Those were the quiet days, the ones with the still telephones and silent clocks. I would sit on the wickered cane chair in the jaali karma of the chang bungalow with far-away dreamy eyes and a paperback novel in my hands. I would enjoy stillness all around in general. The random sounds that would come sailing in, at times, was that of a breeze- fresh and laden with the fragrance of raw tea from the factory. Sometimes there was the sound of the birdsongs that were so sweet as if it was softly spun sugar.
One June morning, I was lazing in the jaali karma as my eyes flew across the pages of the novel in my hands, soaking in each word and character. But just then, my ears turned to the commotion in the porch downstairs. Marking the page of the novel, I descended the wooden stairs which had the jute carpet in the centre, secured with well-polished brass rods.
I could hear my husband call out the bearer to unload the luggage from the boot of the car and as I entered the porch, I froze in stunned surprise with my jaw dropped and eyes fixated on my unexpected guests. My younger sister and brother along with a family friend were here in front of my eyes. They had arrived unannounced, which is unthinkable in the gardens, or so to say “not a done thing”. How were they to know about it, or for that matter even I! This was their first visit after my marriage. I was exuberant on their arrival. We hugged each other and it was an emotional reunion.
After the initial greetings were exchanged, I showed them to their rooms to freshen up and went on to check if everything was in order. While getting the luggage placed into their rooms, a heavy package caught my eye. It was wrapped in a brown carton and securely sealed. This particular package made me curious about its contents and I kept a mental picture in my mind to enquire about it later.
Following a hearty meal, we sat down catching up with each other, well into the night. There was a feeling of exhilaration and the usually quiet bungalow was now filled with young and vibrant energy. As the conversation flowed, my sister began narrating how she came up with this beautiful plan. She went on, “since you do not even have the luxury of a phone, we decided to surprise you without dropping a letter” and she went on to describe how they landed into the bungalow. Suddenly they had booked themselves train tickets and though they managed just two berths for three passengers, this was not reason enough to stop them.
After having spent about sixteen hours on the train, they were relieved when the train came to a screeching halt at their designated platform. They had been pre-warned that the train would halt for precisely two minutes. So they had been standing at the door with their entire luggage and as soon as the train came to a halt, they quickly descended- baggage and all from the train. Looking around she saw the deserted platform and through the noon sun, she could see a few men sitting and playing cards and smoking biddies far away. The floor of the platform was grey and dirty. Browsing around, they saw a lone rickshaw parked outside under a huge banyan tree, the rickshaw puller asleep with his face covered with a cloth. The air was still and there was a whiff of human urine, a heap of litter could be spotted in the corner. Soaking in the surroundings, they seemed to doubt whether they were at the right place or not. My brother walked towards the rickshaw and pulled him out of his siesta. The rickshaw puller agreed to carry them to the destined tea garden and they breathed a sigh of relief.
All three of them squeezed onto the plank of the seat with luggage at their feet.
As they made their way to their destination, they heard a dog barking distantly and the wheels of the rickshaw occasionally slushed on the muddy path. The rickshaw went at heart’s pace straight along the railway crossing and then made a sudden sharp right turn. My sister grabbed on to the handlebar of the rickshaw, in an attempt to maintain her balance and as if simultaneously trying to get a grip on the situation around. They continued along the bumpy road, jolting every now and then. They could see ahead of them clumps of old, large trees and thatched roofs peeping from behind them. As they continued further, they could see a number of houses lined up in an orderly fashion and breaking this monotony were some cows and calves chewing on their cud. Some women were pumping out water from the hand pumps just outside their houses and some drying their clothes on the barbed wire fences. Not too far away, there was a goat bleating as though calling out to its companion. The rickshaw came to an abrupt halt giving way to a line of chicken- a big fat hen followed by chicks in descending order of size.
By now my sister was very puzzled because through the description in my letters they had conjured in their imagination, an image of a massive bungalow with sprawling and lush green lawns. The euphoria of surprising me gave way to their nervousness and they yearned for the familiarity of their home. However, their adventure was far from over. The rickshaw stopped in front of one of the houses and my sister thought to herself “is this really the place?” After a quick consultation with my brother and friend, she rolled up her eyes, pinched her eyebrows together and with a purposefully stoic expression said that they wanted to go to saab’s place, naming my husband. So the rickshaw puller took them to the entrance of the garden gate, where they were stopped by the gatekeeper.
The chowkidaar seemed to have formed an opinion and asked them about their whereabouts. That’s when my siblings realized that this man’s judgment was based on how they look at that moment after an eventful journey of the train and the rickshaw. Running their fingers through the dishevelled hair, trying to look as presentable as they could, they stood at the gate in a state of exasperation. My sister being the eldest of the three took charge of the situation and spoke in a matter of fact tone to the gate chowkidar. The chowkidar then called my husband via an intercom and after a wait of few minutes, they saw my husband and all three of them let out a sigh - a sigh of relief and clambered into the ambassador car, giving looks to the chowkidar, the looks said it all!
And that’s how they reached the bungalow. In a week’s time, it would be my birthday! The days flew by quickly with my siblings and friend around and soon the grand day arrived. The sun had begun to peek out in the morning after heavy rains at night. We all sat in the jaali karma chit-chatting when the bearer carried the heavy package and placed it on the centre table. My sister, my brother and my friend all hovered around and I did feel special. So after all that, the heavy package turned out to be my birthday gift. I excitedly unwrapped it, unfolding each layer. I could sense the excitement radiating from all of them and lo and behold- it was a sewing machine!
The very sight of the sewing machine was nostalgic and entwined with memories of maa sewing dozens of dresses for us with love and affection, where we would sit around as a family, waiting for the dress to be completed. And here was a brand new sewing machine for me. It did make me teary-eyed for a few seconds.
Nevertheless, a grand party was planned for the evening which we all enjoyed to the hilt. Later I went on to stitch many lacy frocks for my daughters. It was like stitching my dreams together. It was a birthday I remember to this day. An unforgettable birthday week- indeed well stitched!
