Ha ha!” laughed Moitra, taking out a card from his wallet. “Here’s my visiting card. I’m accessible on the number mentioned below. Our chief manager Mr. Kuldeep Gupta is out of town on some personal business. If you have any further queries to make, please drop an email at that common id. Once he’s back from his leave, I’ll put in a word to check it and address your matter. I’ll keep it bookmarked. You may notify me on Whatsapp once you shoot the mail,” helped the deputy.

On second thoughts, he gauged: “Probably, he could give you some extra dose of rare and significant information on the subject as he belongs to the lineage. Whatever I told you, it's all available in the public domain. In that case, I'd rather advise you to run our conversation by him to get a sounding board for your article. After all, he has the authority to give you a stamp of approval but I’m incapacitated beyond a point. Hope you understand.” “Of course Sir. I got you completely. Don't bother. I'll definitely cross-check every fact and figure with Mr. Gupta to tally with the content of our discussion,” she said encouragingly. Before concluding, Kajal broached the topic of expansion plans. “Well definitely, plans are afoot to expand the footprint in the coming years. Two years ago, during its centenary celebration, three more outlets were opened in Ahmedabad, Pune and Hyderabad. Currently, the cafe operates in 15 cities across India,” apprised Moitra. “The Kolkata centre has a different look from the rest, right? Is it the biggest in size?” inquired Kajal hastily. “It is only here that the design got modified with a bibliophile’s corner. In other metros and A1 cities, the original format has been maintained since day one. Yes areawise, it is the largest, roundabout 3,000 square feet,” noted Moitra. “Yup, I remember reading about the store inaugurations back then and hopefully, Kolkata too will see more branches getting unveiled in the near future,” prayed Kajal. “Let’s see, how things pan out. After all, it isn’t a cakewalk to launch and spearhead a business with continued success in the long haul. But we are keeping our fingers crossed!” stressed Moitra. “Okay!! I think I’m done. I’ll buzz or mail you if I need anything more. Once more, thanks a ton Sir, for hearing me out with patience and giving me your precious time and of course, for adding a sizeable dope to the peg of my story,” Kajal was grateful again.

“Alright then. I presume this much suffices at your end?” he probed before showing urgency to get up. “Oh, more than adequate! I think my notepad is already filled to the hilt with data. Can’t thank you enough for this huge favour Sir,” Kajal gushed with a gentle smile. “Great then. Why don’t you have something from our Easter menu? It is still on offer. I’m placing an order for a cupcake and a cuppa at the counter. Don’t you worry! It will be on the house, absolutely,” Moitra emphasised. “Oh no way Sir! I already had the good fortune of sampling and savouring the menu last month when there was a press lunch. I had represented the Cityscape Journal then. It was my last few days with the organisation. I was on a notice period. After that, I went solo....I mean as an independent writer, freelancing and blogging,” rattled off Kajal in a breath. “Oh, that’s why you have been looking so familiar all this while. Now I can trace back. I think we connected before on several occasions,” he recalled. “Yes Sir. I’m actually in constant touch with your in-house PR manager Ms. Shalini Kapoor. So, she keeps forwarding event updates and invites to my inbox. That’s how we media-persons are always clued in,” she responded with humour. “Oh right. If I’m not wrong, she did show me your newspaper’s coverage of the menu launch,” he said, assuming. “Yep Sir. I only sent her the link and the pdf file. Our photographer Surajitda (Mullick) was also present for the photo op. You know him well, I suppose,” she insisted. “Yes yes, I know him. He’s pretty regular at our events. I’m acquainted with him. Quite an affable man,” he raved. “Yeah, he’s very down to earth. Gem of a guy…has no airs at all,” agreed Kajal. “But today, I’m carrying my own resources. Can I click some snaps of the Easter celebration decor and that of the interiors on my cellphone?” she pleaded. “Permission granted. The floor is open to you,” he sounded chivalrous. “So, I’m making a move then? Have a meeting to attend. Make yourself comfortable,” he lent the parting shot before putting the chair back in proper position and scurrying ahead, waving his hand at Kajal, who too returned the courtesy in similar manner.

Kajal suddenly discovered that the diametrically opposite table was sans any customer and that its earlier lone occupant was nowhere to be seen. “He must have left by now,” she deemed. It was already dark outside. The café clock showed 6:15 pm. The Pine Street was steadily coming alive bearing its nightlife signs with neon bulbs, glittery lights, glossy glassy panes, noisy revelry, pubbing, clubbing, shopping, dining, watering holes and whatnot, under a starry sky. Taking a few shots in quick succession and simultaneously checking the quality of the output, Kajal felt a little exhausted and parched, craving for some sweet delicacies. The pint-sized mineral water bottle that she had carried while starting her day out was already emptied and left inside her bag. She instantly remembered the café’s signature item of cold coffee with a generous layer of cream atop. Keeping her personal things on the table where she had sat for an official chitchat, she darted towards the counter to order a cup of cold beverage. Soon after she could blurt out the same, a deep baritone interrupted her, saying: “Can it be on me?” Kajal was taken aback by an unknown voice cutting her short from behind. She turned back only to find her jaws dropping and eyes popping out in a split second. She froze and was at a loss for words, literally. Seeing her tongue-tied, the tall man with a robust built immediately came forward. Resting his hand on the counter top, he leaned against it, crossing his legs. “Can we have the cold coffee together, please!” he entreated with a smile and without further ado, ordered two cups at the counter. “Still finding it difficult to identify? Let me drop you a hint. The other day, we met at the ceremonial release of Charu kaku’s (uncle) graphic novel at the Penholder Bookstore. Remember now?” he quizzed, twitching his eyebrows. Waking up from a dumbfounded state, she made an effort to speak. “Ahhh, that’s right! Now I got it. That’s why when I first spotted you here, you looked like a known face but I couldn’t recognise you then and there. Sorry! Please don’t mind,” intoned Kajal, biting her tongue a bit. The listener promptly butted in with a wisecrack. “Oooh at last! Thank God you noticed me. Pleasure is all mine, you see. Really, feeling so privileged and lucky. No, seriously I mean it. Otherwise, you looked so demure and busy talking at length to Mr. Moitra,” he said with a disarming grin, while Kajal’s sharp eyes unerringly caught the snaggletooth that made him look extra adorable. Kajal apparently brushed aside the funny remark and pursed her lips to suppress her smile but her attempt at that just went in vain.

“This way,” he pointed to the nearest table to which, Kajal lowered her head and followed him. “I thought you had left already,” she said bluntly. He nodded sideways in disagreement and stood chivalrously in silence, allowing the lady to take the seat first. “After you,” he said. “Oh! okay,” Kajal uttered and wasted no time drawing up a chair to settle down in a jiffy. “Actually, I had called it a day and wound up everything to submit my belongings to the collecting shelf before entering the reading chamber to browse a slew of corporate magazines. I’m an architect by profession. So was riffling through some international periodicals on real estate to keep tabs on the market dynamics and the latest property designs. That’s part of our job, you see. But I got an important call and had to go out to receive it due to some networking issue inside. And anyways, acceptance of calls is strictly prohibited inside the reading closet. Since am a frequent visitor to this place, they permitted me to carry my phone and the laptop inside but speaking wouldn’t be allowed. When I returned, I saw that you are still here and standing at the counter. So, thought of catching up with you finally,” he told at one go, further divulging: “My office is at the parallel Ebony Street. We keep having breakfast meetings and luncheon brainstorms over here either in a group or just me with my client. Today, I had one at noon and then took my client out to visit a greenfield project site at the Eastern Metropolitan Bypass. We took the flyover to avert the traffic jam and on my way back, I got down at the fine arts gallery to make a note of the roster of an upcoming theatre festival. While returning, I saw you coming out of the gallery towards the gate. But I had to rush back to the café immediately to finish off my pending work…was prepping for a presentation actually. I was neck-deep into that. These days, we are running a very hectic schedule,” he summarised, loosening his tucked-in shirt a bit and folding up his sleeves when Kajal got a clear view of his wrist watch dial, embossed in bright white with the emblem of the world-famous Swissmaker Tissot on a solid cyan background.

After a pregnant pause, the speaker then suddenly stood up and bending slightly forward grabbed his wallet from his pant pocket to fish out a card from a puny pouch. "Here's my visiting card. Am cocksure you don't remember my name. What say?" he conveyed straightaway while handing out his official credentials to Kajal. "Hi, I’m Kaushik Bose," he stretched out his long brawny arm for a handshake. Accepting the card, Kajal read his full name and the company's in a decorative calligraphic font. She hesitantly touched his palm gently with hers for a nanosecond, instantaneously feeling a swell of jitters inside. "Yeah, now I can recall. You had told me that day," she said admittedly. "Yours is Kajal, right?" the revelation left her startled. "See, how well I remember. May I know your surname, Ma'am? Pardon me, I mean the full name," he pressed forth his request. "Kajal Mitra," Kajal babbled out with childlike innocence. "By Jove, we both are stuck with the K-factor! No K-drama here, haan?" he joked and both laughed in unison. Kaushik fixed his eyes on Kajal when she cackled heartily. There was a ringing effect to it that lingered behind. Realising that, she controlled herself only the next moment. His prattles and her giggles suddenly enlivened the milieu. The evening crowd comprising friends, families, couples and youngsters started pouring in fragments to leave the floor chock-full and the air around animated with the murmurs of gossips. Talks randomly switched topics and Kajal eagerly inserted her query: "So you build and design homes?" "We design dreams. That's our tagline. You can skim over it on the card and log onto our website to dig into more details. Skylark — Designing Dreams is our company’s name and the namesake bird is our logo. We want to fly high, changing the skyline and beautifying the ground for better with verdant landscapes and more open-air space," he synopsised. "Wow! That sounds great. So much creativity involved. The very thought of designing something out of nothing gives me goosebumps," confessed Kajal. "Well, it poses a lot of challenges too. Every profession has its pros and cons, you see. You have to be future-ready alias a trendsetter in your job. It's a demand to always remain indispensable and relevant to your assigned position. Well, you may say that's the daunting ask of all new-age job profiles. It's the race to the pinnacle of excellence and to stay ahead of the curve in a market of cut-throat competition," philosophised Kaushik.

Given that the adjoining areas are dotted with offices and commercial establishments, the weekday mornings until afternoons at Winston Café generally remain crowded with the business class. "Sometimes, it's a welcoming relief to ideate over interactive meetings outside the watertight office cubicles and cramped huddle rooms. The atmosphere here is much more relaxing, cheery and less claustrophobic. There's enough breathing space. So, our monthly calendar usually has dates circled in red ink and blocked for cafe confabulations," reasoned Kaushik. “Mr. Moitra is a congenial fellow. He's very kind and accommodating. It's not for the fact that the corporate crowd earns this place its bulk revenue but merely because he's simple-natured and a very flexible guy," he acknowledged. All of a sudden, silence crept in and the two could hear its impactful sound. Kajal closed her eyes and took a deep breath to feel it and soak in its essence like a sponge. Kaushik didn't miss his chance of sighting this with a sense of pure elation. The waiter arrived fetching two tall glasses of cold coffee with a heart-shaped creamy layer on its crest along with stirrers, straws and sugar cubes on a large oval tray. After he left serving his order on the table top, Kaushik gestured saying: "Please, help yourself." Kajal shook her head in acquiescence: "Sure, thank you." She siphoned a few sips through the straw and the cold liquid flowed like silken nectar down her throat, sending surfs of shiver in her neck. "Splendid! What a bliss. This is Winston Café’s heavenly indulgence, I must say. None can match up to this or beat it! Thanks a bunch, Sir, for the treat. Really I mean it," Kajal was palpably overwhelmed as she unabashedly gulped down the liquid to a considerable extent. "Hang on! First of all, my name is not Sir. I’m just Kaushik if you remember. Secondly, complete credit goes to this cafe for whipping up a brilliantly relishing coffee-flavoured dessert like this. Am sure, the recipe must be its trade secret and nobody's going to part with it. You were anyways about to have it, right? I just bumped in. A big thanks to you rather for allowing me to do the honours. It's your benevolence, not mine," pat came his reply. "How witty and dashing he is," thought Kajal. She could only respond with a charming sunny smile on her face. Kaushik too drank quite a bit of the cold yummy delight to quench his thirst with added pleasure. “Jesus! This was like a much-needed tonic for me. Felt so drained and tired after being bogged under deadline pressures. Work at times sucks you,” he confided in. Wiping off his moistened lips with a tissue paper, he urged like a kid, crinkling his nose and puckering his mouth: “Can we order a plate of croissants? That is also a much-touted savoury here. Feeling a tad hungry”. Kajal felt a bit embarrassed by his candid bid. “Oh sure! Of course, why not? So sorry. I should have offered you this one. It’s on me now. Or let’s do it in his-his-whose-whose way,” she proposed. “Are you crazy! Did I mean to say that? Am honestly feeling famished. So, thought of having something else,” he exclaimed with a tone of sweet admonishment. Kajal tried putting forth her point in response to this rebuke but Kaushik prevented her, swaying his hand. “My lady, there will be ample scope for you to return this treat or favour if you may think so in the near future on another day, in a different space, at some other time. Why fuss over it now? Just chill!” he riposted amicably. Kajal was somewhat surprised by this informal address of “My lady” from a ‘not so familiar’ acquaintance. She felt that too close for comfort to digest. Understanding this, the smart guy was quick to rectify: “I mean Madam, it’s no big deal. We can always share the price of a meal if we again ever run into each other somewhere else. It’s a small world after all. Nobody’s sprinting away anywhere, right?” he enthused. Kajal gave in inevitably with a tender smile, lowering her eyelashes. Kaushik was jubilant over his winning move but carefully chose not to express it overtly.

“Hope, I’m not detaining you,” he risked saying. “Nah, not at all!” she declared. “So, you got a copy of The Treasure Hunt at Muslin Desert?” he asked, changing the topic fast. “Oh, you mean Satyada’s book? I mean Mr. Satyadev Chowdhury (ace cartoonist and writer),” answered Kajal. “Yes, he’s Charu kaku to me, my dad’s childhood friend. Both have been bosom buddies since their school days. We usually get his title launch invites. That day, I had accompanied my father to the event,” imparted Kaushik. “Okies I see,” she said, adding ahead: “Yes, I read the novella in a day flat over the weekend. What hooked me to the fiction is its compilation in a comic-strip format with variegated toons, sketches and drawings. Though primarily targeted at the teens but as you know, any adventure thriller is a great clincher for all and sundry!” “I guess so. Dad was also reading it with great interest. He showed me some of the most spellbinding pictures created by kaku and read out a few excerpts from the gripping narrative. I happened to flip through the book but haven’t yet got time to go through it entirely in detail. Even squeezing out leisure over the weekends seems a luxury at times, more so if you are fastened to a project. It kind of weighs you down,” groused Kaushik about his burden of work. “So true. Can’t refute that,” concurred Kajal. Veering the tête-à-tête to the author, she lauded one of her key sources: "I've known Satyada for almost a year now. He keeps sending me his doodles with comic one-liners and scribbles as well as sketches of old buildings, marketplaces, prominent city centres, etc. He has a keen eye for detail and is passionate about his craft. He is a perfectionist in the true sense of the word. It reflects in his work." Kaushik hung on her every word with undivided devotion, freezing his eyes on her and sometimes nodding to lend his consent. "He has invited me too very often at his book releases and art exhibitions to date. So weeks ago, when I got that particular invitation, I didn't want to let go of my chance to reconnect with the master and rediscover his repertoire," she revealed. Meanwhile, platters of croissants with chocolate sauce and varied other colourful sweet dips were served at the duo's table. "You know, kaku was instrumental in introducing me to the world of children's literature and the rollicking kids' adventure tales and those suspenseful whodunits of great writers in my formative years. While growing up, Khushimela was our favourite children's magazine and of course, Sherlock Holmes, Dickens and Feluda would unfailingly keep reigning our imagination with their everlasting compelling stories, lessons learnt on life, and the power of their intellect and witty brand of humour," fondly remembered Kaushik. "He would frequently drop in at our residence, provoking us all to sit and encircle him, waiting with bated breath to listen to a string of amusing stories unwrapped from his mixed-bag collection. He would infallibly bring along some scrumptious treats whenever he paid us a visit. He was an indelible inspiration in my boyhood days and still continues to be my idol as a person," averred Kaushik imbued with nostalgia. "Hmm, he's a wonderful soul and so humane and meek despite being a multifaceted talent," echoed Kajal, extolling the humble artist. Pointing to the food, Kajal alerted Kaushik to start having his flaky baked snack, otherwise, things were getting cold. Kaushik instantly took a generous bite from his plate to gorge on the tasty edibles. It was obvious that he was terribly hungry after a long hard day's labour.

Kajal also cut the croissant with a fork into pieces and put a morsel into her mouth with the spoon. "It's good ya," she complimented with a sense of gratitude expressed towards him. "I know. Can't beg to differ on this. It's a unanimous choice as a hot favourite item over here," he conceded. "So you love watching plays, don't you? Are you a die-hard theatre buff?" asked Kajal. "Not exactly an avid theatre lover but I keep turning up occasionally at the auditoriums where English plays are staged, both of amateur and established troupes," volunteered Kaushik. “Specifically, I make it a point to watch the Wings group’s plays as the director Sahil Gupta is my college mate. He was always into dramatics, falling for it hook, line and sinker. Once, he even convinced me to play a minuscule part in his scripted production, which I had somehow managed to pull off. It was he who had sown a seed of penchant in me for the theatrical histrionics. Ever since, he persevered in the field of performing arts and formed a stage outfit in partnership with a coterie of more likeminded heads,” inputed Kaushik. “Amateur groups like Podium, Mike and Curtain Call are also doing well for themselves but I harbour a soft corner for Wings for obvious reasons. Their subjective perspective on a popular work of art is their differentiator. The last piece that I had watched from their stable was the timeless Shakespearean tragedy Hamlet with a different take on the drama. His script always explores a different facet of a well-known creation, charting out a less trodden path in the process,” he further communicated, showering praise.

Hearing this, Kajal dispensed: “You see, shows put up by the city’s major groups under big names always expectedly prove to be quite a draw but it is these small-time units that need patrons and support with decent ticket sales.” “Exactly!” reacted Kaushik. “Though Sahil arranges passes for the performance nights, I often dissuade him from doing so as I believe in buying tickets to add the price value to their treasury as modest set-ups like these frequently suffer a fund crunch. He will anyways Whatsapp me the schedule and tag me on his theatre outfit’s Facebook page. I can take a chance in checking out the stage fest next month as my project will be over by then,” he further reported. Kajal had earlier thought of writing a feature on the English theatrescape of Kolkata following her café series but never really imagined that an opportunity like this could ever land in her lap. “That day, weren’t you telling Charu kaku that you are supposed to freelance somewhere? Are you already at it or about to start the same?” questioned a curious Kaushik. Kajal was suddenly left stunned by this prying query. “My goodness, you still remember our conversation?” she shot back, wondering about their accidental meeting, which supposedly had lasted barely five minutes or so. “Madam, I was standing right next to kaku. So it’s pretty much evident that I could easily listen to what you guys were talking about. You came to the atrium zone of the building that housed the bookstore, looking for kaku, where my father, he and I had stood chitchatting post the title launch. Charu kaku noticing you right in the middle of the hall called you and then you walked up to us, only to be introduced by him and vice versa. Kuchh yaad aya ab mohatarma? I mean Ma’am, can you make an effort to recall this bit!” implored Kaushik teasingly. Kajal broke into an unrestrained laugh, flashing her pearly whites and then endeavouring to hide her mouth with her palm. “Uff! Why is it that you think it’ll be so difficult for me to hark back to our encounter that occurred only some days ago?” he interrogated. “Apologies! But I’m amazed that you hold onto such minute details. Yeah, I did quit my newspaper job soon after and became an independent contributor to journals and portals. Recently, I also initiated writing blogs,” she corroborated.

“Impressive!” hailed Kaushik. “Because you see, it requires a lot of courage to get out of the rut and follow your heart. Stability gives you certainty I admit but it's just one life, right? And you want to try your hand at everything you want to do. At least give it a shot," he further viewed. "Yeah, I had been nursing this idea for long. To write my own stuff and see things my way through a freewheeling lens without being micromanaged, judged and falling prey to a straitjacketed system. You may say, I'm in a lot happier and more fulfilling space with a more open mind and a broader outlook," she espoused. "Wow! that's great indeed. I liked the way you put that in perspective. You know, someday even I wish to start my own architectural firm or turn a consultant, partaking in the mission of conjuring up some exceptional designs with excellence like those bizarre architectural wonders around the world. See, after years of gaining experience in a certain kind of job, especially if it's a creative sector, and negotiating that gruelling nine-to-five grind everyday, which anyways gets overextended by default, your nerves want to unwind and demand some respite. You then automatically aspire to grow out of a run-of-the-mill system and find your own footing under the sky," ratified Kaushik.

Kajal couldn't agree more to endorse his deep assessment of the situation. To her, he appeared a resourceful guy with a been-there-and-done-that attitude, wearing his confidence on his sleeve. His success didn't hit his head but enriched his mindset. A tuft of silver strands on the sides of his wavy hair just above his ears stands testament to his cerebral nature. A few years down the line, an even more accentuated salt-and-paper look might give him that sexier edge, fantasised Kajal with a hidden blush. Seemingly a singleton, he appeared to have touched 40. "I'm sure you must be always on the hunt for subjects to write on. Is there a particular area that you pursue?" he sounded inquisitive. "Ideally, anything under the sun but I've principally been a culture scribe throughout my career. Of late, I've strayed into tech and business beats too," she wrapped up. "That's good," remarked Kaushik. "So shall I then book two tickets for us to the theatre carnival? What do you think?" he asked nonchalantly. Kajal was completely astonished by this unexpected offer. It happened so out of the blue that she couldn’t react at first. But then she could clearly notice a twinkle of excitement in Kaushik's eyes, who in turn, might have also caught a glint of hope in Kajal's dark-brown tinted eyes. She was fast enough to gather up her thoughts in her mind to mull over this supposedly innocuous proposal. There was nothing wrong with it after all, she knew it very well but still didn't know what to say at that point in time. Then after much vacillation and the oscillating beep of her heart beat like a clock's pendulum, she just managed to extract from herself an "Okay!" "But can I make a humble request? Can we share the cost?" she further begged. “Kajal, are we two planning to run away separately in opposite directions forever so that we can never bump into each other or get to see each other on this planet? You going down south and me bound for the north or me heading for the east and you to the westward…anything of this sort? We will meet again na! There will be multiple opportunities for you to return the monetary favour if you consider it so, in our forthcoming cultural dates. There is always a next time, right? Have faith in the future,” he amplified with patience.

Kajal was unsettled by Kaushik directly addressing her by her name. She wasn’t ready for this so soon and so fast. She could only unleash a faint ray of smile at someone already charming her and coaxing her into accepting a harmless invitation. “Okkaayy Mr. Bose, that’s fine but I didn’t mean to….,” Kajal was cut short by Kaushik raising his palm, signalling to stop her. “Now, who is this Mr. Bose over here, a third person between us! Can you please kindly intro him to me? I can’t see him anywhere around us. You’ve forgotten my name already! Or is it so disturbing or boring to your ears that you don’t want to pronounce it? What is it that’s irking you?” he bandied tensely. The listener took the banter sportingly and finally yielded to the speaker’s bid: “Alright done. Let’s go and enjoy the festival.” “Fantastic!” uttered Kaushik with a triumphant zing in his voice, brandishing a thumbs-up sign. “You just wait here for a minute. I’ll quickly go and clear the bill from my card,” beseeched Kaushik before dashing ahead.

Was it serendipity, she wondered, that led one thing to another and she happened to meet someone so pleasant and admirable? She had no inkling of it when she began her journey in a fiery, sweaty afternoon earlier that day, which flowed so differently in the end. She had fully forgotten her last meeting with Kaushik until the latter reminded her of it. What got erased unwittingly, slowly came back with a renewed essence, attaining a fresh lease of life. His voice had an emphasis of dependable assurance, beckoning her to fall back on his words while his eyes gleamed the depth of an ocean of calmness to surrender in times of distress. It's not that Kajal never thought of settling down or that marriage plans never crossed her mind, it's only that the right kind of man never crossed her path. She enrolled in matrimonial sites and also gave ads in print at the behest of her parents and the relatives in her extended family but to no avail. She sought many prospective alliances and met several of the eligible grooms in person but none matched her sensibilities. Both have to be on the same page to stay afloat in the same boat of life, isn't that so? In her 15-year-long professional life, Kajal kept herself overly busy grasping the ropes of her chosen field, managing her finances, paying fat EMIs for her flat and a car that she purchased, completing higher studies, technical courses, etc. Her youthful years, as if, just flipped past like the pages of a book turning over under the influence of a fast-blowing wind. Now in her late 30s, when she sometimes looked back in retrospect to reflect on her life, she could fathom that it mostly remained a blank, pallid, unscratched canvas, yet to be filled in with colours or scrawls by a steady hand. Her personal life has nothing to speak of and her relationship status always bore a big zero. A couple of years from now, she might hit the midlife crisis. She knows well deep down that the moment of finding a perfect partner doesn't come within a stipulated age or announce an expiry date. It has nothing to do with the biological clock ticking or a conjugal union at the right age. Social wedding parameters may limit a person’s dreams to transcend the boundaries of customary domestic bliss, thus preventing him/her from thinking off the beaten track. But companionship is meant for eternal happiness with no fetters of restriction shackled around. At this age, Kajal’s worn-out nerves look for a shoulder to recline her head on, cushy palms to cup her chin and her cheeks or a strong arm to cling onto.

Her journalistic job lent her immense scope to mingle with the luminaries of every realm that one could imagine. Many of them really have had a deep impact on her or hugely influenced her in more ways than one, hitting a common ground. But nobody seriously succeeded in bewitching her in a personal space. Kajal’s meeting with Kaushik shook her a bit to the core. It is as if someone just pelted a stone in her innate pond of still waters to create a ripple effect. Sumner evenings never smelt so sweet for her. When the whole city was praying hard for the first burst of monsoon thundershowers to let the heat relent and the temperature dip to some degrees, Kajal then felt a spray of spring trickling into her every pore. It was already sundown. Will it dawn a new sunrise in her life, she ruminated. To her, this feeling seemed like the cool fresh morning breeze she had been waiting for so long. It did touch a chord but would it forge a bond forever or not, only time will tell. Passing affairs, fashionable flings or classic romances were never part of her experiences other than the novels she had read so far. And true love is a divine blessing that seldom one is bestowed with. So predictably, she wasn't even treading in that zone. Kajal’s fleeting thoughts numbed her senses for a while. She grew conscious immediately hearing Kaushik’s agitated footsteps.

"Hey! I've to get back to office to swipe out. Plus, I need to brief and update something to my deputy. Have been out for long. In the morning, I supervised a team meeting over designs and other basic project details. Then sat with the marketing guy to discuss some financial aspects regarding the project, got him to connect with the client thereafter who dropped by our office and then we came down here for the luncheon and some more deliberations, after which we drove to the site straightaway. On returning, we dropped our client Mr. Rajanish Jain at his car park near our firm and our marketing manager Sid, I mean Siddharth Patra, who went back to office to wrap up his work, while I re-entered this place to wind up mine on a pile of important files," summarised Kaushik from A to Z.

Kajal could well realise why this smart resourceful guy with a sharp acumen and great coordination skills is a team leader. "How will you go back home by the way? I can drop you on your way somewhere close by. You can gimme the direction and the location. I'll track it down on my mobile GPS (global positioning system). No worries," suggested Kaushik. Kajal felt a sudden bolt of awkwardness from the blue at this development that struck her like a lightning across the cloudy sky. Things were rapidly spiralling out of her hands. And the very idea of sharing the private car space with someone who is still a stranger was too unnerving for her. She stated with loud anxiety: "No no please! I've my car with me. Parked in the next lane I guess. I’m calling the driver. Just a second." "Relax!" said Kaushik. "Fine, if you have your own arrangement. But what’s the problem if it was otherwise! For God’s sake, why do you have to fret over it? Is this the first time happening on earth that one acquaintance will escort another acquaintance back home safely? This is no first-of-its-kind thing, right? It's so normal," he argued. Unable to defy this logic, Kajal kept mum for a moment. Gauging this, Kaushik was quick to lighten her mood. "I have a plan Ma'am. If you allow me. May I?" he courted amiably. Kajal felt a slight inhibition by his tone and hushed up her embarrassment with a smile. "Ya sure sure. Please carry on," she said. Heaving a deep long breath of relief, the apparently apt eligible bachelor said: "Can we walk some distance together? A few yards I mean. We can saunter until we reach your car parking zone and then you can ride back home and I'll be off to my workstation. Does that work for you?" Kajal was warmed up by this heartening offer, which was like music to her ears. She gleefully accepted with an "OK done," reply, maintaining her primness and propriety before a newfound familiarity who’s yet to be called a friend. "Thank goodness! Am so tremendously obliged by this kind gesture of yours Ma'am," said Kaushik in a lighter vein. Both shared a hearty laugh in the next moment amidst a crowded café.

“You know these sedentary jobs, backbreaking deadlines, erratic schedules and odd meal hours — all take a toll on the body. Our health goes for a toss and our appetite gets killed. And of course, stress is a byproduct of modern-day lifestyle wherein maintaining that crucial work-life balance is not so easy. Although we have a gym in our office, it is but during such chaotic and mad days, that I have to give it a slip and compensate with a brisk walk. I can at least inhale the air outside and take a look around at my city getting on with its day-to-day hustle and bustle,” he inferred. Kajal approved in a monosyllable: “True.” “Where are your belongings? At the collecting passageway?” asked Kaushik, picking up his mobile phone and placing its lanyard around his neck to keep his hands free. “Even I have to take my baggage from there. Okay, so let’s go and get our things quickly, and leave. Hope you have the token with you,” he showed his like a wide-eyed child with a sense of obvious urgency in his voice. Kajal too flashed hers clasped in between her fingers and both walked towards the small vestibule from the cafeteria. The guard in a neatly-ironed uncreased attire at the doorway pulled the door inwards to let the visitors step out with convenience. Before closing it behind, he greeted Kaushik — who’s a pretty regular guest there — with a jolly smile, wishing him goodnight for the day. It was 8 o’clock in the evening. How the time flew off, neither of the two knew.

The night is about to fall. Standing under the infinite sky and breathing in the air around with a free unclogged mind, Kaushik felt way relaxed. He stretched his arms literally to unwind his muscles, seemingly stiffened under the pump due to hefty workload. His right hand held his blazer while his left shoulder carried his laptop bag over it. “Everything seems to get locked after a long day at work. Sometimes you need a vent to blow off your pent-up steam and recharge your energy batteries,” he expressed with a smile. “I know. Even we feel like taking a break after every assignment. But then copies needed to be swiftly keyed in to hit the press on time as missing a deadline is never an option in our field,” she deduced. Both then started strolling at a leisurely pace under the canopies of trees with lights flickering through intermittently from the street lamps. Kaushik slowed down a bit near a Victorian-styled ornate pillar light post and looked at Kajal, who has a medium frame but a comely disposition, in close proximity. He was as if smitten by something about her. Cautious not to ogle at her to make her feel uncomfortable, he quickly broached: “So, you have an affinity with colour scheme? While you were collecting your bag, I saw that its colour matched your outfit. You love light, muted shades? Beige, off-white, yellow ochre, cream and all — suitable summer shades.” Kajal grew naturally conscious, her feet trembled and her face looked absolutely flushed as the blood ran towards it. She nimbly shared with a beam: “Yeah, am all for a soothing palette. It isn’t that I don’t like vibrant colours but soft tints complement my personality well I feel.”

Kaushik was watchful enough to discover a pair of tiny dimples angularly forming above her lips, sweetening her smile all the more. “I see. Well, I have a thing for colours too and they always attract me from nowhere. And mind you, a shade card is an integral element in architectural designs and interior decoration. I have a clump of design samples on my laptop to highlight this. One day, I’ll show you,” he disclosed bashfully. Kajal could instantly discern a coy boy’s presence inside the sealed safe of a mature man’s heart. She too spotted a depression forming on Kaushik’s chin whenever he opened his mouth to talk. “Kajal, you have my card, which carries my number. If you even once dilly-dally over our planned date and hitch to take a spur-of-the-moment decision, just give me a tinkle, I’ll cancel it then and there. Don’t hesitate, ok?” mentioned Kaushik. The lady was completely bowled over by a gentleman’s sensitive approach. He also made sure to not ask for her number directly. That’s his intelligence. He thinks on his feet and knows how to sustain his impression on a lady’s mind like a sheer winner. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks,” she acknowledged warmly. For a change, she felt pampered and cared for today. Such a feeling she had waited and deserved for so many years in her life. Finally, it came eons later. She could feel as if somebody had put an arm of endearing affection around her. Is she already liking the guy if not falling for him, head over heels!

Both gladly stared into each other’s eyes one last time with a wave of latent contentment and greater depth, and commenced promenading again towards their destination. Their journey had just then begun. What lay in store ahead, only God could foretell. As the song goes, the future is not ours to see, what will be, will be. So is love. It doesn’t own a set template. It flows in organically. If the Cupid’s arrow has to strike, it definitely will. Is there any silver lining in the clouds high above, a possibility of optimism somewhere? Well, nobody knows but can only hanker after, seeing its fulfillment only in one’s vision. They ambled in peaceful silence, not hand in hand but next to each other, silhouetting against the cityscape late in the evening. The twosome seemingly replicated an Afremovian universe (distinguished Russian-Israeli impressionist artist Leonid Afremov) dabbed with splashes of vivid colours, simulating a beautiful painting of the artist. The figures as if strayed into his enigmatic world far from the matter-of-fact human existence. Faint streaks of the twilight sneakily left behind a frail trail in the clear western sky, which was about to be shrouded in pitch darkness, while the crescent moon was already seen shining across the firmament.

The duo walked on….

***