The Fragrance Never Fades

Time has so many a story to tell

A hint of a smile has its own charming spell

Some feelings are there which no words can convey

But the smile in thy eyes tells just all there’s to say

The leaves of a banyan, the stones of a fort

The sands that were rocks, and the walls of a court

Are silent spectators to moments that play

The time may have passed, the beauty will stay

An age may be gone, a new one is made

But the fragrance of a blushing rose will never really fade                

1964

The Rain Gods had decided to drench the bazaars of Rajkot after seven years. A stupendous downpour clogged the entire traffic around the market. I delicately pushed aside the curtain that hardly protected me against the showers outside. Immediately my wedding bangles were adorned with the rain drops as I peered outside from the tonga. 

Women dressed in simple cotton saarees were hurriedly putting aside the wares they had placed on display. The fruit vendors’ voices had risen even higher so that people could hear them above all the din. The enthusiasm in a bunch of young girls was not diminished due to the rains as they continued to try bangles of all sizes and colours that the bazaar displayed. The trinkets swayed about wildly in the rain, their sound oddly melodious. 

I sighed to myself as I leaned back against my seat. Despite being the daughter-in-law of one of the wealthiest families of Rajkot, I did not have the privilege of travelling in a traffic-free zone. I could discern a vague outline of my destination a few yards away and I pressed the driver to hurry a little. As the tonga finally drew up in front of the stall, I unhesitatingly jumped out paying little heed to the vehement protests of the driver.   

I knew it was outrageously impolite to step out in such weather, I even knew that my husband’s family might be appalled at this lack of decorum and I was well aware that my family status demanded that my pretty feet should not grace the muddy ditches that traced my path. But off late, my heart hardly listened to my mind. 

Brushing off the drops that covered my face, I walked toward the florist. He immediately folded his hands and bowed respectfully. I returned his gesture with a smile and said in chaste Hindi, “Namaste. I was wondering if you have one of those beautiful red roses that were kept on display yesterday” The vendor’s face sank apologetically as he replied “Hukumsaah, I just sold the last dozen that remained to the customer who came just now.”

I could hardly conceal my disappointment. My eyes searched for a red rose—just a single red rose but my heart knew it was in vain. The vendor enquired politely if no other flower could please me but then, what other creation could replace the beauty of a rose? I tried to brush off my disappointment as I replied, “Well— today is the 14^th of February and my husband had told me that when he was studying in England, this day held a very special meaning there. They called it Valentine’s Day and a person gave his beloved a red rose on this day. I just wished to gift him one.”

The vendor shook his head apologetically and replied, “I am terribly sorry Hukumsaah, if you had only informed me yesterday, I would have had the whole stock delivered at your doorstep. In fact the customer who bought the last lot just left. I can still see him. I turned instinctively and saw a glimpse of a black coat and the bouquet of red roses which disappeared as a group of people walked by. I excused myself and walked towards the tonga. 

My feet were filthy, to say the very least and I was wondering how I would walk into the hallway with my hair unruly and my ruffled appearance. As my mind waded into a pool of thoughts, I hardly registered the soft pat on my shoulder. I turned to see a young man dressed in a black coat. The bouquet of roses in his hand told me that he was the reason I was being denied the pleasure of a single rose.

As I made no attempt to speak, he stated politely, “My apologies, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with the vendor. I’d hate to deny a lady any flower she wishes and though I need to keep this bouquet, I do hope you would accept this rose from me”  Before I could refuse, the gallant young man withdrew the largest rose from the bouquet and handed it over to me. I blushed at such chivalry as I embarrasedly accepted the flower. My slight annoyance had not stopped me from noticing that he was a very handsome man and a small voice in the corner of my heart whispered that if I had not been married, I might not have grudged him all the roses in the world. 

Though I genuinely wished to thank him, my voice wasn’t obliging me at that point of time. The gentleman however, seemed satisfied with the smile in my eyes and excused himself with a bow.

That day was the first time I celebrated Valentine’s Day. Ironically, I don’t remember my journey back home and I don’t really remember my husband’s reaction as we had much more elaborate Valentines celebrations in the future years. All I remember is standing in the downpour in the Rajkot bazaars, my hands gently playing with a red rose as my eyes followed the black coat that gradually blurred into the jostling crowds and I have to admit— I have yet to smell a rose as fragrant as that one.

2015

“This is BOOOOORING” said my granddaughter moodily, as she made no attempt to camouflage her opinion. The fact that my granddaughter had chosen to lounge with me when more than a hundred young men graced the party made me realise just how bored she was. 

Though a grandmother is hardly the right person to consult in such matters, I genuinely believed I knew no other lady as beautiful as she. Our family’s closest acquaintances had thrown a lavish party on the occasion of their son’s birthday and though I attended very few parties, my attendance in this particular occasion was a necessity. My granddaughter Geetanjali had been receiving a little too much attention from the heir of this family and we were naturally curious to know her response.

“I hope you wished Aaryan, Geet” I enquired caustiously.

 “I am not risking that Naani— he has been gifting me so many presents that I really wont be surprised if he gifts me something on his own birthday” she said  glumly.

“My my— what airs sweetheart!!” I said laughing as I continued, “If I were you I would be impressed you know”

“Oh I’m impressed too, but not enough” she said winking at me as she added, “If you know what I mean” and we shared a private laugh at her statement.

“Take your time darling” I said as I patted her fondly.

“I cant keep sitting like this Naani— I’m getting myself glass of wine” she said smiling. After a pause, she looked around carefully and leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “Do you want a shot too? I will tell Nanaji it is a cold drink”

Being 74 did not stop me from grinning shamelessly and replying, “Yea do that” and as she got ready to get up I added, “On the rocks”

 “You’re just too much” she said laughimg as she walked away.

Dancing really didn’t tempt me now and I sat quietly scanning the room as youngsters danced to the blaring music. I could hardly relate to that songs that were in vogue these days but the fact that they were in vogue meant something. As I carelessly glanced around the room, a man suddenly arrested my gaze.

51 years. 51 years since I had last seen him and I was immediately transported back to that rainy day in the colourful bazaar. He too had naturally aged with time, but he was just as handsome. He was standing arm in arm with a young man who so obviously had to be his grandson. My family was well acquainted with all the eminent families of Rajkot and I was faintly surprised that after all these years I had still not had honour of knowing him. Just then, he happened to look in my direction. I realised that he too had recognised me after all these years as he smiled and nodded slightly and this time, I returned the gesture.

My attention was slightly diverted as I saw my granddaughter returning with the “cold drinks”. As she made her way towards me, the glass stiletoes I had strongly prohibited her from wearing slipped onto the marble flooring and she might have faced a terribly embarrassing moment had it not been for the young man I had been admiring a few moments back. He had so heroiecly caught her hand that I was really thankful she had worn those stiletoes.

 Geetanjali immediately straightened herself and replied curtly, “Thank you”

“My pleasure” replied the young man smiling at her as he handed over the wine glass back to her. As she was excusing herself, he suddenly removed the rose that adorned his breastpocket and handed it over to her. “Happy Valentines Day” he said smiling.

I could see my granddaughter trying her best not to blush. She didn’t attempt to accept the rose as she replied airily, “You’re not my Valentine”

“But you most definitely are mine” he said disarmingly as he placed the rose in the gap between her fingers and the glass. I didnt know who was blushing more, the rose or my granddaughter. 

My eyebrows were now permanently raised as she made her way towards me. We both silently sipped our drinks for a few minutes before I commented casually, “I hope you’re finding the party interesting now.”

Geetanjali grinned at me and replied, “Well, I will only say this— people might be impressing me but someone just had me floored. I have never smelt a rose so fragrant you know.” After a few minutes, Geet remarked casually, “Handsome and chivalrous”

I sipped off the last few drops of my wine, smiled and commented wryly, “It runs in the family, sweetheart, it runs in the family”

Two women, two generations, two different mindsets. I wear sarees and she has never worn anything longer than a dress. I prefer writing whereas she types faster than she writes. I love classical music while she lives on pop. But after all these years, a single rose makes her smile the same way it made me smile so many years ago. Truly, the fragrance never fades.