The Girl with the Golden Parasol

NINE

It was a clear morning, not a cloud in the sky. The sun had finally emerged, radiant and clear. Orange rays of sunshine slanted through a corner of the windowpane of Room 252 and hopped around Rahul’s bed like sparrows. O.P. had gone to the bathroom for a shower, and Rahul was gazing out the window as he brushed his teeth next to Madhuri Dixit. Two glasses of chai sat brewing atop a heater in the corner. Chai was served only once a day at the dining hall, with breakfast. But since O.P. and Rahul were both accustomed to gulping down dozens of cups per day, they’d made their own arrangements.

The hostel lay in the hills. The valley sloped down below and ended in a large, level field. On one side were the city hospital, bank, and post office. A residential development was also located in the same area. People played cricket and football on that field. If there had been a telescope in Room 252, you could have seen the whole game without even going there. It was like the university’s all-purpose sports field. The road surrounded the field like a semicircle.

Just then, Rahul saw a spot of yellow far away by the residential area slowly making its way along the road. The yellow glowed beautifully in the morning light.

There was something different about this particular yellow. This one entered through his eyes, dissolved in his blood, and went straight to his heart. Rahul felt a quick jump in his heart rate as the thump-thump throbbing reached all the way to his ears.

An odd, intense longing took hold of Rahul, and his room suddenly struck him as tiny and cramped. Where could he get a better, clearer look at that slow-moving spot of yellow? In a few moments it would be hidden behind the photo of Madhuri Dixit’s slingshot-wounded backside taped on the window. And then he wouldn’t be able to see it. If only he had a pair of binoculars!

There was no doubt: it was the yellow parasol, fluttering gently like the dainty wings of a butterfly, coming toward campus.

It must be her underneath, the one I saw that day. But what if it is really her under that parasol? It was as if Rahul’s entire body had been seized by a sweet fever. His heart began to beat faster with a restlessness his body couldn’t contain. He held his breath. He eyes remained wide open. A few moments passed like this until, in a blink of an eye, Madhuri Dixit eclipsed the yellow parasol. Shit! Shit! It was unbearable. For the first time ever Rahul felt uncontrollable anger toward Madhuri Dixit and her pretty back. This isn’t some film, this is real life, madam. It’s not merely an image. This is reality. Understand?

Rahul quickly threw on a pair of pants and a T-shirt. His mouth was still full of toothpaste as he bounded down the stairs, three steps at a time.

He had to reach the bend in the road as quickly as possible, to the place where he could erase all doubt. O god! Let it be her who is carrying that parasol. Let it be her. But what if it’s someone else? O god! Whoever is underneath that parasol, just please make it be her! I will be grateful forever.

The shortcut was strewn with rocks and littered with thorny shrubs. Rahul nearly slipped and fell in a few places on loose rocks; after that, he became stealthy like a leopard, without leaving any tracks, and finally arrived at the edge of the lookout point, from where he could hide behind the rocks and watch the road.

Oh! It was her, Anjali Joshi, wearing a burgundy sleeveless handloom kurta with light red embroidery. A deep-eggplant-colored chunni was draped over her shoulders. And for sure it was natural vegetable dye, made from flowers and leaves. Wow, so you’re an environmentalist, and your taste is ethnic. Wonderful! Where did you buy it? Jaipur? You are simply, simply great. God has made you just so and sent you down here. But you won’t be permitted to live in peace in this world. Listen to me. Come with me — we’ll leave the world behind.

Rahul kicked a rock by accident, which went tumbling down toward the road where Anjali Joshi was walking. It startled her. O god! Those wide, innocent eyes scanned everywhere around before she dared amble forth again. She glanced at the spot where Rahul was hidden, but she turned away, unconcerned. It was as if a startled doe stood watch for a few seconds, only to once again assume its carefree ways.

Rahul’s mouth was still filled with toothpaste, which had begun to dissolve and give his breath a sweet minty fragrance. He continued to gaze at her back until after it turned the next bend, passed two neem trees and a wild ber bush, until it finally disappeared behind a big dumb rock. Shit!

He returned to his room to find himself face-to-face with a livid O.P. The two cups of chai brewing on the heater had burned black, filling the room with smoke. “Sorry, yaar. . very sorry. . really, I’m sorry. .”

“Where were you? Look at the dirt and mud on your pants. And you forgot to rinse your mouth out after brushing your teeth?” O.P. glared.

“That’s what I’m going to do now, yaar. There was something urgent I suddenly remembered,” Rahul said. Then he whispered, “Something to do with the color yellow.”

But O.P. didn’t hear.