It was a quiet evening for the hills. The sky was a stretch of faint
yellow dabbed with the vermillion of the setting sun. The silhouettes of the
tall pine trees bordering the winding mountain roads looked august against the sun’s receding light. She drove up the hill to
the cottage. Every year, around this time, their group of five college friends
met at a place to spend some time together. This time it was his Mussoorie
cottage. It had been quite some time since she last visited the place. From
what she knew, he had arrived at the place two days ago to settle everything. After the loss of her father she had wanted to shut herself up to the
rest of the world. She had refused to talk to anyone. It was a time she had
wanted solely to herself. He had given her that time. But
when she declined coming for the reunion, he had finally called up. What had
followed was a long silence, intruded solely by the sound of their breath,
which neither of them tried to break. And once she held the receiver down she
knew she could no longer deny him her presence and herself his.
She parked the car in front of the cottage. The house was still. The
patio glowed under the gentle moonlight. She sat at the stairs to the
house and heard the floorboard groan beneath her. Some ten minutes later she
saw a figure at the bend of the road. Even in the dusk she could tell it was
him by the briskness in his walk. His tall figure rose and fell with the rhythm
of her heartbeat. She sat there absorbing his approaching presence- the squared
shoulders, the hair left unsettled by the breeze, the lean legs that moved with
controlled energy. She saw him stop for a brief second outside the wooden
gateway and notice her car parked outside. And then he resumed his walk up the
path leading to her, his eyes never leaving hers from thereon.
*
Her sudden arrival did not surprise him. He felt as if nothing could be
more obvious than her presence there- in his home and with him. It was a place
that belonged to her. He liked how they often met without any warning. It made
him feel the continuum of her presence in his life. He stood in front of her –
letting the summation of that moment sink in. He gradually took in every detail
fathoming what all she had let herself go through in the past three months
since her father’s death – the colour had left her cheeks and the smile was not
able to reach her lips in the way that had defined them. However those eyes
still had the vestiges of unsettling spark, the shoulders still hinted a
stubborn confidence even in their fragility. He had not lost her.
He went up to her and enclosed her in a gentle hug. She fit perfectly in
his arms. The faint smell of the vanilla orchid perfume she had worn reminded
him of the first time he had hugged her. The cool breeze made her soft hair
brush against his cheek. It was in that moment that he let himself admit how
much he had missed her. She dug her face deeper in his shoulders letting
the warm tears stream down her cheeks and dampen his t-shirt. He held her there
without demanding any explanation. She had lost her mother when she was some two
years old and hence losing her father was like losing her family. She had
however not allowed herself to breakdown in front of her relatives. She had
waited for this moment to let out that storm. Now she did not feel the need to
control anymore. She made no effort to stop her convulsive sobs as he held her
closer. They stayed like that for what seemed like a long time.
“Coffee?” He asked her, finally breaking the silence.
She gave a delicate nod.
He leapt up the stairs and went inside the house. She had always loved
his coffee. He made them out of fresh coffee beans; grinding them at home and
brewing it just the right amount. Fifteen minutes later he returned with two
china cups full of the beverage. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted in the cool
mountain air. Sitting beside him, as she wrapped her fingers around the hot
coffee cup, she felt the warmth of life returning back to her.
*
The others were coming next morning. So after dinner the two of them
went for a stroll. Along the arched pathways of the hillside, they rambled -
the moon following them in the sky above. They reclaimed those memories from
the past which were solely theirs, laughing at some and lingering on the
others. Somewhere in those moments with him, removed from the stir of
activities, with the hills guarding their solitude she felt more “herself” than
she had felt in the past three months. As if there was a part of her that had
remained with him- protected and unscarred by the tumult of time. And that
evening he had gifted herself back to her.
"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling
of letting go and holding on."- Henry Ellis
great
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