Not once upon a time but barely a year ago , there lived a little girl in a big city. Though her full name was Kismat Srivastava, she was Nanhi to everyone around her. She was twenty years of age yet people always thought of her as a child-like elfin fairy to be dressed in dainty frocks, to be given soft toys, and pink ribbons for her piggy-tails. She had that braces-just-came-off freshness which constantly twinkled in her blue eyes; her complexion all peaches and cream. Playing with her pet chihuahua, she was everybody's cuddly little cutie-pie.
Her family was typically upper middle class. Her father was a businessman who had long back buried his sensitivity under loads of hosiery and thread. Instead, he had imbibed the idea that smiles were for nincompoops and that laughter belonged to the uncouth.Youngsters shied away from his constantly glowering presence.When he was in a foul mood, nobody dared approach him. Only rarely, when Nanhi made bold to call him Abbu, the veneer of toughness cracked a little and a wistful mile escaped through his forbidding exterior.
Her mother, quite expectedly, was a `response' to her husband. Meek , submissive, she was never expected to have an opinion, and ,she never did. But her eyes were wise, very wise; an intangible sorrow lurking deep inside them.
But it was her brother whom Nanhi found mildly irritating. Two years elder to her, his learning had stopped well short of what can be called education. He was brash, a Blackberry flaunting `geri' boy for whom nothing was sacred. He therefore indulged in all the inane crudities which rich boys of his age called `living the good life'. To top it all, he had a certain patronising attitude towards her.It made her sick. "Why is the world so askew; its values so warped "?she would often ask herself.
To return to Nanhi, not many people knew that she had already had her share of heartbreaks. As a very young girl, she had had a crush on a boy who, as it turned out, was a `boy' after all. He had chickened out. Though Nanhi didn't go to pieces , a part of her had died inside her. Iron had entered her hitherto kindly and innocent soul.
She found her solace in writing. Thoughts came so naturally to her, so thick and fast, that she had trouble arranging them into any poetic pattern. They just remained written, a jumbled mosaic of musings, but devoid of form. But she knew what they meant. And she was content with what she knew.
And then ,out of the blue, came the day when some family was to come to `see' her as match for their son. The entire household went into an overdrive, everyone was in a tizzy. During this brouhaha Nanhi could sense a nostalgic melancholy in her parents' eyes. Even more surprising was her brother's behaviour . Ostensibly, he was teasing her but Nanhi could see that he was re-living the shared times, the games, the jostling, the roughhousing, the screaming pillow fights, the tousled hair. He was looking at her bemused, unable to name his feeling. "Too late,too, too late, " thought Nanhi.
The Sharmas arrived in their gleaming Bentleys and Mercs. Though they were dressed impeccably, to Nanhi, they appeared as so many gold- plated morons. They were the richest family of the city. The boy, a matriculate, was of medium height and was only expanding, ever so slightly , around the middle. Throughout the evening, his glance kept returning to her. It was the hungry look of a hyena that had just espied a particularly tender rabbit. Nanhi kept her eyes averted. After the usual formalities, they left with a "yes from our side".
Nanhi said no. Pandemonium. Bedlam. Shouting to the left of her. Screaming to the right of her. The entire clan of masis, mamis, buas, tore their collective hair out. For them the match was perfect. 'Aur kya chahiye?" was their wail.
Only her father was quiet. Nanhi stood looking at him.A very thin patina of moisture was shimmering at the corners of her eyes. "'Abbu ", she was pleading silently. He looked up at her. Her world had gone still around her .She could hear her heart beating, slowly, painfully, in her chest. Suddenly his eyes were full of understanding, and a deep love , as if saying to her with pride "That's my beti! That's my Nanhi".
He picked up the phone and called Mr. Sharma "You see sir," said her Abbu to the richest man in town "My daughter wants to finish her Masters in literature. And I plan to send her to London for her Ph.D. We are very very sorry .Hope you won't take it amiss".
As her Abbu put down the phone, Nanhi flew into his arms. He closed them tightly around her, as if unwilling to let go of a treasure. Her tears soaked his collar.
Nothing more was said that evening.......
