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seats, she gave him window seat for the view, he talked so much about. It was a while before the bus left the bustling station and the crowded town into the highway. Kasthuri sighed as though he just escaped a human stampede. So, have you come here before? I have come long back to another village nearby to attend temple function, she said. Again, his long fingers seemed to be drawing some pattern in the air, or she thought so. Suddenly the bus jolted and everyone stirred for a minute. Within a few minutes, everyone settled back to normalcy, the sleeping ones again back to sleep, the crying babies quiet and people readjusting their position. That was a speed breaker she smirked. He wanted to smile back, but somehow felt she was making fun of his travel experience or lack of it. Nice he said.

  Far away, the sleeping paddy fields had some people bent down working, the blue skies still not allowing the pesky sun to break their clouds down. In the almost shimmering far away sun, Kasthuri’s eyes were lost. We never get to see so much sun where I live, he said. Even for a small walk, I have to robe myself for top to toe, in innumerable layers.

  So, did he really like it in this bus, this travel or was he being just politically nice to her and Thatha by brushing aside his mild discomforts. He said, she was more conscious of his discomfort than him. She had to agree. She seemed to be very conscious of the grimy windows with dirt sticking, the rusted handles, humid weather. As though she wanted him to see a different India and in a different perspective. As though she was a brand ambassador of a place, which she wasn’t. This experiencing India through the grime and dirt, bullocks, cows seemed to reinforce annoying aspect 0f India shown in the movies. She wanted to tell him about the India in cities, growth etc., But does he care. It was matter of few days and he would be back to his innumerable layers.

  If given a chance, would you move to USA or somewhere abroad, he asked. It never crossed my mind and definitely my education would be of no value there. Restarting career would not be the best choice. But does anyone know what’s in store for us. Yes, he smiled.

  She was feeling drowsy thanks to the lack of sleep in train and she didn’t remember when her eyes shut and when the passing green blurred into haziness. She woke up when he nudged her. Outside it was a small bus terminus and greenery. Tired of greenery now she asked. Not yet. The images are yet to sink. She told his Thatha that she would stay in a small guest house in the village and join them in the temple. Thatha would not agree and said it was really unsafe for a woman to tread alone. He whispered, leave your feminism aside and join us. We both are safe, so my Thatha vouches. So they walked, past a small street, past Tamaraparani river and she could observe that Kasthuri was lost in the surroundings. This is pleasant, really pleasant. She couldn’t agree more. This is my house, come, Thatha said, facing an obscure tiled small house and giving instructions to someone already sitting there. We went past a small entrance, ornate yet small into the dark tiled house. Beyond temporary darkness was a mitham, with sunlight seeping and beyond that was a kitchen and small room. Everyone in the street has renovated and moved to concrete houses. I don’t have the time and inclination to take off the tiles and renovate. Enna da, Kasthuri, neat a irruka. Bathroom is behind. Go and freshen up. Kasthuri was walking aimlessly around the house, in and out of the small rooms and taking in the new surroundings. He almost seemed like Alice lost in wonderland. Isnt this place cool, he said. She pointed to the tiles and said may be that makes it cool. You may also find snakes in there, they like cool places. Must be kidding he said, when Thatha added about some snakes found last year in bathroom. He shrugged, placed his baggage in the room next to kitchen. She stood blank when Thatha again showed her the direction of bathroom. He instructed someone to bring breakfast. After breakfast may be we can go to the temple.

  Kasthuri in the meanwhile had occupied the bathroom and she was left alone in Thatha’s company. Thatha didn’t seem to a sentimental person, but he was very eager to show her the house. In each room, there was an old photo, a memoir of his son. Kasthuri’s father was always a good student. He would walk three kms to the school. That was the only school those days. His college education and post graduate was on scholarship. She saw the images of Kasthuri’s father right from childhood, meekly standing next to his mom and dad, school awards, college. All awkward and not enjoying the piercing camera view. Then she saw the marriage snap of his parents. Shiny marriage saree, suited father, almost smiling faces, proud parents. Thatha said, by then he had settled in US and yet he agreed for arranged marriage. His mother was particular about marrying him off early and my daughter in law was a distant relative. Kasthuri was a splitting image of his mother.

  By then, Kasthuri came back. Damp hair and in shorts, he looked more American than Indian. Thatha had retrieved a white and crisp veshti for him. He dodged, said he wasn’t comfortable and finally relented. They agreed on a via media. He could wear shorts and vesthi above that. Before they could hear her chuckle, she went to freshen up. The bathroom still smelt of his presence, the lingering aroma of soap and deodorant. She suddenly felt as though she was privy to some private moments of him and then shut herself from thinking too much. While the soft and cold water washed away the dirt of day, she saw the greens trying to peek through the small window. Did Kasthuri also notice this? By now, she knew his presence and images were percolating and indeed settling down in her thoughts. Few hours more and we would never meet again. She remembered the serial Rail Sneham. Too young to understand embroils of emotions, she found the expressions of actors hilarious then.

  When she went back to the house, hot idlis were in the kitchen, sitting soft and pretty next to chutney and sambar. Kasthuri stuck to bland chutney while she poured liberal dosage of sambar. She liked the acidity of sambar with spices. Isnt that spicy he asked. She smiled that’s how it should be. Was she interested to see Tamaraparani, would be come along?

  They sat on the banks of the river, watching the soothing river slither across the village. A dilapidated temple was on the shore, adding to the beauty of the place. That temple there, do you want to go? She quipped about ghost of Krishna lurking in the dark corners. Come on, he said, let’s have a mini Angorwat experience. Not before we feel the waters, almost dragging him to the river. The water was cool even though sun was beating down in wrath. She again drifted away when she saw water washing the long fingers, in a sensuous carelessness. He seemed to like the experience and said, we could probably sit on the stairs, feel the cool waters for some more time. She sat next to him, when they drifted to topics again about living here and abroad. So, how does your father feel? Did he adjust fast there? He shrugged and said, I never realized that adjusting would be difficult, because I was born there. But when I come here I can perceive the difference. But we have never discussed about that. May be he misses being in India.

  Again he said, you should come there. You seem to enjoy travel. She told him she hadnt travelled enough in India. By then their feet was numb in water. He stood up ushering her to follow him. The rickety lock gave away, when he opened the gates of the temple. It was very dark inside and the walls had weeds growing, pesky greens poking from sides. Far away in what seemed sanctum sanatorium, a small idol smiled. He must be Krishna she said, see the mischievous smile. Next she saw him inside the sanctum sanatorium, watching the eyes of the idol. He asked her to come there, in the darkness. She first refused and then he flirted asking her whether she really didn’t want to see the smile or was she scared. She treaded slowly, amidst the rusty smells, feeling the forgotten pictures hanging in the walls, almost hearing the voices which might have reverberated during the good times of the temple. Watching the idol, he whispered now where is the mischief? I just see a poor fellow languishing here and waiting for good times to return. She had a glint in her eyes, when she asked him to feel the place, feel the smells and greens and look beyond the obvious. Do you see the mischief? He was silent for a long time and said I just see you and because you say you feel all this I see this place from your eyes. She didn’t hear herself when she s
aid, do you realize your fingers are really captivating. Long and like fingers of artists. She did not wait for his reaction and told him it was too late, may be they should go out. She walked briskly avoiding his glance and still conscious of his presence tweaking a leaf, standing in front of an old painting of goddess Saraswathi. When they were out, he said I have seen the goddess painting, a very similar one in many houses in US. She told him about painter Ravi Varma and how he made paintings accessible to everyone, about his printing press in Mumbai. Next time you see more of his paintings, you will observe the faces appear so similar. You do observe a lot he said before walking back into the house.

  She packed her belongings back and waited for Thatha to return. She told him that she would go back to Tirunelveli in evening bus. He said may be the festivities would go beyond that. Some other time. She kept coming here.

  Next few hours, they spent in the temple, watching God adorned in silver, bathed in water, honey, curd, assortment of fruits dripped honey. She knew he found it more