Keats’s words washed over me from deep within my subconscious:
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu.
‘But your husband?’ Milind broke the spell.
‘I have never loved him.’
Milind nodded.
‘But yes, he is, of course, my husband—the father of my children.’ There was no denying the cold reality.
He put a finger to my lips. ‘It’s okay, I understand,’ he murmured, reaching down and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.
This simple gesture made me feel cherished in a way I had never experienced before. Words were unnecessary. There seemed to be an ethereal, yet tangible bond between us that was way beyond our mortal selves.
Now my life goes on as before—peaceful and serene—except for my passion for Milind. And whenever anybody comments on my good fortune, I can truthfully agree and say, ‘Yes, I really am the luckiest woman in the world.’
10
Untold Affection
Aarthika Mathialagan
Selva stared into the void as he pressed the receiver of his landline to his ear. He felt as if his heart would explode; he could feel it thumping in his mouth.
Come on, Selvadurai, talk to her . . . Say something. Anything. Just talk.
Selva was boosting himself up, and then ‘click’.
Somebody picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’
It was her. He struggled to breathe. He tried to talk. It was as if his tongue was stuck. He slammed the receiver down, and slowly walked to the terrace of his house and climbed up the water tank. He lay on the Pattamadai mat, staring at the moon. Selva had lost count of how many times he had tried to talk to her—in school, over the phone and so many other ways. But he just couldn’t. He had even tried to prevent himself from falling for her and maintained distance from her, but all his efforts had turned out to be in vain. The more he tried to stay away from her, the more he yearned to see her and be near her. Her absence only sharpened his feelings for her. He tried to sleep. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to.
The next morning, even before the rooster’s call, Selva was awake. All the women in his neighbourhood had started with their morning chores. As usual, Selva, on his terrace, was waiting for her to come out, so he could look at her as she slowly made the dots and gracefully joined them for her kolam*. Then he would leave for school early and wait for her to come.
He loved waiting, for her.
Selva had understood that the pain in waiting really had some pleasure in it. Then he saw her. With the tinkling sound of her anklets filling the silent dawn, she came to their vaasal (threshold) and started placing the rice-flour dots for the kolam. Selva’s day was incomplete without seeing her design the kolam. It had been like this for three years, since Selvadurai fell in love with her. Bhavani.
It was in Class VIII that Selvadurai first saw Bhavani. It was not love at first sight. There was no attraction, no fast heartbeats or butterflies in the stomach. Conversations were easy, no awkward silences and no waiting. Bhavani was just his classmate then. It was in Class IX that he started seeing her differently. She was not the same girl any more for him. Something about her had changed. He couldn’t place it exactly, but things were definitely not the same between them. He slowly started to look at her during classes, missed her when she was absent, and smiled when she laughed. He thought he just liked her, that he was merely attracted to her. Then slowly this attraction and infatuation turned to love—sheer one-sided love.
Like every morning, Bhavani had washed her hair, plaited some of it and left the rest down. Selva loved the way she tucked some of her lustrous locks behind her ear. She always had this small smile on the corner of her lips. Maybe she knew he was watching her. At least Selva thought she did.
‘Bhavaniiii!’ he heard her mother call her. She hurriedly joined the dots and ran inside. This was the moment that Selva thought made all the waiting worth it. Every morning, Bhavani threw a small glance at Selva as she drew the kolam; it was not even for a full second, but his stomach flipped and it was as if his whole world depended on that one microsecond glance. One look from her was all it took to make Selva go crazy. In these three years, all the songs were about her, everything reminded him of her, all he did was to impress her, to get a second glance from her. He was so much in love.
And then, ‘Selvaa . . . come down now or you’ll get it good from me.’
It was Selva’s mother. He ran down to get ready for school.
Moorthi, Ramesh, Jawahar and Selva were ‘the inseparables’ of Class XI. All the three knew about Selva’s affection for Bhavani. At first, when they knew, they teased him mercilessly and called out his name when they saw her, even pushing him towards her in the corridors. But as days passed, their teasing changed into cheering and they started encouraging him to talk to her. But never once did Selva have the guts to. Not that he never tried, but just looking at her made him sweat and go tongue-tied.
That morning, the three boys were eagerly waiting for Selva. Jawahar raised his eyebrows enquiringly as Selva arrived. Selva answered them with a shake of his head. All three of them sighed. Selva sat with them and again thousands of ideas were given, along with hundreds of criticisms, and while they were talking, Bhavani came into class. She usually sat on the first bench and Selva on the fourth. The teacher was taking their attendance and it was now that Selva watched her. He just sat there and looked at her. He felt ecstatic just looking at her. He loved looking at her. But in these three years, not once had Bhavani turned around to look at him. All Selva could see was the back of her head, but still his eyes never moved. He hoped to see at least some part of her face.
The teacher continued calling out the names when suddenly, Bhavani turned and looked at him. All this time he had yearned for that look and now that it had happened, he didn’t know how to react. His stomach flipped. His legs shook. The space between the collar of his shirt and his hairline started burning. He looked at his friends to see if they had seen what had just happened. But nobody seemed to have seen her looking at him. He wondered if he had started hallucinating.
Why did she look at me? Did she really look at me? Am I imagining it?
It was as if he was going to get a panic attack. There was this ticklish, yet stinging feeling in the area between his stomach and his chest. On the other hand, he was floating. That whole day all Selva could think about was that moment when Bhavani had turned to look at him.
‘Maybe she’s giving you a sign, da,’ Ramesh told him while almost choking on his medu vadas.
‘But what if it’s just a coincidence?’ said Moorthi.
‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence. If it was, why would she look at Selva? She could have looked at me.’ Jawahar, as usual, was feeding Selva optimistic thoughts. Selva was tuning his father’s new Pagaria radio to a new station. It was playing his recent favourite from the newly released film, Roja.
Thendral Ennai Theendinaal Selai Theendum Njaabagam;
Chinna Pookkal Paarkkaiyil Deham Paartha Njaabagam; Velli Odai Pesinaal Sonna Vaarthai Njaabagam.
(The touch of the breeze reminds me of your sari,
Small beautiful flowers remind me of your body,
The silver stream speech reminds me your words.)