Reminiscing About

Rushil could see the dirt that had accumulated between the teeth of
his wide-tooth comb.

‘Why did I not notice this before? I use this comb every day. How long
has it been like this?’ he wondered.

Rushil slipped his feet into his slippers and walked to the bathroom.
He held the comb beneath the opening of the tap in the washbasin and
then he turned the tap’s handle to let a small stream of water fall
over the comb. Then, he temporarily closed the tap and looked around.

‘A drop of handwash will do the trick,’ he thought.

So, he put a drop of hand wash over the comb from the emerald-coloured
soap dispenser and rubbed it all over the comb, then once again he let
the running water loose over the comb. He examined the comb; it seemed
like it had never been visibly cleaner.

Rushil exited the bathroom and heard the sound of words being spoken.
Rushil stepped out of his room to see his paternal grandfather sitting
on a sofa in the drawing room.

‘He is speaking to himself again,’ Rushil said to himself before
retreating back to his room again.

Rushil continued to comb his hair. He was 17 and was enjoying his
summer vacations at home. Both his parents were working and left for
work in the morning and didn’t reappear until evening or night.

Rushil stepped out of his room with a wet towel and worn clothes. He
put the clothes into the laundry basket and walked to the balcony to
place the wet towel on the clothesline to dry. He once again caught a
glance of his grandfather sitting right where he saw him.

Rushil paused for a while to watch around.

‘Things have become a lot quieter in the house’ Rushil thought.

The house was never a host to a big family to begin with, but it
didn’t matter till Rushil’s paternal grandmother passed away followed
by his grandfather becoming more and more silent with the passing
years.

Rushil moved on to place his towel on the clothesline in the balcony,
then he walked to the kitchen. He took the sandwich from the fridge,
along with a bottle of juice. His mother made sure to keep everything
prepared for Rushil and his grandfather Mr Vyas every day. Rushil
neatly placed sandwich on a plate and poured the juice in a glass

Then, Rushil headed for the drawing room. He kept the glass and the
plate on the central table in the drawing room and sat on a sofa in
front of his grandfather.

“Did you eat your breakfast?” Rushil asked, looking at his grandfather.

“A while back,” replied Mr Vyas.

“And medicines?”

“.. yeah them too”

Mr Vyas looked at Rushil carefully, “You are late today. Were you
studying late at night?”

Rushil wanted to avoid the answer, but he knew he would have to, “No..
well, I was playing games.”

Mr Vyas looked visibly angry, “I told your parents when they brought
that gaming thing for you, that it wouldn’t be good.. but who listens
to an old man.”

Rushil did not speak anything else and neither did Mr Vyas who seemed
to have lost himself in another thought.

This had become a recurring characteristic of Mr Vyas who was quite
talkative a few years back. Now, he often loses track of a thought and
enters another world of thought without anyone’s notice.

“Once Naveen took me to see a cricket match between two groups of
village boys. I will never forget the day; I thoroughly enjoy
reminiscing about the moment.”

Mr Vyas was still lost in the thought and didn’t look towards Rushil.
Naveen was the person who was very commonly present in these broken
thoughts.

‘Naveen surely has left a very strong impression on grandfather’s
mind,’ Rushil thought.

Not much was known about Naveen apart from that he was a boy who lived
in the same village that Mr Vyas lived in. Naveen seemed to be elder
to Mr Vyas as in Mr Vyas’s thoughts it was always Naveen taking the
initiative to go to places, learn different things, do and experience
things.

“So, where is Mr Naveen now? If you can give a hint, I can try to find
him,” Rushil had asked his grandfather once, but Mr Vyas had stayed
silent. Yet, Rushil had tried to find a contact in the village, but
most people known to them had moved away from the village and many of
those who were of grandfather’s age had passed away or couldn’t recall
things.

‘He might have passed away as well. It looks like Mr Naveen’s presence
in this world might very well be limited to grandfather’s thoughts,’
Rushil thought.

“Naveen is the reason I shifted to the city later and got a job in
railways. Although, the city life was not as impressive as Naveen’s
imagination of it. But, nonetheless, his imagination allowed me to
move beyond working in my father’s grocery shop, which my family
thought I was destined to do when I grew up,” Mr Vyas told Rushil
another day.

“Let’s go and meet him one day,” Rushil replied but once more he faced
a silent response.

“Naveen taught me how to catch fish”

“Naveen helped me understand Math”

“No one could sing the village songs as beautifully as Naveen did”

“The first movie I saw in the movie hall was with Naveen”

Over the time many thoughts of such nature were recalled, but there
was no trace of where Naveen was.

One evening, Rushil and Mr Vyas went to the park. Mr Vyas walked a
round of the park and then sat down on a bench, while Rushil walked
more rounds. Later when Rushil sat with Mr Vyas he found his
grandfather lost in another thought.

“You can tell me whatever it is,” Rushil said.

Mr Vyas didn’t speak for a while and then he did, “He is dead. Naveen is dead”.

Rushil stayed silent; he had already anticipated that Naveen might
have passed away.

“They killed him,” Mr Vyas muttered and Rushil’s eyes widened.

“Who killed him?” Rushil asked in a low voice which was slightly shaking.

“The family of the girl he was involved with. I was relatively young
to understand such things. The girl’s father was a landlord with
considerable wealth and influence. Naveen vanished one day and was not
found for two whole days. His floating body was spotted by a cowherd
in the pond. Clearly, he had been killed by the marks on his body, but
the police declared it a suicide.”

Mr Vyas suddenly sat upright, he realised he had been too lost in
thought to realise that it might not have been an appropriate thing to
let a 17-year-old know. He looked at Rushil who was clearly affected
by this horrific conclusion of Naveen’s life.

The next day, Rushil’s mind was blank as he combed his hair. He kept
the comb in a drawer of the dresser and walked off to the drawing
room. He found his grandfather reading a book. It was an obvious
attempt to keep his mind focussed at one place rather than the
obvious.

“Let’s go to see a movie. It will be fun. It will be the two of us,”
Rushil spoke and smiled.

Mr Vyas raised his gaze from the pages of the book and looked at
Rushil. He was relieved that the boy was able to deal with what he had
heard and thus Mr Vyas smiled back.

“Let’s go.”

Written by Anuran Chatterji

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