Of love and loss

Of Love and Loss

“Asha Apa Anda dia, Asha apa anda dia”- Asha Apa lay eggs. Our hostel dining room would reververate with laughter the days we were served egg. In Oriya, the expression for laying eggs and giving eggs is the same and the boys took advantage of this to tease the kitchen help who russled in and out of the kitchen with fresh ommelette for the hungry ruffians. “Am I a hen to lay eggs?” She would retort both amused and irritated, slipping hot ommlettes onto our plates with a sly smile. Actually, it amused everyone and none of the teachers eating with us ever admonished the boys for their misdemeanour.

That was Asha Apa of our hostel. She had two sons, Chunu and Munu who were in the custody of her husband who had abondoned her for somebody else. Though she had been strictly instructed not to disturb me as I was preparing for my tenth boards, I had heard inumerable stories about her Chunu-Munu and Chunu-Munnu's father from her. She would look for a chance to come to our room- sometimes to stand under the fan to cool off or sometimes to fix her snapped bra strap. I hated those days when she would request me to fasten her bra strap that had come ondone. I could never figure out why it happened so often. She would stand with her back to me, the pallu of her saree wrapped around her neck and ask me to please fasten the hook for her. The faded blue blouse soaked in perspire clung to her body. Her body emanated a mixed smell of ginger, garlic, cinnamon, cardamon and other oriya spices. The smell, the small drops of sweat at the hollow of her backbone and the tattered bra strap nauseated me. I would hold the ends of her inner wear using the mininum surface area of my finger tips and pull them towards each other and put the metal hook inside a metal loop.

She had no specific place in the hostel. She worked in the kitchen, slept on the dormitory floor where the younger boys slept. Her things were kept in a metal trunk in one corner of the dining area. I still can't make out if she was just simple or a simpleton. In the school hostel, she was the butt of all jokes. Sometimes she laughed at herself with others, sometimes got angry. But most of the times enjoyed the attention while pretending to be angry. Nobody took her seriously.

That year, I was the only girl among the 30 boarders. I shared a room with two other teachers as I could not share a room with boys. I spent most of my time alone in the room practicing my lessons. Suddenly, she would enter giggling, breathless and flushed. All coy and shy she would tell me how a certain staff has been making passes at her and how she gets teased for her good looks. While solving a particularly difficult algebric equation, part of my brain would be engaged in wondering who could be the person who found Asha apa desirable! The school I studied in was spiritually inclined and even the tenth standers were not encouraged to either engage in adult pursuits nor behave like one. No relationship existed outside the gamut of Brother-sister relationship. However, that did not prevent me from understanding the adventurous flights her heart took despite the pressure to confirm to norms.

She adored me but loved the boys, while I was her confidant, she showered her attention on them. The days she was in charge of the kitchen, she would bring samples of food for me to taste and testify. But I never got the longing she had for the boys. At that age I connected it to her longing for her estranged sons and never felt bad about it. Actually I am guilty of hiding my feelings for her. She was neither a companion nor a person who mattered to me. I was only polite enough not to tell this on her face. But I felt bad for her at times.

“I will tell you something, promise me you will keep it a secret?”, she would tell me all of a sudden.

“Go ahead, I promise”.

“I love someone.”

I wasn't shocked. I always knew it coming and dreaded it. But the next revelation blew my mind away. It wasn't one of those sweepers, peons, cooks or bus cleaners who made rabid comments at her, who she had fallen for. The person was a high flying, foreign educated, six feet tall, suave, charming professor who happened to be the son of one of the school trustees. The whole family was settled abroad and because of his father's contribution to the school, they had a room in the school premises which they used when they visited their hometown. I exactly don't know why but this person in point visited more often than others. He was good behaviour personified, treated the lower grade employees with utmost regard and pretended to be a marxist-communist with a vision for a classless, casteless egalitarian society.

It seems Mr. Charming had the habit of asking her to help him clean his room, or make a cup of tea or a special snacks if he did not like what was cooked in the hostel mess, or give his cloths for washing- requests made with utter sweetness and comaderie and Asha apa would oblige. It was against the school ethics to ask for money against a favour made and Asha apa was already smitten by his charm. “See what he gave me..” A much delighted Asha apa took out a beautiful case and opened it in front of me. An old marble printed neck tie neatly folded sat encased in the box. My instant reaction “was what use does it have for you?” But Asha apa treasured this seemingly thoughtless gesture as expression of love and was euphoric to have received a gift from her beau. But Mr. Charming fell from my eyes forever for this useless gift and till today I think of him as a miser and an opportunist.

Though this was the first time she had openly admitted her feelings for somebody, her admiration for other male members in the vicinity came in different forms. A line of pseudo appreciation from the director or a few encouragement from the english teacher on her attemp at writting poetry would convince her they were madly in lover with her. But she wouldn't admit the love angle. The men were always tagged “brother” which was a safer zone, which made her feel desirable yet permitted her to be in the brother-sister domain. School ethos!!!

On raksha bandhan day as I was trying to concentrate on my studies after an activity filled morning and special lunch, she sneaked into our room with a request. Could I please gift wrap the books? Polite and sweet natured as I was, I wrapped some four books in coloured papers. One was on meditation, one was on spiritual seekings, one on ideal parenting and the last one was a book on the power of prayers. When I finished, she dictated me to write in beautiful handwriting “With love and affection from a devoted brother to his sweet sister” in one and “ A special gift to a special sister on the auspicious occasion of Raksha Bandhan” in another. I was sure noone bothered to give her a gift in return of the rakhi she tied but this was her way of redeeming their affection. She lived in a make belief world where she was the object of desire for one and all.

It was in Asha apa's nature to misunderstand affection for attraction, sympathy for sincerity and lust for love which I came to understand as I grew older.

After Christmas holidays we came back to school and hostel all geared up for the forthcoming boards which was four months away. Asha Apa had come back with a new antic. Every morning she made a ruckus in the dormitory much before breakfast time. She would howl holding her stomach. “My stomach is burning. My stomach is empty. I am so hungry.” So much so that the boys freshly back from home would unpack their goodies and offer her. She would eat hungrily whatever came her way. This drama went on for days. Then renching started. When the teachers joked what happened during the vacation and who did it? she would run away laughing. I sat with a straingt face pretending not to understand the implication as I was not suppose to understand the elderly pursuits.

I was engrossed in biology that day trying to remember the names of the part of a plant, I heard the commotion. I was alone in the hostel as the younger boys had gone to class and the boys of my class had gone to clear doubts from a teacher. A sobbing Asha Apa packed her things and left without so much as saying goodbye to me. One of the teachers after swearing me into secrecy revealed that Asha apa was pregnant and her brother-in-law was responsible.

Days passed by. Life went on as usual. Strangely enough, I didn't hear anyone enquirying after her. As her presence had not mattered to anyone, her absence did not bother anyone. She was neither a fond memory nor a nuisance for the boys whom she had loved like a mother or the myriad men she had fancied.

Years later, I accidentally met her on my way to college. She was her usual reververscent self. She was working in Col. Mohanty's house. She animatedly described how Col Mohanty's three boys (grown up boys, one studies with me) adored her. She did not mention Chunnumunnu in her conversation. I didn't have the heart to ask her about the third child.