The Poem of Love

“Pani puris for sale… mouthwatering pani puris…” the strident voice of the peddler broke into Hari’s thoughts. The waves crashed on the rocks, a sound that he loved, as he sat feeling the tingle of the spray on his face. Voices echoed around him. He could feel the vibrations as people jogged along the beach, and his sightless eyes turned towards the movement. He had been coming to this spot for many months now, ever since he had shifted to Mumbai, soon after his mother had passed away, after a protracted illness.

The sound of the sea evoked a vision that he could only feel, not see. He could smell the delicious puris that Ram Prasad was frying, next to where he sat. His nose twitched at the aroma of the potato curry, delicious enough to have come down from an ancient grandma’s well used recipe book. Every day the cheerful proprietor would look for a moment when there were few customers, and hand over a plate of piping hot puris and potato curry to the gentle blind man who sat there, so young and so uncomplaining! Ram Prasad enjoyed talking to him, for he was a fount of knowledge, who peppered his snippets of information with an inimitable sense of humour.

Hari heard the tinkling of anklets near him. “Who is it?” he asked curiously. “May I sit here?” asked a soft voice, and he had a sudden mental vision of a lovely young girl, delicate and lively.

“Do sit down!” he invited, “That is if you have nothing else to do!” He heard the faint thud as she sat down beside him, and sensed the smile in her voice. “I am a regular customer of Ram Prasad’s, and a great fan of his puris. He told me about you the last time I was here!”

They were interrupted by Ram Prasad who brought two plates of hot puris, and they sat in silence, munching away contentedly, not wanting to break the silence. She exuded a floral fragrance and he found himself moving towards her unobtrusively, wanting to prolong the moment.

“You haven’t told me your name!” Hari asked suddenly. “Kavya!” she replied, and the ice was broken. ‘Kavya!” he thought, “Kavya - a beautiful poem to touch my restless heart!”

They began to talk about all kinds of subjects, as he tried to conjure up her face. Was she short or tall, fair or dark? He sensed that she had long hair and sparkling black eyes, judging by the ease with which she laughed. Her heart shaped face would have an expression of mischief, and there would be a round red bindi in the centre of her forehead. He wished he could have a glimpse of her. What did she feel when she looked at him? Did she pity on him? He hoped not because he hated being pitied.

The hours went by as they spoke, the sun grew brighter, and perspiration tricked down their foreheads. But they sat in gentle companionship, having drunk umpteen cups of masala chai, till finally the breeze grew stronger, and the sun prepared to set in the horizon. Ram Prasad was closing shop and it was time for Hari to go home as well.

Kavya, are you ready to leave?” came a male voice. Hari started, as he turned towards the person who had spoken. “Hari, my cousin, Gopal, is here to pick me up! Thank you for a lovely day! Goodnight!” Kavya’s voice tinkled in his ear. Her voice was so melodious that it made him experience a sense of warmth, of immense well being.

“Will I see you again?” he asked, rather ironically, and she laughed as she replied, “Why not! You couldn’t keep me away from Ram Prasad’s puris!”  Hari heard her go with a strange pang in his heart. He had never felt this way before. Who was this Gopal? Was he just a cousin or was he something more? Why was there this churning within his stomach, a strange yearning in his heart?

For a while, he kept sitting, immersed in his own thoughts. He felt a warm glow at the thought of his new friend. But how could he, a blind man, harbour such thoughts about any girl? He tried to picture Kavya’s face again. He imagined her large lustrous eyes smiling at him, giving him hope.

Suddenly his shoulders slumped. How could he expect a beautiful young girl to evince interest in a blind man like himself? When Ram Prasad came to guide him back home, he found him sitting listlessly, a picture of dejection.

“Hari Babu, I thought meeting Kavya would have cheered you up! Instead you are sitting like a monument of despair!” Ram Babu’s booming voice made Hari wince. He pulled himself up with difficulty, and groped around for his cane. “Ram Prasad, don’t introduce me to any more girls!” he muttered. “I like Kavya, even though I have no hope that she will ever reciprocate! She is like a breath of fresh air, but there is no way that she will even look at the wilted bloom that is my heart!” He smiled with difficulty, as he continued, “Just see how her very name has made me a poet!”

Ram Prasad’s voice boomed out again. “I agree, Hari babu! She will not look at you! That’s for sure!” Words that struck a pall of gloom into Hari’s very being! He gripped his cane, and prepared to leave, even as droplets of the sea spray trickled down his face. Or were they tears, he wondered. Tears of despair, tears of longing, tears hidden away over the years, only to be shed on special occasions?

Ram Prasad broke into his reverie. “She is a lovely girl. I have been trying to bring you two together for some time now!”  Hari heard him out in disbelief, as he continued, “She is a beautiful person. When she was young, she was involved in an accident in which she almost lost her eye sight! She can only see objects that are close to her, but never once has she complained or thought of it as a disability!”

Hari listened to the booming voice which was now music to his ears, lost for words. He was elated because now he could let his thoughts sweep over him, thoughts that involved a future with Kavya. He was strangely happy that because he could always imagine her lustrous, short sighted eyes and the red bindi that shone on her beautiful forehead.

Kavya turned to Gopal, tears streaming down her face. “I do not want to do this!” she said, as the tears threatened to engulf her throat. “He is too good a person!” There was an ache in her heart that threatened to engulf her. Gopal put a hand on her shoulder, and shook his head, saying gently, “Everything will work out! Don’t worry! This was meant to be!”

Ram Prasad watched the two of them go by. He knew that they had all made the right decision, in getting two wonderful human beings together. However, his heart ached for the tall ungainly girl, who wore thick glasses that disfigured her homely face, and yet, whose voice was as beguiling as a nightingale’s.