Lady Macbeth was telling us about origins and expression of love among human beings. “What do you think, Geeta?,” she asked me as she always did.
“Madam, can love be expressed in tears?”, I asked back.
“Naw,” she said in her American drawl, “Naw, that is a vurry interesting question, my young lady.” She looked at me with a question in her eyes. She wanted me to say more, so I gushed on without a thought, “Or in pain, Ma’am? Since human forms of expression are very limited in number, must only laughter or happiness express love, do you think, Ma’am? Can it be expressed in one’s eyes, in tears, in quietness and silence, or in pain, or in tearing oneself apart from someone, Ma’am?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” she said, making the whole class laugh. But she was taken aback by my eloquence. I am usually silent in class, just replying to questions, never putting one up. She said, “Yes dear, I suppose so. But one can never know the hearts of poets, can one?” I smiled. She had read a few of my poems, as she used to call them.
After the class, I went with Lady Macbeth - er, Dr Corfield - to her room because she wanted to say something. “Look here, child, let me tell you very frankly that you are a bit too young to understand this, but there are moments you understand, that the person in front of you is the only one who would fulfill your innermost desires. And after that you feel as if the walls of the world will break before you and you will be dissolved then and there...” Just then, the Creature came in, and Lady Macbeth said, “Now run along love, my little chick.” I laughed and said goodnight. She likes it.
It was 3:45. I went down whistling. What fun it is to run the stairs backwards with your eyes shut!
I would not wait for Shubha anymore, hence I went on down the portico. As I walked through the drive, I heard someone call out, “Meera!” but didn’t realize it was me. I went a bit more, till someone came running up behind me. “Meera,” said Rajeev, “Are you angry with me?”
I turned and faced him. He was the same. Conscious of my own dress, I noticed his perfect white shirt, his navy blue pants, his shining shoes, his immaculate hair. But his manner was anxious, his eyes very troubled. I paused, waiting for him to speak.
“Look here you old fool, why were you so misty yesterday? And why are you ignoring me today? Isn’t my name musical enough?” I looked around. There was on one in sight. Being 4 O’clock, all had gone to their residences, hostel or home. I looked into his eyes. “Tell me something...,” I began.
“No, you tell me something first. Why did you cry yester-evening?” He asked.
“I don’t... I didn’t,” I stammered. He was soft but firm. “You did. And tell you what! The best way to hide your tears when you don’t want to show them, is to cross your eyes and bite your tongue,” He laughed at my surprised expression. “Like this,” he demonstrated.
“Of all the stupid...” I said but couldn’t complete the sentence, and laughed outright.
“And where were you since 3 O’clock?” he became serious.
“With my teacher.”
“Humph...”
“I am going home. What are you doing here when no one is here now?”
“Waiting for you. And like all girls you have to be late,” he said seriously, but his eyes twinkled.
“Good-bye,” I said firmly, and walked off.
“I’ll leave you,” he offered. I looked around. there’s no Fiat, thank god. But there is one mobike. It must be his.
“No, thanks.”
“You know how well you speak English?” he asked.
“Shut up,” I told him. He walked with me upto the gate and said, “I’ll be here tomorrow at 3 O’clock.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” I said.
“You bet I will.”
I took a rickshaw and went off. I didn’t go to the college next day. After that it was Sunday.
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