Love Across Borders (11 page)

Luckily, Ratu came home to stay for the weekend.
As usual, he threw his bag on the floor as he entered my room, and
the first thing he said was, “
Daddu
, you’ve been off
Facebook.”

“Something is wrong with the computer, it won’t
start,” I admitted.

“Never mind,” was his instant response, “that
computer is prehistoric anyway. Let’s use my laptop to get you back
on Facebook.” He winked, as he opened his laptop.

Within minutes, I was back online.

“Do I have any messages?” I asked in what I
hoped was a casual manner.

“A couple.”

“Who are they from?” I enquired.

“Actually, there are two messages, both from the
same person. Their profile picture is a university logo.”

“What are they saying?”

“Not much, just asking about the college you
went to.”

“So, have you answered them?” I was getting
impatient now.

“Yeah, I told them you studied in Hyderabad and
Karachi,” he said as he left the room, handing me the laptop.

While I reread the messages, another one popped
up.

‘
What was your department?’

And before I could respond, another one.

‘
Were you a member of the Literary and
Dramatic Society in 1970?’

I replied to both questions.

‘
Chemistry department. Yes, I was a member of
the Literary and Dramatic Society
.’

I waited for a reply, but it did not come. I
went back to surfing the web (that’s what the kids today call it),
and didn’t realize it was evening until the cook informed me that
it was time for dinner.

I entered the dining room. Ravi, my son,
Lelawati, his wife and Ratu, were all waiting for me. After Ravi’s
mother passed away we made it a point to have dinner together.

As I sat down, Ratu announced, “
Daddu
has
fallen in love.”

“With whom?” asked Lela mischievously.

My cold gaze caused Ratu to rethink his reply.
“With the computer,” he said.

“Actually, I think Ratu is hoping for a new
laptop,” Ravi laughed, venturing a guess at Ratu’s real intent
behind the conversation.

“Either way, a new laptop is needed. Either for
the grandfather or the grandson,” added Lela. She turned to Ravi.
“Why don’t you buy one and present it to Ratu as a birthday
gift.”

“So, is Ratu’s laptop mine?” I asked
instantly.

Everyone laughed at my spontaneous response. And
from that day, Ratu’s laptop became mine.

***

Now that I had Ratu’s laptop, surfing the net
was much faster for me and I learnt more about Facebook and how it
works. The Karachi University logo had raised my interest and when
I did not hear again from the person, I decided to go through their
friend list. Imagine my surprise when the first person I saw was
Ratu. I think maybe the person connected with me by mistake, when
they were actually looking for him. This suspicion was strengthened
by a strange comment by Ratu when he came home next weekend.

The first thing he asked me was how my net
surfing was coming along and if I had heard from ‘the logo
person’.

“No,” I complained. “The ‘logo person’ has
disappeared.”

“The ‘logo person’ was in Sri Lanka,” Ratu
said.

I knew that person did not have any information
on their page. So Ratu and he or she must be exchanging messages.
It confirmed for me that the connection with me was a mistake.

“I wonder why people connect if they don’t mean
to chat,” I said, not letting on that I knew about his
friendship.

“Sometimes people lose interest and desert their
friends,” he said looking at me with a strange look on his
face.

I did not ask him anything more. I knew Ratu
very well and he was clearly hiding something. I hypothesized about
the ‘logo person’. I thought maybe Ratu has met and fallen in love
with a girl, and one of her grandparents was at the Karachi
University at the same time as me. That would explain a lot.

***

Over the next few weeks, I went back to my usual
activities on the Internet. And then one day, as I was chatting to
an old friend, the Karachi University logo sent me another
message.

‘
Can you name any female classmates of yours
at the Literary and Dramatic Society at Karachi
University?’

It seemed that this person was interested in
tracing our family and history. Maybe things were getting serious
with Ratu and the girl wanted to know more. I responded
immediately.

‘
Kavita, her full name was Kavita
Kundanmal.’

As I typed these words without thinking, I was
amazed at how quickly it had come up as the first name I
remembered; after all, it had been more than forty years since I
had taken that name. And along with the name came a deluge of
memories.

***

Kavita was Sindhi like me and joined the
university in 1969. The first time I saw her, she was reading a
political pamphlet on the situation in East Pakistan. The next
time, she came into the student union office, and expressed her
interest in joining the union. She was nominated as a Joint
Cultural Secretary and was also a very active member of the
Literary and Dramatic Society.

Drama and our passion for Sindhi culture were
what brought us together, and our political activism cemented our
bond. We spent hours talking and arguing passionately, and before
we knew it, the love that we had only read about had seeped into
our hearts. That first year we spent all our time together.

On the last day of university, we went to see a
performance by a Sindhi theatre group. It was a one-act play based
on Shah Latif’s tragic romance
Momal-Rano
. It was Kavita’s
favorite story and the performance was simply marvelous. The actors
brought to life the story of Momal, princess of
Kak
, who
attracted and destroyed unwary men with her incredible beauty until
she meets handsome and brave Rano. Alas Rano believes she has
tricked him and leaves Momal who keeps the lamps burning all night
for his return. Eventually he relents, but it is too late. Momal
sets herself on fire and Rano joins her, unable to live without
her.

Afterwards, we went to have a cup of tea at the
student canteen. She sipped the tea silently, which was unusual for
her. I thought she was moved by the play and was also quiet. But
then I felt there was more to her silence and asked her what was
wrong. She told me quietly that her father thought that the
political situation in Karachi was deteriorating rapidly, and there
was an air of mistrust against the Hindu minority, particularly
given the tension over East Pakistan. She told me that her father
was contemplating moving to India over the next few months.

She got up, without waiting for my response, but
before she left she handed me a note.

I unfolded it. A single sentence was written on
it in her beautiful handwriting—
Tu Muhenjo Rano Theden
—Will
you be my Rano?

Unfortunately, her father’s fears were soon to
be vindicated, as a wave of political disturbance erupted across
the city and the country. The tension continued for a few days and
entered the university as well. It was clear that the right-wing
parties considered all non-Muslim students as Bengali
collaborators. With the university environment getting tense
day-by-day, the university announced early-holidays.

I never saw her again. I left for my village for
two weeks and when I returned, the whole country was already in the
grip of war. I found out that her family had left Karachi as soon
as the war broke out, and the only thing left of Kavita was the
paper she had given me, which I carried in my wallet. Fearing for
their safety, her father had taken the entire family and left the
city. I never heard from her again.

***

As the memories rushed over me, I felt a sea of
emotions raging inside me. Impatient and curious, I wrote a message
to the Karachi University logo, “Who is this—and why do you
ask?”

But there was no answer.

I closed the laptop and switched on the TV. But
it did little to chase away memories I had tried for so long to
forget. Rano and Momal went around and around in my mind. But there
was no-one lighting lamps for me and no way back to the past. My
secret was my own to bear.

***

Ratu came over the next day, which was the weekend. I was curious
about his mysterious friend who seemed to want to know more about
me.

Over lunch, I asked him about his progress with
his new Facebook friend.

“Nothing new,” he said and added casually, “Last
week, I got a request from that ‘logo person’, and accepted it. It
seems that we have a lot in common.”

I was curious and decided to fish for more
information. “It seems to be something serious,” I said.

“May be, may be not,” he replied
cryptically.

Lela who was silently listening to the
discussion, smiled and said, “This is quite interesting!”

“What makes it interesting?” Ratu asked.

“Well…both grandfather and grandson are equally
interested in the same person… ”

We both laughed, and left it that.

***

The next day, as we finished lunch and I got up
to leave, Lela followed me and told me that one of Ratu’s friends
was coming to see us that evening. A Facebook friend, she told me,
and I interpreted Lela’s underlying message. I should be
well-dressed and present for dinner because Ratu’s girlfriend would
be visiting.

I smiled at being proven right. So, Ratu had
fallen in love with some girl on Facebook—maybe a Sindhi girl whose
grandparent was educated at Karachi University. That would explain
the logo. In any case, all my questions were about to be
answered.

I thought I should retire for the afternoon to
take a nap and be fresh for the evening. Before I knew it, Lela was
in my room, waking me up.

“Are they here?” I asked.

“Already arrived…want to meet you.” she
nodded.

“And where is Ratu?” I enquired.

“All of them are in the drawing room,” she
said.

“How does Ratu’s would-be-bride look,” I
asked.

She said nothing, smiled, blushed and went
out.

I went to the bathroom to freshen up. Just as I
had finished getting ready, there was a soft knock on my door. I
opened the door and Lela entered, leading a graceful woman behind
her, and then left, closing the door behind her.

The late afternoon light didn’t allow me to see
her clearly, but when she spoke, the voice was unmistakably
hers.

“How are you, Suresh?” she asked in Sindhi.

It was Kavita. I was so taken aback that for a
few moments I could only stare at her. She was still beautiful, her
eyes still shone, but her hair was short now. The lustrous curls
were gone. We sat in silence for some time and just looked at each
other. And then we started reminiscing, talking and remembering our
days together at the university.

I asked her about her life after leaving
Karachi. She said that her family first went to Shimla and then
they moved to Mumbai where she completed her graduate studies. She
went to the US, to obtain a masters degree in Sociology, and then
worked at first with the Indian Government, then with UNESCO in Sri
Lanka as an advisor, before retiring in Mumbai.

While Kavita was talking, I noticed that her
tone, manner of speaking, and the way she moved her hands were
exactly the same as I remembered.

“How about you and your family?” she asked.

I told her how I had moved to the UK to study
and then raise a family, that I had one son, and that my wife
passed away a few years ago.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She was quiet.

“Did you ever get married?”

“No.” She stood up suddenly and started to look
at the photographs in my room. Reliving our memories seemed to have
made her happy and sad at the same time. The room was emotionally
charged. She tried to change the atmosphere by telling me that she
knew all about me through Ratu. She complained that in all these
years I had never attempted to find her.

“Has Ratu told you that I became friends with
him on Facebook?” She probed.

“Yes, he has…” And I went on to tell her that my
overactive brain had cooked up a story that Ratu and her
granddaughter, who uses the Karachi University logo, like each
other.

She laughed, and said bluntly, “You still have
your old habits of student politics—‘always speculate, and
speculate wrongly’.”

I joined in her laughter, looking at her face,
seeing again the two dimples on her cheeks that appeared when she
laughed.

Sadly I said, “I failed to be your
Rano
.”

She just looked at me.

Just then, Ratu came in and brought a tray of
chai
and sweets for us. As he turned to leave, Kavita
stopped him. “Did you not tell Suresh about me?”

“No, I didn’t,” Ratu replied. He turned to me
now and told me that Kavita was my mysterious Facebook friend, and
that after she was sure that she had found me, she had reached out
to Ratu and told him about us. He smiled and then left us
alone.

I looked at Kavita. “You are still very
dramatic; why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

“And you still jump to conclusions,” she
responded.

I smiled and handed her a cup of tea.

As she sipped her steaming
chai
, Kavita
whispered, “I have borne the time we have been separated as a
Banwas
.”

I took off my glasses, and dried my eyes. I got
up and went to my reading table, and from one of its drawers took
out a worn scrap of paper and gave it to her.

“This is what kept me going in
Banwas
,” I
said. And then I reached for her hand. “Like Momal and Rano, our
story got interrupted Kavita, but unlike them, we have the chance
to begin again.”