‘I found an old photo of yours,’ I tell her. ‘It was in the storeroom.’ I lean over and open my bedside drawer to take out the photo that I kept there after coming back from the hospital. I’ve wanted to show it to her since I got back but something has been holding me back. But after seeing the date on the newspaper, I have to know.
Mom takes the photo from me and stares hard at it, shaking her head. When she lifts her head, I can see that she has tears in her eyes.
‘There are times when I’ve wished so badly that I could just go back into the past,’ she says. ‘Life was so much better back then!’
I don’t know how to tell her that I’ve done just that.
‘But how did you know his name?’ she asks and turns the photo in her hand and her expression clears up. ‘Our names and the date we took this photo on are written here.’ Oh. I hadn’t noticed that at all.
‘So you knew him?’ I ask, beginning to worry about what Manoj said about him not being in the present.
‘Yes. He was our neighbour back then,’ Mom says warmly. I’m relieved to note that she sounds only nostalgic and affectionate.
‘So where’s he now?’ I ask, feeling my heartbeat quickening and my hands becoming clammy.
Mom’s expression clouds a little as she stares at the Polaroid once more.
‘Why are you asking?’ she asks, a little annoyed.
‘Just like that. I’ve never heard of him before,’ I say, hoping she will answer me.
‘Well, his pen friend came from Australia and he fell madly in love with her. So much so that he went away with her to Australia,’ mom says. What?
‘When did he go away? In 1982?’ I ask her, holding my breath. Does this mean that Manoj is here somewhere?
‘No,’ mom says and my heart lurches. What does she mean? And who was the girl that Manoj fell in love with? How could it have been me?
‘It wasn’t 1982. I’m positive about that,’ mom repeats. This is just confusing me. ‘And you know what? Her name was also Tamanna.’
Thirty
SIX MONTHS LATER
It seems like I have been living my life as though my skin has been turned inside out. It’s familiar and strange at the same time. And I feel too much of everything around me. Raina notches down my sensitivity to being in that one week coma. She says that mom and dad have gone a little nuts, trying to pamper me and constantly asking me to take things easy. It just hasn’t been easy though.
That one week I was in that so-called coma changed my life. I was transported to 1982 ... thirty years back, right into my mother’s teenaged years. And I fell in love with her friend Manoj. Okay ignore that. Manoj, wherever he is, is ridiculously older than me. But deep inside, I’m not ready to accept it.
All I know is that I’m being so grouchy because I want to go back to 1982 and check out if my feelings for him are real. And if they are ...
I’ve no idea what to do. I mean, most parents probably worry about the day their daughter will announce that she’s in love with someone. Mine will freak when they hear that I’m in love with someone who is most likely older than them. So, yes. Ignore that.
College has begun and that is yet another reminder of Manoj because I’ve got admission in the same college where he studied. I worked as the librarian’s assistant for a few days there too so when college began it was the first place I went to check out. It looked nothing like the library from 1982 and I wasn’t even sure if it was the same building. Even the canteen where Manoj and I shared coffee was different. More sleek, more crowded and plenty of people tap tapping away on their phones.
Foolishly I looked around for clues about him. That’s another thing. When I asked mom about his whereabouts she didn’t know. According to her he’d fallen in love with his pen-pal from Australia and followed her there. But I was that pen-pal and I don’t live in Australia. So where did he go?
The other day I overheard mom and dad talking about me. They were concerned because I wasn’t the same after May. Well, who would be?
I also couldn’t figure out how Manoj’s grandfather managed to send me back. How had Mr Prakash managed to fix the camera? Why couldn’t I go back into the same photo again? All I have are these questions and no way of finding out the truth.
This search for answers has led me to look for more such pictures in the hope that I might be able to travel back in time again. But I haven’t found a single Polaroid photo anywhere. I’ve searched every possible place I could think of.
‘Tamanna!’
I’ve been rummaging in the attic again and I jump. That was mom. I almost called her Suma twice after spending a week with her teenage self.
‘Why are you up there again?’ She calls out and I can sense the anxiety in her voice. After what happened in May, I was reluctant and a bit scared to venture into the attic once more. First of all, there wasn’t a single person I could confide in. If I had told mom, she would have definitely taken me to the psychiatrist. And they would have bundled me off to Nimhans from there.
After I got back from the hospital, I unobtrusively quizzed my mother about minor details that I’d learnt about her in that one week and to my relief/dismay she confirmed everything that I had discovered.
It stymied me. According to my mother all this had really happened. Already happened. And it was way before I was even born. If I had to understand the answers I had to go back again and that was what drew me to the attic once again.
‘Coming!’ I say as I dust my hands and get up. My mind instantly takes me to Manoj’s dusty house and I sigh.
‘Careful on the steps!’ Raina calls out, mimicking mom and I roll my eyes. That brat! Mom has been telling me to be careful on the steps every time. It’s like I cannot climb stairs for the rest of my life without being told to be careful.
‘You’re getting late for college!’ Mom calls out from the kitchen and nodding, I hurry towards the dining table. Dad is drinking coffee and Raina is in her school uniform rocking back and forth as she memorises organic chemistry formulae. I shudder and reach for the toast and cheese spread, thinking of Ajji’s breakfasts with nostalgia. That’s when it strikes me and I almost drop the toast on the table. What if Ajji has some pictures? Why hasn’t it occurred to me to check her house?
After spending a week in hospital, mom and dad had insisted that I rest until college began. Once college started, I got involved in my studies, but I did have a lot of free time on my hands. I’d opted for the Arts stream which was no surprise to anyone. I think I was just letting life take over for some time because thinking about all the questions in my mind was overwhelming.
Ajji had visited me in the hospital a couple of times and I felt strange looking at her lined face when I’d been staring at a much younger version for a whole week. She hugged me and I inhaled that same talcum powder smell that comforted me hugely. But then I got busy with college and hadn’t been able to visit her at all.
‘I’m going to Ajji’s house after college,’ I announce as mom places a cup of coffee near my plate, looking surprised.
‘How come?’ she murmurs.
I shrug. ‘Don’t know. It’s been a long time since I saw her,’ I say, gulping down the hot coffee. No one questions me further and I pick up my bag and head outside with dad to the car. He drops me off to college but I’m unable to concentrate at a single class. The possibility that I might be able to go back to the past excites me. But there are so many questions and they need answers.
Thirty-one
AJJI LOOKS SURPRISED to see me. I walk inside without a word and sniff the air and a smile breaks out on my face.
‘How was college?’ she asks as she shuts the door behind me.
‘Good,’ I reply and place my bag on the sofa and sit down. She sits down next to me and smiles.
‘How come you’re here?’ she asks and I look up and frown.
‘Why is everyone so surprised? Can’t I visit you just like that?’ but even as I say the words, I realise that the surprise is because I hardly v
isit her and even now, I’ve come with an ulterior motive.
I push away the uncomfortable thoughts and head towards the kitchen where she’s gone. Ajji’s kitchen in 2012 is not much different than the one in 1982, except that she uses a gas stove now. When she sees me lingering in the doorway, Ajji narrows her eyes. ‘Why are you standing there?’ she asks and I shrug and step inside.
‘How are Reena Aunty and Vidya Aunty?’ I ask her as she pulls out an aluminium tin from the shelf.
‘The usual. Reena came to see me yesterday and Vidya, it’s been a while since I saw her,’ she says as she prises open the lid. It’s filled to the brim with green-tinted coconut burfi and my eyes widen in appreciation.
‘Here,’ she says, offering me the tin and I pull out a piece and start nibbling around the edges. It’s moist, flaky and sweet and extremely satisfying.
‘So why are you really here?’ she asks me and I lick the coconut crumbs from my fingers and wonder what I can possibly tell her. Then, inspiration strikes and I smile at her brightly.
‘We’re doing a family tree project in class. I wanted some old pictures of everyone in the family,’ I tell her. Ajji looks interested and she starts asking me all sorts of questions about why I’m choosing to do the maternal house family tree.
‘Well, dad’s family …’ I trail away, thinking that dad’s family isn’t half as interesting as mom’s. ‘There’s not much of a family tree there and I won’t be able to get any old pictures because they don’t live here na?’ Karthik Uncle lives in the UK while his sister, Shobha Aunty, lives in the US.
That seems to satisfy Ajji and she gets up, clutching her knees. As I follow her, I realise that she is going to the room that my mother and aunts used when they were young.
‘You keep old photographs here?’ I ask her and she nods.
‘It’s my storeroom now,’ she says and I bite my lower lip to stop myself from smiling. Storeroom, attic … all the places that have got me into trouble. Still, my excitement is palpable as I help Ajji pull a trunk towards the centre of the room. I sit down cross-legged but not before checking that the floor is clean. It’s neatly swept and I grin at Ajji.
Half an hour later, I’m struggling to maintain the grin on my face. We have looked at what seems like hundreds of photos of aunts and uncles and grandparents and there’s no sign of any sepia-tinted Polaroid photos. I feel despair looming inside me as I look at the pile of photos which I have taken from Ajji for the family tree that I am supposed to be crafting.
‘Aren’t these enough?’ Ajji asks but I remain silent.
‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ she asks again and I look up at her wondering what she means. She is looking at me thoughtfully.
‘I … no … just pictures,’ I mumble.
‘Well I’m tired. I’m taking a nap in my room. Put the trunk back in the corner and come say ‘goodbye’ before you leave, okay?’ she says and gets up. I watch her leave, feeling disheartened. We’ve looked at all the pictures in this trunk already. That’s when I spot a small packet lying in the corner under an album. I don’t think we went through that.
I pull it out and open the flap. The pictures glide out and they’re all normal pictures but the one on top is a Polaroid. In sepia.
It’s my mother smiling at the camera. She’s wearing a saree but still looks young enough to be in school. What is the occasion? I’m a little afraid as I turn it over and see the date.
20th March, 1983
School graduation
I scratch my head in confusion but then the familiar almond oil smell fills the room and I shut my eyes in anticipation wondering what I will tell Manoj when I see him.
Thirty-two
I HAVE NO IDEA where I am. It’s not a chilly November evening in 2012 any more though. It’s a blazing hot summer day and I squirm a little uncomfortably in my warm pullover. Looking around, I see a number of young girls in sarees chattering excitedly as they walk past me. I step behind a tree and then look around, trying to understand where I am. Ahead of me there are a few buildings and what looks like a playground.
Right. This is Suma’s graduation day in her school. It has to be. A babble of excited voices seems to be heading towards my direction and I freeze. I don’t want the girls or Ajji to know that I’m here.
I push myself further back as the voices approach because now I’m pretty sure that the girl who is giggling the most is Reena. The mid afternoon sun is beating down on my back and I’m uncomfortably warm. The girls are talking and come into view and I smile a little when I see Suma walking stiffly and importantly in her starched white saree. Next to her are Reena and Vidya and behind them is Ajji who is walking slowly.
‘How can you graduate when you haven’t gone to college yet?’ Vidya asks Suma who looks exasperated.
‘How many times have I told you? This isn’t that kind of a graduation!’ she says. I turn around a little so that they can’t see me but I can still hear them as they walk towards the gate.
‘I wonder what made Manoj take out this camera again,’ Reena says and I look up. Where’s he?
The girls have walked past me and the tree and I can see Suma shrug as she pulls out a Polaroid photo from her bag and looks at it with interest. She stops walking but the others continue. They turn back when they realise that she isn’t walking. I’ve stopped noticing what they’re doing because I’m looking around everywhere, wondering where Manoj is. If I’ve landed at the site where the photo was taken, then the photographer had to be nearby.
Suddenly I feel a lurch in my heart as Suma turns around and waves at someone from the direction they had been coming. I’m guessing it was the auditorium.
‘Manoj!’ she calls out and I gulp a little. ‘Come and see this!’
I can’t bring myself to look at him yet but I can sense that he’s striding towards them.
‘What is it?’ he asks as he catches up and I finally turn so I can see him again after six months.
I can feel a smile form on my face as I try to absorb his features from afar. It’s no good denying that I do feel something for him but I push that down and step back behind the tree when I realise that he’s looking around wildly. Almost as though he’s expecting me to materialise there.
Wait a minute. Suma called him to show something in the photo. The last time I came here, I was there in the photo once I’d travelled back into time, but as a blurry outline. Has Suma seen something similar now also?
Judging by the look in Manoj’s eyes, I know that my assumption is right. His shoulders slump a little and I feel a little clenching inside my chest at his disappointment. He doesn’t look like the boy in the first photo that I’d seen. That boy had been carefree and full of life. I want to talk to him but not with the girls around. I cannot explain to them how I came back from Australia and landed in Suma’s school all of a sudden.
‘I’m going home,’ he says, nodding curtly before heading for the gate. I wonder if the girls would also accompany him. But Ajji is looking uncertain. It’s midday and she’s made some plans to go somewhere with the girls. Suma doesn’t look interested.
‘I’m wearing a saree!’ she complains. ‘How can I go to Radha Aunty’s house in this?’ she asks.
‘But her house is right here! Imagine coming all the way here and not visiting her!’ Ajji rationalises.
‘You go. I’ll go home. I don’t want to come!’ Suma says defiantly. Aah mom! Who’s being unsocial now? What would she even do if she went home? It’s not like they have the internet.
‘No. You’re not going home alone. You’re coming with me,’ Ajji says angrily and there’s a minor face-off between the two before Suma scowls and without another word, follows Ajji and her sisters outside the school gates.
I step out from behind the tree, wondering if Manoj has got into a bus already. In the distance, I can see Ajji and her daughters taking a left turn. There’s a bus stop ahead on the same road and my heart starts picking up pace when I spot Manoj waitin
g for the bus.
I walk slowly towards him, trying to think of what I will say but words fail me completely. My mind is a mess as I try to grapple with the different emotions that are churning inside me.
His gaze is fixed on the ground and I can sense his frustration as I near him. The excitement of finally being able to talk to him hits me and I can no longer stop myself from running towards the bus stop. There’s only one other man waiting at one corner, reading a newspaper.
Manoj looks up, his eyes growing round as he realises that the person running towards him recklessly is me. Tamanna.
He straightens up and looks incredulous.
‘Hi!’ I pant breathlessly as I stop before him. The man with the newspaper moves the paper sideways to look at us before going back to the news.
Manoj grabs my hand making sure that I’m real.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, not letting go of my hand, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by me or my … err … hormones.
My face is flushed and I’m unable to speak. There’s so much I want to tell him but I can’t. For some reason it’s like my tongue has got frozen to the roof of my mouth after that initial ‘hi’.
‘Tamanna!’ he shakes my hand and then shakes his head, as though he can’t believe that it’s me.
Rather foolishly I nod, then grin and burst out laughing. The man with the newspaper has put his paper down and is looking at the two of us with greater interest. Manoj looks at the man warily and then, with my hand still in his, pulls me away from the bus stop.
‘Where are you going?’ Finally one question I can actually bring myself to ask.
‘Home. Let’s walk. It should take us an hour to reach and I can talk to you on the way,’ he says, dragging me along.
‘Walk? From here till your house?’ I squeak, looking down at the pointy toed shoes I was wearing. Next time, I’m going to have to dress more appropriately for time travel.
‘Why?’ he asks, his gaze following mine and then he gives a hoot of laughter.
No Time for Goodbyes Page 12
