Tathagat

Manav was over the other day. He picked up his copy of Nirmal Verma's 'Gyarah Lambi Kahaniyan' lying on my desk, and asked me how I was progressing. Slow, I told him, as I always am with Hindi.

He opened the book, glanced at his own words at the beginning of the book. ‘बहुत पहले पढ़ी कहानियां... फिर फिर पढ़ने के लिए फिर फिर खरीदता हूँ।’ Lovely words I think, so telling of his love for Nirmal ji’s writing and full of so much warmth. Or perhaps it is his voice that is full of warmth when he speaks of Nirmalji and it is the memory of that warmth that creeps in when I read these words…

I read ‘Bukhar’, I tell him. Oh, that is a beautiful story, he says. I wrote about it on my blog. I must look it up, I think silently.

What are you reading now?

The first one.

I can’t remember the name of the story and for that I feel a tinge of shame. How is it that I never paid attention to the name? I think to myself.

Parindey, he says glancing at the Contents. Latika’s story?

Yes, Latika’s I mutter, wondering to myself how on earth the name Parindey relates to the story, I would never have imagined! Maybe that secret will reveal itself yet.

That’s also a beautiful story, he got an award for it. You should read ‘Kavve aur kaala paani’. It’s set in Bhawali, he smiles, waiting for me to react. I give him an expressionless look. Bhawali, he says again, it’s on the way to Sonapani, don’t you remember? You’ve crossed it on your way to Sonapani so many times! We stop there everytime for tea.

We have never travelled to Sonapani together, I protest. We have travelled back together, but we have always gone to Sonapani separately. And I never stop for tea on the way, so maybe that’s why I don’t know.

Offo, he says. You must do something about your memory. We have been in Bhawali together. In fact we changed cars there on one occasion, on a bridge.

This I remember, and my face brightens up. This I remember distinctly. It’s a typical little bazaar in a mountain hamlet, full of colourful small shops- selling candies, cigarettes and paan, plastics and toys, clothes, electrical repair shops, and thelas, selling pakoras or peanuts or corn; simple, cheerful people with weathered faces, selling stuff with a distinctly small town feel, in a distinctly small town setting. You cross several of these on the way to Sonapani, heck, travelling from anywhere to anywhere in the mountains. This one was beautiful, the river ran between the two hills, and our car had stopped at one end of the little bridge over it. We had to take a different cab from here. We offloaded our small luggage and kept it on the side of the dusty road. I was sitting on the parapet of the bridge, on the phone talking to Meghna, my editor friend. I had called her to tell her all about the exciting time I had just had, but I was afraid it would jinx my luck, so I didn’t. But this too was on the way back from Sonapani, I think to myself, making a point to no one.

You should do something about your memory, Manav breaks my chain of thought, which is ironically, my memory of those moments in Bhawali. He was wearing a white T shirt, I even remember that- how’s that for memory. What he is referring to though, is a genuine problem. I have a horrendously bad memory. I am reminded here of a peculiarity of mine- if it’s mine alone, that is. I often don’t remember incidents ie I don’t remember facts, details of what actually happened, but I do remember how or what I felt ie the emotion that the incident left me with. Is that weird? I mentioned this to Saeed sa’ab when I met him a few days back. His eyebrows went up in response, though there was also a strange appreciation in the shape of a half smile on his face. Anyway.

You should do something about your memory, Manav breaks my chain of thought, it might get worse. It likely will, I say, you might soon find me wandering the streets, not knowing the way to my house. Not like that, he says, that would still be ok, this is worse.

You should read ‘kavve aur kaala paani’, he repeats. It’s where the story of Tathagat began, he is in there.

So that’s what I am doing now, reading Nirmal Verma’s ‘kavve aur kala paani’. It’s alien, this feeling, finding in another story a character that I lived with and loved, whose story I helped put into visuals; a character that I tried to understand, and argued with Manav about. Here he is again, conceived by a different writer, put in an entirely different setting, and I am curious to see how Nirmalji has shaped him.

Alien and exciting, this feeling. 

(Tathagat is the name of the lead character in a film by the same name, that I shot with Manav. He wrote and directed it, and I shot it. It is about time that he told me this little story about the origins of Tathagat!
Though I have to admit there is a certain charm in this situation. If only I could explain how real Tathagat is for me, played brilliantly by the NSD actor Harish Khanna.)