Restaurant, Flower Bouquet and the Calling Card(Roshan Marlan) This was my very first evening in Italy as an immigrant and we were walking along a certain busy street of Milan, after visiting Herman's uncle, whose name currently I cannot recollect.
Herman was walking beside me.
“Wait!” Herman exclaimed and stopped me suddenly, pulling my hand.
“Did you see?”
“What?”
“Just look at there.”
“Oh! That girl? Yeah! I did, a gorgeous girl, Ah! But which one. The girl with the red blouse?”
“No! That one, the dark-haired one.”
“Wow! What a figure.”
“Just look at her walk. Just look at the way she moves. Isn’t that lovely? She must be from our country. Look at the skin color. What eyes!” He said as if he was whispering.
“Hey man! I think she must be rich. I think she belongs to one of those noble families.”
“Is that her car over there? The sport Ferrari?” I exclaimed, blushing. “Forget the lady. Car alone worth huge sums.”
“Why don’t you go after the lady, May be you could make a connection?” Herman said with a smile.
“Oh, how could I? I am new to streets of Milan. Besides, it’s getting dark pretty soon.”
“You fool!” cried Herman, pulling my hand toward the direction where the bright glittering gown was fluttering. “Follow her!” he pushed me. ”Make use of the situation. Don’t miss her.”
“Ok! I know how to catch you, my lady!” I said. A self-confident smile crossed my countenance overcoming my timidity all of a sudden.

Though I started to walk with nervous bashful steps toward the direction where the vibrant peach color gown was fluttering against the breeze; in a moment I gained confidence and quickened my steps. My heart began to pound with excitement that I have never experienced before. She walked hurriedly not more than a hundred meters ahead and then stopped in front of a fashion store to glance thoughtfully at something, what looked like a fabulous dress, through the glass walls. Her body bathed in bright flickering light, as she approached near the glass walls closer. I stopped a bit and began to walk past her slowly without taking my eyes off her. She wore a loose-fitting one shoulder satin gown with a matching self-tie belt. I could reveal her curvy rear shape and toned legs. I noticed her face. It was young and beautiful. The brightness of her cheek would outshine those stars in a moonless night. Soon I saw a look of unbearable sadness and downheartedness instinctively rise up into her beautiful face. I was baffled. “Why doesn’t she go inside? Why doesn’t she buy the dress she adores so much?”

I leaned myself against a street lamp post and tried to get her attention but she paid me no mind. May be the distance was not close enough between us. I thought of moving myself a little closer, close enough to brush my hand slightly on her bare shoulder to win her attention for the first time. But my efforts were to no avail, suddenly she began to walk again, adjusting the ends of her hair which had dangled over her forehead; and then disappeared herself in to a crowd of people walking toward various directions. I searched in vain for the direction she took. Did I lose her without a trace, or has the beauty flown to the distance? I wanted to see where this lovely being resided, who seemed to have flown right across from paradise into my vicinity and would surely fly off again to unknown heavens.

I walked along the sidewalk hurriedly so that I bumped in to an old woman, pushing her off the sidewalk. She yelled something at me in Italian which of course I didn’t understand. No time to apologize. I turned my head hopelessly and aimlessly to the far away street in order to catch glimpse of her. “She couldn’t have gone too far.” I thought. Within the next moment I saw my lady again, crossing the street and she suddenly turned her head sideways.

Oh! What heavenly shapes! Flaming lips, the attractive face, the abundant dark hair, they were curly, those dangling tresses of hair, some of which fell from side of her ears onto her cheeks, touching them faintly; and some flowed down her back and shoulders to her waist. Her sparkling rosy lips and cheeks with smooth make-up, almost begged for kisses. 'Who are you? You are a wildflower!' I thought. She glanced at me sternly this time, noticing my intention of pursuit. I observed her warm dark eyes, peeping at me, beneath lush and flawlessly symmetrical brows. I stopped. My heart trembled at this glance of hers and my eyes cast down. To avoid being noticed, I indifferently observed those passer by cars. I walked hither and thither aimlessly. I even observed those metropolitan buildings and their signboards. I pretended I was after famous ancient buildings, since they say, Italy is a land of artistic antique buildings.

What should I do to avoid being ridiculous? There I saw the signboard ‘Fioraio’ in Italian. I rushed toward the florist to buy a fresh bouquet of flowers. There were so many varieties. But which one to choose? Would she appreciate the gesture? A lesson I learnt did cross my mind at once. I could stay with red roses since red means romance and nothing depicts passion like red roses. They were appealing and alluring, yet natural, and elegant. The tulip's velvety black center is said to resemble a lover's heart, darkened by the heat of passion. Come on! Choose your option quick. I said to myself. “A mix of peach, white and red roses would be exquisite.” I asked for that. Wait! Another option, of course, to mix roses or tulips with other flowers, which would add new layers of meaning to my bouquet. So I decided the latter and bought it. I did not even wait for shopkeeper to bring back my change.

Suddenly, I found myself following the lovely lady down the street once again, with a bunch of flowers in my right hand. The beauty noticed my flowers fortunately, and looked back at me for the second time. It seemed to me that a slight smile shined on her lips. I trembled and did not believe my eyes, was it real? Was it a glimmer of a flash light, showing the semblance of a smile on her lips? Did she actually like me or the flowers? With a blink of her eye, my heart beat stopped. World seemed to cease its rotation. I stood motionless. Automobiles blew past my ears. People flew off to various directions. Everything before my eyes was covered with a purple mist. Then I saw her red painted finger nails lifting toward her rosy lips, and beckoning me over with her finger to follow her. My knees shaken; my senses and feelings were on fire; a tremendous flash of pleasure pierced my heart with an unbearable impatience.

At this very moment, I heard a melodious sound come from a violin. It filled the air with a heavenly music. A Talented violinist was playing a classic piece of Mozart. Now with high tone vibrant sounds, now with soft heart touching low notes. It stimulated my situation immensely. Streets grew quieter and laughter of the people stopped gradually and they all seemed to meditate on music. 'Let the violinist play the music forever.' I thought. I choose the moment. This was it. With soft romantic music playing in the background, I began to stride slowly but steadily toward her with self-confidence.

I approached her with a pleasant smile.
“I saw you following me.” She said.
“Yeah! You guessed it right. I don’t get permission from anybody to do what I want.”
“Oh! That’s interesting. Anyway, nice flowers! Are these for me?”
“Lady! You must wait. First you should win my heart. If you can, then it’s all yours.”
“Oh! Please! Let me see them.”
“No! Let me hear your name first.” I said and touched her hand tenderly.
“Me? I am Romona.”
“You have a nice voice Romona.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah! Absolutely.”
“Ah! Thanks! But does that mean you like my voice only?"
“No! May be I like you too.” I said with a smile.
We began to walk side by side. My right hand brushed her soft bare shoulder and it gave me a tingling sensation.
“Are you new to Milan?” She turned her head and glanced at my face. I saw her pretty eyes. They were dark and glittering.
“Yes! But why did you park your car over there and walk all the way up here?”
“My car? Where?”
“I thought that’s your car.”

We walked for some distance and I did not even notice how a romantic dining restaurant suddenly appeared before me. We stopped facing toward the entrance. The huge lobby bar looked fabulous; the vast dining room, with its ornate plaster-work ceiling, very low lighting and lively bar area, looked mesmerizing. Could it be that she just showed me such a nice place to dine with delight and keep our intimacy going until the day breaks? I imagined, spending the whole night with this nice lady. She would get up early and open those curtains wide, so that sunlight would seep through the hotel room windows. Then I would enjoy watching her supple body moving hither and thither across the hotel room and her bare legs walking on the carpet, while I still lay on my bed. After that, in the morning, we would drink Italian espresso with hot milk, while looking at each other’s faces. So much happiness, such a wonderful life!

“What are you thinking? She asked, pressing my hand.
“Oh! Nothing! Romona! Aren’t we going inside?” I said, as if I suddenly awoke from a dream.
“Do you want to?” she said with a saddened smile. “No! Not today!” She said. “It’s getting late. I am already half hour late. They are already expecting me.”
“What do you mean by they are expecting you?”
“I am working here.” She hesitated a little and whispered. “I am a waitress here.”
“Oh!” I sighed in disappointment. With grief stricken eyes I looked over her shoulder; at the sight of moon rising over the horizon, and saw how it disappeared behind gray clouds.
“Romona! What are you doing standing over there?” I heard some girl shouting from the entrance in a shrill voice. “Don’t you suppose to take over my shift? I need to change my dress before I go.”
“Don’t shout, I am coming.”

She looked at my eyes imploringly with her gloomy eyes. Then she pressed my hand again and parted from me suddenly. I saw her running through the entrance. I stood there shocked and dumbfounded, wondering what had just happened. I did not know what to do or what to make of it and walked toward the entrance slowly in a state of bewilderment. I loitered; I was sad. Her friend was still there chatting with somebody. But to my surprise, she spoke my own language. I went closer. She wore a red color mini dress and her hair style was unusual.
“Hello! Would you excuse me?” I asked.
“Yeah?” She glanced at me indifferently.
“Can you please give me Romona’s contact?”
“Are you the gentlemen standing over there with her?”
“Yes! I know her.” I said.
“Didn’t she give that? I thought you would already have it. Let me see if I have. OK! Here it is.”
I put the calling card inside my pocket, thinking that 'Now I have her phone number at least.' it comforted me for a fleeting moment.

When I walked out of the premises it was already dark and dreary. Flickering lights gave me irritations in my eyes. It must have been the streetlights that glistened in the humid air. Romona’s vivid picture appeared in my mind everywhere I see.
“Why she wore such a glamorous dress for a waitress? I thought, while I was walking. “Was it normal to wear like that?”

I struggled initially to find my way back. The path I walked was in the wrong direction and it came to a dead end. Then I had to walk all the way back to the restaurant to find the correct way. While I was walking down the street, I was thinking of her again. “She said they were expecting her. But who?” I did not actually understand. So I took out the calling card and observed it with my phone's dim back-light. It contained a name and a mobile number in a velvet background full of roses and lip kisses and nothing else. I read it. It had a strange name - ‘Rose fragrance’ written in English as the name instead of Romona. I gazed at the calling card for a moment, thinking, and decided to put it inside my inner pocket. So she was called by that name Rose fragrance; called by that distinctive name; by the men who were waiting for her. My emotions became too much to bear. Cruel world!

I stopped walking and ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. An idea did cross my mind to search for the violinist, who played the romantic music of Mozart. I thought of giving my unused flower bouquet to him, as a token of my appreciation. Nature’s true gift: roses and tulips, violinist rightly deserved. Alas! It was already withered in cold wind. Besides, I didn’t hear his music anymore and he was nowhere to be seen. The place where the violinist was playing, stood an under construction building with a large iron gate. On which hung a noise-hazard caution sign, and it swung in the wind with a creaking sound. “Romantic music in the midst of hammering and drilling?” I wondered.

A light drizzle started. In no time it developed to a heavy downpour. I got soaked in the rain. All my belongings drenched in rain: my shoes, my wallet, my mobile phone, the calling card. I walked with long steps while water was dripping all over my body. I found it unusually cold for a summer night. Wind and rain lashed my eyes so hard that it obscured my way forward in those unknown streets of Milan. As an alienated loner, I knew I was about to encounter many more deceptive paths along my journey ahead.

---