I stood there teetering on the edge of the rock, watching the swirling current, flowing swiftly, creating small eddies that swallowed up the small twigs and leaves that came its way. I had stood like this many times, years ago, on the slimy rock, half of my feet out, just balancing by the balls of the heels. The lightest of touch would send me down. It was a ‘dare’ between us boys to stand there, resisting the pull of the water, until it became too much and we dived in. In retrospect I guess it was a wild thing to do, for the place was notorious for accidents and in the rainy season the currents were treacherous. But then we were young and looking for adventure and this was just a sport to us. I watched now the boys diving and thrashing in the water, splashing water wildly causing the girls nearby to squeal in indignation. That was always the area for girls. It had flat rocks for washing clothes and the water was more shallow and the bottom less rocky. From time immemorial, all rivers had this fine demarcation and no boy would venture into the women’s padithurai nor vice-versa. For all that rigidity, the boys could never resist showing off, trying to attract the attention of the girls.

            I had never been one of that brigade though there were a couple of boys in my group who were of that ilk and had started quite young. I was fourteen when I first saw her. Here in this same place, I had stood, balancing and resisting the mesmeric pull of the water. This was a vantage point to look at the girls bathing yonder and I had my attention drawn when I heard her yell and scream, in English, as her cousins thrust her into the cold water. She came out sputtering, her short hair plastered, clothes streaming water. I gathered that she had been reluctant to disrobe and wrap a piece of cloth around her as her cousins had done and had now received a ‘full dunk’.

            All the boys had had a hearty laugh over it and Seenu who was the know-all in our group had nudged me saying, “Vasu, those girls are from your street.” As his nudge had sent me over, I hardly took it in, concentrating on extracting my revenge on him. But when I saw the group of girls in the evening at the temple in our street when the aarti was going on, I realized that she must be visiting, Balu Saar, as he was called in our street. Balu Saar was a teacher at the local high school and as he also took tuition in maths, he was well known. He had three daughters, ranging in age from seven to about thirteen, all talkative, gawky and with oily hair hanging down in long pigtails, a bright coloured ribbon tied in a bow at the ends. She was such a contrast, her short straight hair cut in a ‘bob’, bangs covering half her fore-head, and clad in skirts that left her knees exposed. It was a little shocking and a little exciting to see somebody so different. She might as well have come from ‘Mars’ for all the excitement that she brought into our group. I became very proprietary about her, for she was from my street after all and I gained importance amidst my friends for all the little bit of news that I self-importantly gave out.

            When she left at the end of the summer vacation we were all devastated, but being still young, we were easily diverted when we saw posters of a circus that had arrived in town. Shubha, for that was her name, was forgotten, until her visit next summer. She, was only a year younger than I was, but nature had wrought a change in her, in the year that had gone and she was now, not only long-legged, but gently rounded out with her hair now tied in a pony-tail bouncing with every step she took. I think I lost my heart to her that first evening, when I saw her in the temple, clad in a black, long-skirt, that I had chosen for her. This year Appa had insisted that I should learn the trade and I had to spend part of my vacation, in the shop.

 We sold cotton saris and pavadais, mostly the chungudi variety and Appa had built a good clientele. Balu Saar’s wife had come a few days earlier and I had heard her confiding to Amma that she was buying a pavadai for Shubha. I caught a glimpse of the silver anklets she had bought for her niece as Amma and she discussed the merits of one jeweler over another. I had picked up my courage and suggested she buy the black skirt with the red dots, as it was a new arrival. It was more to assert my salesmanship than anything but when I saw Shubha wearing it, there was something very personal about it. And when I picked up her handkerchief and handed it over to her, her shy smile, enslaved me forever.

Whenever we passed each other after that, she had a half-smile and a speaking glance for me. I was delirious of course, ecstatic that she returned my feelings and that summer passed for me in a haze. Not that summer but every one after that was a tryst with her, the intervening months a burden. Of course we never did exchange a word, this was a small town where boys could never get friendly with a girl, not unless she was of his family and even then within limits. But every movie song that I heard spoke of our feelings, of the pain of separation and every love scene in the movies I saw, were ours. I was lucky that I was pretty good at my studies for I have no idea how I ever got through them. I lived in a parallel world where we were the only inhabitants undisturbed by mundane things.

I never did think I was delusional, for I was sure of her – as sure as I was of myself. I knew what her smiles and glances meant. I lived for those moments and I kept haunting the temple, the river and would spend the evenings walking up and down our street, hoping for a glimpse of my goddess. A shy and introvert nature, helped me keep it a secret until that day in my third year of college when Gopal caught me doodling her name. He ferreted out my secret within days, his constant questions and teasing making me break my silence and confide in him. Gopu was from another area of the town and he promised me that he would definitely visit me that summer to see my goddess. That year was a defining year for me, for with college over,  Appa was pushing me to take over the shop while Amma was ready to put me up for sale in the marriage market.

I had to do something to counter both of them. I could not see Shubha as the wife of a shopkeeper. Gopu’s visit was a welcome relief. I confided my worries and was calmed by his words of reassuarance. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here,” he said. I knew he was smart and enterprising and put my trust in him. A few days later, he came home. “vasu, you are such a fool. Do you know that Shuba’s father is an auditor in Madras? All we need to do is to become his articled clerks and we are made for life. I hear he is coming here for a few days and we should meet him.”  I never stopped to wonder how it had become ‘we’ and ‘us’. If I had thought about it life would have been different surely.

He was so resourceful that a month later, we were both in Madras and working for Shubha’s dad and that too in his house that doubled as his office. Now I watched Shubha go to college and back everyday, and heard her laughter and voice from the living quarters. I still sighed and languished but could not bring myself to talk to her. The long conversations we had in my dreams and imagination dried up when faced with reality. Gopu was on first name basis with her and talked to her with the familiarity I should have had and he was at home with her parents too. I stood on the fringes listening, smiling shyly but never participating. He smiles that seemed particularly directed at me,  made me dreamy and no doubt foolish.

Shubha’s parents were talking of her marriage, Gopu told me. Since they had no other child, they wanted to keep her with them even after her marriage and were looking for somebody who would take over the practice too, he confided. I woke up to reality then. I realized it was time to tell her parents of our love for each other. I wondered whether I should ask Gopu to mediate on our behalf or take the bulls by the horn and approach them directly. The old man was all praises for my work and application and Shubha’s mother always said that ‘Vasu was such a nice and quiet boy’. Surely I should fit all their requirements.

Perhaps I should consult Shubha, I thought. While I was turning over these ideas, Shubha’s father came up to me. That was the last sane thing that happened to me. For his questions, shattered me. He wanted to know more about Gopu, his family, his background. They were considering him as a bridegroom for Shubha,  he confided. He got along well with everyone and Shubha was on such good terms with him. I gathered the shreds of sanity and went to talk to Shubha. My first personal conversation with her!! It was not easy but I was against the wall and had to come up a winner. I told her about her father’s conversation with me first. As I watched her reactions, my heart sank. She was blushing!! Not annoyed, not discomfited, not perturbed. She seemed pleased even.  But I pressed on, my misgivings put aside. “Shubha, don’t you think we should tell them how we have loved each other all these years? That we have been waiting for the right time. How our hearts beat as one and our meetings every summer led us to it.” I kept pouring my heart out, now that the dam was open. My heart was laid bare for her, and if there was a sense of desperation in my tone, I was not aware of it.

 “I don’t love you,” she said in a flat voice. “Where did you get the idea we are lovers?” she continued. “I was aware you had a crush on me, when we were teenagers. But that is all there was to it. I would have thought you would have outgrown those feelings long ago. You, to marry me? Why you have never even spoken a word to me in all these years.” I stood transfixed in shock. How could she deny all that we had? Had she never felt as I had. She was lying, she had to be. She had encouraged me with her glances and smiles. They had to mean something! She looked at me pityingly, “Oh Vasu, you were neither the first or the last to admire me. Do you think the boys in Madras were blind? I have had my fair share of admirers but that was all kids’ stuff. Of course I smiled at you. I was gratified that I had captured your attention. What else was there in that silly old place to divert me anyway? But for you to build on a few smiles and looks….”

“What does Gopal have that I don’t? Can’t you love me now,” I pleaded. She looked at me jeeringly. ”It took you seven years to speak to me. What will you ever be able to achieve in life with such a temperament. Gopu is so dynamic. He is the man for me” she said firmly and walked away.

Padithurai – bathing ghat

Pavadai – Long skirt worn by teenage girls