A Poem That Turns Into a Song
Kushal didn't come to teach for the next two weeks.Apu thought perhaps Kushal-da would never return. But after a few more days, everything went back to normal.
Outside, it was pouring heavily. Kushal sat by the window, lost in thought. He had already finished all the piyaji.
Apu walked in and said, "So, you're stuck, huh?"
Kushal smiled and replied, "Am I stuck, or did you all trap me? Just wait, in a while my mother will start calling. I'll have to answer where I am and why—I'll be tired of talking."
Without saying anything, Apu took her diary from the bookshelf and sat on the other side of the window.
Looking at the diary, Kushal said, "You've never read your poems to me. Today you will. It'll help pass the time."
Apu hesitated, a little shy. Hugging the diary to her chest, she said, "Oh please, I can't really write that well. Just a little here and there. You'll just waste your time listening to my silly poems. Instead, I can recite Antara Banerjee's poems."
Kushal laughed. "Silly girl, how can poetry be good or bad? Poetry is just the expression of one's feelings on paper. I know you write well. Come on, stop pretending and read. And anyway, I already know all her poems by heart."
On one side of the window sat Apu, and on the other, Kushal. Outside was the familiar city, soaked in rain. The drenched trees and the worried faces of people on the footpath became silent witnesses to Apu's poem.
---
Coming out of the washroom, Pratap said to Jaya, "Can I get a cup of hot coffee? Otherwise, I might catch a cold."
Jaya pointed to the table. "It's already there. Take it. And what was so important that you had to come like this, Pratap?"
Pratap said, "I couldn't stay away without seeing you all. Believe me, I felt empty inside, so I came."
Jaya smiled faintly. "Or was it your physical hunger that brought you here?"
Taking a sip of coffee, Pratap replied, "You've never given me anything except humiliation. May I know why?"
"Because because of you, I've received nothing but humiliation in life."
"I love you all. That's the only reason I endure all this, Jaya."
"I loved you too. Maybe that's why today my daughter has to hear the same things I did—that she is an illegitimate child."
Pratap shouted angrily, "Who said that? Take me to them!"
Jaya calmly replied, "Don't shout, Pratap. How many mouths will you silence? The whole neighborhood says it. And yet, the truth is, Apu is yours…"
Jaya fell silent. Pratap said nothing more and quietly sipped his coffee.
---
"My entire being is filled with your reflection,
Within me, it is only your name that remains.
I wish you would love me just a little,
I long to receive the worth of my love.
Your touch plays across my body,
I carry your scent with me all day long.
Perhaps you never look at me that way,
Yet my heart is filled with your memories.
If only you could look at me once,
If only you could come a little closer,
I have given you everything I have—
If only you could love me a little."
---
Silence filled both sides of the window. Kushal listened intently to Apu's poem. Apu, too, seemed lost somewhere, gazing at him as she read. Outside, the rain continued to pour. The city was drenched in love's downpour.
Apu didn't realize how essential Kushal's touch had become to her. Whether while teaching or after scolding her, she would wait—hoping he would gently place his hand on her head and say, "Alright, study properly next time. Do you think I like scolding you?" His soft, affectionate words would pierce through her newly blossoming youth and reach her heart. She would calm down and sit quietly. And she would keep making the same mistakes, just so he would touch her once more.
"Wow, that was wonderful," Kushal complimented.
Apu snapped back to reality, lowered her gaze, and said softly, "You sing very well too, Kushal-da. I have a wish, you know."
"What wish?" Kushal asked.
At that moment, two more voices joined in with compliments. Jaya and Pratap stood at the door, having listened to the poem.
"That was beautiful," Jaya said. "Where do you get so much love from?"
Apu said nothing. Kushal asked again, "What was your wish?"
Apu glanced at Jaya and lowered her head again. Jaya encouraged her, "No use being shy. You have to speak your wishes."
Looking at Kushal, Apu said, "Kushal-da, I really wish my poetry book gets published, and you compose songs based on my poems. Will you do that for me?"
Kushal replied, "I promise you, Apu. If anyone plays the biggest role in publishing your book, it will be me. And I will definitely compose songs based on your poems. I promise."
Tears welled up in Jaya's eyes. Pratap stood with folded arms, staring at Apu. Tears rolled down Apu's cheeks. Outside, the rain still poured heavily, the city drenched, and along with it, Apu's dreams found a new direction.
These were tears of joy—tears of promise. Kushal-da would turn her poems into songs. What greater happiness could there be for Apu?
Continue....