I was meeting Rhea after five years. We had studied together in college and now she was married and led a settled life of a typical homemaker; while I was still single and still working. I distinctly remembered her long black hair and her sharp voice. How would she be now? And when it came to the matters of mind, Rhea always wanted to do ‘something different’. Even though I was her best friend, I could never figure out what exactly was that ‘something’.
Now I could hardly wait to see her again, if only to know she had managed to do that ‘something’. It would also be interesting to see how the years had treated her.
She had found me on Facebook and had sent a message in typical Rhea style. “If you are the same impossible Trisha with even more impossible memory, then you would know who this is”. I had long back dubbed Facebook as ‘repackaged old friends’ service’ and this instance had proved it once again.
I had straight away searched for her pictures on Facebook, but for whatever reasons she had not put up any. So it was going to be a ‘wait and watch’ game.
* * * * * *
Trisha’s cab snaked in and out of the gullies and around chowks. She saw the local flower market that Matunga was famous for, the Tamilian provision shops and the narrow alleys that led to, well, more alleys. Trisha was thinking that in all probability Rhea would have married into south Indian community – Matunga was indeed their stronghold.
But the old bungalow where the cab stopped did not look anything like a Tamilian home. ‘Darya Mahal’ was standing tall in white, with the grey moss trying its might to spread over it from all around. The bungalow had definitely seen better days, but seemed to have fallen on bad times now. Trisha hoped that it was not the case with her friend who lived in it…
As she entered the house, she was greeted by an old lady sitting at the window.
‘She must be Rhea’s mother-in-law, seems to be sweet though….’ thought Trisha and just then Rhea entered with a glass of water.
Red saree tied tight around her pitcher-like waist, a small cummerbund, gold ear rings, bangles and armlet, red painted lips and kohled eyes, everything brought out her liveliness to the fore. Seeing this, Trisha’s apprehensions on Rhea’s monetary well-being were somewhat soothed… she looked like a lotus swishing on pure water all in pink and red!
‘Hi, Trisha, I still don’t believe this we are meeting and meeting after a long time’, said Rhea.
‘Yes indeed. How have you been? I always wanted to stay in touch but you know how life changes when one is out of college …’ and suddenly strangeness of five years melted away. Old friends started chatting again. The spaces between the friends seemed to fill in rapidly with the flow of old memories.
‘And all of a sudden, Trisha asked, ‘You were one of the most brilliant students that our college had. What happened to all that education and learning? I know you get everything you want from your husband, but doesn’t that also mean a dependence on him? He can give you everything except your freedom- to think the way you want, feel the emotions that you want to feel and express desires that you want to?
‘You said he hasn’t touched you for a year. And you ask a monthly allowance with list of reasons, reporting each and everything that you did, knowing only what he wants you to know, following his words as gospel. You are not living in 16th century, where is that independent, free willed and assertive Rhea?’
‘The Rhea that you knew was not in love then, Trisha. And love remains same across vast distances of time; it hardly matters in which century we live in!’
‘What kind of love is this where you become directionless, losing your identity, forgetting your dreams and limiting your will?’
‘Love means giving not holding back. My emotions fortunately are not dependent on reasons.’
‘Sounds good when written in books, otherwise it seems unreasonably idealistic. You have your needs Rhea - physical, emotional, and mental; how can you ignore them?’
‘Love supersedes everything, even the ‘self’. Nobody thinks when one is in love. In fact I am not in love its love that is in me, and that’s how love is impulsive, unabashed, volatile and free. What I really want to know is who is suffering it’s me, Rhea, in my so called ‘dependent world’ or you in your ‘independent world?’
Rhea’s words shook me and reached my heart. What was it that I wanted? Was I jealous? Was I regretting the choice I had made in my life?
* * * * * *
It started drizzling as I walked back home and soon it turned into a heavy downpour with lightning and thunder. I walked on unmindful and it was not the frequent clap of the thunder that was getting me shaken up.
I could see Rhea in my mind’s eye and I could sense that she had derived this stoic confidence from her love. The lack of independence that was a suffering for me, was just another dimension of love for her, all encompassing, for ever.
