Page 14 - Love Story of a Commando

destined to be part of this world soon, then I would have prepared better and
cried less…if only I would have known!
But back to Mahapatra Sir.
However lowly he thought of us, we thought our state was worse
than the drought- or flood-affected people. We had our own battles to fight.
But he took it upon himself to personally avenge his forefathers and torment
all kids born with a silver spoon in their mouths. It was not fair. We had six
lectures in a week with him where he would conduct surprise quizzes, with
no dearth of cruelty.
That fateful day we gathered our courage, bunked class, and hopped
over to nearby Janpath to ease our nerves by indulging in some street
shopping. The shopping went on for three hours straight and then we
decided to check out ‘Celebrations of Life’, an art exhibition by Subroto
Mukerjee. There were two reasons we picked the exhibition—it was free,
and since it was really hot and humid outside, the air-conditioning inside the
gallery was a bonus. Delhi heat can be deadly even without its soul sisters—
smog and pollution.
Even though my patiala salwar suit, khadi jhola and Osho chappals
were not appropriate, I couldn’t be bothered. No one in our pack of four was
appropriately clothed for that kind of sophisticated event. Everyone else
there looked dapper and suave in their tailored suits and designer dresses.
They mingled naturally with the rest of the debonair people there while we
looked terribly out of place. The occasional stares were meant to make us
feel insignificant and worthless, but we roamed around the gallery like we
owned it.
I stopped before a vibrant oil painting. It was huge. A princess on a
horse was kissing a warrior in armour who stood with a sword hanging at his
side. He was holding the princess with one hand and the other held the reins
of the horse. Everything beyond them, the trees, the mountains and the river,
was blurred. The intensity of their romance was so deep that I stood
transfixed in front of them for a long time. Such love stories are rare these
days. People don’t risk their lives, strip away their pride or get stoned to
death to live an enchanting romance even if only for a moment, inspiring
generations with the ferocity of such forbidden relationships.
Just as I turned around, still thinking about that fascinating painting, I
ran smack into someone who was standing behind me. My bag slipped out of
my hands and I started falling; all because some jerk could not keep his
distance. I wanted to kill him if I didn’t die of the approaching head injury.
Within a flash of a second, I took him down along with me straight to the
marble floor.
Immediately, I felt two strong arms around me, a strong, musky
masculine smell filled my nostrils, and my gaze rested on a set of hazel eyes