By Robert J Baite
The day was windy. I was walking along the BT Road. Ahead, I could see a lady walking. Attired in white shirt and black denims, she was clutching a thick book under her arms. Suddenly, it seems she lost her grip on the book and some papers from the book start flying fast and thick like paper planes. It landed near my feet. Muttering ‘sorry’ again and again, she went about picking up the papers with the heavy book on the other hand. She looked as helpless and as nervous as the virgin bride on her wedding night. Immediately, I felt to my knees and started picking up the papers. We were practically running after the papers as the wind carried them here and there. After picking up the papers, I casually handed it over to her.
She, of course, thanked me profusely saying,
“Don’t you think I am so careless? I am terribly sorry for troubling you.”
“Hey! That’s nothing. It happens. Cool.”
“I don’t know how to repay for your kindness,” she said with hands lifting up.
“You don’t need to repay me. You may buy me coffee if you wish.”
“Done.”
The next moment we were ordering coffee at a restaurant nearby.
“So tell me more about you,” I countered.
“Am Chinglembi. Studying Law."
“That’s great. But unfortunate to say law is not my cup of tea,” I said wryly.
“Why is that?”
“Because I hate to read books. And I presume lawyers have to read a lot. Just look at your book. I will never be able to finish it in five years.”
She laughed and the dimple on her cheeks shone like miniature diamonds. Her body language exudes confidence, the kind that lawyers carry on their shoulders in the court room. Off and on she would adjust her gold-rimmed spectacles. She took pains to explain how our lives are governed by laws.
Coffee arrived.
“Without laws, man would be a beast. It is because of law that you and I can have coffee here comfortably. Can you imagine a life without laws or a land or country without laws?” she stated as a matter of fact in between sips of coffee.
I could say nothing but nod in agreement.
“Hey, you did not tell me anything about yourself.” She said suddenly.
I got startled and nearly choked on my coffee.
“Well! I am a journalist.” I said modestly.
“That’s exciting. Do you know that there is something called Press Law?”
“I know there exists one. But I have never felt the need for it till today. Nor am aware of the contents,” I said quite irritatingly.
“That’s very sad. Only when you know the laws, then only you can execute your work accordingly,” she maintained with an air of authority.
“Hey, are you questioning my ability? I have never faced any trouble for not having learnt Press Laws by heart”
“By the way, I am having another cup of coffee. Want more?”
"No, thanks.”
She called for another coffee.
“It’s a habit. During conversation, I get so deep into it that I need coffee to energize myself.”
To energize your vocal chord, I thought to myself.
The debate went for another half an hour. She was defending law as if all her life depended on it. And I was speaking on media and how journalists need not necessarily know the Press laws from head to tail. She was bubbling with excitement as she went on talking about jurisprudence, Indian Constitution, Property and Inheritance Rights, International Laws, Indian Penal Code........
Finally we got up and promised to meet frequently.
“I need lessons on law and if you are willing to teach me, I will buy you coffee every session,” I offered.
She gave a mischievous smile and asked, “Are you very sure that you are interested in law or is it just an excuse to meet me?”
“Both”, I said and winked and she smiled.
We met off and on. Sometimes, once in a week or twice in a month whenever we had free time. The day we do not meet, we sent each other sms or spoke on length on the phone. I admit that she made law lessons so simple that I do not mind being near her listening to the intricacies of law for hours.
Once returning home late after a heavy duty, I decided to call her up. It was one in the morning. Her phone rang for half a minute before she picked it up.
“Are you crazy? Have you gone bonkers? Is this the time to call?” she whispered.
“Where are you?”
“What? Where do you expect me to be? Am on the bed. You are simply crazy.”
“What are you wearing now, honey?,” I crooned huskily.
“What? Go to hell. Get lost. You are very irritating,” saying this, the line snapped.
I thought to myself and regretted immediately.
Next morning I called her up. She did not respond. The whole day I tried to reach her, but she seems to be nowhere. Determined, I went to her place in the evening. Just as I was about to enter the gate, she came out with some books.
“Are you crazy? My father, alias Hitler, is at home. Get out fast,” she said.
“Chinglembi, who is that guy?,” a voice thundered and I saw the father marching behind her.
“Oh! He is my class fellow Albert. Actually, I took some books from him. So, he’s come for that,” saying this she handed over the books to me.
I took it saying, “Thanks. I gotta go.”
“Why don’t you invite your friend for a cup of tea? Ibungo, come in,” Hitler called out.
“No thanks, pabung. I really have to go. I will come some day.” I said and disappeared lest the Hitler interviewed me.
As expectedly, she called an hour later.
“Thanks for the books,” I said.
“You are simply incorrigible. It was good that I saw you coming from my window. Otherwise, there could have been a disaster. Well! I need those books for classes tomorrow.”
“Fine, we will meet tomorrow over a cup of coffee. And you have to buy” “I guess you win,” she sighed.
The next day we talked again. This time it was neither law nor journalism. It was about our past life.
“I felt in love for the first time during my 5th standard,” She said.
“That was pretty early. I guess I also got hooked to a girl around that age.”
“He was very cute like you,” and her eyes lit up.
“Tell me more about him,” I said sadly with signs of jealously written all over my face.
“Well! Our school organized a study tour. There were other schools too. I was in Little Flower at that time and he was from Don Bosco. We shared the same seat. Actually, boys and girls were mixed up so that we would not make noise.”
“Yes, I also remember that in those school days, we were always mixed up even during exams,” I offered
She continued her story.
I watched her as she narrated her story. Sometimes, she would close her eyes to relive that moment. The next moment she would be enthusiastic. Her facial expression was like the waves sometimes going up with excitement and sometimes down with sadness in her eyes.
“This boy was really shy. I looked at his number. You know we were all assigned numbers and it was pinned to our sleeve. I still remember it. It was 276. We did not even talked once. I think he was too shy to start the conversation.”
My heart raced and I think I was choking for air.
“And you were 563. The girl with the pig tails,” I cried.
Suddenly, there seems to be calmness all around us as we stared hard at each other. It seemed like eternity.
And we both laughed with tears in our eyes.
Comments: robertbaite@rediffmail. com
Source: The Sangai Express
The day was windy. I was walking along the BT Road. Ahead, I could see a lady walking. Attired in white shirt and black denims, she was clutching a thick book under her arms. Suddenly, it seems she lost her grip on the book and some papers from the book start flying fast and thick like paper planes. It landed near my feet. Muttering ‘sorry’ again and again, she went about picking up the papers with the heavy book on the other hand. She looked as helpless and as nervous as the virgin bride on her wedding night. Immediately, I felt to my knees and started picking up the papers. We were practically running after the papers as the wind carried them here and there. After picking up the papers, I casually handed it over to her.
She, of course, thanked me profusely saying,
“Don’t you think I am so careless? I am terribly sorry for troubling you.”
“Hey! That’s nothing. It happens. Cool.”
“I don’t know how to repay for your kindness,” she said with hands lifting up.
“You don’t need to repay me. You may buy me coffee if you wish.”
“Done.”
The next moment we were ordering coffee at a restaurant nearby.
“So tell me more about you,” I countered.
“Am Chinglembi. Studying Law."
“That’s great. But unfortunate to say law is not my cup of tea,” I said wryly.
“Why is that?”
“Because I hate to read books. And I presume lawyers have to read a lot. Just look at your book. I will never be able to finish it in five years.”
She laughed and the dimple on her cheeks shone like miniature diamonds. Her body language exudes confidence, the kind that lawyers carry on their shoulders in the court room. Off and on she would adjust her gold-rimmed spectacles. She took pains to explain how our lives are governed by laws.
Coffee arrived.
“Without laws, man would be a beast. It is because of law that you and I can have coffee here comfortably. Can you imagine a life without laws or a land or country without laws?” she stated as a matter of fact in between sips of coffee.
I could say nothing but nod in agreement.
“Hey, you did not tell me anything about yourself.” She said suddenly.
I got startled and nearly choked on my coffee.
“Well! I am a journalist.” I said modestly.
“That’s exciting. Do you know that there is something called Press Law?”
“I know there exists one. But I have never felt the need for it till today. Nor am aware of the contents,” I said quite irritatingly.
“That’s very sad. Only when you know the laws, then only you can execute your work accordingly,” she maintained with an air of authority.
“Hey, are you questioning my ability? I have never faced any trouble for not having learnt Press Laws by heart”
“By the way, I am having another cup of coffee. Want more?”
"No, thanks.”
She called for another coffee.
“It’s a habit. During conversation, I get so deep into it that I need coffee to energize myself.”
To energize your vocal chord, I thought to myself.
The debate went for another half an hour. She was defending law as if all her life depended on it. And I was speaking on media and how journalists need not necessarily know the Press laws from head to tail. She was bubbling with excitement as she went on talking about jurisprudence, Indian Constitution, Property and Inheritance Rights, International Laws, Indian Penal Code........
Finally we got up and promised to meet frequently.
“I need lessons on law and if you are willing to teach me, I will buy you coffee every session,” I offered.
She gave a mischievous smile and asked, “Are you very sure that you are interested in law or is it just an excuse to meet me?”
“Both”, I said and winked and she smiled.
We met off and on. Sometimes, once in a week or twice in a month whenever we had free time. The day we do not meet, we sent each other sms or spoke on length on the phone. I admit that she made law lessons so simple that I do not mind being near her listening to the intricacies of law for hours.
Once returning home late after a heavy duty, I decided to call her up. It was one in the morning. Her phone rang for half a minute before she picked it up.
“Are you crazy? Have you gone bonkers? Is this the time to call?” she whispered.
“Where are you?”
“What? Where do you expect me to be? Am on the bed. You are simply crazy.”
“What are you wearing now, honey?,” I crooned huskily.
“What? Go to hell. Get lost. You are very irritating,” saying this, the line snapped.
I thought to myself and regretted immediately.
Next morning I called her up. She did not respond. The whole day I tried to reach her, but she seems to be nowhere. Determined, I went to her place in the evening. Just as I was about to enter the gate, she came out with some books.
“Are you crazy? My father, alias Hitler, is at home. Get out fast,” she said.
“Chinglembi, who is that guy?,” a voice thundered and I saw the father marching behind her.
“Oh! He is my class fellow Albert. Actually, I took some books from him. So, he’s come for that,” saying this she handed over the books to me.
I took it saying, “Thanks. I gotta go.”
“Why don’t you invite your friend for a cup of tea? Ibungo, come in,” Hitler called out.
“No thanks, pabung. I really have to go. I will come some day.” I said and disappeared lest the Hitler interviewed me.
As expectedly, she called an hour later.
“Thanks for the books,” I said.
“You are simply incorrigible. It was good that I saw you coming from my window. Otherwise, there could have been a disaster. Well! I need those books for classes tomorrow.”
“Fine, we will meet tomorrow over a cup of coffee. And you have to buy” “I guess you win,” she sighed.
The next day we talked again. This time it was neither law nor journalism. It was about our past life.
“I felt in love for the first time during my 5th standard,” She said.
“That was pretty early. I guess I also got hooked to a girl around that age.”
“He was very cute like you,” and her eyes lit up.
“Tell me more about him,” I said sadly with signs of jealously written all over my face.
“Well! Our school organized a study tour. There were other schools too. I was in Little Flower at that time and he was from Don Bosco. We shared the same seat. Actually, boys and girls were mixed up so that we would not make noise.”
“Yes, I also remember that in those school days, we were always mixed up even during exams,” I offered
She continued her story.
I watched her as she narrated her story. Sometimes, she would close her eyes to relive that moment. The next moment she would be enthusiastic. Her facial expression was like the waves sometimes going up with excitement and sometimes down with sadness in her eyes.
“This boy was really shy. I looked at his number. You know we were all assigned numbers and it was pinned to our sleeve. I still remember it. It was 276. We did not even talked once. I think he was too shy to start the conversation.”
My heart raced and I think I was choking for air.
“And you were 563. The girl with the pig tails,” I cried.
Suddenly, there seems to be calmness all around us as we stared hard at each other. It seemed like eternity.
And we both laughed with tears in our eyes.
Comments: robertbaite@rediffmail. com
Source: The Sangai Express
