The Diary

Summer was leisurely easing into the fall. The nip in the air was getting sturdier with a tincture of earthiness and the emerald sheen of the green-clothed trees was delicately fading into a caramel hue. Every time the chilly wind blew the golden rusty leaves took to the air in a graceful dance, pirouetting around in their own orchestral rustling.

The night was ready to cast its spell of darkness and sew the stars on the dusky sky like pearls on an ink black curtain.

“Grappy!” called someone in a mellifluous voice from the lawn.

“Yes, my Zoya baby!” said Nasr looking over his shoulder at the little tot who had a small old book in her hand.

‘The Diary’, he whispered struck with pure nostalgia which zoomed him back to 80’s when he had the first rendezvous with it.

13^th October 1988

“It’s 3 already”, groaned Nasr as he scurried across the lawn.

The shrill noise of doorbell was unanswered, a slight tug on the doorknob left door wide open. The living room was softly lighted with a sombre tangy glare of the electric bulb and only audible noise was a slow creaking noise of ceiling fan which resonated from the bedroom which was pitch black.

“She is asleep”, he sighed and dropped onto the sofa.

"Accounting is such a grueling task! I wish my corporation could afford apple computer installed with VisiCalc!”

Well, while the accounting firms burned the mid-night oil with 10-key calculators, ledger paper, pencils and erasers this spreadsheet tool came in like rain in a desert and reaffirmed that everything was still alright in the record-keeping world.

“If only I could use it today, I could have made it on time. In fact, I would always be on time!” thought Nasr.

As he took off his gold rimmed Timex and placed it on the tea pie table a little black diary caught his attention, he started reading sluggishly and all the VisiCalc thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“13/10/88

One thing I ask of you and you forget! Maybe my family and my emotions for them aren’t very important to you. However, I want you to know that since I have become a part of your family you have become one of mine. It works both ways you see!

Food is on the dining table, re-heat if required.

Please don’t try talking to me I am not in a very talking kind of mood.

Till when? (You ask)
I don’t know about it yet.

Yours sincerely

Upset Numa “

His heart sank when he reached the sincerely part of the mail. ‘Upset Numa’ and ‘how do I fix this?’ were the only thoughts that echoed in his mind. Crestfallen, he walked into the bedroom and slipped under the blankets gingerly with an ache in his heart and resolute to make things better.

It was cloudy the following day, the sky was covered with an uneven knitted blanket of mottled grey as if overwhelmed with emotion, tears threatening to unleash.

“I should have kept some quarters with me and have gone looking for the booth myself instead of waiting!” thought Numa as she packed the lunch box for Nasr.

It was 1988 and the only way middle class folks could communicate with their family and friends staying in other states was telephone booth other than the weekly trips to the postbox. One could see the queue getting longer after 10 p.m. in the night when the STD rate would be 15p/min.

 “What should I do?” She thought as she saw the second’s hand racing and the minute’s hand was sluggishly following it to strike 12.

“Nasr said he’ll be back by 9 P.M.”

“Had it been in my hometown I would have found out the nearest phone booth. I don’t even speak Bengali to ask anyone on the street for instructions”.

“I told pa not to marry me off to someone who works in some other state all together!”

“No one ever listens to me!”

The cuckoo cooed out of the black wooden German clock as it struck 12:00.

A fat drop of tear rolled down her left cheek. 

“Happy Birthday papa”, she whispered.

Her train of thoughts was interrupted when she walked into to the living room to find Nasr and couple of men standing around the tea pie table.

“What’s going on?” she asked aloud

“Where did you go early in the morning and what is there….” She froze as her eyes fell on the black rotary dial telephone.

“Nasr!” she exhaled as a quick smile flashed across her face.

“You never have to wait for me to make a call Numa. Moreover, your family and your emotions mean the world to me” said Nasr reassuring.

“Grappy, what is it?” said the little kid.

“This my dear is your grandma’s complaint diary” said Nasr as he took zoya in his arms and walked into the home.

“Honey! Look what I have found” called out Nasr in the living hall waving the diary at Numa.

“A 30 year record of our sweet and sour saga!” she exclaimed.