If only long winding letters were still in circulation, perhaps this story would have been a treasured holding of a letter box. In the absence of those finer streaks it simply stands a capture, an anecdotal account, a memory of a young woman and a man far away!
A long time ago, frequenting old movie halls of the colonial era was considered eventful. Lighthouse Cinema Hall was one such landmark of erstwhile Calcutta, converted from a drama theatre that still bore vestiges of its former role with quaint balconies and an English bar. The box seats captured the hidden charm of private seating in the play of light and shadow. Over the decades, box seating became synonymous with a raw display of affection, a convenient spot for couples who wanted to make the most of the movie hall.
It was a typical summer evening in Kolkata. Like most Fridays, Amrita and her husband Ajay went to Lighthouse to watch a movie. Dressed in a printed crepe saree paired with fine gold jewellery, she looked radiant. Her husband too complemented her looks. Before they were married, she loved spending time at the movie theatres holding Ajay’s hand in the dark. Her heart would pound every time he pressed his wrist against hers, but now, the very touch of his fingers made her flinch. She hated being dragged around for movies, dinners or the so-called parties with his gang of friends. A drunken brawl sealed most of those evenings, and she would return home embarrassed and humiliated.
Ajay wooed Amrita for three years until she entered his chaotic life. His single-minded determination had finally bowled her over, but the dynamics changed quickly. The cracks appeared within a couple of months of their marriage, and the man who promised her a world of happiness slowly emerged as an obsessive, insecure person ready to destroy everything that was pure and sweet in her.
Initially, she blamed it on their lack of privacy, given the ultraconservative joint family setup. Ajay too reasoned with her, “Amu, we cannot live the way we want to with everyone interfering in our lives. I lose my temper because I get frustrated.” She would sit quietly and listen to him say, “I am so sorry. Don’t make me do these things.”
Ajay belonged to the proud legacy of Ray Chemicals, dating back to the British era. Though the Ray family looked down on Amrita’s middle-class upbringing, they consented to the match, as she still fitted the stereotypical ‘fair-convent-educated-homely-Brahmin’ bride category of the 90s. Their double standard upset her constantly.
“The lady of the house should not be walking the streets after dark like a tart,” spat out her mother-in-law in disgust. Amrita listened quietly. Her in-laws discouraged any late-night rendezvous even if she went with her husband.
A sick feeling rose from the pit of her stomach every time Ajay pulled out crumpled movie tickets from his wallet for a night show, expecting her to be ecstatic. There was no way that she could refuse going, as the effect of refusal would be worse than the movie-watching torture.
The baggage Amrita carried to Lighthouse that evening possibly weighed heavier than the emotions projected on the silver screen. Her thoughts drifted from one eventuality to another, oblivious to the movie playing in front of her. The hoarse voice of a busy popcorn vendor selling as many packets of chips and popcorn as possible in the short interval and squabbling over change, brought her back to the present moment. It had been over an hour that Ajay had stepped out to grab a mug of beer. The old movie hall, its dark wooden panelling and ripped-away wallpaper teamed with the musty smell, began to choke her. She got out of the hall and headed towards the bar in the middle of the grand hall.
A few men stood there, blowing puffs of smoke and talking loudly, while others were sprawled on the green velvet sofas to her left. Amrita leaned against the ten-foot-long bar made from a single log, reminiscent of the British era. She too felt like a dead piece of wood.
“Hey Amrita, Ajay just stepped out for fresh air. He’ll be back soon.” Rajeev called out, waving his glass. “Why don’t you go back and watch the movie?”
Rajeev was one of her husband’s friends who was a constant fixture in their life. Amrita did not care to answer. She pulled up a bar stool and sat facing the old stand fan.
“Drinks, Madam?” asked the waiter.
“Water will do.” She looked away.
“Amy, hi…Amrita!” called out a gruff voice from behind.
“Oh my God!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘What a surprise.”
There stood Oliver Camillo Das, her old friend. Born to a Bengali father and a German mother, he had genetically inherited a non-conventional handsome face and an excellent body.
“Look at you! The quintessential Bengali beauty wearing that red thing.” Oliver laughed as he pointed out the vermillion between the parting of her hair.
“Thank you. I am married. What about you? Have you settled down or still the footloose, fancy-free philanderer?” she teased him.
“I am not going to answer that.” He smiled sheepishly. “I am in Germany these days. Mom’s family got me over, and that’s home now. As it is, I was no good here.”
They laughed together, and the smug lot at the bar stared at them.
Oliver was delighted to see her and spoke of a million things. It all sounded so alien that she felt that a generation had passed between them. He took a swig from the beer bottle and looked at her smiling ear to ear.
Then he checked his watch and wondered what she was doing all by herself. He didn’t want to appear overtly curious about her whereabouts but couldn’t help asking, “it’s late. Are you waiting for someone?”
Before she could answer, Rajeev looked up and waved his hand. “She is not alone. She is with us. Who the hell are you?”
“Hey, take it easy.”
“Get the fuck out of here before Ajay catches you. You got me, bro?” He slurred.
Oliver stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out what just transpired. He whispered to Amrita, “Is this your husband? The man is completely drunk.”
“Oye! Who are you calling drunk? You think I am fucking deaf. “I’ll kill you…” he attempting to rise from his seat.
“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Oliver stepped in front of Amrita, shielding her as he looked at the drunk man closely.
Rajeev’s eyes rolled, his mouth frothed, and taking a few unsteady steps, he tumbled over a bar stool. Suddenly all eyes were drawn towards them.
“You must go, Ollie. Ajay will be back soon. I don’t want any scene.” Amrita nudged a red-faced, angry Oliver, slowly pushing him away.
“And leave you alone with this drunkard. Come on. I’ll wait till your husband’s back.”
“Please go. Just let me handle this.” Suddenly she wasn’t smiling anymore, and words started tumbling out, almost hysterically. “My husband is drunk somewhere. I don’t know when he’ll be back. I will have to wait here with his friends. I mean that’s what I usually do.”
“Get out, you bastard.” Shouted Rajeev and slumped on a chair. He waved an empty glass at the waiter. “Refill, you bugger…refill.”
“Oh man! I really want to box his ears. You actually put up with such crap?” he exclaimed, reaching out for her hand. A sneak peek into her married life brought out a long-forgotten edginess in him.
“Please go. I will be fine. Believe me.” She fought the tears welling up in her eyes as she clutched his shirt sleeve with all her might and started pushing him away.
He held her hands firmly and looked into her eyes, searching for the spirited young girl he had loved so much and was that close to kissing her. Amrita too searched for the gawky teenager she had once known. She stood in silence, still holding on to his sleeve. Oliver stood very tall, like a movie star from the English classics, out of reach, almost unreal.
He was her old friend, and she had spent many lovely evenings dancing away to Beatles and Dylan with friends at his flat. His mother baked the best walnut cakes that she had ever tasted. She remembered the Christmas lunch that she had once enjoyed with his family and the evenings when they went swimming. Suddenly the forgotten chapters of her life started to unfold. A wild thought came to her mind. What if she could just run away with this man to a distant land? Her heart was beating fast, and adrenaline rushed through her veins. She wanted to pull him close and bury her head in his chest. Perhaps in his arms she would find redemption.
“You have a choice.” He looked at her for a long time as if reading her mind and said softly, “Don’t let them get to you. Get out before it is too late.”
She let go of his sleeve, shaken out of daydreaming. “Not in our part of the world. There are families involved, and I cannot afford to hurt them. Marriage is a commitment that I can’t escape.”
“Just listen to yourself; you are sounding like you belong to the middle ages. For heaven’s sake, times have changed.” He made a last desperate appeal. “Deals can be reversed. You know that.”
“I am going to be fine.” She pulled away in a final attempt, though her voice betrayed her. “It was good to see you, Oliver.”
“I wish I could say the same,” he said slowly. “I don’t know when I will be coming to India next. My brother Andy and I are here to sell our old flat. We have no roots in Calcutta anymore . I sincerely hope that there will be a next time when we meet under happier circumstances. You deserve to be better off than this.” He touched her cheek gently. “Take care, my Amy.”
“Mon ami,” she smiled.
“What’s that?” he looked at her.
“You used to say, Mon Ami…” her voice trailed off.
“You remember?” He gave her a long look, and their eyes locked only for a few seconds. “Mon ami, my Amy.”
Amrita saw him fading away as tears rolled down her cheeks. She stood quietly for a moment, then turned around and stepped back into chaos. That night at Lighthouse became a landmark moment of her life. In Oliver’s voice, she heard her own thoughts becoming words, waiting to be actioned.
There are names that surface from a long-forgotten past, and then there are faces that fade away into the nameless pit of time. Long ago, there was Oliver, her teenage friend. She laughed at his jokes, shared comic books, enjoyed their time together and was that close to committing to him. She never knew if he had ever come back to India nor did she make an effort to trace his whereabouts, fearing that it wouldn’t matter to him anymore. But, somewhere there was a secret desire to let him know that she did make her choice and moved on with life. All she wanted to tell him was, “Ollie, deals have been reversed. Just as you had told me.”
A Christmas lunch, familiar music, and a whiff of musk brought back dusty memories that flitted away as soon as they surfaced. The old cinema hall was eventually upgraded to a multiplex, complete with a shopping mall displaying contemporary brands. She often wondered what had happened to the old British furniture, especially the timeless wooden bar. That too was gone.
All that remained of Ollie and Amy were the days of innocence that he held in every swing and every move of their dance as they floated around in the incandescent light of the Calcutta flat – a sweet melody of yesteryears!
About the Author
Aditi Chakraborty is an author, editor, and communication specialist with experience across lifestyle, media, and education sectors in India and abroad. An alumna of FORE School of Management and Nottingham Trent University, she writes with global perspective and cultural nuance. Her books include Dubai Heights and Calcutta Lost and Found.
