Page 9 - DENG202_ELECTIVE_ENGLISH_III

Elective English—III

Notes I could not argue on that. My work took up most of my time. I had almost ex-communicated my
friends. My social circle was next to nil. I suffered from numerous ailments and in spite of all the
hard work, that I put in and the timely promotion up the organizational ladder, I generally felt
dejected with my life and myself. This was my last chance to woo normalcy. Therefore, I heartily
agreed to join the bandwagon at Shamlee’s sharp at eight in the evening.
“I have a surprise in store for you.” Shamlee looked chic in her new dress. She pointed a
well-manicured finger towards the opposite corner of the room. A lone, emaciated form nursing
a drink occupied the sofa. The soft lighting over played the shadows in the room. I could barely
make out a long drawn face, wrinkled brows, hollowed cheeks, worried eyes and drooping lips.

“N-a-l-i-n-i” I halted on each letter. She looked so different….withdrawn…unhappy.
She was equally startled to see me but merely gave a half-hearted “Hi” in reply. Averting gaze
she concentrated on the drink. My attempts at conversation yielded minimal response.

It was Shamlee who filled me in later. Nalini’s marriage seemed to be on the rocks. Apparently,
married to a linguist had its own share of strain. Nalini’s husband nurtured a selective society of
fellow linguists who had this strange habit of communicating in multiple languages. Naturally,
Nalini found it difficult to keep pace with them. At times, she felt like an outsider and at other
times, she was made to feel like one. She tried to discuss the matter with her husband. However,
he only had a quiet contempt for an answer. Gradually, diffidence set in. Nalini felt as though
she were good for nothing and retreated into a shell, which made things worse. Somebody
suggested a change of scene. That was why this sudden visit to the homeland all by herself. But
Shamlee had grave doubts whether this self-imposed separation would ultimately prove fruitful.
I remembered the Nalini of yore – cheerful, giggly, loud, opinionated, noisily arguing on
Tennyson’s superiority over other poets. “Depressing!” I genuinely felt sorry for her. “It seems
being a good husband is much more essential to keep a marriage going than being a brilliant
scholar…..a linguist….or whatever.”

Shamlee nodded in agreement.
It was a priceless revelation for me as well who had once felt envious of Nalini’s conjugal gains.
Time flew by. I, once again, lost touch with my friends. It was work, work and work….grinding….
gruelling….grousing. I had almost forgotten Nalini when we suddenly bumped into each other
in Connaught Place. This time, again, I failed to recognize her. She had put on oodles of weight.
Prosperity, as she put it. The telltale marks of age were visible on her face. However, I was glad
to note that the music in her laughter was back. Her spirits shone in her eyes. In addition, her
demeanour spoke of general well-being.
Yes, she was doing well.
“Won’t you like to know how?” She quipped.
Before I could ask, she continued, “We are seekers throughout our lives. It is far better to plunge
in than to suffer fromtorschlusspanik. In addition, that, my dear, is German. The fear that time
is running out.”

Nalini carried on, “Of course, I could not save my marriage. However, we decided to keep in
touch. No, it was not enough. The loneliness, the pain, the yearning and above all, the litostalmost
killed me.”
“Ahem! I interjected, “Litost?”
“Aah! An almost untranslatable Czech expression,” she ejaculated, “The closest definition being
an agonizing realization of one’s own misery.”

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