PXylem

How the gift that I presented her came to the “market” where only the price tag counts? Has she forgotten the promises that we both made to each other?

A love-gift of mine would be visible in the murky, visually overcrowded, dusty lanes of Daryaganz, I never ever in my wild dreams I thought. But the love-gift that I gave to my first love was visible to my eyes, its true. It was in front of my eyes. Yes, the love-gift resurrected coincidently likes a bolt from the blue, from nowhere, absolutely from nowhere. The gift tumbled out every thing deep inside me.

The gift oozed out everything, absolutely everything from the deep core of my memory that had been covered by the layer of the time. The memory that had almost forgotten from the period that we spent together, to the promises that we made, to the lively chitchat we used to make,… and what not. I would say I virtually went to my early days; from the first day I befriended her to the last meeting we parted from each other.

I was in the buying spree at the Daryaganz’s world-renowned second hand book market to buy some books for my sister. All around the market mountain of books were visible, some books diligently placed while there were others heaped one over another.

In my attempt to buy some good books from renowned publishers and looking out for the latest edition book, I had made recce of the area and the interlinked shops many times. I was befriending as possible books, touching it, flipping the pages, sometimes of my choice and sometimes books of my sister. So, in this process of flipping the pages one book after another; I don’t know how many times I have fallen in love, fortunately without carrying an emotional scar.

I found out there were books that I had revered, and some books that were in my bookshelves, few years back. The Sunday book market was busy in the selling and buying of the books. People were thronging the market like a fish market. Some buying books in bulk, and there were many like me who were there to buy handful of books.

I landed at the market very early, so I had the opportunity to see and witness things happenings. And in no time I also don’t know when the market got overcrowded with the sellers and the buyers. Sellers were shouting with the prices and the buyers were whispering, murmuring, and negotiating on the prices.

I found in the midst of cacophony and confusion, all seemed happy and joyful; buyers finding books of their choice and the sellers of finding good customers who are willing to burn their fingers with the price.

I was so much absorbed looking at the covers of the books, and in the flipping of the dog-eared pages of the books; I didn’t know when did I took a book in my hand. I looked at the cover; it was a book that once I had. I said to myself, “OK, one more book that I had”.

My fingers flipped the cover and as soon as I was about to turn the first page I saw my name encrypted in the blotting ink, it was written “from Your Love” followed by my name; and presented to “My Love” followed by her name at the top of the page. And within a splits of second I come to know this is my book I once bought to present her on her birthday.

Not to mention, her always-ebullient face and the golden moments we used to share together appeared and resurrected in front of my eyes. Her deep eyes, her flowing hair appeared in front of me. For a moment I felt her presence, trying to peep into the book that I was holding. Looking at my name and her name. Ooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! I can’t express the pain that was stirring up in my heart and in my whole body.

It paralyzed me for a moment; it seems for me that the whole market has been brought into a grinding halt. The always-ticking time has stopped ticking. An array of questions aroused in my brain, the questioning brain, the critical brain.

How the gift that I presented her came to the “market” where only the price tag counts? Has she forgotten the promises that we both made to each other? What led her to sell the book that I gave it to her? Is she carrying the same beauty in her eyes or still carrying the same eyes to tell a different story for the next time we meet? Has she got married? Oh!!I suppose she might be having lovely children and a caring husband.

My brain instructed me not to buy the book since it is unwise to carry the weight of past, the dead past which was near to my heart. Past is past it will never come- the brain instructed. I kept the book where it was hiding my surging emotions.

Soon I was in the Delhi bus coming home. I get down from the bus listening my heart, which instructed me to buy the book – the book that carried my golden moments of my love. But as soon as I came to the same shop and demanded the book. The shopkeepers said – it has been sold. I miss the bus; the second time I miss the bus.
Yes, I miss the bus.

LOVE STORIES