Delhi summer heat has always been difficult to combat. The traffic makes it worst. Pollution, cars honking and the dry wind, takes out the freshness of anyone’s skin. I have been working in a MNS for the past 4 years; have traveled most part of the world and enjoyed most of it. Still coming back home gives me pleasure unimaginable. For years together, from the days of boarding school, then college, it has been always a warm feeling to come back home. It is the one place where the heart truly lies. Then how did the summer heat and the vacation back home become part of my life? The answer is my Wife. Every year, Pragati madan, holds a festival of colors during the summer heat. Bright blue, flame red and lots of other mixtures of color attracts the college crowd. It is an unusual event. Not the regular festival kinds where it is a festival celebration or a car show or some other kind of expo. It was a way when students from different walks of life come together and paint their own life in shades of color. I met her in this festival, how did I manage to find a total stranger in a bunch of overly eager, hormonal imbalanced teenage college-goers? Well hard to explain…may be I can.
The invitation was a casual one and I was selected because of the anger management course I had joined recently. In hostel I had been a bully and this had turned into a major concern when I reached college. Beating up, getting mad at others was part of my daily life style. Some serious warnings and one suspension left me no choice but to take professional help. Initial diagnostics indicated that it was due to lack of parenting in my life.
Since 8th Standard, when a boy starts to learn the basics of outside world’s life, I was shipped to boarding school. My father, captain on a naval ship and mother busy with her high life of living standard couldn't manage parenthood for long. It turned out that I was a mistake for which my father celebrated with his colleagues on a ship on the other part of the world (some where in the pacific), where as my mother cursed the day she actually feel trapped to my father’s wishes. Nannies, relatives and some junior school teachers were the only solace in my life. Even though money was not a problem, I still manage to stay away from any bad habits, like drugs, alcohol. It was mainly because of Elizabeth, my nanny till 7th standard. I cried for her and she cried for my love when we were separated when I was sent to hostel. Her letters were the ideal way to pacify a child’s mind and give him a satisfactory reason, why parents can sometime give birth to a piece of lump and forget to take care of them? Never the less, she came to when I passed my school with flying colors, walked me through the college gate like my school days sweetheart and was the only friend when I partied late into the night on my graduation day.
So anger management was where I had reached because of the hidden anger and fury which my parents invested in all these years. Elizabeth came with me for the first meeting after I was enrolled in a group of folks, who like me, belong to a wealthy family, reasonably sane and also believe in the getting back to the main stream of life without the necessary baggage of anger. The course went okay; I made some new friends and started listening to lot of worries. Everyone used to sit in a round circle and will talk for 3 hrs every Saturday and Sunday. So 6hrs of therapy (or should I say discussion as we were asked not to say it therapy) fixed me to a certain extend. What my mentor/sponsor, a senior member of one of the group who had similar issues, realized that it was not just the missing link of parent-child relationship which has made me a angry freak; it was more. I had not enjoyed my life so much as I should have. I used to open and close down very quickly. What he pointed out was the enjoyment was only when Elizabeth was around me. He actually sat and demo us both. I was suppose to celebrate my 22nd birthday (a year since I joined the anger management course) and Elizabeth and my sponsor, Andrew, were the only people joining me. Andrew called up Elizabeth and asked her to tell me that she won’t be able to make it to the birthday. An instance burst of tears down my cheek and then some hours of consoling by Andrew helped me; yet I was mad, angry though in a controlled manner. When out of a blue Elizabeth turned up, saying she somehow manage to ditch everything and come over, I was glad. Even though it was final year of college, a girl-friend couldn’t be as important as my date with Elizabeth on my birthday. She had grown old; she was sixteen when I was six. She had no children of her own. Her husband died due to cancer. A resolute lady who always kept me away from her pain and tears, yet was fond of me as her only child. The day after the birthday bash, Andrew explained that I need to make my friend circle bigger. Elizabeth will not be around for ever and we both know it. Some point time I will have to move on with my life. We both were happy that we knew the real problem, yet we were sad knowing there is no solution in sight.
The team of anger management colleagues found the work Andrew has done with me; identifying the other few root causes of my problems. Generally a breakthrough is expected around a yrs time; a little slower but we still managed to get some results. Hence the team said, may be spending a month time, away from college, where my anger gets triggered quickly due to lack of friends and in a cultural event of a unique kind may help me. Elizabeth, like my childhood-nanny cried again and packed me with all the goodies for the new world. A world with colors, a world with imagination, a world where I will not only find a solution to my anger but also the person who will whisper in my ear that she will love me for the rest of my life.
July 1st, that’s the day I reached Delhi. Even though my house was few kilometers away from the ground, yet we all stayed in the tented dormitories provided by the cultural society. I was sharing my dorm with 5 other guys, Flute (Arun), Hammer (Aamir), Spoon (Keshav), Iceberg (Sandy), Auto (Piyush). I was the Sandbag. We all had nicknames, part of the culture we develop over the one month period. Every name has a meaning, like Arun was an amazing flute player. We had no difficulty finding that nickname. Sandy was the deep emotional guy; most of the time silent and only speaking when required and hence explaining or completing any conversation/dialogue. We referred him as the tip of the iceberg. Keshav was a easy child among our group; always easy to bully, fast to cry on things and the kid of the group. We name him spoon because we didn’t want to call him lot of other names. Piyush was one Car and Bike freak. You speak of a brand and he will probably tell you all the brands, release year, possible colors in which it was available and even the engine details. We had to call him Auto for his automobile-brain. Aamir and I were the fighters of the group. He will punch and I will not bulge, this was the usual trend. Together we were an amazing gang. Initially there were few hiccups, few fights but in the end we all became friends.
The one reason we were all together was none of us had any experience of courting a women. Yes, we were 20+ yr old men and none of us had the courage to go and talk to a girl. Flute and Iceberg were too cute and silent for any women to get interested. Flute was always mesmerized in his music and that made it little hard to get any women’s attention. For all the others, we were scary dumb-asses. So finally one night, like the many where we chatted while painting the most horrible art work anyone can do with paint, we made a color-pact. Everything in this month was supposed to do with color (except our nicknames) and hence the color pact was to pick girl and try honestly to court her; no flirting was accepted. One should be honest and serious about the approach. Any help if asked for will be provided and hence keeping the sanctity of color we were supposed to fix a color everyday in the morning. Pink was the only wild-card color, but any other color can be picked. For that day we are supposed to find a girl dressed or probably with a makeup for the same color we have picked and talk to her if possible (aka if we were able to). Because everyone’s color is different we won’t come in each other way. A very strange way but yes we were bunch of strange boys/men.
A normal day in the event will start with nature based breakfast where we will be given mostly raw vegetables and brought close to the nature and the variety of colors they come in. I didn’t know that capsicum came in so many colors and also taste really weird when eaten raw. May be the number of years on pizza made it sure that I like capsicum only baked and laced with cheese. Soon we will be in batches and groups, roaming around the ground where different color based activities, like painting a canvas, extracting natural color, dying cloth or even face painting. For me initially none were so interesting, but soon I picked up the ability to extract color neatly out of the different vegetables and fruits etc. Also, I managed to make unique shades of color by mixing ingredients. It was like cooking a recipe. Now all processed colors needs to be shipped (aka carried) to the people who have taken up face painting. Flute used to be good at the face painting job and he used to call me when ever he is looking for some special color he may be thinking. So on a Friday, he called me up and said, could you get me peach color and then went on explaining that it shouldn’t be pink and shouldn’t be orange. And I said, my color for the day is peach and hence I know what it looks like. Soon I manage to extract the color, process it and reached over to his section.
On my way to Flute’s table, I stubble and knocked one of the girl’s hand who was face painting a child. She had like finished a dozen of children face painting with lot of different designs. The problem which had just been created due to my accidental knock was that all the children were part of a play and her princess was the last one to be painted. As no other child was available for face painting and the princess will take hours to wash off the paint, it became a sort of a public, noisy issue. Thankfully only the princess cried. In all this mess, I didn’t get a good look at the girl who was actually doing the painting. But after consoling the little girl, I turned around to one mad painter; I realized that the job was only half done. She was not only the artist of the play but also the director. Probably a mad artist can be handled, but a mad director, this is something out of my league.
Number of apologies, Flute also joining in and explaining that I am mostly absent minded. We tried for almost 15-odd-minute before she had the wink in her eye; kind of the one which looks like more trouble is coming my way; she proposed that I should some how manage to make sure the play doesn’t get ruin. In the mayhem I promised anything to avoid the wrath and also to keep my anger in check. As the director she proposed that I get my face painted and join the play as a replacement. Thinking this as not a bad idea, I joined in and flute helped me with a quick supply of razor. With clean cheeks and oily nose, this girl, Swati, started her art on my face. After some final touches, she handed out me a dress; about which she silently had asked her roommate about. As I opened the parcel it was a really big yet skinny dress of a princess. I picked up the mirror in dismay only to find that I have been made a princess. My face was all pink, my cheeks were rosy and the lips were dark red. Pointing out that yes, I am the main princess of the story. I start to rebel, but it was too little and too late. The plea fell on deaf ears.
A little girl whose play role I had ruined came and happily explained me all the steps I need to do. I had like a pinch of time to learn everything for which she might have practiced for days together. Also as all the kids reached my belt height, I had to do this kneel-down. Flute, Hammer, Spoon, Iceberg and Auto took around a zillion pictures of me dressed up as princess, because my built was manly, I had to wrap a scarf. Also a blond wig was added to give me a British touch.
Swati had a mind of her own when she is planning a rehearsal of a play. Kids or old, everyone was given a specific task. I saw how the kids obeyed and synchronized themselves on her command. No later my hands and body in the very hideous dress also started flowing. Some 3hrs later, she was confident that I too will do no poor role. The curtains opened to a burst of laughter as I tip-toed on my knee to the center of the stage. An announcement about the replacement of the princess and the reason behind it made my cheeks actually red with the gush of blood. But Swati was a magician, on stage and off it too. She came out to act as the wicked wizard to capture the princess only to fall in love with the eyes, once she fell for them. All the kids around us were affected in some way or the other by the wicked wizard. I, as a beautiful princess of my land had to fall in love with the wicked wizard and release my people from his evil magic. Every kid will come on stage, say his and her story, the princess will listen patiently and every evening somehow manage to convince the wizard to release them from his spell. Love on stage, in those 30mins, made the wicked wizard a full romantic human. The warmed of love had finally reached the wizards wand through the touch of the beautiful princess.
The play was an instant hit and all the parents came backstage to congratulate her. The kids were amazing and even the kid who was supposed to be the actual princess hugged me for being so beautiful on stage. She didn’t miss the play as the beautiful magician introduced the rolling credit where the little kid came and said everyone’s name. My friend gave my name as Sandbag and so Swati started calling me sandbag too.
Peach was my color of the day & was also the base of Swati’s face painting. This was no coincident; Flute knew it and had used up this opportunity to paint her in peach. After the act the gang of 7, Swati included went down to the café, where we managed to know each other well. My friends were sweet and sneaked out of the group pretty quickly only to leave us alone. Love may have never struck a couple like this before. She will giggle at all the jokes and she will make fun of me at every possible opportunity. Any reference to the play means my cheek will go red, even though the paint was washed away long back. Yet by the end of day, somewhere, in some words, I realized that there was a lot of grief hidden in her heart. She will stop in the middle of words only to change the topic. She will giggle, yet her eyes will somehow move away from my face and somehow I felt her eyes moisten too when the reference of my parents came. Every topic, every discussion was about me. From there on we spent most part of our day mixing colors, painting canvases with the mostly ugly paintings (she thought that I shouldn’t be embarrassed if she draws something amazing). At the end of the day, I will go back in my room with my face painted. All the friends knew I was the first one to move out of the pact. My life was full of color everyday and they were all mine for the rest of the month.
Swati had never discussed her heart with me. The dark corner where the blood burns was seldom touched. But one day she asked me to join her for a walk outside the campus. It was unexpected and all along the way she was silent. It was a long bus journey where her face said that it was not the time to speak, not the time to ask question. Sitting beside her was the only task she had asked. After some 3hrs, we reached the outskirts of Delhi to a school. Somewhat a special school because kids here used to study and live. It was an orphanage. She was a part of it.
I was sitting outside in the playground watching kids playing when she returned from the principal office. Once a month she comes here to give some charity. A college student, a part time worker in theater, writing short scenes for big shot directors, she is a woman with lot of mysteries. One of the kid told me that she is amazing in dancing too. I wanted to ask many questions and I wanted to know lot more, but when she returned and tucked her hand under my arm, I knew the touch meant something very simple. Pain may not be shared by just words. Sometime it is difficult to explain and also answers question. And so we all choose silence and the warmth of touch. Her eyes were moist and all she needed was my shoulder to keep her head while we headed back in the bus and my shirt which may try to soak not only her tears but also the pain she has never shared before. The pain of not having the knowledge of who her parents were and never having the hatred with which I have lived for so many years for my parents. She didn't even resolve my anger problem but explained me with silence.
At the end of the month long event, the organizers promise a big cultural event, but due to some management issues, it got cancelled. We had a quite dinner where all the different friends we made (and few enemies) came together to had grilled, baked and spiced up organic food. All the friends were a little dejected yet were happy for both of us. Flute and Hammer though saw me a little stressed out and tensed. Hammer came up to me and asked, "What happened, you look terrible?". I knew this was bound to happen sooner or later that my emotions will be become part of my facial expression. Swati has not yet said anything. The touch, the visit and after so many laughs, we were still strangers in love or were we? The doubts were many and I replied Flute and Hammer about the same thing. Flute consoled me and said, "None of the guys feel like that. You two are make for each other and are so perfect. And if you have your doubts, ask her explicitly. Don't leave it for the last minute. The moment you see her tonight, just say it". No matter what Flute said, I had my doubts. It was still very hard to say anything. She might had found in me a friend and not a soul-mate. Was it really an accident or just my imagination?
Dinner was all-whites and as I walked down from our tents to the meeting place, open air ampitheater, I saw her, walking down the steps. The lucknowi-work suit and the crips kalaf-duppatta, made my heart skip a beat. She looked nothing like the girl I dreamed of, cause my imagination would never be so beautiful. She walked towards me with a smile and the same glitter in her eyes, which once made me play the role of a princess. Coming close, she hugged and said, "Thank you...for everything you said and what you didn't. Something I know you would never be able to say and I know how much I want to hear it to. My soul-mate, I love you." & with those words, she planted a kiss on my lips. I felt the warmth of hands touching my back. I knew the stress and tension leaving my body and her love flowing through my veins. She had given lot more than what I had come here for.
All of the 7 gathered together and one by one everyone spoke, giving toast to our friendship and my new found love. A month, few hard-headed, soft-heart creatures as friends and an accidental painting fiasco compiled my month in the cultural festival. Elizabeth met Swati a week later. The way she first saw her, I knew I had the approval I needed to make Swati my life partner. Elizabeth came up to me and asked me if she could take up the right to announce this news to my parents. I replied, "I have not known my parents as much I know you. Swati wanted to talk to my parents, yet I had asked her to wait. You and only you should tell them and hopefully on your request they might join when ever we plan to get married.". Elizabeth smiled and blessed us both. That day, somehow, by mistake or by chance, I did full-fill her wish to be my mother.
Swati and I courted for 2 more years, till we finally tied knot in a small ceremony. This time though, I didn't wait for her to make the start. We flew down to Delhi and took a taxi to Pragati Madan. I thought, where we started our friendship, should again play witness to where we start again as Husband and Wife. All the guys joined in our wedding and as to remember the time we had, came with all their face painted. My life from days and night had changed to different shades of dawn to dusk. Elizabeth, Andrew, my parents and my friends, together wished us as we started on our journey... JUST MARRIED.
The invitation was a casual one and I was selected because of the anger management course I had joined recently. In hostel I had been a bully and this had turned into a major concern when I reached college. Beating up, getting mad at others was part of my daily life style. Some serious warnings and one suspension left me no choice but to take professional help. Initial diagnostics indicated that it was due to lack of parenting in my life.
Since 8th Standard, when a boy starts to learn the basics of outside world’s life, I was shipped to boarding school. My father, captain on a naval ship and mother busy with her high life of living standard couldn't manage parenthood for long. It turned out that I was a mistake for which my father celebrated with his colleagues on a ship on the other part of the world (some where in the pacific), where as my mother cursed the day she actually feel trapped to my father’s wishes. Nannies, relatives and some junior school teachers were the only solace in my life. Even though money was not a problem, I still manage to stay away from any bad habits, like drugs, alcohol. It was mainly because of Elizabeth, my nanny till 7th standard. I cried for her and she cried for my love when we were separated when I was sent to hostel. Her letters were the ideal way to pacify a child’s mind and give him a satisfactory reason, why parents can sometime give birth to a piece of lump and forget to take care of them? Never the less, she came to when I passed my school with flying colors, walked me through the college gate like my school days sweetheart and was the only friend when I partied late into the night on my graduation day.
So anger management was where I had reached because of the hidden anger and fury which my parents invested in all these years. Elizabeth came with me for the first meeting after I was enrolled in a group of folks, who like me, belong to a wealthy family, reasonably sane and also believe in the getting back to the main stream of life without the necessary baggage of anger. The course went okay; I made some new friends and started listening to lot of worries. Everyone used to sit in a round circle and will talk for 3 hrs every Saturday and Sunday. So 6hrs of therapy (or should I say discussion as we were asked not to say it therapy) fixed me to a certain extend. What my mentor/sponsor, a senior member of one of the group who had similar issues, realized that it was not just the missing link of parent-child relationship which has made me a angry freak; it was more. I had not enjoyed my life so much as I should have. I used to open and close down very quickly. What he pointed out was the enjoyment was only when Elizabeth was around me. He actually sat and demo us both. I was suppose to celebrate my 22nd birthday (a year since I joined the anger management course) and Elizabeth and my sponsor, Andrew, were the only people joining me. Andrew called up Elizabeth and asked her to tell me that she won’t be able to make it to the birthday. An instance burst of tears down my cheek and then some hours of consoling by Andrew helped me; yet I was mad, angry though in a controlled manner. When out of a blue Elizabeth turned up, saying she somehow manage to ditch everything and come over, I was glad. Even though it was final year of college, a girl-friend couldn’t be as important as my date with Elizabeth on my birthday. She had grown old; she was sixteen when I was six. She had no children of her own. Her husband died due to cancer. A resolute lady who always kept me away from her pain and tears, yet was fond of me as her only child. The day after the birthday bash, Andrew explained that I need to make my friend circle bigger. Elizabeth will not be around for ever and we both know it. Some point time I will have to move on with my life. We both were happy that we knew the real problem, yet we were sad knowing there is no solution in sight.
The team of anger management colleagues found the work Andrew has done with me; identifying the other few root causes of my problems. Generally a breakthrough is expected around a yrs time; a little slower but we still managed to get some results. Hence the team said, may be spending a month time, away from college, where my anger gets triggered quickly due to lack of friends and in a cultural event of a unique kind may help me. Elizabeth, like my childhood-nanny cried again and packed me with all the goodies for the new world. A world with colors, a world with imagination, a world where I will not only find a solution to my anger but also the person who will whisper in my ear that she will love me for the rest of my life.
July 1st, that’s the day I reached Delhi. Even though my house was few kilometers away from the ground, yet we all stayed in the tented dormitories provided by the cultural society. I was sharing my dorm with 5 other guys, Flute (Arun), Hammer (Aamir), Spoon (Keshav), Iceberg (Sandy), Auto (Piyush). I was the Sandbag. We all had nicknames, part of the culture we develop over the one month period. Every name has a meaning, like Arun was an amazing flute player. We had no difficulty finding that nickname. Sandy was the deep emotional guy; most of the time silent and only speaking when required and hence explaining or completing any conversation/dialogue. We referred him as the tip of the iceberg. Keshav was a easy child among our group; always easy to bully, fast to cry on things and the kid of the group. We name him spoon because we didn’t want to call him lot of other names. Piyush was one Car and Bike freak. You speak of a brand and he will probably tell you all the brands, release year, possible colors in which it was available and even the engine details. We had to call him Auto for his automobile-brain. Aamir and I were the fighters of the group. He will punch and I will not bulge, this was the usual trend. Together we were an amazing gang. Initially there were few hiccups, few fights but in the end we all became friends.
The one reason we were all together was none of us had any experience of courting a women. Yes, we were 20+ yr old men and none of us had the courage to go and talk to a girl. Flute and Iceberg were too cute and silent for any women to get interested. Flute was always mesmerized in his music and that made it little hard to get any women’s attention. For all the others, we were scary dumb-asses. So finally one night, like the many where we chatted while painting the most horrible art work anyone can do with paint, we made a color-pact. Everything in this month was supposed to do with color (except our nicknames) and hence the color pact was to pick girl and try honestly to court her; no flirting was accepted. One should be honest and serious about the approach. Any help if asked for will be provided and hence keeping the sanctity of color we were supposed to fix a color everyday in the morning. Pink was the only wild-card color, but any other color can be picked. For that day we are supposed to find a girl dressed or probably with a makeup for the same color we have picked and talk to her if possible (aka if we were able to). Because everyone’s color is different we won’t come in each other way. A very strange way but yes we were bunch of strange boys/men.
A normal day in the event will start with nature based breakfast where we will be given mostly raw vegetables and brought close to the nature and the variety of colors they come in. I didn’t know that capsicum came in so many colors and also taste really weird when eaten raw. May be the number of years on pizza made it sure that I like capsicum only baked and laced with cheese. Soon we will be in batches and groups, roaming around the ground where different color based activities, like painting a canvas, extracting natural color, dying cloth or even face painting. For me initially none were so interesting, but soon I picked up the ability to extract color neatly out of the different vegetables and fruits etc. Also, I managed to make unique shades of color by mixing ingredients. It was like cooking a recipe. Now all processed colors needs to be shipped (aka carried) to the people who have taken up face painting. Flute used to be good at the face painting job and he used to call me when ever he is looking for some special color he may be thinking. So on a Friday, he called me up and said, could you get me peach color and then went on explaining that it shouldn’t be pink and shouldn’t be orange. And I said, my color for the day is peach and hence I know what it looks like. Soon I manage to extract the color, process it and reached over to his section.
On my way to Flute’s table, I stubble and knocked one of the girl’s hand who was face painting a child. She had like finished a dozen of children face painting with lot of different designs. The problem which had just been created due to my accidental knock was that all the children were part of a play and her princess was the last one to be painted. As no other child was available for face painting and the princess will take hours to wash off the paint, it became a sort of a public, noisy issue. Thankfully only the princess cried. In all this mess, I didn’t get a good look at the girl who was actually doing the painting. But after consoling the little girl, I turned around to one mad painter; I realized that the job was only half done. She was not only the artist of the play but also the director. Probably a mad artist can be handled, but a mad director, this is something out of my league.
Number of apologies, Flute also joining in and explaining that I am mostly absent minded. We tried for almost 15-odd-minute before she had the wink in her eye; kind of the one which looks like more trouble is coming my way; she proposed that I should some how manage to make sure the play doesn’t get ruin. In the mayhem I promised anything to avoid the wrath and also to keep my anger in check. As the director she proposed that I get my face painted and join the play as a replacement. Thinking this as not a bad idea, I joined in and flute helped me with a quick supply of razor. With clean cheeks and oily nose, this girl, Swati, started her art on my face. After some final touches, she handed out me a dress; about which she silently had asked her roommate about. As I opened the parcel it was a really big yet skinny dress of a princess. I picked up the mirror in dismay only to find that I have been made a princess. My face was all pink, my cheeks were rosy and the lips were dark red. Pointing out that yes, I am the main princess of the story. I start to rebel, but it was too little and too late. The plea fell on deaf ears.
A little girl whose play role I had ruined came and happily explained me all the steps I need to do. I had like a pinch of time to learn everything for which she might have practiced for days together. Also as all the kids reached my belt height, I had to do this kneel-down. Flute, Hammer, Spoon, Iceberg and Auto took around a zillion pictures of me dressed up as princess, because my built was manly, I had to wrap a scarf. Also a blond wig was added to give me a British touch.
Swati had a mind of her own when she is planning a rehearsal of a play. Kids or old, everyone was given a specific task. I saw how the kids obeyed and synchronized themselves on her command. No later my hands and body in the very hideous dress also started flowing. Some 3hrs later, she was confident that I too will do no poor role. The curtains opened to a burst of laughter as I tip-toed on my knee to the center of the stage. An announcement about the replacement of the princess and the reason behind it made my cheeks actually red with the gush of blood. But Swati was a magician, on stage and off it too. She came out to act as the wicked wizard to capture the princess only to fall in love with the eyes, once she fell for them. All the kids around us were affected in some way or the other by the wicked wizard. I, as a beautiful princess of my land had to fall in love with the wicked wizard and release my people from his evil magic. Every kid will come on stage, say his and her story, the princess will listen patiently and every evening somehow manage to convince the wizard to release them from his spell. Love on stage, in those 30mins, made the wicked wizard a full romantic human. The warmed of love had finally reached the wizards wand through the touch of the beautiful princess.
The play was an instant hit and all the parents came backstage to congratulate her. The kids were amazing and even the kid who was supposed to be the actual princess hugged me for being so beautiful on stage. She didn’t miss the play as the beautiful magician introduced the rolling credit where the little kid came and said everyone’s name. My friend gave my name as Sandbag and so Swati started calling me sandbag too.
Peach was my color of the day & was also the base of Swati’s face painting. This was no coincident; Flute knew it and had used up this opportunity to paint her in peach. After the act the gang of 7, Swati included went down to the café, where we managed to know each other well. My friends were sweet and sneaked out of the group pretty quickly only to leave us alone. Love may have never struck a couple like this before. She will giggle at all the jokes and she will make fun of me at every possible opportunity. Any reference to the play means my cheek will go red, even though the paint was washed away long back. Yet by the end of day, somewhere, in some words, I realized that there was a lot of grief hidden in her heart. She will stop in the middle of words only to change the topic. She will giggle, yet her eyes will somehow move away from my face and somehow I felt her eyes moisten too when the reference of my parents came. Every topic, every discussion was about me. From there on we spent most part of our day mixing colors, painting canvases with the mostly ugly paintings (she thought that I shouldn’t be embarrassed if she draws something amazing). At the end of the day, I will go back in my room with my face painted. All the friends knew I was the first one to move out of the pact. My life was full of color everyday and they were all mine for the rest of the month.
Swati had never discussed her heart with me. The dark corner where the blood burns was seldom touched. But one day she asked me to join her for a walk outside the campus. It was unexpected and all along the way she was silent. It was a long bus journey where her face said that it was not the time to speak, not the time to ask question. Sitting beside her was the only task she had asked. After some 3hrs, we reached the outskirts of Delhi to a school. Somewhat a special school because kids here used to study and live. It was an orphanage. She was a part of it.
I was sitting outside in the playground watching kids playing when she returned from the principal office. Once a month she comes here to give some charity. A college student, a part time worker in theater, writing short scenes for big shot directors, she is a woman with lot of mysteries. One of the kid told me that she is amazing in dancing too. I wanted to ask many questions and I wanted to know lot more, but when she returned and tucked her hand under my arm, I knew the touch meant something very simple. Pain may not be shared by just words. Sometime it is difficult to explain and also answers question. And so we all choose silence and the warmth of touch. Her eyes were moist and all she needed was my shoulder to keep her head while we headed back in the bus and my shirt which may try to soak not only her tears but also the pain she has never shared before. The pain of not having the knowledge of who her parents were and never having the hatred with which I have lived for so many years for my parents. She didn't even resolve my anger problem but explained me with silence.
At the end of the month long event, the organizers promise a big cultural event, but due to some management issues, it got cancelled. We had a quite dinner where all the different friends we made (and few enemies) came together to had grilled, baked and spiced up organic food. All the friends were a little dejected yet were happy for both of us. Flute and Hammer though saw me a little stressed out and tensed. Hammer came up to me and asked, "What happened, you look terrible?". I knew this was bound to happen sooner or later that my emotions will be become part of my facial expression. Swati has not yet said anything. The touch, the visit and after so many laughs, we were still strangers in love or were we? The doubts were many and I replied Flute and Hammer about the same thing. Flute consoled me and said, "None of the guys feel like that. You two are make for each other and are so perfect. And if you have your doubts, ask her explicitly. Don't leave it for the last minute. The moment you see her tonight, just say it". No matter what Flute said, I had my doubts. It was still very hard to say anything. She might had found in me a friend and not a soul-mate. Was it really an accident or just my imagination?
Dinner was all-whites and as I walked down from our tents to the meeting place, open air ampitheater, I saw her, walking down the steps. The lucknowi-work suit and the crips kalaf-duppatta, made my heart skip a beat. She looked nothing like the girl I dreamed of, cause my imagination would never be so beautiful. She walked towards me with a smile and the same glitter in her eyes, which once made me play the role of a princess. Coming close, she hugged and said, "Thank you...for everything you said and what you didn't. Something I know you would never be able to say and I know how much I want to hear it to. My soul-mate, I love you." & with those words, she planted a kiss on my lips. I felt the warmth of hands touching my back. I knew the stress and tension leaving my body and her love flowing through my veins. She had given lot more than what I had come here for.
All of the 7 gathered together and one by one everyone spoke, giving toast to our friendship and my new found love. A month, few hard-headed, soft-heart creatures as friends and an accidental painting fiasco compiled my month in the cultural festival. Elizabeth met Swati a week later. The way she first saw her, I knew I had the approval I needed to make Swati my life partner. Elizabeth came up to me and asked me if she could take up the right to announce this news to my parents. I replied, "I have not known my parents as much I know you. Swati wanted to talk to my parents, yet I had asked her to wait. You and only you should tell them and hopefully on your request they might join when ever we plan to get married.". Elizabeth smiled and blessed us both. That day, somehow, by mistake or by chance, I did full-fill her wish to be my mother.
Swati and I courted for 2 more years, till we finally tied knot in a small ceremony. This time though, I didn't wait for her to make the start. We flew down to Delhi and took a taxi to Pragati Madan. I thought, where we started our friendship, should again play witness to where we start again as Husband and Wife. All the guys joined in our wedding and as to remember the time we had, came with all their face painted. My life from days and night had changed to different shades of dawn to dusk. Elizabeth, Andrew, my parents and my friends, together wished us as we started on our journey... JUST MARRIED.
