The sky was covered with dense, dark clouds. It looked as if it might burst open at any moment. Yet the rain had been threatening to fall for quite some time, as if something somewhere was holding it back. There was no sharp lightning either, and the rumbling thunder was faint.
At this time of the day the city reaches its peak of busyness. People are returning home from their offices. Even the birds of the trees are now going back to their nests, seemingly lost in deep thought—what will happen to their homes if the rain starts?
Though in Kolkata there is no shortage of cracks and corners outside houses where birds could nest, except for sparrows and perhaps a few others, birds rarely build nests on the towering buildings. This is almost a proven fact.
The people living on the footpaths of the city share the same concern—where will they go if it rains? Because in this city, even a short spell of rain can easily lead to knee-deep water on the streets. And as the saying goes, "Rain is not romantic for everyone."
Kushal looked outside through the window and said,
"Alright, I should leave now. The sky outside is glaring angrily. If I delay, I won't be able to get home today."
Apu picked up the book in her hand and said,
"You don't have to leave. Stay here tonight. We've made steamed hilsa at home today."
Kushal laughed and said,
"Don't be silly. A teacher staying at his student's house! What nonsense you say. You're appearing for your Higher Secondary exams this year, yet you still have no sense at all."
Apu shot him a sharp glance and said,
"So inviting someone to eat hilsa fish means having no sense?"
Kushal rolled up a long notebook and lightly tapped her hand with it.
"That's enough. When it's time to study you hardly speak a word, and now you're talking endlessly. Move aside and let me go."
Apu shifted to one side of the bed. Just as Kushal was about to leave with his bag on his shoulder, Apu's mother Jaya entered the room carrying a plate of hot onion fritters and a cup of tea.
Seeing Kushal ready to leave, she stopped at the doorway and said,
"Where are you going? Wait—eat these before you leave."
Kushal stepped down from the bed and said,
"No, no, absolutely not. It's going to rain, aunty. I can't waste time eating now. If I delay any longer I'll have to go home completely drenched."
Jaya replied,
"So what if you do? Are you a lump of sugar that you'll melt? I made these with so much effort—you must eat them. Otherwise I'll feel very bad. And don't worry so much. Don't you remember the poet's words—'Do not fear when you see the clouds.'"
Kushal had a particular weakness for fried snacks. Whenever he saw them his tongue would start moving in anticipation. Besides, he knew that once Jaya aunty had said something, he had no choice but to obey. And since the great poet himself had advised not to fear the clouds, Kushal said nothing more. He took the shoulder bag off and sat back on the bed.
Beside him, Apu was quietly giggling.
Taking a bite of an onion fritter and chewing happily, Kushal said,
"This is wonderful, aunty. Your hands truly have magic. Want one, Apu?"
Apu had been waiting for him to offer. She immediately shifted closer and said,
"Give me one."
From the side Jaya said,
"You eat those. Come here, Apu, come to the kitchen. I'll give you some."
As Apu got down from the bed, passing by Kushal, one side of her chest accidentally brushed against his hand. The fritter that Kushal had been about to put into his mouth fell to the floor.
Feeling that first touch of manhood, Apu shivered. She had never experienced such a touch before.
"Hey! Watch where you're going—you dropped my fritter," Kushal said.
Apu trembled at the sound of his voice.
"Oh! Sorry, sorry," she said, picking up the fritter and running out of the room.
Apu—whose full name was Aparupa Samanta—was Jaya's only child. Though "Apu" is more commonly a boy's name, sometimes girls have it too. Some names are simply unisex.
She had just stepped into youth, and her body seemed to glow with a natural charm. The radiance of her face too appeared completely natural. These days it is easy to tell which beauty comes from nature and which from expensive creams.
Aparupa's eyelids were naturally as dark as if she were always wearing kohl, though she did apply it sometimes. Even then her young tutor would often tease her, saying,
"Did you smudge kohl in your eyes again? Are you here to study or to attend a fashion show?"
Blushing, Aparupa would reply,
"What can I do? My eyes are just like that. Here, touch them and see. If it's kohl, it'll come off on your hand."
But Kushal had never actually tried to touch her eyes to check.
Aparupa loved writing poetry. Sitting by the window she could spend an entire afternoon, evening, or even night writing. Her imagination, her mind, and her pen never seemed to grow tired. During those moments her thoughts would drift far away to some unknown land.
Kushal was quite a few years older than Aparupa. No matter how modern the city may appear, deep within it still carries many old beliefs—or perhaps we ourselves carry them along. No one had wanted to tutor Aparupa, so Kushal had taken the responsibility. It had been two years now.
And Jaya loved Kushal like her own son.
Just as much as Kushal loved fried snacks.
Continue.... Please wait for Chapter 2