Banhi had been living in the same rented apartment for the past seven years. She liked everything about the apartment. The beige colour of the building, bordered with bronze colour, the main window of the drawing room faced the park and invited breeze and it also let in just the right amount of sunlight. The interiors of the building still retained their 1990s style, the time around which it was built.
Everything was well-maintained. Although the expenditure including rent along with monthly society maintenance cost had become expensive over the time, Banhi had chosen to bear the cost nonetheless.
What Banhi loved the most was her neighbour, Mrs Damle. Mrs Damle was in her early 70s presently, living with a caretaker while her only daughter had settled abroad. The doors to the apartments of Banhi and Mrs Damle faced each other. Banhi would often walk over to speak to Mrs Damle, almost every day. It would be right to say they had become good friends. They used to go on walks together and to the market, but as age progressed Mrs Damle’s movements became restricted and Banhi’s conversation became her only connection to the outside world.
“That cat I was telling you about, the black one with yellowish green eyes. I saw it again while I was parking my scooter. If I only knew at what time it comes by, I might keep some of that cat food I have seen at the store for it there,” said Banhi to Mrs Damle during a conversation, and that is how Banhi talked to her.
Banhi was a graphic designer but since Mrs Damle knew little of it and was confined to her apartment, Banhi talked to her about the outside world, focusing about the simple things happening around. Mr Damle spoke quite less and rather chose to listen more to what Banhi had to say, sometimes she didn’t say a thing but she listened and some years passed in this manner.
But one day she spoke in a serious tone, her usual smile had also toned down, “listen Banhi, I thank you for all the conversations, the time you have spent with me that you could have spent doing something else. But can you do something for me?”
“Sure, what do you want me to do?” asked Banhi
“Stop coming here so often, once in a while is fine, but you don’t have to come by every day,” said Mrs Damle
Banhi felt a throb of sadness within, she had never expected this, “Why? Don’t you like talking to me?”
“I am getting older by the day now it seems, I have health issues. I need more rest than usual, the conversations are no longer helping,” said Mrs Damle
Banhi didn’t say anything for a while, she did not allow her tears to come out yet and then she got up, “I will be going now, you rest. I will see you later, Mrs Damle.”
A broken smile appeared on Banhi’s face as Mrs Damle looked at her and nodded and Banhi walked away.
Mrs Damle wished to stop Banhi and ask her to come every day like she used to and stay with her here, they could share the rent. But she knew from her bonding with her own grandmother that it was time to let her slowly go to make the pain that would eventually come a bit easier. Mrs Damle hoped Banhi would understand one day and she would find friends around her age to spend time with or perhaps someone to share a beautiful relationship with and if she wants one day there will be a family of her own.
Banhi was more of a daughter to her than her own and tears came out as Mrs Damle tried to stop the thoughts of wanting to see more of what Banhi’s life would lead to.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Everyday Conversations
Early Morning Memories 