Gently Falls the Bakula

Shrimati walked up to the seaside and sat on the concrete embankment. At this hour, very few people were around. Under normal circumstances, Shrimati might have realized the danger in coming out alone at night and felt scared. But that day such things were of no importance. She just wanted to be alone. Her eyes filled with tears and rolled down her cheeks, wetting her saree. She remembered all the fights at home. The cool sea breeze ruffled her long hair and touched her face. It brought back memories of the happy days of the past.

  She was dreaming once more . . .

  So many flowers of splendid colours were in bloom in the month of Shravan. She could smell the fragrance of the champaka, jasmine, rajanigandha and above all, the delicate bakula . . .

  Her mind was full of sensation. Her heart was full of hope and longing. She would gather all the bakula flowers and make a string that would adorn her plait. Shrikant would come. He would take the string of bakula from her hair and inhale its fragrance. He wouldn’t let her wear any other flower in her hair . . .

  He would always say that the flowers in her hair smelt doubly sweet . . .

  The waves were crashing against the rock without rest, and so were her dreams.

  She sat there for a long time, and then without warning it began to rain. It was an unseasonable shower. Shrimati was drenched. There was so much water in the sea and there was so much water in the clouds but she felt thirsty. All she needed was a few kind words from Gangakka or a few words of appreciation from her husband, to quench her thirst.

  The night policeman who was patrolling the area, called out to her, ‘Madam, please go home now. It is dangerous to sit here all alone.’

  Shrimati was in no mood to argue. So she got up and started walking back.

  When she returned home, Shrikant was still busy with his files.

  By this time she had calmed down and wanted to talk to him.

  ‘Shri, can you do me a favour?’

  Shrikant was happy that his wife was her normal self again so that he could work more efficiently, with peace of mind.

  ‘What is it, Shrimati? Is it something impossible?’

  ‘If you make up your mind it is not difficult.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Shrikant, you have achieved a lot in life. We have enough money for the rest of our lives. Give up this job. Let’s go back to Hubli. There you had so much time for us. We can do whatever we want.’

  Shrikant laughed. He pushed the files across the table and came round to where she was. Putting his arms around her, he said, ‘Shrimati, are you aware of what you just said? Think rationally, and be practical. You want me to retire at the age of thirty-three! A man is in his prime at this age. It is the time for him to grow professionally. Besides, I still feel that I have not achieved much in life. I cannot live in Hubli. What would I do there? Hubli is my past. I will be like a fish out of water in Hubli, though I was born and brought up there. My present and future is in Bombay. I do not waste even a moment here.’

  Shrimati did not know what to say to that.

  ‘Shrimati, the past is always beautiful because we cannot get it back. Childhood looks beautiful when you are young. Youth looks romantic when you are old. Whatever we lose is always precious. Think of adjusting and looking forward to an ever-changing world. Don’t get into the past.’

  Shrimati was speechless at Shrikant’s words.

  Shrikant looked at her and said, ‘Why are you not saying anything?’

  She replied sadly, ‘Shri, if you can’t understand my silence, then you will not understand my words!’

  Shrimati could not sleep that whole night. But Shrikant slept soundly. Things like this did not affect him. He would fall asleep as soon as he hit the bed since he worked hard all day.

  Unable to sleep, Shrimati got out of bed and went to the Godrej almirah in the room. She took out the bundle of letters that Shrikant had written to her during his IIT days. She had wrapped them neatly in a silk cloth and had kept them in a sandalwood box, as if they were a great treasure. She thought if she read them she would feel better. Also, it would help her find out if it was the same Shrikant who was now her husband. She opened one of the letters and started to read it. It was the one written to her when he had seen the Taj Mahal, during the first industrial tour from the college.

  My dear Shrimati,

  I saw the Taj Mahal today. The city of Agra is very dirty. I do not know what you feel when you see it from your historian’s viewpoint. But the immediate thought that came to my mind was how many marble slabs the builder must have used! He must have emptied many marble quarries in India. No one can build another Taj Mahal, because obviously, there won’t be enough marble! I wonder how many men worked relentlessy for this project and did the emperor really pay them all! I am sure that you and I will visit this monument sometime in our life and when we do, I know you will be amazed to see it. The Taj Mahal is surrounded by a huge garden. When we come here, I want to lie down under a shady tree, my head resting on your lap, reading a computer book . . .

  Shrimati smiled, forgetting where she was right now. She felt that each word in that letter was filled with affection. Affection does not require beauty or intelligence. It only requires mutual love and intense faith. That is what ultimately builds trust in any relationship.

  Shrimati put the letters away, switched off the light and tried to sleep. Shrikant was snoring. Shrimati wanted to ask, Shri where have you gone? Where have I lost you? She felt she was searching for a path of love in the darkness, without a torch.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Shrikant woke up at five in the morning. His disciplined mind could wake him up at any time. He never required an alarm. But that day, even though he was awake, he did not get out of bed. Was it more than just laziness? Was it because of what had happened the previous night? After tossing and turning for fifteen minutes, Shrikant felt that he could not afford to waste any more time. He got up and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He did not feel like disturbing Shrimati. While having his tea in the balcony, he looked at the sea. A fresh cool morning breeze was blowing. Though it was pleasant, he felt the chill. He pulled his gown tight around him and went inside and brought Shrimati’s shawl to wrap around himself. Once again he felt like watching the sea, standing in the balcony. Normally, he would never waste time like this early in the morning. He would rather make overseas calls at that hour. But that day, he did not feel like doing so. Probably this was one of the few occasions where he listened to his heart rather than his mind.

  In the dawn, Bandra looked different. The fisherwomen carrying their baskets of fish, walked briskly towards the market. They were slim, well dressed and hardworking. They were the Koli community who had once upon a time, occupied all of Bombay. However, it was not just a city any more but a mega city and the economic capital of India.

  Shrikant contemplated how in fifteen years Bombay had changed and so had his life. In spite of all the problems, Bombay was most dear to him. He appreciated its cosmopolitan nature, its professional approach and work ethic. He thought if he hadn’t left Hubli, he would not have been in this position!

  While watching the sea, Shrikant remembered his childhood. Hubli was an inland town so the sea was unheard of. He remembered the first time that he had seen the sea, when he was about twelve years old. He had gone to Gokarna with his mother on one of her pilgrimages. It was the first time he had gone anywhere outside Hubli. He had very few relatives to visit. The only place he could go to in the holidays was his uncle Sheenappa’s house.

  Along with memories of his childhood, came the thought of his mother’s hardships during that time. Below him, the roaring waves were dashing against the black rocks and then receding. When one wave flowed back, it merged into another one. This went on, continuously. So did Shrikant’s thoughts. Once again he remembered his mother. Her only desire was that Shrikant should become an engineer and join the PWD. It was because Gangakka’s role model was Shyam. Shyam used to look down upon them. Things had turned
around, Gangakka was the superior one now, thanks to her son’s achievements.

  The sun had already risen and Bombay was bustling with activity, destroying the morning peace. But Shrikant’s mind was still in turmoil. Bombay! he thought. With money, one could buy anything and everything here, except a mother’s love. Shrikant knew that his mother was not educated and so she would make some rude comments. Shrimati wouldn’t understand that. He felt that both Gangakka and Shrimati were not rational. He, on the other hand, was always practical. Actually Bombay made everyone practical.

  People from North Karnataka are very emotional, Shrikant thought. Where people are sentimental, emotion has the upper hand. When people are emotional, practicality slackens. When a person is not practical, he or she is not able to do any business. When there is no business, there is no economic growth.

  His mind went back to the family feud between his family and Shrimati’s. No one really remembered the reason for it, but it still continued. Shrimati’s mother Kamala was different, though.

  The bakula flower came to his mind. He thought how he had not seen any for a long time. Would he be able to buy some here? He wanted to tell Shrimati to get a few for him. An efficient, resourceful person like her would definitely find them. Once she took responsibility for a job, she made sure it was completed.

  As usual Shrikant left for office at eight in the morning. Due to the heavy traffic, if he delayed leaving home by even five minutes, he would get late by half an hour in reaching his office. For Shrikant, who weighed every minute, time was precious. His driver Maruthi liked to talk but Shrikant did not encourage him. He believed that a distance should be maintained between him and the driver. However, Shrimati did not believe in barriers like this and would chat with drivers and maids.

  Normally, Shrikant would look at files or make calls from his mobile phone as he drove to office.

  But that day he failed to do any of these things. He tried to figure out Shrimati’s behaviour of late. She was no longer her calm and docile self. She would argue over silly things. She had everything in life, all the comforts and conveniences. Her mother-in-law was not staying with her, she could do what she liked, buy whatever she wanted. To this day, Shrikant’s cheque book was with her. He would ask her for money whenever he needed some. He had no bad habits—he did not drink nor did he womanize. And yet Shrimati was unhappy. She didn’t want to go to any business dinners any more. The last time she had gone to Germany three months ago, she had spent three days there and enjoyed seeing the Berlin Museum. She had skipped every single business dinner. Shrikant couldn’t understand what there was in the museum that so fascinated her. She had seen the best museums in the world and yet she insisted on going there every day. Shrikant had gone to Paris for three months but not once had he thought of visiting the Louvre. Suddenly the car jolted. The driver had applied the air brake. There was a huge traffic jam on the busy Peddar Road. Shrimati had so occupied Shrikant’s mind that he had not noticed it. Her behaviour was bothering him. Was it her extremely sensitive attitude that was making her unhappy?

  Recent incidents kept surfacing in his mind. Like when Rama had come to Bombay along with her children. Shrikant had taken all of them for dinner to the Taj. Looking at the bill, Rama had commented, ‘Shrikant, the cost of your one night’s dinner is equal to a month of ours.’

  Shrikant had laughed but Shrimati had interpreted it as Rama indirectly hinting at their lavish spending on luxuries, while they were suffering in a small town!

  Shrikant had told her, ‘Shrimati, Rama has never seen a five-star hotel. So don’t take her comments seriously.’

  When he was young he remembered his mother spending enormous time and labour cooking with firewood and using the grinding stone. Shrimati had never had to do that—she had a cook.

  And the amount Shrimati had travelled! Probably only a bird would have travelled as much!

  It was possible only because Shrikant earned that kind of money. To do so, he had to work the way he had been working all these years. Even now, unless the company did well, they could not afford to pay such salaries. If the company had to be well-off, then business had to be better, and to do good business, entertaining was a must. But Shrimati refused to attend such parties. Was it not wrong?

  While Shrikant pondered these thoughts, the car reached Nariman Point. Shrikant saw his office and Gangakka, Rama and Shrimati, all vanished from his mind. Computers, competition and products occupied that space.

  TWENTY-SIX

  As soon as Harish saw Shrikant, he felt relieved. He hurriedly came and said, ‘Shrikant, I am extremely sorry but I forgot to inform you that the state IT minister is supposed to visit our office today.’

  Shrikant was upset for a second. ‘How could you forget to tell me such an important thing? It is unpardonable.’

  Shrikant rushed to his chamber. His room was spacious but spartan. He had an excellent aesthetic sensibility. Anyone who walked into his office, could mistake it for an American office.

  Normally, Shrikant did not meet all the visitors. Only if the person was very important did Shrikant give him an appointment. When he came to know that the minister was supposed to visit, he started chalking out the programme. Over the years Shrikant had acquired extraordinary knowledge in diverse fields. He had also developed great confidence, probably the result of his phenomenal success. Success makes a person confident. But Shrikant put it in a different way: Repeated success makes a person arrogant and occasional failure makes a person confident, he would say.

  Harish could not help noticing how much Shrikant had changed over the last fifteen years. When they had joined IIT, Harish was a Bombay boy and Shrikant was a small-town boy. But today, Shrikant was smarter than anyone else. He was going from strength to strength every year. He had also become a workaholic.

  Initially men work for money but soon, money becomes unimportant. It is power. There is nothing like power. Power is like liquor. Once the intoxication of power catches hold of an ambitious person, there is no escape from it. It is a vicious circle. Like in a whirlpool, it is difficult to come out of it. More work, more involvement and more power. The individual loses the ability to see and enjoy anything outside his work. He is immersed in work throughout the day. Work is his breath. What happens when such people grow old? All the pages in their book of life will be empty, except the page of achievement. Shrikant’s book will contain different computer languages, different specifications and products, but nothing about his wife, family or friends.

  To achieve that kind of success, one required a supportive, intelligent but docile and unambitious wife. Intelligent women are normally ambitious. Someone like Shrimati, who never ever demanded anything from her husband, was rare. Harish thought for a moment. What would have happened if Shrikant had married a person like Prabha, who was not very supportive or Rekha, who was an executive in the company? The answer was simple. Shrikant would have deserted her or she would have deserted him.

  The minister’s visit was over.

  Harish noticed Shrikant’s expression of pure joy when the minister left. ‘Hey, Shrikant, how did you manage so well?’ Harish asked.

  ‘Harish, experience is my teacher and an expensive one too. Ten years ago, I joined this company as a trainee software engineer. Today I have become a director. I did not have any godfathers or any political supporters. The company does not even know to which community I belong. I have worked hard and sincerely for the benefit of the company. Not for a day have I put my personal needs or happiness before the company’s. The company’s success has always been more important to me than anything. There is no shortcut to success.’

  Shrikant went back to his chamber. Priya was checking his diary. Harish followed him. ‘Shrikant, we wanted to arrange a seminar for all our project managers at Kodaikanal. Can you inaugurate it?’

  ‘Why such an odd place?’

  ‘Shrikant, everyone is not like you. They want to take a break from the routine and spend time with their f
amilies. But we cannot afford to give them leave, so this will serve both the purposes.’

  ‘That’s okay. I am not the boss of my diary. Check with Priya.’

  Priya said, ‘Sorry, Sir. Kodai is not connected by plane and hence it is not possible. For the next two months you are busy.’

  ‘Then, I am sorry Harish. By the way, how is Amol?’

  ‘Oh, he is fine. We visited him recently. He does not even want to come home for a vacation. He finds it boring here. He complains that neither of us is at home, so he prefers to be in the hostel.’

  Even before Harish had finished his reply, Shrikant’s mind went back to his work.

  ‘Harish, we should have a road show in the US some time. I want it on top priority. We should do it before our competitors get into the market. Kindly get back to me at the earliest once you have made the preliminary plans.’

  Shrikant immersed himself in his work once again. He seldom spoke while working.

  Normally Shrikant was not distracted by anything. He could focus fully as soon as he opened a file. But that day he found it difficult to concentrate. He felt like speaking to Shrimati. Their frequent quarrels were increasing the distance between them.

  It is natural for any two human beings to differ. A husband and wife are no exception. In fact, if they didn’t differ, then there probably was something wrong with the marriage.

  The previous night, Shrimati had questioned his basic purpose in life. She showed that she did not believe in what he considered essential in life.

  Whenever he wanted to talk to Shrimati, Shrikant did not ask Priya to connect him, but he would call himself. Just as he picked up the phone to dial the home number, Priya buzzed him and said that the chairman wanted to meet him urgently. Shrikant put the phone down and walked to the chairman’s chamber . . .

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  On the way home, Shrikant had too many matters weighing on his mind. He was mulling over the latest figures of the company’s sales and budget. They wanted to have a road show but due to the crash in the computer market, it had to be postponed. In this situation it was essential for him to go to the US, spend at least two to three weeks there talking to the managers and bankers to gauge the situation. He needed to be sure they were still interested in his company.