Raag swiftly drives down the street through the crowded city, impressing me with his driving skills. He is quiet while I am observing him. It is clear that he is upset with what happened yesterday, and a pang of sadness hits me to see his melancholy.
Radio Mirchi is playing the latest songs, and it starts drizzling outside. I have my hands up in the air near my face. I wave them at Raag, in an attempt to lighten his mood, and ask if he likes my mehndi. He nods in approval like an old executive in some boring business deal. I sigh and try to listen to Sonu Nigam singing “Humko Diwana Kar Gaye.” The literal translation of the song is that you have turned me mad after you. It rightfully fits so.
As he flawlessly drives over the Nehru Bridge, I can’t avoid but look at the spot when it all happened. Why is there a strange apprehension in the air? What is it that couldn’t wait until the engagement?
Once the song ends, cautiously I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Patang.”
“Really?” I ask, perplexed.
A couple of days back, we were talking about how I have never been to Patang Restaurant due to it being costly for middle-class people like us. Now that I know that’s where we are going, I am a little excited like a child momentarily forgetting the situation at hand.
However, Raag just nods in response, which is slightly disappointing.
The car finally stops near the high-rise cylindrical restaurant building. The building literally looks like a separated part of a towering castle, on top of which may reside a princess waiting for her prince for a heroic rescue. This princess chamber even magically keeps revolving to provide a better view of the kingdom for the princess.
Raag opens the car door for me and holds out a black umbrella. We quietly walk up to the lobby of the one and only revolving restaurant in the city, by the riverbanks of Sabarmati.
As we enter the brightly lit lobby, a young boy dressed in white shirts tucked in white pants collects the umbrella. A middle-aged man in a black suit stands behind the registration counter. Based on the conversation, I figure we have a 7:30 PM reservation.
We are guided straight for the elevator, which can hardly fit four people. Just like in the fairytales, there is even an elevator guard dressed in white. As the elevator stops and we step out, a waiter dressed in white pants and a shirt leads us to the table of two in the area where there are about four tables of twos, which are all empty.
The restaurant tower is a reasonably sized cylinder, covered in glass walls to provide a beautiful view of the city. Tables and chairs are stacked toward the walls, and the middle of the restaurant is a circular buffet area.
It is definitely a fairytale castle chamber.
We sit facing each other near a big glass wall providing a magnificent view of the river and the rows of bridges over it.
“You know you will have to spoon feed me in a literal sense?” I ask, waving my hands yet again at him to bring him out of his melancholy mood. He looks at me momentarily, and for a second, I think I see a ghost of a smile fleeting across his thoughtful face.
I have a hunch that he is intentionally avoiding eye contact. After a few minutes, a server dressed in white brings water as well as two cups of soup. He places a cup of tomato soup near me and a cup of sweet corn near Raag. While I am impressed by his preplanning, I wonder what else he has planned.
“Mayuri…” Raag finally breaks the silence.
I point my hands at me. “That is me! Right here. Thanks for noticing.” I aim one more time to lighten his mood, but he doesn’t give anything away.
“The accident in which my father died…” Raag pauses, and my gut wrenches in a strange apprehension. I gaze at him with anticipation. He continues in a soft, slow voice, “I was with him in the car.”
“Oh.” A cold chill runs through my core, and I shudder. All the excitement of the engagement ceremony, drizzling rain, the first time visiting this restaurant…all of it evaporates within a second. This is something I did not expect. How come no one ever talked about that? And why is he telling me now?
“Not many people know about it. Not for a particular reason. It just happened that way.,” Raag says as if answering my unasked question.
“I am—”
“Hear me out, please.” Raag takes a sip of bottled water and continues, “All I remember is a truck. Blinding lights…a loud, ear-piercing collision.”
His voice is quiet yet so heavy that I can feel his pain. The air evaporates from my body, and I feel thirsty. I take a sip of bottled water, ignoring my dried out mehndi.
Raag continues in his bone-chilling voice, “I remember being pulled out of the window. The next thing I remember is that I was sitting in the ambulance holding Paa’s hand.” For the first time in all these months, his voice breaks, and his eyes turn red. He is trying hard to fight the tears.
“Raag…I told you before as well, you don’t have to share this. I know this is difficult for you…”
“No, I have to. It was ignorant of me not to let you into this part of my life.” Raag closes his eyes as if in pain and, opening them, he looks over the bridge through the glass window.
“Maa knows that I was with him in the ambulance. But one thing that she doesn’t know is…” Now he looks me in the eyes and continues. “My father’s clothes…they were dark red smeared in blood. There was a bandage on his forehead. His mouth was covered with the oxygen mask, and he was staring at me like he knew he wouldn’t survive this. People in white uniforms, inside the ambulance…they…they were screaming some medical terms that I couldn’t understand, but the only thing I did understand was…was…that…the ambulance was not moving. They kept screaming, ‘Go fast, we can save him if we reach the hospital in time. The ambulance is not moving!’”
He says it all so quickly, so quietly yet with so much pain in those words that tears gush through my eyes.
“Raag…” I extend my mehndi-covered hand and place it on Raag’s hand. He knows that I am listening, and I can only imagine how painful it must have been for a ten-year-old boy to live through something like that. Though I try hard, I can’t help my tears.
Raag takes a deep, steadying breath. “My father moved his oxygen mask away and signaled me to come closer to him. When I did, Paa whispered in my ear…” He looks out at the city through the glass wall yet again, and continues, “He said, ‘Beta, I will always be with you and your mother. Never stop dreaming.’” Raag is now looking at me intently with red eyes and fallen face. Quietly he murmurs, “That was it. Then Paa closed his eyes. Someone pulled me away from him. They tried to defibrillate him. One time…two times…three times…many times…but I knew that he was gone.”
“I am so sorry,” I say in a trembling voice. “I can’t imagine the trauma you dealt with, at such a young age.”
Raag is now quiet as he is looking over the city through the glass window and I at him.
After a long time, or so it seems, Raag speaks. “It was very traumatic.” Raag seems to have gained control of his emotions. He slowly takes his hands back and leans against the chair, taking some calming breaths.
I nod and gaze at him while reasoning with myself as to why he just shared such trivial details about his childhood. Something that he hasn’t shared with anyone. Why now?