Soulmate(Apu) Part - 1

I was trying to focus on the latest powerpoint presentation after coming back from the office. These days you can’t get out of the office – you carry it along with you in the laptop or the smart phones. My daughter, Tusi, was hooked into the laptop apparently trying to collect nuggets of information about her latest school project. Of course time should not be wasted, so as the Google search engine trawled the innards of the worldwide web for data of active volcanoes, Tusi would quickly key in words like “LOL”, “gr8” for her online friends in facebook which is open in the next tab of the browser.

"Is it right that you keep chatting online while doing your project work?” – I had effrontery to ask Tusi once.

“All my friends are doing this all the time. How else do we keep in touch?” Tusi replied in a matter of fact voice.

“Why can’t you talk face to face in school or in playground?” I had ventured.

“Papa you talk like one of those guys in TV. With school, homework, music classes, yoga sessions, private tuitions – where is the time? Everyone does multi tasking these days.”

I had to be silent after that. Gone are the days when children would meet at the play ground or the next door uncle would drop in for a cup of tea in the afternoon without any prior notice. We had moved into the new neighbourhood only a few months ago. But except for a few half hearted “Hi” and “Hello” in the parking space, I could not strike any conversations with any of my new neighbors. Actually I am also to be blamed for this – I am an incorrigible introvert.

My wife, a home maker, had fared better than me in this area. Within a fortnight of moving in, she with the help of her astute observation powers from the window or the balcony, could tell which family lives in which flat, the frequency and time of their evening walk and office hours and other vital information. Within a month, due to her frequent interactions with my neighbors to manage common resources like the milkman, paperboy or the house maid, she was in talking terms with the ladies of the neighbourhood. By the second month, she was didi or elder sister to my next door neighbor, bhabi or sister in law to the couple in the apartment downstairs, and was sharing sensitive information on the latest trend in fashions, and shops providing best bargains. Of course her interactions are invariably laced with a heavy dose of neighbourhood gossip, which she would relay to me whenever she was in a mood to talk to me. I tried to look interested, but having very little idea of the person she was referring to, would forget in no time, which I tried my level best to hide.

“Hey you, come here quickly“ – suddenly I heard my wife calling in a tone which usually meant trouble if not attended to.

She was sitting on the chair in the balcony.

“Whats up ?” – I asked, not particularly pleased to be yanked off from the powerpoint presentation which needed to be completed immediately.

“You remember the lady Sonu bhabi was talking about the other day?”
Of course I did not remember, but tried to sound nonchalant “Yes....”

“Well there goes the lady,” She whispered as she pointed out to the lady strolling in the common courtyard.

The lady in question was in possibly her mid thirties with a rotund motherly face. She was wearing a greyish evening suit which did not strike anything out of the ordinary. I frantically tried to recollect any nuggets of information that my wife might have shared about this ordinary looking lady.

“Can you believe that this lady can do such things?” My wife asked.
“Well.....” Without any slightest idea what this lady has done to become the object of such abhorrence.

“Hard to believe that she is having an affair with her neighbour and cheating her husband. Isn’t it? She is so innocent looking,” My wife commented.

I remembered now. Going by the words of my wife -- This was one person the entire neighbourhood loved to hate. The lady and her family had apparently moved in a couple of years back. Usual nuclear family -- husband, wife and two school going kids. Initially they were very pleasant and friendly to all, but after a year or so, their behaviour changed. The husband barely left his home, the wife looked distraught and gloomy. Then one morning, everybody found their house locked from the outside with nobody having the slightest inkling where they might have gone. Then after six months, the couple suddenly reappeared – minus their kids. The kids had apparently been enrolled in a distant boarding school. The couple remained aloof as earlier. Any attempt by neighbours to strike a conversation with the lady was usually met with impassive monosyllables. This behavioral change of the couple kept the neighbourhood gossip mills churning with various theories and postulates put forward – possibly their marriages are on the dock, possibly the husband is involved in a fraud case in the office, possibly their in-laws are demanding to move in – so on and so forth. Then suddenly the gossip mills went on a overdrive when it was noticed that a particularly good looking gentleman was visiting the house quite frequently. Soon the gentleman would accompany the lady, minus her husband, in his car for long drives and return in the wee hours of the night. The gossip mills in the evening session of the house wives of the housing society went berserk. Everybody expressed their shock and disgust for such a torrid affair in a decent locality. Some were disgusted as it was against the moral fibre that they were born and brought up with, others secretly wondered why such interesting turn of events never happened in their bland and drab role of home makers.

“You seem to be totally lost“ – my wife shook me out of my contemplating mood.

“I am not” – I protested. “You have never talked to that lady. Maybe you are imagining things.”

“Why don’t you stop behaving like a preacher whenever we discuss” – my wife stormed off apparently very disappointed with me as I could not strike the right conversational chord.


Part - 2

I had tried hard to cultivate the habit of walking and jogging in the early hours of the morning. Sitting for long hours in the office is no good – all the doctors and the health magazines tell you whenever they get a chance. The prescribed antidote: brisk walking for twenty minutes in the morning. Of course you have to get up a bit early in the morning but that is small price to pay for a good and healthy life. However I have to bring office work to my home and work till late night almost daily, so when the alarm clock rings in the morning, it is just natural that I bang the ringing nuisance to submission and curl on the bed once again. I did manage to go for walking once in a while – when my guilt got better of my laziness or my wife had enough stamina to push me out of the bed.

It was in one of those rare occasions of morning walk that I came to know of Shekar. I was trying to walk briskly, but being so irregular in physical exercise was totally out of breath.

“No point in trying so hard. Take it easy” came the unsolicited advice from a middle aged affable looking man.

“Yeah.” I said -- totally in agreement.

“The doctors would not tell you that – you know – but screw those doctors” He said with a impish smile.

“Pretty cool – not everybody can talk of doctors like that” -- I said.

“I can. I know more of doctors and medicines than anybody in the neighbourhood” – he said.

“Are you in the medicine business?” I asked

“No, I am a patient.”

That sounded a bit odd, especially from a reasonably healthy looking person. I did not delve in to the depth of his medical history, rather I walked in a slow pace along with him. We engaged in small talk which lifted the drudgery of walking alone. He seemed to be full of anecdotes and seemed to have a handle on a variety of subjects, and I am a good listener -- so we got off to a flying start. At the end of the walk, when Shekar asked whether I would be joining him in the next morning – I agreed even though I was not sure if could keep the promise. But I did keep the promise next day, and to my own astonishment, all subsequent days thereafter.

Shekar was always effervescent and had a childlike quality in his way of talking. He always reminded me of my long lost buddies at school and college. He was about my age, but his lust for life was something only to be seen.

One day, I commented on this quality. “How do you manage to be like this at this age?” I asked

He suddenly became silent for a second and then said “One would be...”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“One would be if that person knew that there may not be any tomorrow. One would be if he is living on a life borrowed from others.”

I was totally perplexed, but hesitated to ask. Shekhar seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Finally he said, “You see, I am surviving on one kidney donated by my wife.”

I had never expected this. I kept staring at him – trying to find whether this was a practical joke. But his eyes were dead serious. But soon his face broke into a grin.

“Hey come on. You seem mortified. No point in spoiling this wonderful morning with these stupid things – right?” – He said. He started chatting as if nothing ever happened. I wondered about life and how a single sentence can change the perception of a person.


Part - 3

Shekhar invited me to his home one Sunday after the walk.
“We can have a cup of coffee together – I hope your wife would not mind,” He said.

“It’s okay. But isn’t it a bit too early now?“

“Oh, don’t worry— I am alone in my house now.”

I walked into his apartment. It was very nicely decorated, which can happen only if the lady of the house lovingly puts each object in the room with considerable care. I looked appreciatively at the elegant interior decor and the artifacts inside the living room.

“Aarti likes to keep her room this way now,” Shekar commented sensing my admiration.

There was pure adoration for his wife, Aarti, in his voice. It is quite natural, I thought. Shekar was diagnosed with kidney problems almost three years ago. Kidney transplant was his only option – the doctors had said. The family did not enough money or connections to get a donor, so a contribution from the relatives was the only way. When this word got around – the steady stream of well wishers suddenly vanished. Aarti stood by Shekhar as a rock – and finally decided to donate her own kidney when Shekar was no more in a condition to protest. I had learned all these in bits and pieces during our daily interactions while walking. Shekhar would always make light of his own condition, but would never refrain from openly admiring his wife.

Strangely enough, I had never seen his wife. I wondered what would be my reaction when I met the lady in person.

Shekar brought two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Has your wife gone to meet her mother?” – I asked him.

“Oh no! She had to go yesterday to meet one of her friends. She is coming back today,” Shekar replied matter of factly.

“I shouldn’t be saying this, but you know, I do wish that my wife had some friend like that so that I could get some relief for a day or two” – I said trying to start a man to man conversation.

But Shekar looked a bit pensive and said “Really? You see, after whatever happened to us, life was not same as before. I had to leave my earlier job and settle for a modest office job. There was loans taken during my illness and money had to be paid. I had to get hospitalized frequently for periodic check ups. We decided to send our kids to boarding school as we were constantly shuttling between home and hospital. Aarti initially kept her calm, but gradually started getting into bouts of depression. Gradually the depression started engulfing her –she could not see anything bright in life.“ -- Shekhar paused for a while.

Shekhar went on, “I cursed god as he had to keep me alive and bring such condition to Aarti. Then I prayed to god asking for a miracle. Possibly god listened. A miracle did happen. Aarti struck a friendship. That individual changed the way Aarti started looking into things."

The doorbell rang.

“So early?” Shekar muttered to himself as he opened the door.

Standing on the door was the lady whom my wife and the entire neighbourhood had loved to hate. There was a man behind her, bidding her goodbye.

“Meet my wife, Aarti.” As Shekhar introduced me to the lady.

“Hi.“ I tried to sound nonchalant.

Aarti touched her husband’s hand ever so lightly and gently and then excused herself.

I turned to Shekar. He was staring at me. My sudden recognition of his wife and my reactions had not eluded him.

“She gave me my life. So I am letting her live. Isn’t that just fair...” Shekar’s voice trailed off....

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