Letter from Past. (6th blog story)

10^th May, 2015.

                                       Letter from past.

Alfieri’s pizzeria was just around the corner of the street near Pont Saint Michaels, the only bridge that connected Place Saint Michaels on the left bank of Seine to the Ile de la Cite. Whether ironic or not, both Alfieri and pizza were alien to Paris in terms of origins. But that never bothered her. Not now, and not the first time when she accidently discovered this place while returning from the Sainte Chapelle 6 years ago. Since then, Alfieri’s has been a place of solace for Nivedita. There was, indeed a problem in communication between Tatiana and her. But then, 6 years of continuous visits does magic on such problems. Sure, they still have enough problems in language, but when the heart speaks, lingual barriers are nothing.

Tatiana had a seat reserved for her, always. The old voluptuous woman, who was no less than a mother to Nivedita, was aware of her habits. The last table by the window always kept for her. Somehow, Tatiana knew that the window was not just a window for Nivedita; it was her own private world, impenetrable by anything. It provided a charming view of the bridge, the river and the street that ran across. She never knew what this customer of hers was seeing outside, but it wasn’t just Paris. It was something else, her eyes told her. There were times when Tatiana had sat down across her, when there were not many customers to haggle with. Sharing a cup of Nivedita’s favorite black coffee, they both kept their silence, watching the sun go down, painting the river with a golden streak, the faces which swarmed up on the bridge. Maybe a couple would kiss each other; the witness was the silent sun and the rushing river beneath, and a face in a window that was totally overlooked by them. But it wasn’t just those scenes. Tatiana saw a strange longing sadness in Nivedita’s eyes; sometimes she sang something that this old woman didn’t understood. It wasn’t her language, not even French. But it had a beautiful, painful essence, which took Tatiana to her younger age, when she ran over the hills of Sicily, with her lover Enzo. How she came to Paris is a different story, maybe for next time. Tatiana never asked Nivedita anything, she respected her, perhaps she saw her own reflection in this strange girl, but she knew that something was there. Intuitions of a woman are hardly wrong.

Like every day, Nivedita took her usual space by the window that afternoon. It was around 2 p.m so the shop was basically empty. Tatiana gave her a warm smile while she put down the usual pizza and coffee on the table, Nivedita too smiled at her. “Merci, ma mere” she said. Tatiana stroked her cheek like she indeed was her mother, and then went off to the kitchen. Nivedita gazed at the bridge, which was deserted for now, just a couple of humans here and there. The sky forecasted a rain, sooner maybe. She took out her daily diary to write something, chewing the pen, when the bell above the door rang as it opened, followed by a man about in his mid thirties entered the shop. Tall, good built, wearing a black trench coat, with a cap tilted on the left side. For some reasons, Nivedita thought that she must have seen him somewhere not recently though, she was trying to fix the face in her mind. Tatiana came out of the kitchen to attend the customer. The man gave Nivedita a raised eyebrow, knowing that she was staring at him and passed her over.

It didn’t bother her, the cold look, for she was still trying very hard to remember who he was, when she heard him placing his order. Tatiana told him to take a seat while she was at it. Nodding curtly, he took a seat at the table far from Nivedita, at the other end, taking out a pocket book, engrossing himself, unaware or rather apathetic that there was a person who was now intently looking at him. His voice triggered the suppressed memory inside her head; she knew exactly who he was and where she knew him from. Only she wasn’t sure if she should approach him or not.

While still fighting this dilemma, Tatiana broke her chain of thoughts, asking the man to take away the order placed. Thanking and paying, he left without another word, rushing off in a swift but airy gait. Before leaving, he gave a final look at Nivedita, a knowing look, and then disappeared. Tatiana too looked at Nivedita, only to see slight tears stinging her eyes.

Sometimes, there are a certain events that have no logical way of occurring. People do not believe in serious coincidences, but then, not everything can be understood by the way of logic.

Nivedita never thought, or rather wished very dearly not to face that man again. One single glance was enough to break her inside out. Yet, as said, certain events…

Although she wasn’t sure much, something told her that she will be seeing him again, and she did, that very night, in a posh restaurant near her home. She wasn’t planning, but she went there anyway, there was a small event that was to take place. The place was decorated accordingly; a stage was set for the jazz performance by a not so renowned band.

She saw him again, sitting at a corner, wearing a formal tuxedo, crisp white shirt and high framed glasses, writing something. Gathering some courage, she went to him; after all, it has been 18 years.

“Ahem…” she cleared her throat, rather too seek his attention. He looked up, placid and cold. “Yes?” he asked.

“Remember me?” she asked, her heart fluttering like a caged bird, a sheepish smile crept.

He kept looking at her and she knew he wasn’t trying to figure it out who she was. His locked, clenched jaw and his left hand which he was squeezing into a fist was all she needed that he recognized her. He always squeezed his left hand to control his anger, one of the tell tale signs of him.

“Can… can I sit?” she asked.

Releasing his fist as his palms went red he motioned his head towards the chair in affirmation.

“I knew you recognized me at the pizza shop, why didn’t you say anything?”

He fixed his glasses, not answering. Nivedita noticed his right hand was bandaged around the knuckles.

“Raj, I… it is 18 years!” she pleaded.

“Exactly, it is 18 years, 18 bloody years!” Raj gritted his teeth.

“But why didn’t you say something?” her voice trembled.

“Oh I don’t know… why did you left? 18years, I don’t know if you are alive, dead, gone, whatever. You did not bother to tell me anything, you literally killed all the contacts, I had no way to reach you. The last message you left was so full of deranged things that I could not fathom what they were. “I cannot be here” you wrote. What possibly could I have said today? All my questions, answers, reasons, everything went cold after a time, dead they are! And you are here, asking me, why I didn’t say anything? you chose to leave without any reason after 5 years of relation, breaking everything around me, breaking me, and now here you are after 18 damn years of my life, asking me why ignored you today? You need an answer? Here read this…” Raj furiously tossed a page at her face. The page, old and yellow, the ink was fading. In small steady handwriting, it was letter, dated almost 18 years ago from that night. She couldn’t look into his eyes, but she knew that he was looking at him, she knew why his hand was bandaged and she could hear his breath furiously leaving him. Trembling, she took the letter to read.

“Nivedita,

Things are not quite good between us right now, and I know why. And I don’t blame anyone but me. If only I had taken time to set things right, not rush them, we might not have faced this. But it is past, and I intend not to dwell on what I should have or could have done, but rather what I can and should do. And I am starting by the one thing that really matters. Yes, I could have said this, but I want you to read, it is much surprising.

So, dear Nivedita Mitro, here I am, with an uncertain heart, asking you, will you…”

Raj snatched away the letter back, without letting her finish it; a bewildered look befell on Nivedita’s face, as it became clear what was in that letter. Folding it neatly and tucking it back in the old envelope Raj said, “It doesn’t matter now, does it? You didn’t read it that day so it won’t change anything if you read it tonight after this long time. I mean, I tried every way there was to find you, to contact you, and the more I tried, the more far you ran. Yes, I promised that I will never leave, never lose you, but how was it going to happen if you yourself killed it? Even your parents refused to tell me your whereabouts. For six years, I kept looking, but I lost. For the first time in my life, I lost and it was painful. But I still hold on to this shit letter, hoping, believing. There does not goes a day when I do not read this, but why shall it matter to you? You never missed my presence, the bond, the fucking love we had. No. So, if it didn’t matter then, I don’t think it will matter to you now.” Raj stopped. Both sat in silence, the restaurant was getting busier with the event coming up and nobody had the time to see two lonely souls sitting at the same table. One who was furiously trying not to break his hard attained demeanor and other who was trying in futility to stop her tears from reaching down.  Finally Raj stood up, possibly to leave; Nivedita looked at him, with a plea in her eyes, like begging to not leave. But for a person who has really gone cold after a huge, damaging battle, a few drops of tear would hardly help. It can be easily compared to those two or three rain drops that try hard to flood the vast desert, failing finally the sands swallow them up, removing their traces. He passed her but stopped for one final time, just by her chair.

Gripping the chair, he said, but not in a gritted voice, there was a genuine pain of a lost person, “You know, I don't hate you even after this. I cannot. I loved you. I did, with all I had and I still love you. Hell, I never even had any other woman, my heart wasn’t with me, it stayed in that bloody room in Delhi where we met last time. It is still there. I wish you had found it.” With a deep, pained exhalation, Raj left the restaurant. Nivedita’s tears never stopped. After a moment, she picked herself, left too, with a quivering heart.

We don’t know if she met Raj again or not, but we can hope.

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Note : I cannot truthfully say that this story is all from my brain. This, was actually a scenario that was given to me as a mental exercise. We did that, making up stories and let each other finish it. I took the liberty to change a bit of it.