Love is Not Blind

He grinned. "Hey Siri, can you come out and meet my new neighbour Reshmi," he yelled.

"I am sorry, I cannot find anyone by that name," his iPhone responded.

"Looks like she doesn't like you," he laughed and so did I.

"That was a fast one you pulled and I fell for it," I was still laughing.

"You laugh from your heart, Reshmi, your laughter communicates your joy so vividly."

"Well," he said as he held his phone towards me, "I can't keep Siri unhappy, I depend on her a bit too much, so will you plug in your phone number?"

"That, I must say, is a rather creative way to ask a woman for her number." I laughed, as I plugged in my details into his phone, and then dialled it so that I could capture his on mine.

"I have saved it as 'Reshmi Rana,' Rana is my surname, it is an ambiguous surname that can come from multiple states of the country and even from Nepal and Pakistan, but I am a Bengali."

"Rana is also an Arabic name, it means 'eye-catching,' did you know that?"

"Wow! No, I did not know that. I got your number, what do I save your name as, I mean your surname?"

"Chari," he replied, "that makes me a proper Tamil vegetarian guy, except that I love chicken and fish, so long as the bones have been removed."

"You won't believe this, but I can't stand fish, I just hate it."

"Fish hating Bengali? They must have switched you with some other baby at the hospital when you were born." We were laughing again.

"Since you have my phone, why don't you scroll through the phone book and take down all the numbers you need, like Vimala's number, or the milk delivery guy's or any other that you think will be useful to you?"

When I had done that, he asked, "Shall we eat? You can light the candle, there is a lighter on the dining table. But you will have to extinguish it later for me. I will set the table."

"Nayan, can we do without the candle? Maybe someday, we can go out for a candle lit dinner somewhere? You see, sometimes I tend to worry obsessively. Once I go back, I will keep wondering if I had really extinguished the candle completely."

"Hey, I know that feeling, my sister Sunaina does that sometimes."

"Can I help you set the table?"

"Yes, certainly. You can also help me warm up the food. Come along and I will explain the rules around here."

I marvelled at his spatial awareness as he went about pointing out and explaining things to me. This is how Vimla organises my stuff. "This here, is the hot case, this will always have the rotis and they will be reasonably warm, the outer vessel has hot water and the rotis are stored in the inner compartment. The round serving bowl will always contain the lentils, that is the dal or the sambhar. The square one will always hold the dry sautéed or fried vegetable dishes and the oval one will have the dish with the gravy. All the containers are microwavable, so you just place it in the microwave, set the timer and wait for the beep."

He continued, "The rice will be in the rice cooker and will be in the 'keep warm' mode, once you remove the inner bowl, the cooker will automatically switch off. The kitchen mittens will always be on the shelf above the microwave. On this side, the first shelf has the pickles and condiments, they are coded with stickers that I can feel. One long sticker on the bottle is for mango, long plus short is for lime and so on. Well, just pick up any that you like. The salad or the raita and the curd will be in the fridge, on the topmost shelf. Drinking water will be from the dispenser, there are cold, room temperature and hot water outlets, all standard stuff."

I started heating up the food and as he came forward to help, I stopped him. "Can I do this for you today? Please?"

For a while, we ate silently. Then he spoke. "How is the food? Is it to your taste?"

"I think I will hire Vimala, she cooks so well. The lunch she packed was fantastic South Indian and the dinner is tasty North Indian."

"Mom taught her the South Indian stuff and Sunaina the Chinese dishes. She makes fabulous Chow Mien and Chopsuey. Dad worked out the housekeeping protocols and with Mom, furnished the apartment with the furniture and appliances."

"You have an incredible family, Nayan, they put everything they have behind you."

I looked up from my plate, Nayan's eyes were brimming.

"Nayan?" I whispered softly. Is something wrong? Did I say something inappropriate?

He dabbed his eyes on his sleeves one by one. "I went blind, Reshmi, for no fault of mine, and they suffered the most."

Then he was smiling again, "Sorry about that, and thank you for being so kind and nice to me."

"I am just beginning to know you, Nayan, and I am getting the feeling that you are going to be my best friend."

"Same here, my sweet neighbour, I am so glad you shifted in next to me."

We finished our dinner and we cleared the table. I did the dishes for him and he briefed me on how to stack them in the rack.

"On other days I just leave the dishes in the sink and Vimala does them the next morning. Saturdays I do them since she does not come to work on Sundays."

"Now you stay put, Nayan, I will be back in a jiffy with the ice cream."

He brought the ice cream scoop from his kitchen and I made both of us a banana split each. He even had a small box of nuts and sprinkles for the ice cream.

"Would you like a small cup of coffee? You can see me in action, and I really want to show off my coffee making skills."

He poured exactly one glass of water from the dispenser into the coffee maker, added two measures of coffee from the coffee tin and he switched it on. He placed his hand on the side of the coffee maker and I surmised he was feeling for the change in temperature that would tell him that the coffee maker was working. Then he pulled out the carafe of milk from the refrigerator and poured out half a glass.

"How do you get the quantity right?" I asked him.

"Physics," he said. "as I pour the milk, the air column in the glass gets shorter and the pitch of the pouring sound changes. By experience, I know when to stop."

"You harness the power of the universe to your advantage, you would have made an amazing scientist."

"That in itself is a different story to narrate. But let us keep that for tomorrow. After breakfast and before lunch. Will that be okay?"

"Cant wait for tomorrow Nayan, and I can't wait for the coffee either, the aroma is so refreshing."

We called it a night soon after. The last thing I remembered as I drifted off to sleep was a pair of hazel green eyes staring into mine.

The White Cane

*********************

I rushed to open the door when I heard the doorbell. I knew it would be him. There he stood, in a white shirt and grey trousers that sort of looked baggy. His after shave smelled so heady, and his green eyes pierced into mine. He brought a huge smile to my face with that loveable smile on his.

"Hey, good morning, welcome to my home," I said as I opened the door wide for him. And as my gaze travelled down from his eyes, my heart broke and I barely managed to suppress a sob.

He had that white cane that the blind carry, in his left hand. Over the last two days, I had not seen him with a cane, nor had I seen a cane in his apartment. Suddenly he looked so vulnerable.

He swept and tapped his way in, I held his arm and guided him to my couch and as I helped him sit, he grasped my hand.

"You are upset about something, shall I come later?"

"How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed all of a sudden, it was almost like you were holding back a sob."

"I have not seen you with a cane before, suddenly it hurt terribly to see one in your hand."

He stood up, "Hey Presto," he said as he folded the cane and put it into his pocket. "No cane!" I now understood why his trousers were a bit baggy. There was no trace of anything inside his pocket.

"Feeling better now?" He enquired.

I twisted his ear playfully. "You upset me, so I am going to punish you. The punishment is that you walk around my house till it is completely mapped into your brain."

"Just make sure there is nothing precariously balanced on any table or chair or anywhere, and watch this."

He pulled out his cane and walked all over my apartment, going around with a wide sweep and a gentle tap-tap, that could barely be heard. He walked into my kitchen.

"I smell 'Chollar Dal,' so will there also be 'Luchis' too for breakfast?"

"My god, Nayan, how do you know these Bengali names?"

"Spent a summer vacation in Kolkata with a classmate a long time ago. That is where I picked up a taste for fish."

"You know, I am almost done with the lunch preparations too, just need about half an hour before lunch time to give it the finishing touches. And now, if you will be a good boy and go sit in the living room, I will fry the 'Luchis' as quickly as I can."

"You make good stuff," he said as we ate with our fingers, "the 'Luchis' are delicious, they are practically oil free, and the 'Chollar Dal' is just yummy."

"Tea or coffee? Or would you prefer a glass of buttermilk now and tea or coffee later in the day?"

"Buttermilk now and tea later?"

I helped him to the wash basin so that he could wash his hands, and then handed him a small napkin to dry them. Then we settled down on the sofa.

"Hey, I sent that milk delivery chap to your place. Are you sorted?"

"Yes, that is done. The newspaper vendor also came over and that is also sorted." I paused.

"You had a narrative for me," I prompted.

"I love science, Reshmi," he began, "and my bachelor's degree is in Physics. I was applying all over the world for my masters. I had big dreams, I wanted to beat my hero Lawrence Bragg as the youngest recipient of a Nobel Prize. But that was not to be.

One day, when I was driving my dad's car, with our driver Farhan beside me, a truck pulled in to the wrong side of the lane, and though both of us braked hard, there was a head on collision.

The good thing was that all the safety features of the car performed perfectly, the crumple zones in the engine in the front took most of the shock, the air bags deployed, Farhan had a few bruises, and I didn't even have those. But I was unconscious, Farhan pulled me out, the ambulance got us to the hospital.

The bad thing was that while all parameters seemed fine, I came to my senses with everything except my eyesight intact. It was later diagnosed as CVI, or Cortical Visual Impairment, which means that while my eyes are good, the signals from the eyes, when they reach the Visual Cortex in my brain, are not processed by it.

Such injuries are generally seen during battles when bomb blasts and concussions cause this. In my case, the back of my head probably hit the headrest at some awkward angle.

Well, thanks to my family, I went through rehab, mostly at home. Rather it was first accepting the fact that I will probably never see again and then building my life around this truth.

Much as I was good in science, I knew I was no Stephen Hawking, I could not solve higher order differential equations in my head, or for that matter set up my experiments and evaluate the results. So I opted for my second love, English Literature. That was an equally tough journey, but I used a small recorder to record my lectures, I was provided a writer, basically one of the junior students who was looking towards earning some money while studying, and I could use the computer with its speech software.

Well, I came good, got my masters, and then got a lecturer's job in the college down the road, where I have also registered for a PhD. I have an assistant whom I have to pay from my salary. He helps me with the correction of the test papers and other administrative stuff. Then I have a volunteer helper for my PhD, a genial retired government officer who assists me in my research work for free.

I moved into this apartment because I can walk the one kilometre to my campus without having to cross a road and take the same route back. Sometimes, my helpers from college and often Vimla help me with the other chores. For shopping for my clothes and other wardrobe stuff like shoes and accessories, my family chips in. I often laugh at myself, Reshmi, for I do not know the colours that I wear. So my wardrobe has neutral colours, some whites, some blacks, some greys and some blues. So everything goes with everything else.

And lastly, once a year, I get a complete health check up, blood tests, dental work, ophthalmology, and a customary MRI.

So my life is now sorted. I am Little Jack Horner who sits in his corner and finally says, 'what a good boy am I' and all is well with my world."

"You are not little Jack Horner. You are that raging bull who sits in the corner of life's boxing ring, and when the bell rings, you come out fighting, and then go back to await the next round."

"Hey, that is a sweet thing to say."

"Can you stand up for a moment, Nayan?"

"What? You tired of me so soon? If you throw me out, what will I do for lunch?" He was chuckling.

I pulled him up. "You idiot, I want to hug you!" And I did, very tightly and for a long while. His hands went around me, in a rather delicate way, I barely felt his touch.

"You know, till now you were just a person with a voice, feelings, a soft but firm touch and a very sweet and refreshing smell. Now I can give a form to you. You have a beautiful figure and I mean it as a sincere compliment."

"Really?" I was glad he could not see me blushing.

"Yes, you are about 5 feet 6 inches, you are wearing a blouse with puffed sleeves and a frilly front, a pair of jeans, and your hair is long, straight and bouncy. Well, Bengalis are known to have lovely tresses."

"Go on..."

"A figure of 34-26-34, perhaps?"

"Damn, Nayan, even a person with eyes couldn't have been so accurate. But the last number is 36, not 34."

"Wow, I stand corrected," and we laughed.

"I saw a lot of gym equipment at your place."

"Yeah, they are recent acquisitions, treadmill 30 minutes, three days a week, elliptical 30 minutes the other three days and the spin bike every day for 10 minutes. Then some floor exercises using a foam roller and a Swiss Ball.

I love the outdoors and would love to go jogging, but that doesn't work out for me, pun intended."

I laughed, "You can go for a walk, one day a week maybe?"

"I tried that Reshmi, but you know what happens? People walk their dogs early mornings and I get dog poop on my cane."

We laughed. "This is hilarious," I said, "why don't you come for a walk with me tomorrow?"

"Reshmi, I manage exercising at home with my shorts and a tee shirt. I don't even have a jogging suit for an early morning walk."

"Big deal," I said, "once we are done with our lunch we will get one."

I picked up a dark blue running suit for him, with yellow piping round the collars and down the sides of the sleeves and legs. I pushed him into the fitting room to try them out.

"Looks perfect," I said as he stepped out. Then once he had changed, I pulled him along as I chose a similar but contrasting one for me, a yellow suit with blue piping. It was an impulse purchase, I had so many already. Then I pulled him up to the short corridor leading to the ladies fitting rooms and made him wait outside as I tried mine on.

I came out and enthusiastically asked him, "How do I look?" and then I bit my tongue.

He didn't bat an eyelid. "You look sexy," he said, "now, I need to get a heavier cane to protect you and keep all those roadside romeos at bay." We laughed.

He insisted on paying for the purchases and swiped his card. Then as we were walking back, arm in arm, I apologised for my gaffe.

"You are amazing Reshmi and I loved it. You make me feel like a normal person, you treat me like a normal person, and that is a gift I could do with every day. Thank you so much my friend."

We ordered a large pizza and iced tea. Then I said, "Tomorrow morning, I'll come over, and we go for a walk. When we return, I'll talk to Vimala for my household work, and I hope things work out."

It was a long walk, about 8 kilometres, with our arms linked tightly and his cane in his pocket. After a few hundred paces, he relaxed visibly and I found it easy to steer him along the way, especially around obstacles, including dog poop.

"I think we have developed a rhythm, Reshmi, within a few minutes, I could trust you completely and let my senses take in the breeze and the smells of the morning and the chirping of the birds. Thank you so much." Then he held me close to him.

We worked out a schedule with Vimala. She said she won't have the time to cook at two places as she had to report for duty at another apartment. Nayan suggested that she cook for both of us one shot at his place and we can share the cost. That didn't seem right to me. Finally we decided that Vimala would cook for both of us, at Nayan's place one week and at mine the next. So we both had a control over the costs and the menu. The result was that we were eating at each other's place alternate weeks.

Our friendship and our fondness for each other just grew deeper. So did our mutual trust. I left a spare key to my apartment at Nayan's place for Vimala to access my flat, and Nayan programmed his biometrics to give me access to his apartment. I was very careful in ensuring that I did not displace any of his stuff from their allotted places.

While Nayan used his exercise equipment, I preferred jogging outdoors, but on Saturday and Sunday mornings, we went for a long walk together. I became his eyes, as I described the scenery and happenings around us, and he started loving every moment of it. The rest of the Sunday, we spent time outdoors, walking around the mall, or park and sometimes in his college campus. Sometimes we took a bus or an auto-rickshaw to other parts off the city or else just hung out at home, each silently doing our own thing.

"Nayan, you now have a relationship manager, you have enough money in your account to be eligible for one," I said to him one evening.

"I don't want a relationship manager unless her name is Reshmi Rana," he replied.

"You are a difficult customer," I chuckled, "but the bank believes that the customer comes first, so you will get the relationship manager of your choice. Your sister handles much of your account and is a joint holder, so I think we should involve her in all further discussions."

"Resh, come home with me next week, we have a couple of festival holidays and that gives us a long extended weekend. You can meet my folks and also discuss your stuff with Sunaina."

I have never been called by a truncated version of my name before, but when he uttered it, it sounded extremely loving and affectionate.

A Secret Revealed

************************

Much as I was keen to meet his family, I was a bit apprehensive spending so long a time at their place, but Nayan assured me that I would really enjoy the break.

Nayan's dad sent across the car on Wednesday evening to pick us up. I had a small suitcase packed, Nayan had nothing.

"I have everything there Reshmi, right down to my toothbrush and my shaving kit. But I promise you, Mom will send us back with a carton of eatables and other goodies, and with you around, the quantities will also double."

"Go get your jogging suit, I will pack it in my suitcase, unless of course you plan to sleep till late every day."

He struck his tongue out at me, but went in and got the stuff.

Farhan came up as we were locking up. He hugged Nayan, and mumbled something and as he wished me and picked up my suitcase to take it down to the car, he seemed to be in tears.

I asked Nayan if something was wrong.

"Farhan has a massive guilt problem. He thinks that it was he who should have lost his eyesight and not me that day. He sheds a few tears every time we meet, and being a deeply religious person, every day, in his prayers, he asks his god why things happened the way they did. His god has chosen not to answer him and I can't comfort him. While everything is fine between us, I do not know how this guilt of his can be assuaged."