Page 8 - DENG202_ELECTIVE_ENGLISH_III

Unit 1: The Linguist by Geetashree Chatterjee

It was peak winter in the capital. The pale warmth of the sun soothed our freezing bones. I found Notes
an excuse to draw Nalini apart from her group. “So what does he do?” “Oh! He is a professor,”
Nalini said airily. I coaxed for more. “A linguist!” She added after a while. Now pride was
clearly intoned in her reply. He is a professor of Comparative Study of Languages working at
one of the widely known international academic centres. He holds quite an authority on the
subject! He would be visiting India very soon to tie the knot and whisk the bride away with him.
“How lucky!” I said. She looked cool in a blue salwar suit. There was an additional sparkle in her
large, luminous eyes. I could almost hear her noisy heartbeat. Her face was suffused with colour.
In addition, her breath came in short spurts. Nalini looked like an over inflated balloon ready to
burst any moment with uncontained joy.
Nalini would be settling abroad which meant that I would not be able to see her more often. The
thought made me a little sad. We had spent some lovely time together. Our thirst for knowledge
was unquenchable and spirit of imbibing boundless.
I could not stop marvelling at what Nalini’s life would be being married to a linguist. For me it
was the ultimate enraptured existence! How her eclectic horizons would broaden discoursing
with an intellectual giant who coupled as a soul mate too! Life could not have been more
profitable for Nalini.
It was fantasizing on Nalini’s post-marital bliss that I experienced the first pang of jealousy –
a mild but pricking pain in my heart!

The marriage was fixed on a date after the final exams, three months hence. Nalini seemed to be
on winged feet. Of course, she was in constant touch with her beau as was obvious from the
conversations that we were having lately.
“Toska!” She threw the word in the air. I jumped up and caught it. “Russian”, she explained,
“The word has several layers to it. Love-sickness is one of them. Putting it simply!” We hurried
towards the library.
A week later, we collided in the corridor. Nalini broke into a tinkle of merry laughter. “So how’s
the romance going?” I asked jokingly. “Oh! We often “meet” on Skype. But most of the time we
are in a state of mamihlapinatapei!” “What’s that?” I exclaimed uncomprehendingly. Nalini
elaborated that it signified the meaningful look shared by two people who desired to initiate
something but were hesitant to do so, each expecting the other to start.
Nalini shuttled these invaluable gems at me as though tossing a bowl of juicy meat towards a
ravenous hound. I would hurriedly note them down in my diary. However, at times I also
missed one or two, which left me with a sense of acute deprivation. During this time, the pain in
my chest also intensified.
The marriage was a grand affair. Nalini dazzled while the groom looked shy and ill at ease.
A little advance in age, perhaps, but definitely the most prized catch. I wanted to draw him into
a “meaningful” chat but he appeared to be a man of very few words. One who would like to lose
his identity in the crowd.

A month after Nalini left for her new home. We did meet years later but she was not the Nalini
I remembered.
The mobile rang incessantly. I extended my hand under the quilt to answer the call.
“Hi Geeta! Sorry to wake you up early in the morning. However, I wanted to invite you home
this evening. We are having a get-together, just a few of us, old college mates.”
“Hi Shamlee! An invitation for a wakeup call! One couldn’t ask for more.”
“So sorry! However, it is just next to impossible to get you these days. That’s why thought of
calling you up at this wee hour.”

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