Life in Tune with Bhairavi

Life in Tune with Bhairavi

by Paroo Das
Life in Tune with Bhairavi

Life in Tune with Bhairavi

by Paroo Das

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Overview

A rebel in her own quiet way, Tracy Austin was never one to sit silently by and let others dictate her life. A passive yet strong-willed young woman, she did not let her upbringing in a traditional Brahmin household keep her from challenging customs and traditions. In many ways, she was a victim of circumstances, but she found the strength to hold her ground when events overtook her. As a child, she played in the foothills of the Himalayas, where she blissfully chased butterflies and rainbows Her two best friends, Chotu and Chandini, were two tame elephants—and her favorite partners in spirited games of hide-and-seek. Her relationships were complicated . Tracy wasn’t sure if she even understood what love meant, when much of what she had experienced was so painful. When she is reunited with Mark, a young man who further confuses her definitions and expectations, she dares to dream of a new beginning. But on what should have been one of the happiest days of her life, her world is ripped apart. As she is giving birth, an offhand comment made by a doctor reveals something she never knew about her own parentage. Tracy is devastated. Can she find the courage and strength to move forward with her dignity and hope intact?

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781491863213
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 02/21/2014
Pages: 566
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.26(d)

Read an Excerpt

Life in Tune with Bhairavi


By Paroo Das

AuthorHouse LLC

Copyright © 2014 Paroo Das
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-6321-3



CHAPTER 1

Morning broke dull and gray with a promise of a shower sometime later in the day. The sun had not shown its glorifying radiance but it was present everywhere, gently waking up the world to daybreak.

'Tenderness of morning sunrise was the manifestation of nature's beauty in its perfection,' Tracy observed.

She had observed it a thousand times before, yet it never ceased to amuse her. It reminded her of Nanny and what she had said years ago when Tracy was a little girl.

'When you were fast asleep, night got lighted into day. Wake up baby and feel the beauty of daybreak,' Nanny had whispered in her ears as she lifted her off the bed and carried her to the window.

That was long back when she was a small girl reluctant to wake up from sleep. Though young, she was taught to feel and appreciate the beauty of dawn and to tune herself to the moods of the season. Tracy tried to pop up her head, only to be slumped back instantly. The affinity she always felt with nature seemed to have eluded her. The throbbing pain in her head and the heaviness blinded her temporarily.

She placed her palm on her forehead, and closed her eyes to feel the intensity of her discomfort. It must be the result of last night's surfeit of drinks and dance, why she hardly had eaten anything at all! She drank and drank until she felt tipsy, lightheaded, and totally disoriented. Absurd, Tracy thought; it was one of the occasions when she was determined to enjoy and that alone turned the entire endeavor into a fiasco. She threaded her fingers through her hair, trying to brush away tiny locks from her face in an effort to bring back her calmness which she always considered to be her greatest asset.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room; it was not just a room but also her very private domain that was never shared with another living soul. It was a neat, small room with a large window facing a garden below. Curtains in the window were always drawn aside so that she could have an easy glimpse of the sky outside. The bed in that tiny room was also positioned such that lying there she could see the changing moods of the sky. The big magnolia, which was not so big a year and a half ago, when she first moved into the house, had almost covered the clear view of the sky. In the morning, the shafts of sunlight passing through the leaves of the magnolia touched her gently and suffused her with languorous warmth. It was an amazing feeling but not enough for her for she felt she could never have enough of London sun. Sun was rarely in its brighter self. The usual sullen look of the sky on a cloudy day dissipated her spirit. It reminded her of an Indian widow in mourning, head covered with a white veil.

Below the window, a colorful "dori" was laid on the floor where Tracy liked to spend most of her time lying with head against the cushions and a book in her hand; it was her idea of perfect relaxation.

This cozy alcove was merely an attempt to recreate the corner she had had in her room in India. The dori reminded her of the tiger skin her mother had gifted her on her sixteenth birthday, which was then laid on the floor against the window of her room, the window on which a distant hill hung like a protean landscape drawn by an artist, changing with the drifting seasons ; bright red and yellow in spring, in autumnal hues of gold and brown and gossamer forest evanesce in the distant mist On one side of the dori was the bookshelf stacked with books mostly bought from Oxford Street, a few borrowed from the library and a very few brought all the way from India. Why did a person carry books from a place as far as India, a friend had asked her once. She did not have an answer except that she probably had felt compelled to do so.

On the top of the shelf was a photo frame with the photo of little Tracy, all smiles in her mother's lap. She would put one arm around her mother's neck, press her toes against the ground and stiffly straighten her body pushing so hard against her mother's chest that she would wince in pain. Young Tracy's demand was to make Lakshmi sit alongside her. That photograph was taken a day after her fourth birthday and on the third day of Lakshmi's arrival into their house.

Lakshmi was new to the household and Tracy was in the process of getting herself acquainted with Lakshmi's way of life, her habits, her moods and her likes and dislikes. She was trying hard to make friends with her which had been amazingly easy. On the second day, Lakshmi lowered her front legs and raised her trunk to the sky, a gesture which was supposedly called "Namaste" and on the third day she lovingly lifted Tracy in her trunk and carried her all over the garden.

Tracy was very keen to have Lakshmi in the photograph but mother thought it was just fine to have them photographed without her. All this had happened so long ago, yet the memory redolent with emotions was fresh in her mind which gave her the feeling that only a step backward would land her in the past so that she could live life all over again.

Along with the photo frame was a pen-stand that held all kinds of pens and pencils and also a paper knife. Carved out of a piece of buffalo horn years ago in India, the paper knife was a special present from Ninu, the sight of which often brought back the nostalgic memory of emotions long forgotten and yet something of which was carefully preserved in the remotest corner of her heart.

On the other side of the room, in the corner near the bed, was her study table that was covered with books, loose papers, a computer and few of her possessions. This entire space was her private world, away from prying eyes, a space where intrusion was taken kindly.

Peter's presence in this room last night behind her as she was changing her shirt had surprised her and also agitated her sensitivities as she was not used to having men watch her going through various stages of undressing and dressing. It annoyed her too.

It annoyed her when he took her in his arms, kissed her hard on her lips, pulled off the blouse and stroked her body. Her immediate feeling was one akin to repugnance. She fought back, hurled abuses at him, and what followed thereafter was a nightmarish bedlam.

Mind befuddled with drinks, she reacted unreasonably. She threw him out of the house which she regretted instantly. She felt naïve; imprudent for not being able to handle his advances and childish for not giving allowances to a dear old friend whose behavior in an inebriated state called for a mild chastisement but not outright condemnation.

A feeling of shame mingled with regret at the memory of the previous night inflamed her face. She closed her eyes; an unusual tiredness akin to disappointment engulfed her. Peter, in one of his frivolous moods, was probably trying one of his practical jokes on her which was a natural part of his character and one which he was so well known for.

Peter Nicholas, a handsome young man in mid-twenties with blond hair, tall, well built physique, caressingly seductive smile, pleasing manner, frivolous at times and outrageously mischievous at others, was her dear friend for the last one year. He had an offensively careless attitude towards life, living from moment to moment on whims, taking life with a passive indulgence. His tendency to give in to a good deal of self-indulgence in terms of both time and money had amazed her.

He frittered away hundreds of pounds on a card table overnight, took off to a remote hill resort or idled away days after days in country house being a passive observer of the sun rising in the east and disappearing in the west.

As a highly social individual, he had his moments of aberration too which was expressed by devoting some of his precious time in Hyde Park, attending rallies on Human Rights or to the cause of apartheid or organizing funds for the cause of cancer. He did all those and more, as he said not out of choice but as a duty of a humble citizen towards his fellow beings. Those were "good deeds," as he would call them; small virtues among the vices which he seemed to have acquired during his short span of life.

Peter was a wastrel; squandering away money and time could be either his compulsive passion or a favorite pastime. He was born with the riches that his predecessor strived so hard to acquire. It had merely been passed on to him without having him to lift a finger for it. It was all given to him in abundance on a platter and he received it with extreme indifference. Peter's callous indifference to money never impressed Tracy for she felt that by squandering money, he was throwing away things that were never his. But what surprised or even bothered her was his callously indifferent attitude towards life, wasting away time which was his and his alone, which was much more precious than money. Each moment squandered by him was a colossal loss, which she felt could not be replaced by money. It seemed highly improper to her, but from what little she knew of Peter, he had made it amply clear that he had never really done anything proper in his life.

He was indolent, impulsive and frivolous and everything else she despised in a man. But she did not despise him in the least. He could have been an apathetic fool, worthless and a whimsical soul or a despicable young man for leading the kind of life he lived, for which she criticized him but did not dislike him in the least.

His exuberance of spirit, gaiety and incredible charm had mesmerized her. He manufactured dreams in abundance, sold them free and despite everything, Tracy was ready to buy or barter.

Tracy knew him for over a year through a common friend and liked him instantly and in all probability had it not been for the heavy schedule in the university, she would have had spent a good deal of time with him.

Last night's party was a celebration long overdue. Her friends were trying to look for an opportunity to celebrate; and yesterday being her birthday, was an opportunity good enough to cash in. Completion of Tracy's second year in London and 'one year of friendship', as Peter would call it, were occasions that called for celebration that had been planned a week back by her friends who too had contributed a lot in arranging the party.

Indrani, along with her Iranian husband, Ismail, who were newly wedded, came along with a stock of wine and drinks. Olga, her colleague in the university, supplied the sandwiches and other friends came with small tidbits to munch. But the main contribution was from Peter who came with a wonderful cake, enough to serve a hundred guests.

There were ten other friends too. Ashish was an unexpected guest and her dear friends Rakesh and Shilpa, who were away to attend a conference in Madrid. Bhavana, her college-day friend from Delhi, turned up with her friend Alex earlier in the day and helped in moving the furniture closer to the walls, making room for the guests to move around and dance.

Together they took out the glasses from the cupboard, had them washed and wiped and stacked the plates on the table. And as they did, they remembered the good old days in Delhi. Those were the collegegoing days, the days of the first date, the first kiss, the falling in love and coming out of it broken-hearted and then friends getting together in a desperate attempt to mend the broken heart and the agonizing thought that it would never be mended.

The long walk through the narrow lanes of Chandini Chowk with glittering shops on either side of the street, trying out those dazzling colorful glass bangles for hours and ambling through the ruins of Delhi were the memories discussed at great length. Bunking classes, eating "samosas" and watching Hindi movies also frequented in their conversation.

It had been a perfect evening that ended up in a total fiasco. It disheartened Tracy.

Tracy got up from bed and walked over to the bathroom. She undressed herself and stood under the shower. Water droplets splashed over her body in cold spearing runnels that almost made her body numb. She took off the shower cap she had worn earlier and turned on the other tap that let relatively warm water fall on her hair. She stood there for several minutes turning the warm and cold water alternately till she felt light and fresh.

Having completed her shower, Tracy emerged from the bathroom in her bathrobe and walked over to the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle.

Except for some tumblers over the small dining table and a few dishes stacked in the basin, the kitchen was rather clean. She collected these and put them in the dishwasher, wiped the table clean and went up to the bedroom to see the day's schedule.

It had been an old habit of hers to go through the day's schedule right before breakfast, which gave her time to plan the day's work over the breakfast table.

Light pressure on the button brought the computer to life and gave her the brief things-to-do list for the day. Trying best to shake off the lethargy, she noted them down in her notebook. It was comparatively a light day. She had to attend to some bank work, visit the library and had an appointment with one Mr. Fraser at ten o'clock. She paused before writing down the last entry and tried to place the name that almost drew a blank on her.

Mr. Fraser was a name totally unfamiliar; hence having an appointment with a person of that name was most unusual. Her eyes moved over to the address written just below the name, which also did not seem to say much about who the person was.

No sooner did she finish writing down the address, that it suddenly flashed through her mind. Sir Andrew had fixed an appointment with Mr. Fraser, the sole emperor of a vast industrial kingdom and an old associate who Sir Andrew thought would certainly help her get a temporary job in his organization.

She could even remember his words: "Go to him dear, he will surely accommodate you. I know he will. I will talk to him and fix an appointment." And the very next day, after talking to Mr. Fraser, he had informed her of the meeting date which she had entered into the computer and blissfully forgotten.

This was all done a month ago, a period when she was extremely busy with her work in the department. She cursed herself for forgetting a matter as important as this.

I must see him and request him for a job; I need the job more urgently than I needed it a month back. With the last few pounds in bank, I could hardly survive for long.

A quick look at the clock told her that it was exactly twenty minutes to ten, which gave her ten minutes to get ready and reach the office, an office she had never been to before.

A sense of urgency and desperation got hold of her. She must not miss the appointment as it could decide her very future in London. Now that she completed her studies, only a job or some kind of earning could keep her in the city for six more months until the time her visa expired.

How dearly she would have liked to earn some money to travel to the places she always wanted to see.

Tracy ran over to the wardrobe and pulled out her dresses before she found her gray skirt, the only formal skirt she possessed and a white blouse, which she thought could be worn for an occasion like this.

'This is my only formal outfit, but then this is my first interview for a job too', she reminded herself. She put on her dress, combed her hair that was still wet and stood in front of the mirror attached to the cupboard.

The line of crease visible on the skirt made her feel uncomfortable. An attempt to smoothen it down with her palm did not really help.

'The skirt needs to be ironed but I have absolutely no time for that', she told herself wryly as she went nearer to the mirror to have a closer look at her face, which was never possible as the wardrobe was placed in such a position that the person standing in front of the mirror was in a shadow zone both from the light coming from the window during the day and from the light of the electric bulb right behind the cupboard at night. The lighting arrangement of the room was completely inappropriate; that was so probably because the room was never meant to be a bedroom.

As she peered into her image in the mirror she thought she heard some sound at the door. She paused trying to concentrate but could not hear anything. But the hint of the sound reminded her of the boiling kettle in the kitchen. She rushed down to the kitchen and knowing well that she would not have time for tea switched off the kettle, came back to the room and stood again in front of the mirror.

Her own image in the mirror did not please her. Wet hair plastered on her scalp made her look more like a kitten. Appalled by her reflection, she decided to apply some light makeup on her eyes, which she thought was the best she could do to make herself presentable.

After looking at her face one last time, Tracy hurriedly moved over to the study table and collected the books piled up on one side of it, thanking her lucky stars that the books were already separately arranged to be taken to the library. In the same motion, she collected the handbag from the top of the bookshelf and dashed out of the room.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Life in Tune with Bhairavi by Paroo Das. Copyright © 2014 Paroo Das. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Chapter—I, 1,
Chapter—II, 27,
Chapter—III, 37,
Chapter—IV, 52,
Chapter—V, 70,
Chapter—VI, 116,
Chapter—VII, 151,
Chapter—VIII, 174,
Chapter—IX, 187,
Chapter—X, 203,
Chapter—XI, 219,
Chapter—XII, 233,
Chapter—XIII, 249,
Chapter—XIV, 290,
Chapter—XV, 307,
Chapter—XVI, 318,
Chapter—XVII, 340,
Chapter—XVIII, 394,
Chapter—XIX, 425,
Chapter—XX, 439,
Chapter—XXI, 461,
Chapter—XXII, 482,
Chapter—XXIII, 516,
Chapter—XXIV, 533,
About The Author, 559,

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