He Came to Stay - 7. Chapter 7

SEVEN
A bundle of papers kept on my desk caught my attention. Though it appeared to contain documents unfamiliar to me, yet I could recognize the appearance of the pack. I had seen it somewhere earlier. Yes…something must have been missing in my thought. Gradually, as I fixed my gaze at it with curiosity, my conviction in my earlier encounter with it rose higher diminishing my confidence in my memory. I tried for some time to get some clue purely from my memory as to its identity before physically examining it. I really didn’t need to put that much pressure on my brain at that moment. I had many other important preoccupations some of which were those for which I am paid off and some are my passions. But somewhere I had read that people grow amnesia as they grow old. Being haunted by that nagging gut feeling that I saw that pack just a little earlier I immediately started figuring out if I was really becoming a patient of amnesia. Was my illness contributing to it? ‘What are you doing standing there for so long?’ my aunt asked from behind. It startled me. I immediately realized what a stupid thing I was doing. As I didn’t have an answer, which would be satisfactory to her and, at the same time, not make me uncomfortable. Instead I asked, ‘do you need something.’
--I am looking for the box of my betel leafs I kept under the bed. Would you please collect it from there for me? I can’t lean forward as my arthritis is giving me trouble again.’

I knelt down on the floor and picked up the box. She took the box form me and left without any delay. She had a habit of taking betel leaf with lime, areca-nut and scented tobacco after every meal. When she is in the house I always get an intoxicating fragrance in every corner of the house. Time and again I warned her about the dangers involved in chewing tobacco knowing it very well that at her age she hardly had the strength or the motivation to leave this pernicious habit.

Bereft of my memory about the pack I had to ultimately open it and get a jolt at finding it to contain the study materials Ishan had handed over to me for Manidipa. I was supposed to send Avijit to deliver it in the morning, which I forgot altogether. Avijit and I myself were so absorbed in exploring our relationship reassuring the bond between us that it didn’t occur to my mind even for a while. Now that he had already left who will go to deliver it! The way he had left made it all the more difficult for me to approach him and that also for doing a favor to Ishan! Perhaps he would turn down my request in my face. That definitely I didn’t want to happen. But how would I explain it to Ishan. I couldn’t simply say that I forgot as I knew that there was an urgent need for the delivery of the papers as they were related to some imminent exams. Standing at the doors of my bed I leaned backward to see if Ishan was still watching the television in the drawing room. He is lying on the couch apparently fallen asleep. I changed my trousers and t-shirt. I had no other option than to deliver the papers myself and return before Ishan would wake up. But before that I should try Avijit at least for once over the telephone. He must have been very disturbed by then as he left my place being exasperated by Ishan’s strange behavior. I rang him up twice though without any success as his mobile was switched off. Without any further delay I set off to Manidipa’s place.

On my way to her place I informed her about my visit and the purpose. She quite smartly asked, ‘why do you need a purpose for visiting my place Sumanda? You are always welcome.’
--Yes, that I know, still this time I have a purpose.
--Thank God that you have, otherwise you would never come to my place!
‘A precocious child’ I muttered scornfully.
--Purdon, I didn’t get you!
-- I was saying what you said is not true.
--Yes, I know. Ishan told me that you don’t like to go to others’ places. Isn’t it?
--Yes, that’s true. But in your case it is different as you are not among those OTHRES.
--Thank you Sumanda! I am elated!
My last words were just a courtesy; I didn’t even want her to take them seriously. As I didn’t prolong that conversation I cut the phone on the excuse that there was much noise on the road and I couldn’t get her properly.

As I pressed the switch of the doorbell a middle-aged lady apparently her mother opened the door and asked me in. It was a small usual middle class Bengali household neat and clean, with nowhere any sign of excess though. I took my lunch a little earlier and was not feeling like taking anything. But you can hardly avert what may be regarded as the universal Bengali Rule for treating your guests: if he says that he doesn’t have appetite and so will not take any food or drink offered to him, then it should invariably mean (for the host) that your guest is feeling shy. I don’t know how this rule was established, nor did I ever find it encoded in a book. Still it holds almost universally. The hosts must have been guests on other occasions and have had the same fate at least once in their life, or so I suppose, then why don’t they have mercy on their guests while forcing them with food and beverages! Or may it be that they want to take revenge on their guests as the appearance of the guest reminds them of the situation they faced on other occasions as guests? Whatever might be the reason, the poor guest has to eat and drink (always soft drinks) even if she finds it painful to do so. I didn’t waste my energy stating futile reasons in favor of my not taking food at their house and came to an amicable settlement for just tea and little snacks to which they agreed grudgingly. We discussed various topics, including health, politics, profession blah, blah, blah….. These discussions are more often than not fruitless, yet you have to do them seriously lest you should be taken by the host as snobbish. But my mind stuck on one topic. As we were discussing the career of Ishan and Manidipa her mother, unlike most Bengali mothers, politely said that she didn’t have much worries about her studies. I didn’t have any idea about Manidipa’s academic career, though I was concerned about Ishan as I was afraid that being a happy-go-lucky type of guy he paid less attention to his studies than cricket. As I said, ‘I’ll ask Ishan to take her help; I think she can motivate him,’ her mother asked me in return, ‘don’t you know, Ishan often visits our place and they study together.’ Really I didn’t have any idea about that; Ishan never told me about it. Earlier he used to say almost everything, but after his return from the hostel, since I was maintaining a distance with him, he couldn’t have much scope to discuss all these ‘insignificant’ things. That might be the reason for him not telling me about his frequent visits to Manidipa’s place. Was it really an insignificant thing? Well, it might be insignificant to him, Manidipa, or her mother, but not to me; at least it was proved to non-trivial later on as it was the only thing of the entire discussion that lingered in my mind after I left their place.

When I returned home Ishan was working on my PC seemingly oblivious about the tutorial notes as he didn’t ask me about them. The maid had taken leave for two days. They are overworked, they are under-paid and they do often take such leaves, generally without prior notice, particularly on occasions when you have a guest. I prepared the tea and invited Ishan and his mother, who was busy doing her evening puja (worshipping), to the drawing-room for the tea. As I invited her she raised her eye-brows ‘where had you been all these hours? And why didn’t ask me for preparing the tea?’ it is generally expected in Indian household that women should look after the kitchen even if she is a guest. But I didn’t want to bother her and furthermore if she were to prepare the tea, I would have to stand beside her all the time and tell where the tea-leaves, the milk and the sugar are, which utensil was to be used and all. That would be no relief for me, the simpler option was to make it myself and I did that. ‘I didn’t have much trouble preparing the tea and all the time you would not be there to take care of me’ I said consciously avoiding her first question. She didn’t insist on her first query, only a motherly pity spelled over her face as she looked into my eyes. The tea session went off almost silently but for Ishan thanking me for delivering Manidipa her tutorial notes. Then she must have told him over the phone about my visit to her place. After the tea was over I returned to my writing desk where I found the PC still on. Suddenly a chat message caught my attention. Manidipa was writing Ishan, ‘u never try 2 understand me.’
Ishan: u hv always been a gd frnd of mine.
Manidipa: is tht all? u always try 2 avoid problems, never try 2 tackle them head-on. Tht’s imbedded in your personality. U always think jus by avoiding them u can make things easier.
Ishan: plz don’t blame me. I’ve made my position more than clear. U may nt keep contact wid me if u wd like.
Manidipa: why do u always think tht u r doing me a favor by maintain da relationship?
Ishan: I’m nt doing any favor 2 anybody, I’m jus makin my position clear. Well, dada is Collin. g2g. talk 2 u later. Bye.
Manidipa: r u there?

The conversation ended there. Ishan must have forgotten to sigh off his messenger. Manidipa appeared to be still online as the green sign against her ID was still glowing green. I was at a fix as to what I should do—sign out Ishan’s account and do my work, just ignore it and pose as if I was unaware about the conversation, or ask Ishan to finish the conversation. The last option appeared to be very odd and I opted for the second one. Leaving my desk almost immediately I went to my drawing room and started watching the television, a pursuit that I hate the most.

Unusually I went to bed quite early that night being unable to concentrate on my work but could not manage to sleep even after trying for more than two hours. Ishan was lying beside me, seemingly fast asleep. I looked at his innocent face but didn’t feel the urge from within me to cuddle him, nor even to touch him. It was not that I always hugged him at night, all the more so after he returned from his college hostel as I was deliberately trying to maintain a distance with him, still I had always felt the urge in me to explore his beauty, to delve deeper in his heart and to make it beat for me. I never had the courage to accept the fact to myself that my attachment towards him comprised something more than just brotherly love of an elderly cousin brother, yet as Manidipa entered this obscured region of relationship things were getting explicit in spite of all my best efforts to the contrary. I didn’t have enough strength left in me to fight it back, as I depleted all my strength in my futile effort of dousing the flames of my passion for Ishan.

Manidipa’s visit to my place got more frequent; sometimes she would come even in my absence, which I could hardly like at all. But I said nothing. I was trying to discover in my mind the exact nature of my objection to her visit. Had I been bigoted by the idea that Ishan might enter into an ‘illicit’ relation with her? If it were, then there would be no other hypocrite like me in the entire world, as I had all along been an advocate of open relationship. I had often been looked down upon as the devil’s advocate for that by most of my esteemed peers. Then how could I in his case have resentment against his entering, if at all, in this relationship! But the truth is that I was not comfortable about his growing relation with her. Knowing it very well that he will tell me the entire story as he never hushes up anything from me still I couldn’t hold my patience for the appropriate moment when he would come up with the truth. Still I had to…, I had to hold my patience, I had to suffer the every moment that I went through during this phase in my life, I had to suffer from the anguish caused by my failure to convince myself that Ishan was just my brother, still at last the day came when he came up with his story.

(To be continued....)