"My
son's name is Ivan." Instinctively she turned her head to look at the
speaker. She adjusted her glasses and paid attention to facial features and
built up. Short-stature man in 30's, perhaps late 20's smiling daintily with
brown stained teeth. She felt an irresistible urge to talk to the
speaker, to know more about him. Was she
looking for a new relationship? Definitely not. Then what was she looking for?
It eluded her for several days. For once she thought it was infatuation but
then the mind brushed aside the thought as soon as it came. The mind questioned
the heart a thousand times but the heart kept dodging.
Something
drew her to him. May be it was the Crimea situation and his fear for the safety
of his elders back home? A problem close to her heart- common people
suffering/displaced on account of political crises. Filthy power games. She
started taking interest in the conversations that went around, albeit she understood
nothing. Their German speaking skills were way ahead her. She started following
world news. She got an idea of what was going on in Crimea.
One
day she spotted him sitting alone in the corridor. Impulsively she walked up to
him and asked him about the current, realistic situation. Thankfully he
explained it in English. Among other things, he said: "It's like big fish
eating the smaller ones."
Conversations started. The next thing she came
to know was that, he was a chef by profession. He often talked about his native
food and how it was made. Though she was a hardcore vegetarian, his cooking
explanations never failed to bring water in her mouth. Whatever he explained
seemed to be the tastiest dish ever invented. They often discussed about spices
and he eventually got to register in his mind that she came from India. One day
he specifically asked her about South Indian spices and she felt that she had
no clue except the regular ones she uses in her kitchen on daily basis. She was
no cook and for her cooking was a necessity rather than a hobby.
She cooked average north Indian food which she thought was not very exciting.
But she managed to tell him what she knew. There were actually many things
which she was able to tell him about Indian food. He listened carefully and said with a beaming
smile: "I never knew that!"
This made her feel proud of herself. She had actually surprised herself with the
knowledge of Indian food and spices she had.
Another
day they discussed more immediate families. She told him that she loved her
family and especially for her husband, she felt a strange affection which went
beyond regular wifely duties towards him. He praised her for accompanying
her husband in a foreign country, putting a well paying job on hold to be with
him. He gave her one more reason to be proud of her own self. The very next day
he confessed that her views about family have actually helped him understand
his own family situation. Then he went on telling her that his wife was the
best thing that ever happened to him and he loved his son more than anything in
the world. He added with a smile "Now I think, I understand my wife
better". She knew, he was talking
about the selfless love women have towards their husbands if they love them.
She
saw them once together. All three of them having ice-cream near the language school.
She was a petite, slim woman who looked very young. She saw their son also. Brown
eyes of the father and smooth skin of the mother. She felt an instant love for
that child.
One
day as she was engrossed in her German
lessons, a lightning struck through her brain and there came an image of the
book she had read in childhood- Russi aur Ukraini Lok Kathayein . The
images of the small tent swam before her eyes along with the memories of her
school, the Janu-Najanu books and the character in almost all the
stories- Ivan.
So,
this was the lost connection of the heart. Strange! Everything became clear-
why she got attracted to him, why she wanted to talk to him , why was he
special ? This was the lost puzzle piece. It was his son's name which connected
her to her childhood memories of the books
bought at the book fair and the red van that ferried the books to the, then
small, university town .
She
met him again when she was least expecting. This time she told him about her
childhood and the book fair mentioning that
his son's name was very special to her. This prodded another set of memories, this time in him- of
togetherness and peace that once prevailed in his native village. He told her
about the Russian- Ukraine common cultural connections, the stories about clan
war and the eventual break up of U.S.S.R. Telling her how it used to be back in
time, he confirmed that Ivan was a well-known name in the common local folk
tales. The name which stands for the righteous one, the courageous one , the hero.
She could never stop wondering, how a name
could find a long lost memory which was among the sweetest ones, lost in the
hum-drum of growing up and running around.
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