When did I first see her? No answer to this question. I probably saw her in an unobserved, overlooked kind-of way, but, during the course of the year, somewhere, somehow along the line fell for that unmistakable charm. Simi Venugopal-That was her name, and after twenty years I still remember her name as if it were the name of someone whom I met every other day and had no chance of forgetting.
I observed her whenever I could. When I stood in the school assembly, my eyes unintentionally scanned the place for a look of her.I would gaze at her and marvel at her beauty. It was some sort of meditation which lifted me above everything else that existed in and around me. A sort of extrasensory communication existed between us. I literally sent her emails through telepathy and she returned my mails promptly.
She was no ordinary beauty. In fact she was so extraordinarily beautiful that none of my friends found her pretty enough to give a second look. I was even laughed at for my lousy taste. Dark woman with Glasses.”Have you gone mad?”….But as they say, love is blind, so was I.I was blind and also Mad!
I would wait in the bus stand for the 8.30am bus when she was likely to alight from one of the city buses, having reached in a private bus ahead of my 9 am School bus. To the doubts of my parents, I would simply reply, “Maths tuition dad! So much in syllabus but so little time. Teachers say unless she takes extra classes we will never complete the portions.” My ever suspecting Dad would gawk through the top of his reading glasses, Perhaps muttering to himself, “ Beta, don’t teach your father to screw. After all he is your baap.” Quietly, I followed her till the school, and she would occasionally turn to admit my presence, smiling in return.
I would walk several times to catch a glimpse of her during the periods and she would do the same to attract my attention. My heart palpitated when she appeared before me.I would fear that the world would hear my heartbeats. At least the school would and would also read my thoughts. Songs from chitrahar sounded as if the lyricist had written them keeping us in mind. All the sappy words meant more than what they actually meant when the lyricist wrote them. White doves fluttered, roses swayed as if out of extra load of the dew drops, green grass with tiny orbs of mist sensuously massaged the feet, and wind carried scent as if perpetually air freshened, even still air of the class room felt like cool breezes from the Arabian Sea.
I prayed to gods of all the corners of the heaven and even the satans of the hell to come to my rescue. I Prayed, “ Oh Krishna, the lord of romance and love, please help me. Make her come to me and accept me. I love her and you know it. You are antheryami, you know everything. Help me and I will stop coming to you every nowandthen .Lord, this is the only time I will ask your help, please if she becomes mine, I would visit Guruvayoor and offer you a KG of Butter. Whichever brand you wish!”
But I had no courage to go to her and drain my heart. I doubted if she would reject me at once. I had no idea then that beauty was skin deep or if it was deeper till the hypodermis or some other layer of the body.I looked several times at myself in the mirror and made a decisive observation that I needed little more than mere courage. If I would have had the courage to propose her I would have been a different man with a different wife. But as they say it all happens for good, so was in my case.
But when I look back I do go through fits of wistful nostalgia. The boy I was; hyper romantic, shy, sensitive and emotional. A far cry from the greedy, insensitive, dominating, idiotic, and self obsessed man that was to become of that good natured boy I was.
P.s: This is wriiten in jest.Please don’t take things at face value. Suggest to add doses of salt-pepper.Ciao