reminiscence

I stood in front of the large iron gates. Unsure. The cupid on the pillar smiled down at me. The same smile I had dreamt of for 20 years. The creak of the gate I knew like the back of my hand. I pushed open the gate and the hair at the back of my neck rose with the familiar sound. I rang the bell. It would ring in three different rooms within. I waited, patiently. The door opened, “Yes?” said an unfamiliar face. “Well.. “ I began, “I used to live here”, her deep black eyes lit up. She opened the door wider and I looked at the long dark corridor. Nothing had changed. Not the pale white curtains nor the deep red carpet. I walked in, “You know your way up?” she asked politely. I nodded. I walked straight down, my steps becoming labored. I turned right and looked up the looming giant staircase.

I turned the brass knob on the door. “Come in” she said. I walked as fast as my 10 years old feet would take me. I walked up to the table and stood motionless. “Sit”, she said without looking up from her book. I sunk into the big green mahogany chair. I stared at my unpolished black shoes…”So…” she said. “My dear little boy, what on earth possessed you to run away with lily’s cross? I know you kept it with you all night .I know you returned it. ”She smiled at me. How did she know? I thought. I was so sure I saw no one there.  I bit my lip and continued to stare at my shoes.

I never forgot that day 20 years ago. 20 years ago I forged a bond of everlasting friendship. I walked all round the familiar room. I walked up to the window and looked down at the garden. A cupid smiled up at me. I could not help but smile back at the mute figure. I turned around and walked to the bookshelf. My hands automatically went to the bottom shelf and picked up the thinnest book, ”Malgudi days”… my first book. I went near the table at the centre of the room. I sunk into the big green mahogany chair. I sat there, lost in the moment. The door behind me opened. I spun around and saw her. She still had that aura around her. The smile that lit up a thousand hearts. I rose slowly. She walked up to me. I was much taller than her now. I bent down and gave her a hug. She still wore white robes. The same rosary… “You remember me” I asked. She sat down opposite me and smiled. “Oh, I remember you very well…You are the one who stole Lily’s cross”. How did she know… I beamed at her. She knew, she never forgot…

Sister Joe ran an orphanage. I spent 14 years of my best years there. No one can feel so much love and care as those children who grew up under her. She made each one of us feel very special. ‘Little angels’ she would call us. Never did I see a child cry in the place I still call home. Its much more than a place where abandoned, lost children grow up. How many children go back to their orphanage. Sister Joe’s children always come back.

I sat opposite to her staring at the shoes, still black and dirty. “You have come back” she said. Her eyes sparkled with tears. “I had to“I said. “You know what day it is today?” I asked her. She nodded ” It is the day a baby was placed in my arms and up from heaven did he come. I just lit a candle for my angel” she said. She remembered. She remembered !! She smiled at me with the same old smile, that bright enchanting smile. Nothing had changed, I thought.

She leaned forward and took my hands into hers. After what seemed like a lifetime she spoke “How are you?” I am.. I am…? “I am an engineer” I said. “I work in the city; I own a house and a car”. “Never became a writer?” she asked. I shook my head to say no. “A pity” she said. “I always thought you would make a wonderful writer.” I gave a faint smile.

“The reason I am here today…” I said “is because you are confused” she completed. I nodded my head to say yes.

“If there was one thing I taught you, it was to follow your heart” she said. There in lies the problem. “A confusing choice?”. “Do they both have a purpose?” .I looked at her. “Life my little angle is about purpose and choice.” “But if it is something that your heart tells you then both become irrelevant”. I smiled. But my mind says otherwise. “You think too much, you always did. Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved. Don’t analyze “. But what if I make a mistake? “Its your life. There can be no such thing as a mistake. There are no wrongs because your life is perfect remember ?”. No wrongs? “No wrongs”.

My head felt suddenly lighter. The painting wiped clean. I felt awakened. Stirred up, placid. We sat there as time slipped thorough my fingers. She sat there, calm and patient as ever. She put on her glasses and for the first time did I notice how old she had grown. There were wrinkles near her eyes. Her hands looked pale. “I’m old now” she said without looking up from the stack of papers she was reading. I smiled. Its difficult having a mind reader as a best friend.

“I feel better now” I said. “Has there been a voice at the back of your head that has always sounded like me ?” She asked. I have her a sly smile. “I’m always there you see?” I saw.

“I got you something” I said. She walked up to the bookshelf as I reached into my leather bag. “Don’t you think I have enough rosaries”, she said with her back to me. She turned around and smiled. I gave her the rosewood rosaries with a silver cross. “Just like Lily’s” she said, she was amused. “You should have this” she said handing me a paper bag.” “I kept it for you all these years”.

What about her that makes me so happy, I never know. I left that warm august evening, to be a changed man. I took a decision I had put away for so many years. I married the one woman who loved me as much as I loved her. That evening, Sister Joe may have said things that I always knew. Hearing it from her made things so different. So much easier. But it was the things she did that made the difference.

In that brown paper bag was my first diary. The one she gave me twenty years ago. Attacked to it was a note. “My little angel. This you left when you moved out. But I always kept it, in your memory. My love, you shall realize, is like your shadow’. It was signed in her tiny handwriting. At the bottom of the letter was written.” P.S: I never read it.’

She never had to….