I had my job. I finally was earning, and earning good enough. That was what I had wanted all along. To earn. This earning of one’s own has a very romantic aspect to it. I have wanted to earn ever since I promised her that I shall take her out with my own money one day.

And so I went to fetch that lovely girl. Did I remember how she looked? Well, she had a mole on her left cheek, and a pimple on her right when I last saw her. Of the latter’s presence I could not be sure anymore- but that was the problem. Could I be sure of anything? Anything? Everything has changed. I now have my moustache. What if she too has one? Would I recognise her? But then I reasoned- no, no, she cannot have one. She was so lovely. She could not have a moustache not because she was a girl, but because she was beautiful. She must be wearing salwars now. But earlier she wore her short skirts. And I would stand below the round staircase so that I could look at her thighs as she went up. Her straps would be visible over her frock. She and her pretty printed frocks. The red and blue, the yellow and green. Yes, now I can afford her a frock. But... she does not wear frocks anymore! My girl has grown up.

With a bunch of flowers I knocked at her gate. A middle aged woman.

‘Yes?’

‘Uma?’

‘Yes, what of her? She’s not home.’

‘Oh! I’ll come tomorrow.’

‘Who are you?’

‘She was once in my class.’

‘I see. What is your name?’

I turned back before I could hear her question. Mothers are always troublesome. I remembered. She had scolded Uma so much when she caught a letter among her books- and that letter was scribbled with strange oaths. It was written with a strange ink, which while hardening contracted and crumpled the paper along its contours. It was dark brick red in colour and she wondered for a long time where from this strange fellow got this stationery. Anyway, she asked Uma to name the fellow. She did not tell her. It so happened that she herself at the time did not know. When I later told her everything she was very angry. Oh, the flowers! But if I went back she would again ask my name? Well, she could not know it was me...but if she, my Uma, did tell her about the letter episode...I will rather drop the flowers at her door and run after knocking the door again.

 

‘Why did you drop the flowers at the door yesterday? You are a strange fellow.’

‘I was rather in a hurry.’ That was not a lie; I was in a hurry to get rid of her and her inquisitive questions. ‘Is she in?’

‘Yes, I will call her. What’s your name?’ Damn.

Sunil. Sunil Saxena. There, no facial expression. She does not know me. My sweet Uma, always faithful. And now she would come. I looked towards a door. Would she be coming through that door? Don't bother, she would come anyway. I looked around and I found my flowers, now a little drooping, in a jar in a corner. So my gift was accepted. These are always tense moments- you don't know what might happen. It is a new and strange world. The whole place seemed new to me, I mean the area. I had been here many a times when I was in school, but that was before...much before. And her home was now totally new to me. The paint on the outside has changed, I noticed. And the inside? I wouldn't know!

‘Sunil!’

There, my girl! And I tell you I never knew why I called her ‘my’ girl. There had been anxious moments when I would look at her. In school. It is strange that I could never muster the courage to speak to her. I wrote to her. She knew my handwriting. And when I sat across her the next day, we will both be innocent kids. And the bloody letter? She must have guessed. Her mother scolded her and yet she did not ask or charge me the next day. She just kept quite. And when after leaving school I ran after her one afternoon and confessed about the letter she opened her mouth and then she shut it. She smiled, I guess, and she hid her face. And then she scolded me for quite an old offence.

‘It was not very amusing, you know, Sunil. When my mother caught me with that strange letter- well she...leave it. But tell me, why did you do such a mad thing? Yes, I know you had been.. interested in me for some time. You could have come to me, and talked to me. I am not a monster. We could have talked and spent the time we had in school. Well, you see your folly. Next week I go to Bhilai. Won’t you wish me good luck?’

Ah! Fate is strange. I was talking to the girl for the first time when she informs me that she is going away. Yes go. What can I say. Can I write to you? No. Not any more. Well, best of luck, dear. And we departed.

I felt very strange. The pitch road was getting sticky in the hot summer sun. Even the road is reluctant to let her go. Or is the road reluctant to let me follow her? Yet I ran.

‘What now? I thought we said good bye.’

You will be going next week, you said. Can we go out for once. No.

‘Perhaps we could go sometime later. When you next come for the vacations?’

Sunil I am going there to study and I wouldn't want something to disturb me. Why don't you understand? And I wondered why couldn't she understand something else.

‘Cannot I hope for something... perhaps far in the future?’

Yes, when you are earning. On your own. Come to me then and I shall go with you.

 

She was not wearing a frock. Neither was she wearing a salwar. It was a saree in dull blue.

‘Well, Uma. I am now earning!’

‘Yes, congrats!’

‘We had an agreement, you remembered. You promised me something after leaving school. You remember I hope!’

She strained her memory. No, this couldn't happen to me. She must remember. Yes, the expression on her face changes. Illumination.

Why yes, I remember says she. Oh, I had forgotten. It’s been such a long time. What are you doing now?

‘We could talk all about that later, if you want. I came here so that you could fulfill your promise. Well?’

She looked down. The lovely pattern on her mosaic floor. I am engaged.