Kala

                          
"Are you a Malayalee?", she asked me with a lovely smile on her face.
She seemed pleased when I replied in the affirmative.
She was a Tamilian but could speak my language with ease, I learned.
I had made appams and stew for this group of women residing in our building.
kala seemed to be a nice, sweet person.
Short and dark, she carried herself well with a quiet dignity about her.
I didn't know her too well. She had recently arrived with her family on a transfer.
She asked me if I could join her on her daily evening walks.
I was more than delighted with her offer, since I needed a walking partner badly.

Thus began our friendship. Like a tiny bud, slowly blossoming into a lovely, sweet smelling rose.
We cherished those evenings, walking along still, wide roads, away from the hustle and bustle of traffic.
No horns blowing or cars screeching to a halt.
She inevitably began her conversation with, "what did you cook today?"
Then we would gently explore each others' culinary skills.
She seemed to be a good cook and handed me valuable tips.
I still cherish them.
I learned she was good in sports, had done a short stint in the N.C.C.
An artist and was a pretty good singer too.
I encouraged her to begin painting classes at her home, but she promptly dismissed the very idea.

Days passed by.
I discovered she had some discomfort about her mom-in-law, who seemed to dislike her thoroughly. She often talked about her, yet with no bitterness in her voice.
Kala never gossiped. Our conversations usually centered around her family or food. She seemed particularly perturbed about her nice,quiet college going sons.
Their future, their career.

We had this party at her place. I helped her with preparation of the vadas.
Her usual chirpiness was missing that evening.
I wondered why. But didn't venture to ask.
Our walks slowly came to a halt.
As also the trips to the market.

One day I called her up. The phone rang and rang. Nobody picked it up.
I smelt something fishy.
After a few more weeks I could wait no more.
I went upstairs. She lived on the eighth floor.
I rang the bell. Twice. Heard a female voice giving directions.
The door opened. Her husband told me she couldn't meet me now.
Could I come back later?
I couldn't take it anymore.
Proud that I was, I decided never to step into her life again.
She had just insulted me!

One night I had a dream. I saw kala on some kind of a medication.
Then another dream which wasn't a nice one.
I quickly dismissed them.
It had been almost six months. I hadn't met her all this time.
No one knew her whereabouts.
Then I saw her. She had come down to attend the republic day function on our grounds.
She had chopped off her waist length hair.
She answered everyone's queries with her usual shy smile, giving away little.
She greeted me too. I smiled halfheartedly and turned away, still bitter with her.
"Do come over to my place", she invited me beseechingly, as we found ourselves in the lift.
Maybe she felt hurt by what she had done, I reasoned.
I didn't go.
One day she called. She had been to Port Blair. How she had enjoyed it!
A few days later I called her just to give her some information.
Didn't talk much. Hadn't forgiven her yet.

Early one sunday morning, my neighbour called me.
kala was hospitalized the night before. She couldn't breathe.
She was put on the ventilator.
The doctors had given up on her. She was dying.
Of cancer.
I felt my world falling apart.
Numb with shock, I rebuked my neighbour for not informing me.

But it was too late.
An hour later she was dead.
Residents of the entire building were present when her body was brought in.
She looked asleep, draped in her beautiful saree.
Calm as always.

I felt remorse flooding my entire being.
I had failed to sense her need for me in her acute distress.
I had completely misunderstood her.
If only I had barged my way into her home in spite of her resistance.
Or even responded to her faint cry for companionship, when she did call.

Now it was too late.
It took me a long time to come out of my grief.
We had been together only four months. But our friendship had been so deep.
She impacted my life in a profound way.
By her life and by her death.

Kala taught me to value life.
And friendship.
To accept and cherish others without pride.
Or prejudice.