Banganga
“…And then I saw you, and my soul whispered, ‘doesn't she look familiar’. I said, ‘she does’, but I couldn't place you from this time
or place. So I asked my soul, ‘if it knew since how long back had we known each
other’? And it replied, ‘since forever’.”
“Since forever.”
That’s what he first
thought when he saw this woman sitting on the jagged, moss-infested stone steps
of the tank.
Her blue cotton
skirt was partially inside the green pool of water so he didn't know where her feet ended. He gauged from the length of her back and the broadness of her
shoulders that she was tall, probably taller than what was just normal.
The morning sun
glistened and shimmered like sparkling stars on water. He saw it, even as he
saw her observe it. She was smiling; beaming helplessly. It made her feel happy
and he could not tell why.
They were at a
considerable distance from each other – he standing and she sitting, both on
different angles of the rectangle – enough for her to not notice that he was
noticing her.
Rukshad was a
photographer, an amateur one. He didn't love Mumbai, as much as his parents did. But today, at the tank, beauty had snatched hate off some of its glory.
Banganga - it was a
beautiful place. Here, it seemed like another world from another time had not
only been preserved, but had continued seamlessly, undisturbed and unaltered,
even as everything changed or manifested into something new. The stoned stairways
on all four sides led deep down to a bottomless pit from where a natural spring
drowned each step as it rose, disappearing layer by layer. Legend had it that
Laxman, the brother of epic hero Lord Ram, had shot an arrow on this earth,
eons ago; water sprung soon after to feed the thirsty elder brother. Some claimed
that the arrow was shot after Sita – Ram’s wife – had sought pure water for a temple offering.
Rukshad’s friend had
told him of the tank.
“Very few know about
it,” he was told. “Go visit it, you may get some good photographs that could land
you that job,” the friend had advised.
He wanted to intern
at the photography magazine desperately, so he came here. But now, he was more
than just stunned by the magnificence of the place. And then his eyes fell upon
her, and he did not know what had left him more spellbound - the tank or the
girl sitting by it.
It was strange, this
attraction he felt for her. She was ordinary to look at, not somebody anyone
would take to on the first glance. Her hair was tied up messily in a hasty bun
with strands falling carelessly on her face. There was something about her very
presence though, that felt familiar.
So while he toyed
with his SLR, shooting aimlessly, his mind kept travelling back to the woman. But
he parried his view the moment he thought she had become aware of his presence.
She was still sitting there. And he realised that the water had risen a bit,
because her skirt was now hidden knee deep.
She looked at him, first
casting him a nervous stare, but then smiled. It was a very knowing glance.
Before he could pull himself together, she was waving at him, asking him to
come hither.
Rukshad didn't have time to think of what was happening, so he quickly walked to the other side, down the slippery steps, carefully towards her.
“Photographer?” she
asked.
He nodded, fumbling
with his words, struggling hard to give a reply.
“You want to take my
picture?” she asked questioningly.
If that was the
excuse he would have to give for those stolen glances, he had no other choice.
He sheepishly took the bait. “Yes.”
“Okay…go ahead,” she
said, and pushed her hands behind, to hold herself back in a tilt, as if readying
for a pose.
After fiddling with
his lens, Rukshad took a couple of photographs. She smiled and posed without complaining.
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” she
said. “What will you use this for?” she asked.
“Job interview.”
“Oh! I hope you get
it then,” she said.
And, as if no
conversation had happened between them, she went back to treating her eyes to
the green of the waters. Her face looked calm, but lacked the curiosity that he had for her. There wasn't an ounce of emotion, to reveal what was on her mind. She hadn't even bothered
asking if there was a way she could get hold of the copy.
Rukshad moved back
quietly, not knowing whether it would be polite to ask her, her name.
He left Banganga soon after, taking the steep stairway that was butted by old homes and temples on either
side. It was only when he had climbed up to the exit that he realised he had
forgotten his lens at the tank. It was an expensive zoom lens and he remembered
asking the young woman to hold it, while he busied taking her pictures.
He rushed back to the
tank. As he walked down, a slew of thoughts ran through his mind. Rukshad saw
it as a sign; a sign that they weren't over as yet. May be, he would gather
some courage, and ask for her name or probably, her number. They would meet
again, and then...
Were they meant to
be?
The last thought
struck him when he just reached the tank. He immediately looked in the direction
where he saw her last. But there was no one there who resembled her. He glanced
around the tank, assuming he probably got the spot wrong. She had just been
here five minutes ago.
For a moment he thought that she
had followed him to return the lens. But he knew deep down that she never
really would. She had appeared to be in a daze, not to be disturbed or stirred.
From the distance
though, he could see something cylindrical, a few steps above where she had
been seated. His lens had been waiting there, beside a pair of red sandals. She was
nowhere around. He sat there till dusk, hoping she would return to take the shoes that he presumed were hers. She did not.
He got the job the
following week. It was her picture that did the trick.
He would remember
this woman “since forever.”
