Lost Lots

'Jiya Seth!'

'Yes, Ma'am.' 

Mine now.

'Ira Roy!'

'Present, Ma'am.'

'Ishani Mukerji!' I hope she didn't miss my response.

'Here, Ma'am.' It feels like school again. 

'Kaveri Das!' Oof, forty minutes of Keats now. 

'Yes, Ma'am.' What is there to learn from two figurines stuck in an earthen pot? I wish KS were here, teaching us Modern Drama. Or, DB. Why doesn't this stupid college do things in application. Oh, how I long to play Antigone! Or, Cleopatra! I miss the bloody stage.

'...seminar on poetry...next week...in association with St Xaviers'...followed by a workshop on theatre to be conducted by Professor Anil Ganeshan...only selected students will be allowed...merit...evaluation...'

Ganeshan Sir??? JNU!!! Oh-My-God! I will kill to be a part of that. Why is the woman speaking so much shit? 

'We return to Greciun Urn...'

She doesn't stop! How am I supposed to concentrate? Ganeshan in my city? My campus? Holy-molly! I think I will stage Antigone for the auditions. These dumbfucks will easily recognise Antigone as a super-character. They will think I am well-read. I will borrow the costume from Dhruv's mom and enact her final monologue. 

A bullet of a chalk hit Ira on her shoulder. 'I do not want wandering thoughts in my class! Attention!'

Ira shot a nervous, confused, unsure smile. Damn. Bloody professors. But, what a shot! She tried to concentrate on the dichotomy of melodies heard and unheard. She failed. The class finally ended after what seemed ages and almost immediately Ira, burying her books in her bag rushed out of the classroom, and left for the canteen. She did not like the excessive smoke in the canteen area, sometimes it also disturbed the vision. She was looking for Dhruv. Dhruv Mathur was from the Department of Film Studies, and Ramola Aunty's son, her mother's friend. There he was, in his curl crop and ugly stubble and shabby t-shirt and torn jeans. So predictably central in the gang of girls with his guitar and sugar voice. Ira ran to him, 'We need to talk!'

Dhruv didn't end the song he was playing, left his guitar in the custody of one of his fans, ordered for two teas, collected the paper cups, handed one to Ira and walked out of the canteen together. 'What?'

'Are you aware of the workshop?' Ira looked at his face for a sign of lie. He did not try. 'Yes. The Annual Workshop. Wait, this year. Is it on theatre?'

She smiled. 'Yes.'

'And you are gonna try and attend it?' Ira smiled wider.

'God, Ira. You will so make it to the workshop. Why feign, man? Why does Dilip Uncle not want you to pursue it? Knowing you, you must have already thought of a character.'

'Antigone.'

'Not Cleopatra?'

'That one's for Ganeshan.'

'Who?'

Ira hugged him. 'Yes Dhruv, yes! Ganeshan!' Their cups emptied of tea and filled with a border of tealine instead, they mused over the evenings when Ira had shared with Dhruv how she had a 'thing' for the revered Anil Ganeshan. She was always, quietly associated, after being introduced by her mother, with Ramola's troupe. She wondered how her mother gave up the stage. One look at Veena and anyone would vouch that those eyes were made to be looked at. To redirect. Her father was a conservative businessman who never approved of the women of the house to be applauded by an audience. Private practise, whatever that meant, and private delight, whatever that too meant, was fine by him. So, Veena made sure Ira fulfilled her stage-desires with Ramola, Dhruv and other known faces. During one of her visits to a staging of Lear, Liar!, Ira fell in love with Anil Ganeshan. Veena, Ramola, Dhruv and she had gone for the show. She sat between her mother and Dhruv, and by the end of the play, they knew it too. Ever since, Ira and her silent, one-sided affair with Anil was not a thing to be joked about amidst those who knew.

Dhruv returned home with Ira and sat to work on the piece she would prepare for the audition. By night, it was well written. When Veena entered the room, the children looked like her evenings from yesteryears -- little heads bowed in hardwork over a piece of performance, or listening intently to some newly found musician, childlike enthusiasm brimming the place. She was passionately informed of Ganeshan's workshop in their college and what Ira had thought to stage. Veena smiled. Children. I miss this naivety. 

A week later, when Ira was selected, it came as no surprise. Soon it was time to the seminar-workshop weekend. Ira's skin shone like it underwent an urgent treatment. At breakfast, Dilip noticed her unusual dialogues with Veena. 'I will have cornflakes, Ma, don't worry.' That is remarkable! 'Daddy, can I come along and then get dropped after the car is done with your office?' She wants to travel with me? What does she want?

I want Ganeshan. Ganeshan Sir, take me in your life! I want to travel with you, attend your lectures, rip you apart in love. I want to be your Juliet. I will be your Ophelia. The roads changed from the quality residential to indifferent office buildings and crossed over to the victorian building of their college. She adjusted her looks last minute before getting off the car. The auditorium had a huge and heavy banner spread across, 'THE ANNUAL WORKSHOP.' The stage was set.

Anil Ganeshan came in his trademark FabIndiaesque kurta and linen pyjama. A black tread around his right ankle, a dot of a diamond on his right earlobe, a blue spinel sitting tidy on his right index finger. His presence was pronounced when he spoke. Characters came alive, techniques performed, Ganeshan owned the stage. Yes, you are the man, my man. I will own you. He called for the particiapants one by one. Just as it was Ira's turn and she stood next to The Grand Ganeshan, someone from the admin body interrupted. They were to enact the reprise of the Jimmy Porter angst. She was to be Alison. The break came as a sudden interference to her anticipated climax. They got off the stage.

Ira's dissatisfaction was written all over her face. 'That ain't gonna help your performance tomorrow, lady!' Holy shit! Grand Ganeshan is speaking to me? He walked upto her, smelling of Lactoste mixed with sweat. 'Tea?'

What? 'Sure.' Should I ask him for dinner? 'Here, or somewhere else?'

'The gang is joining. You have some good place in mind? By the way, I loved the way you were taking mental notes. I know which ones you appreciated the most. Thank you, lady.'

Ira was swept over with an angry sexual urge to tear the man into slices. How dare you have the entire group? Who was making mental notes? Who knows all your moves? They had a prolonged coffee at the canteen itself and as they were getting ready to disperse, Ganeshan held Ira by her shoulders and spoke to her. 'Would you like me to drop you home?'

Why? 'Why?'

'It feels like I have known you all my life.' Pause. 'I know you feel the same.'

They sat beside each other in the car. 'I hope you don't mind if we stopped for a bit at my guest house. I would like to change before taking you to your house. By the way, would you like to have a quick dinner?'

Now I am nervous. 'Why not! Steak? Or, biryani?'

'Which do you think?' He was obviously teasing her.

Biryani. 'Steak.'

I knew it! 'Biryani.'

'Right. We will go to Ashiyaan's after your guest house.'

As they got off at the guest house, the air around them was charged with invisible electricity. Tickling nerves till their end. Musical tickles. Chords on fire. As she waited for him to change and come out of the bathroom, she glided her hands over his pillow, on his bed. What would it be like to glide over you, Grand Ganeshan? Nibble your beard?

'Lady! Lets go?' He saw her hands on his pillow. He came near her. 'Ira, right?'

'Um, hm, Ira.' She closed her eyes. They dissolved in a kiss. A mighty kiss, tenderly.

The length of the kiss brought them back to their senses. 'I am sorry.'

Ganeshan pulled her cheek. 'I am not.' And kissed again. 'Let us have that dinner, lady. You set my appetite burning. It will be difficult to quench it with anything lesser than you.'

They had a dinner of roti, chicken rezala, mutton biryani and firni. It was increasingly difficult to keep their hands off each other in the car. Ira's house came into view. They departed longingly, plans of a certain tomorrow intact. She rang the bell, went into her room, changed and thought out the day. Veena came in then. 'Had a nice day, Ira?'

Ira had put a multani mitti pack on her face. She knew her mother would understand if she saw her face. Yet, her eyes gave away. 'Yes, Ma. Ganeshan is wonderful!'

Veena smiled. 'Does he still wear the blue ring?'

'Yes! How do you know? Did he teach you too?'

Veena laughed. 'No Ira.' And sat on her bed. O ou. This doesn't seem right. 'He was Ramola aunty's classmate. I had a crush on him.' And quickly added, 'Like everyone around.'

'Mom...we kissed.'

Veena looked at her, fixed, silent. 'And?'

'And nothing Ma! Cmon!'

'Sure?'

With a made-up restrain, Ira replied. 'Yes, Mom. Good night.'

As she washed off the pack, she wondered why mothers are so curious. The thought flew away with the impending passion towards tomorrow. Ganeshan of her dreams, in her arms, on the stage, on the bed, in her life. Tomorrow would be the make-it day. There was no possibility of a break-it day. She read it in his eyes. They mirrored hers.

Veena returned. 'Ira. I slept with Anil Ganeshan and got pregnant with you. When Daddy found this out he stopped me and later you from taking to the stage. Anil and I had a very short-lived but active relationship. Touch and go.'

Ira did not know how to react. Anil Ganeshan is my father? I kissed him? We fondled? Tomorrow we are gonna make out? She came out with her towel. 'Wow. Thanks Ma. I will tell him that tomorrow. Have a scene first thing in the morning slot. Water?'

Silence.

'So, he is my father? You are sure?'

'Yes Ira. I was pregnant when I married Dilip. I had only been with Anil then. He doesn't know. He never loved me, I guess.'

'Good night, Ma. Go to your room. Let me have the night to myself.'

The next morning on stage, the chemistry resumed between Grand Ganeshan and Ira. She told him nothing. He never loved you, Ma. He loves me. Look into his eyes.

His eyes mirrored hers.