The Time Traveller

This one, I write, as a season special, because of the many signs I received over the last few weeks, making it absolutely impossible to not pen down my thoughts. It all began when I happened to watch a movie called ‘About Time’, which was being aired on television sometime back. The movie, very simply, narrates the story of a man, ordinary, like you and I, with an incredible power to travel in time. While he is still human and does not use this power to revolutionise or change the world, he does bring his powers into play to enjoy the more poignant nuances of life. In other words, he exploits his power over time to re-live some of the moments he has already experienced - be it living a mundane day all over again, making minor corrections that may have important life-changing repercussions, or spending a day with this late father on the beach, back in time, just like the olden days. I learnt that it is extremely easy for each one of us, to take each day for granted. We are angered easily, stay tense on many occasions and waste the day by living it in stress, anxious as to what lay ahead of us at the end of the day. May be, we would enjoy the day better, if we knew that at the end of the day, we would be back home, safe & sound and that nothing had changed after all. We would perhaps notice the miniscule details of each precious moment and maybe even do a gesture or two, that will brighten up somebody else’s day. Of course, we do not want to live horrid moments all over again and those are best forgotten. But as long as we know that our day was fine, we start placing our attention on other, seemingly unimportant things. For instance, how does the newspaper guy look like? Did I smile at the person who offered me his seat in the train today? Did I compliment my maid on cooking a rather delicious meal today? To us, these are ignorable, but perhaps, they do make a larger contribution to the feeling of happiness, at the end of each regular and routine day. This was sign number one.

Then, I happened to read J.K. Rowling’s latest book, or rather play, titled ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’. At the risk of giving away spoilers, that too was about going back in time. In it, you will find a time turner which can take you back anywhere in time, but for only 5 minutes! So our new hero(es) are presented with 5 minutes to make any correction they like, to save some lives and to build new romances. That was sign number two. Thereafter I had a few more signs, e.g. coming across the book ‘The Time Traveller's Wife’ by Audrey Niffenigar in the Office library and watching the trailer of a Hindi movie titled ‘Baar Baar Dekho’, which were all about travelling in time and which, I do not wish to much digress on. Point is, there were signs, coercing me to write this. To confirm that these are signs indeed, I happened to watch a movie about signs- ‘Serendipity’! That, sealed it. So here I am, writing a piece about my revelations.

I realised that I too, am a time traveller. I travel in time, yes and do so often. Sometimes, I travel when I am at work, when the work in hand seems utterly unadventurous and drab. Sometimes, I travel while I am stuck in traffic on my way home from work, whiling my hours to re-live moments long lost and gone. Sometimes, I travel involuntarily, just like a feather afloat in air, to moments and memories that remind me to feel some precious experiences once again, before I forget them in the weariness of time itself.   

Now, I am here. It is a hot and humid summer morning in May, 1992. I am at my grandparents’ place in Calcutta, spending my first summer vacation after starting school. I wake up, open my eyes and start rolling on the bed lazily, absorbing the sight around me. On one corner of the room is a grand wooden cupboard with many drawers. Beside it, is a small window, opening to the dining room, from where I can hear my dida and dadu, chatting over their morning cup of tea. The large table fan near the dining table is churning out currents of air in boisterous glory. There is a faint noise of food being cooked, emanating from the far end of the dining room, where the kitchen rests. The aroma of garlic being fried and the distinctive smell of ‘paanchforan’ (Bengal’s signature five spices) are breezily airing up the house. In the other corner of my room, there is a mahogany dressing table with an antique mirror. The table is strewn with various types of hairclips, round bindis, a couple of combs, coins and tickets collected from tram rides. There is a sewing machine by its side, which my dida uses to tailor many fancy frocks for me, all cut out from the sarees she would not wear now. Adjacent to the sewing machine is my bed, now brightly lit by the sun rays, criss-crossing through the leaves and branches of the big mango tree outside my window. I get off the bed and run to my grandmother, asking her to give me my morning glass of milk with a dash of home-made jaggery. I tell her to put my glass on the small table kept in the verandah, so that I can perch myself on the high chair and sip on the milk, while watching the busy road outside, cacophonous with the sound of passing rikshaws, rush of the bazaar and hustling of several Office goers making their way through. But dida seems to be in a hurry. She says ‘We will be going to the hospital now. Come, get dressed. Your sister has arrived!’ I don’t react, partly because I cannot understand what this means and partly because my grand plan of enjoying my glass of milk in leisure was ruined. Where did a sister come from now? Did Mother find her in the hospital? Reluctantly, I brush my teeth, gulp down the milk and get dressed in my favorite blue frock. Dida tells me affectionately, ‘Shonai, you will be meeting your sister for the first time. Why don’t you take something for her, as a gift?’ Unsure as to what my brand new sister might like, I wander around the house. In the small garden outside, I spot a fallen mango. It was bright orange in colour and was gleaming under the sun-rays piercing through the branches of the Mango tree canopying it, almost as if it was under spotlight. I pick up the mango and carefully wrap it up in a newspaper. ‘Hurry up’, comes the voice of my dida from the verandah, which leads to the blue coloured gate outside. I rush to the gate and hold her hand. She calls out to the passing van: “Rikshaw!”

I travel back to reality.

It is a Thursday evening and I am home-bound from work. Passengers are hurdling themselves in the local train which is scheduled to depart at 18:50 hours from the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. I board the train and rush to save a seat. In a few minutes, the train departs.

I am home. It is a Sunday morning and my sister and I are playing in ‘our corner’ of the house. Last night, we had watched the ‘Miss Universe Pageant’ on Television and a stunning girl from India named Sushmita Sen had won the contest. She was so smart and gorgeous that my sister and I instantly fell in love with her. We thought, we can pretend to be contestants in the Pageant and act out what we saw on TV, starting from the final round. My sister immediately says, ‘I want to be Miss India. I will play Sushmita Sen’. I agree. We decide that I will play 5 roles in the skit: the Announcer and the other four contestants. I fish out some chart paper and create a sash, neatly writing on it ‘MISS UNIVERSE 1994’ with felt pen. But where will we get a crown? I run to the dressing table to find something. After much rummaging, I manage to bring out an abandoned plastic hair-band, with a small butterfly on it. We start enacting the final round.

Announcer: “Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen! We present to you the five finalists of the Miss Universe Contest! We will now begin the question and answer round. Our first finalist eee-ees, Miss Columbia!”

We start cheering, acting as the audience ourselves. I change sides and pretend to do some catwalk. I change sides again to be the Announcer.

Announcer: “So Miss Columbia, if you were to donate one thing to the world, what would it be?”

Miss Columbia: “My eyes”.

The answer is followed by a loud applause from the audience.

Announcer: “Thank you Miss Columbia. I now call on stage our next finalist, Miss Venezuela-ah!”

We continue to repeat the same things with Miss Venezuela, Miss Greece and Miss Brazil, replicating the questions as far as we remember. Then, it was Miss India’s turn.

Announcer: “And now, our last and final contestant, Miss India!

The loudest cheer follows and my sister, just 2 years old, gracefully catwalks into the scene. I quickly think of a question.

Announcer: “Miss India, tell us something so that the children can rejoice it”.

My sister pauses, thinks for a while and pretends to take the imaginary mic on her hand.

Miss India: “One two three four five, once I caught a fish alive

                 Six seven eight nine ten, then I let it go again

                 Why did you let it go?

                 Because it bit my finger so

                 Which finger did it bite?

                 The little finger on the right”

I wear my biggest smile. She is improvising!  

Announcer: “Bravo bravo! Thank you Miss India!”

My sister exits the scene and waits anxiously with her imaginary co-contestants, holding their hands.

Announcer: “A-aand the winner is……. MISS INDIAAAA!!!

My sister gives an ‘Óh my God, I cannot believe it’ expression and cups her mouth with both her hands, just like Sushmita Sen! I place the crown (plastic hairband) on her head and slip the sash over her. We clap, cheer and hug each other on having performed our first successful skit together. Suddenly, Mother calls out to us.

I run back to reality.

I open my Whatsapp chat with the girls and find the most hilarious conversation about an old acquaintance dating someone we knew. Then the discussion turns towards World politics, about the United States of America, about trips to Goa, about motherhood and finally, settles down on our favorite topic- food. Just then, the pressure cooker cries out the fourth whistle from the kitchen. I get up to turn off the stove. I open the cooker to check if the rice and lentils have cooked properly. The smell of freshly cooked ‘khichuri’ greets me and fogs my spectacles.

Today, I am on a swing. It is Saraswati Puja and I am dressed in a yellow coloured saree. Sharing the swing with me are my two friends, both dressed in sarees as well, in shades of bright yellow and orange. The seating area of the swing is in the shape of a long plank, hanging from the verandah, in my friend’s house in South Kolkata. Seated opposite to us are three of our other friends, also clad in sarees for the occasion, on chairs and stools collected from various corners of the house. We are all exhausted after having a sumptuous meal of ‘khichuri’, lovingly prepared by my friend’s mother. We stretch out our legs and swing back and forth, enjoying a lazy autumn afternoon. Even though the final examinations are just about a month away, we know that nobody will ask us to open our books today. After all, it is a festive day and we need blessings of the Goddess! Suddenly we hear a man loudly chanting from the road:

“Aaaaice creeeeaam

Aaaaaaice creeeeam”.

We get up and are all in attention, looking in the direction of the road from where the voice was coming. The man with the ice-cream trolley appears and together, we give him a shout out:

“Ice-cream – ala! Six chocobars please!”

He hands out the ice cream bars and we strip off the wrapper hurriedly. I bite on one corner of the ice-cream bar at once and a sweet chill starts flooding my mouth. I tightly shut my eyes!

In a swish, I am back to reality.

My husband and I wrap up dinner quickly. The clock strikes 11 o’ clock at night. One more day to the weekend, we tell each other. The lights go out.

It is a chilly December evening in Jaisalmer. We have just watched the winter sun set and are headed towards the Jaisalmer Fort, also known as ‘Sonar Kella’(thanks to Satyajit Ray) for a cup of coffee and evening stroll. We are marvelling at how the fort, now more than 800 years old, still boasts of a full township, comprising of residential accommodation, shops, restaurants, and other businesses. The setting sun casts an orange gleam on the fort, which makes its yellow sandstone shine even brighter. We walk through the lanes and by-lanes and make our way further through the narrow alleys, exploring the fort on our own. Suddenly, we find ourselves on the top of the fort! We walk ahead and find a place atop the fort, where a lone canon stood, to watch the whole city in its evening glory. The sun is gone now and the night sky is dark blue, with stars studded across it. My husband points to the middle of the sky and there it is! The lovely white moon! We perch ourselves beside the canon and just enjoy the silence. It is a beautiful night.

Soon, the sun is out and I am back to the present day.

You see, travelling in time is a good feeling after all, a great feeling in fact. We never realise the importance of time, until we miss these precious experiences gone by. It is like the Gollum tells Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit:

“This thing all things devours

Birds, beasts, trees, flowers

Gnaws iron, bites steel

Grinds hard stones to meal

Slaps King, ruins town

And beats High Mountain down”

So unceremoniously, the seconds slip by in minutes, the minutes in hours and the hours in many days, slowly engulfing all that we experience, leaving us nothing but memories. Before you get old and weary, before you forget, make sure you travel. I bet you are travelling in time right now. I hope it’s a cheerful memory. Happy journey!