Farewell Waltz.

“It takes two to tango, they say. I want to tango before I die. Preferably, with a charming young lady”.

Having said this, he laughed aloud at the supposed joke. A boisterous laughter that irked me. Captain Rajsekhar!

****

I remember writing a tamil poetry few years back when I relocated to Bangalore. Something about the train moving forward whilst my heart refusing to do so.

This happens quite often these days as i travel frequently. I have a love hate relationship with train journeys; especially the ones in which I travel on my own.

I hate the stench of the hawkers and find the impatient mob wanting to push everyone around to find their comfortable seat very irritating. I abhor the way men and women spit on the track and poke their nose into everyone’s life. I hate their curiousity; they want to know all about your life. Where you are headed to and for what.

Come to think of it, it’s nice in a way. If you really take a liking to the person who is curious about you that is. Which is very rare.

However,I quite relish the pleasant feeling of being one with myself inspite of the crowd and madness. I love standing near the door and contemplating suicide for the craze of it. I love the feel of the chilly wind on my face, it inspires philosophy in me.

I write poetry and sing aloud.I think it is quite romantic. And kinky.

****

I was getting back home after my final trip to Hubli.
“I would miss the place”, I thought to myself. I guessed this is what they popularly call “Dil me kasak!”

I would miss my carefree banter with that young and naivete lot. I would miss the dingy canteen and the flirtatious young men who find me charming. Not to forget the pimpled cute girls who have a wicked streak in them. (Oh yes, especially the purda clad Muslim woman who is planning to elope with her hindu Bf)

I wish I could do the loud antakshris and the Group discussions again;yet another weekend.I fancy the cacophony they create. I will often think of the hilarious interview answers and laugh to myself. I would think of the guy who refused to sit through the interview because i spoke in favour of live-in relationships in one of those GDs; he had called me immoral.

I will blush at the thought of this young lad who wanted to have coffee with me.I had refused,didn't have an option really.

****

“You like Milan kundera?” he asked.

I was quite surprised that he managed to find out what I was reading.I sat twisted on the lower berth,quite conscious of how i was sitting; wondering if and whether my clothes were decent enough. The book was my lap,hidden behind the longish scarf i had worn to cover myself.

Anyway I simply nodded my head in agreement, not wanting to take the conversation any further than that.

“You like satire?” he asked.

“I do”, I replied.

He then said something about wit, humor and satire. He added that all women want to marry men who have a great sense of humour.

“What kind of man do you want to marry?” he asked, with that irritating smirk that made me want to kill him.

I’m married, I wanted to say. But changed my mind on that.

“I have not thought about it. But I guess a man who has no sense of humor. Someone who is serious all the time” I muttered,knowing fully i was losing it.

He laughed again. "Good joke that! By the way let me formally introduce myself to you. My name is Captain Rajshekar”.

“Captain?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t serve in the army. My friends back in college call me Captain, because I had this huge repository of adult jokes." He laughed for a few minutes,till he realized that i was absolutely stern.

"I was the college Casanova, did u know that?” he declared, very proud of the so-called achievement.

I thought that was too gross. And let it pass.

In the next one hour that ensued he offered Marie biscuits, some “foreign” chocolates that his son had gifted him and a paratha his bahu had packed for dinner. All of which I refused. I was so sure they had something that would get me groggy.

He then asked how 'young' I was. “35” I replied.

With a very unsually serious look on his face he suggested that I should work on my sense of humor. Else my boy friend would call for a break up very soon.

I pretended to not hear that. He added that his wife had the world's best comic timing. He took out his wallet and showed the picture of this pretty young women. The photograph looked antique; it was torn from the sides. She looked exquisite in that crimson sari,like a princess. Her smile,very adorable.

When i returned the picture, he took it carefully; folded it gently and kissed the wallet before putting it inside the bag. I suddenly felt a rush of affection for him;

We then spoke about this and that;unrelated topics. Life after death,Times of India and spelling mistakes, Aishwarya rai(who is apprently his god), Mandira Bedi and cricket, old age homes in Bangalore,stray dogs so on and so forth.

I changed my mind,he didn't seem to be the desperate seedy hag i had thought him to be.My heart warmed up to him. I asked,if he lived with his wife in Bangalore.

“I wish we did. But no”. I might have imagined tears in his eyes;or may be not. I didn’t react.

After about 5minutes,he told me with such cheerful jest “She was a dancer, a very sensuous one at that!”

I smiled a cozy smile, “Is that why she has such deep lovely eyes?”.

He smiled back and for once didn’t say a thing.

"I miss dancing with her. Do u know salsa?"he asked,with a childlike enthusiasm.

“Naaaaaa”,I replied.

“What about tango or waltz?”

“Naaaaaa”.

“It takes two to tango, they say. I want to tango before I die. Preferably, with a charming young lady”. Like you , he declared.

"When I learn to tango, I would surely let you know” I said.

Suddenly memories of my grand dad that had vanished long since came back to me.I thought of day we had danced,the way he held my hand and taught me to twist. It was me,him and mo. Mo was still learning to talk.And i dance. He told us war time stories;his dance with the Italian women.

“I can teach you right away, you want to?” he asked.

“No,not tonight.Iam too sleepy.” I replied,and decided to be alone rest of the night.

****

“He was brought dead” they told us.

Sorry Captain Rajsekhar! I owe you that farewell waltz!