1 chapter-1 a flow back to the time

I was startled to see her , a total change of feelings and wardrobe, she went from maintaining braids to having long blonde hair, from cardigan to leather jackets. The first eye contact was absolutely intense , I felt my childhood coming back to me , the same blue eyes which ruled the hearts of nearly all the pupils of our town, the same lips with a tint pink of course with all the lip stuff available and I felt my heart aching for love , to go up to her and greet, say something , but my inner consciousness said , no, has she still not forgiven me? Haven't the apology letters supposed to do what they should or did I expect more from? Questions were raising in my head like a gush of water , and then the woman at the reception asked me , what my profession was , to which I replied I work in a Botany Institute , and that I had come all the way here to , examine a few tree species nearby, I saw the bewildered look on her face change to a rather calm one . The month of December had just arrived, and the Himachal region started getting colder once it was half past ten . The lady asked would I prefer coffee over tea and I said so and then approached her, asking the same , though I knew the answer to this , I couldn't say it aloud. A part of me wanted to , but I was not confident enough to make it, and she answered Coffee

It was the summer of 1995.The air was clearer and the literacy rate of women was less , unlike the death rate. The streets of Kolkata roared with big cars , rich men , merchants picking up conflicts , landlords asking for money , and vendors trying to earn their living.

Reema's house was on the 5th lane in the southern avenue , a 3 kilo meter road with a center boulevard. It was one of the humongous houses that the folks at that point of time could only dream of , large paintings of devis and the great three on the front door, Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva facing the visitants, arriving , and welcoming their presence. Townsmen believed that Reema's great grandfather had left the property for his future generations, 'Mighty rich people I should say' said my mom upon asking her whether they would ever sell it to a buyer, ' A mighty proposal might get the job done' she would add. As a kid I always used to wonder , how we could have such substantial and royal house, with a lot of men and maid working for us! Maa and Baba never told me that we couldn't have one , they always believed that attainments could be achieved through positivity , and nothing else and that someday when I grow up enough and they have aged too, we could build the house of my ,or rather their dreams, but for now the plan was to be evacuated . They raised me as a typical middle class Indian kid , with no unnecessary needs entertained , and only the bare necessities to be satisfied with. I was also taught to follow Hinduism, chanting prayers and visiting temples and ringing bells, said I would find peace , success, and all that I desire in life with a little bit of hard work , and true faith in God, and later all I found was misery.

As a kid Reema's house was a paradise for me. The stairs were nothing short of wide reaching, connecting ends just like their family . ' My family tree, that's something next to impossible' Reema would mention whenever asked bout her family members, apparently they were huge , not mentioning all the maids and the servants whom they treated as family too. Reema's mother loved me, and always expressed through her words and actions that I was like a son to her , and praised me for whatever I did including the mischiefs I used to do back then . I remember back when maa started beating me up with a bunch of drumsticks bind together , and all I could do was run to Reema's house, and hid behind her mother until maa came searching for me , 'Where is that little bustard Fatima? 'asked maa, and she replied with a calm tone almost as cold as the north Atlantic winter winds , "What is wrong ?' Maa replies " That little trot pushed a cattle leader and all his cattle ran away , he was frustrated I say you , bring that little trot to me' Reema's mother burst out laughing ,saying ' You piled up a branch of drumsticks to beat a seven year old, how silly of you" still laughing she continues, ' The drum sticks look pretty fresh , where did you bring them from?" She knew exactly how to change the conversation and make my mom forget everything within a snap.

I learned from Reema, that her dad met her mom at Kashmir. Kashmiri people believed that aunt Fatima was the most beautiful girl back in her teen's. Eye's blue with a shade of grey added, fair cheek, and a sharp jawline, everything was perfect in her face, and no wonder folks used to say that Reema took after her, it was love at first sight for Reema's father . They were very versatile family, with the least sense of political and religional judgements, which can be understood with the fact that Reema's dad being a Hindu married a Muslim, during the Indo-Pakistani war of 1971, when situations had become worse for Hindu's as well as Muslims. If you ask me, I would define her as a contemporary and revolutionary woman. She wore short skirts and tops at a time where you know having a wardrobe like this could attract people's attention and could lead to conflicts in the household, but that's who she was. I don't know a lot about Reema's dad except the fact that he was a military man who was serving at Kashmir , and most probably that's the way he crossed paths with aunt Fatima