Tension (Part 1)

Tension (Parts 1-6) is a short story I wrote during these Easter holidays. It is set in contemporary India and is about a romance between a Hindu Brahmin girl and a Christian boy - and the associated complications. Do read it and post your comments :)

January 18th, 2010
Monday
Chennai, India

“Leaving already?”, asked Aishwarya. “It’s only 5 ‘o’ clock”.

“Well, I’m just too tired. The programme is simply not working and I figured I might as well come back and try tomorrow. You know how it is with computer programmes – it is so much easier to debug them after a break”, answered Meenakshi. “But Meenakshi, the project is due at the end of the month – that is, in two weeks…”. “Oh, come off it Aish”, intervened Meenakshi impatiently, picking up her bag and making for the door. “I’ve had enough for the day, that’s all”. “Ok, see you tomorrow…”, answered Aishwarya, puzzled.

Meenakshi left IT Project Center and walked toward the Thiruvanmiyur bus-stand. She had been doing her Final year Engineering project there since September last year – developing an automated train scheduling system. She had found it interesting and challenging, but of late, progress had been slow and she had simply lost her motivation. The submission deadline was two weeks away and she didn’t know what she was going to do. Her supervisor had granted her complete freedom since she was a responsible girl. Now, she was almost definitely going to let him down. She tried not to think about it.

She arrived at the bus-stand and sat on the plastic seats, glad for the temporary respite from the scorching sun. She took her handkerchief out and wiped away the beads of perspiration on her forehead. Her bus arrived, but was very crowded – from the back door, young boys were clinging on to the side-bar, one foot on a stair, the other one hanging in mid-air for lack of space. She could hear the bus-conductor’s angry voice inside, exhorting all the free-riders to buy tickets. “Was it really any use?”, she thought to herself. “Would these young boys, who had made an art out of deceiving bus -conductors, really ever change their ways?”. She decided to wait for the next bus.

Five more minutes and another bus – less crowded. She got on and took a seat next to an old lady, on the left side of the bus – reserved for females. “Besant Nagar”, she told the conductor, giving him the money. “Eh?”, grunted the conductor, cupping his hand to his ear to hear above the noise. “Sounda payse !” (speak loudly!). “Besant Nagarrr!” she said, unable to raise her voice any further. “Ah!”, retorted the conductor, handing her the ticket.

She settled into her seat and looked around her. The bus had the familiar, unmistakeable odour of the perspiration of countless passengers, mixed together. On the left side of the bus were females and on the right were males. Most of the younger people were in the front. On the last row, on the extreme right was a lower-class drunken man, sprawled out on the seat. Just behind her, she heard an argument break out – a fat old lady was demanding that a younger girl give up her seat for her, as a mark of respect.

“Besant Nagar!”, the conductor shouted. Meenakshi got up and alighted hurriedly. She turned left and made her way to the beach, glancing at her watch.

“It was 5:45 pm. She was 15 minutes late. But she knew he’d be there. He was not fussy that way. Why, she had stood him up for over an hour before and when she had finally arrived, all he could do was beam widely”. She turned right, and started down the path leading down to the beach. At the end of the path, she stopped and looked around.

Along the periphery of the beach were numerous eateries, doing good business. All of them had outdoor seats and faced the beach, most of them had outdoor kitchens. The college crowd had started populating the far end of the beach, and the odd family was settling down on the sand. A few boys had begun to fly kites, the happy smile on their faces concealing their expertise.

“But where was Philip?” she wondered, screwing up her eyes to look further.

“Boo !”, she heard, followed by loud laughter as Philip saw her start in surprise. “Every time ! You fall for it every time !”, mocked Philip jockingly. “Cruel, that’s what you are !”, answered Meenakshi, trying to be severe. Her face broke out into a smile. “How are you?”, she asked affectionately. “Is this that new ‘beast’ you were telling me about ?”

She cast her eye over the motorbike he was sitting on – a black Bajaj Pulzar 135 LS. “Yea, got delivered just yesterday!”, beamed Philip. “Anyway, let’s go down near the water”, he said, dismounting the bike and parking it.

“Have I seen you in this chudidhar before?”, he asked, looking at the yellow ochre dress she was wearing. “She’s looking typically Meenakshi”, he thought to himself. Her hair neatly braided in one long plait, a small red pottu on her forehead combining well with those long eyelashes of hers, and of course, this elegant yellow chudidhar, setting off her figure perfectly. So traditional and so beautiful.

“Well, I’ve only worn this once before”, she answered averting her eyes and suppressing a blush as she felt his eyes on her, “…ana vaa polaam (but come, let’s go)”, she added a touch impatiently.

They walked down to the water, side-by-side, clumsily making their way through the thick sand. For a brief instant, their palms touched, before Meenakshi quickly withdrew hers. They reached the water’s edge and sat down, silently enjoying the rhythmic, calming ebb and flow of the waves.

“How is the project going?”, asked Philip. “Well…”, began Meenakshi, “today was bad. I’m finding it difficult to concentrate. The whole project seems completely meaningless to me. I mean, who wants a train scheduling system anyway ?”, she sighed, “…my mind has been on other things”.

“Ok…”, replied Philip, resisting the urge to put his arm around her, “…don’t worry, things will be fine.” He desperately wanted to know what these ‘other things’ were, but knew this was not the right time to ask.

“Anyway, this weekend is the final of the football tournament”, said Philip, changing the subject. “Do come and support us – I always play so much better when you’re around”. Meenakshi smiled. “That’s a lie – you seem to score goals at will. Aren’t you the leading goal-scorer this year?”. “Not quite. One goal this Sunday and I will be”, he grinned. “If only I was not a computer programmer, I would be playing in the English Premier League”, he declared, puffing his chest out.

“Ooh look, cotton candy!”, cried Meenakshi, seeing a man selling cotton candy on sticks, coming their way. “Two please”, she asked the seller, giving one to Philip. “How can someone your age like something so childish!”, Philip laughed. “Oh, shut up ! Look who’s talking!,” she responded, “you look like a kid in a candy store…hehehe”, she said, referring to the wisps of pink on his cheeks.

It was after 7 ‘o’ clock and the sun had set. “I had better get going”, said Meenakshi. “Appa (Father) will be starting to get worried”. “Can’t you stay for 5 minutes ? You live only one bus-stop away!”. “No Philip. I can’t afford to worry Appa (Father)”, she said, getting up and starting to walk back.

“When next?”, asked Philip, joining her. “Maybe Thursday – I’ll let you know”. “That’s a whole three days away!”, protested Philip, but strangely, Meenakshi didn’t seem to notice. “Is something wrong?” he enquired “Nothing”, she responded, avoiding his eye.

They reached the bus-stand, Meenakshi catching the bus back to her home in Adyar, Philip making his way back across the city, to his home in Anna-Nagar.

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