F for Flamboyant lovers

The post F for Flamboyant Lovers on Day 6 is written as part of http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/  'Blogging from A to Z April (2015) Challenge.


We were crazy lovers. Ah! The ones who kiss passionately in public, stealing glances and cuddling affectionately to scare the crowd off the road. They called us flamboyant lovers. It was the 70s in what was called Bombay. We wouldn't give a damn to the conservative moral guardians, looking down on us and their eyes threatening us, "You are spoiling our culture. Have some shame!"

We loved shaming them. It gave us pleasure. She would dress in short skirts, dragging me towards her lips and smooching. We would yell in the bus and freak out when she saw a cockroach beneath her feet. She would freak out and clutch to me. It gave me a thrill and we yelled together not once but thrice to scare off commuters who would turn around and looked at us, aghast. The conductor chided us in Marathi, before throwing us out of the double-decker bus that gave a panoramic view of the city.

We were everything that young lovers were not. We did everything in the open, swearing, taking long drag of cigarette and getting intimate on the bench in an era where our friends would meet clandestinely and pretend to be good kids in front of everyone. We wanted to shock people. After all, life is lived once.

We pranced our way on Marine Drive, swinging from one end to the other. We were high on life and love, gulped a bottle of beer openly on the backseat of the bus which our co-passengers were oblivious of.

Her voice slurred, "You are crazy, my cho chweet punching bag? You not scared of cockroach..why did you yell and distracted the boring passengers out of their slumber...See, because of you we were thrown out of the bus."

I played along, "I shouted because you shouted, Your Highness. You see, I do whatever you do."

"Oho!" She mocked me. "My sweet crazy man. We scared people. We must make a gang."

I surprised her with a peck. "This is what I was thinking. You know, Haji Mastan will be scared of us. The new aspiring don, Dawood, will fear us and we will take over the city."

"We are fearless lovers and we will become Dons in the city. But, what will people call you, Behen."

"Shut up," She gave me a gentle slap. "Obviously, you don't wanna be a bhai to a behen like me."

Nah!We protested. 

It started raining and we were drenched from top-to-toe, holding hands and sprinting to Churchgate station. Finally, we reached her flat and lay on the bed.

I teased her with a feather striking her face, "I am feeling naughty."

"Feel. I cannot stop you from nurturing feelings," She tried to ignore me.

"Let's make love," I teased her.

She suddenly became serious, "Why are you thinking about sex at this time? Let's make love to each other's soul. We are fearless lovers. We don't need to follow the routine route, followed by everyone who pretend to have unflinching moral values yet do the contrary."

We hugged each other. Our soul did the talking.

Identity, triumph and love

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In the small town of Ravijain there lived a small boy Prakash whose parents were labourers. Despite advice from relatives the illiterate parents believed in education and toiled hard to educate their only son. Sometimes, they would sacrifice their food so that little Prakash can have a proper meal and that he is properly educated. They belived in him as the rest of the villagers laughed on the parents."They are losing their time educating him while he should have helped them ploughing their cultivation. In this village nobody attend school. Can't they see that they are wasting money educating."
Prakash grew up and won a scholarship to study in Bombay-the city of dreams that villagers have only dreamed of all. After all, it is a scholarship offered by the government of India. His father would proudly tell everyone that his son is going to study at the famous Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) in Mumbai, the city of dreams. It lead to envy in many of them whose sons and daughters secretly nurtured the dream of moving to Bombay and earn lots of money.
It's been six years now and Prakash has graduated as a civil engineer. He earned an annual placement of 10 lakhs at Tata steel. He is proud of his achievement and even more of the sacrifices made by his parents so that he can make a decent life. Often, he would think of his parents and what they must be doing in the village. Till he met, Ankita who was his classmate at IIT. Ankita moved to Muscat from Shimla when she was 6 and returned to study in Bombay 12 years later when she turned 18. She is the daughter of a rich media baron. Class divide did not came between and soon they fell in love with each other. Class did not matter. After all, they are both education and has landed in plump jobs.
"Prakash, won't you call your parents here?"
"Ankee, you mean here in this flat. I mean we stay together and as it is they are village folks. Do you think they will understand us and our lives?" 
"Mujhe kuch sunna nahin hain. I am dying to meet my future in-laws who educated you and made sacrifice so that one day I was able to meet you. Very few people from the village and that too illiterate people would make an effort to realize the importance of education. By the way, have you realized that they are far away from you and must be longing to see you? I know that you cannot go back to this life. But, sometimes, they can come down to Bombay and we can to Ravijain. "
"Ok let's sort out the things. Ankee do you think your parents will accept our relationship. Your parents are very rich and as it is if they happen to know that you are in a relationship with someone who belong to a modest background."
"Hello dude. Don't worry about this. It's my life. I am independent and earning good money. They can't dictate terms to me. I've got train tickets to Ravijain and we are leaving tomorrow morning to meet your parents.
Prakash and Ankita left early morning for Ravijain and reached the village after 26 hours. From there they took a place and Prakash spotted his house faraway from a distance. The house was made of slab and he can vision the tiny room where the three of them would sleep. The house was surround by rice field which belonged to the villagers. There was hardly any moving soul or the sound of a vehicle zooming unlike Mumbai. 
"Ankee, you must be bothered by the dust, isn't it?"
"Yeah it's quite dusty. But, I'm enjoying it coz it's the village of my baby," she kissed him on the right ear.
As they entered the house, they saw a slim and tall woman drapped in a blue saree sitting on the floor.
"Maa". Like a school boy Prakash leapt towards his maa and she stood straight, tears in her eyes,"Beta, Me and Baba was longing to see you," She hugged her son tightly.
"Maa,where is Baba?"
A feeling of sadness crops the lady and a twinge of tears falls down on her cheek. She maintains a stoic silence.
"What happens Maa?"
"It happened two months back. The entire village was flooded and Baba was in the rice field and the water washed the entire village and he was swayed away. The whole village looked for him and two days later he found his body."
Ankita moved towards Prakash and held the palm of his hand tightly. Both Ankita and Prakash asked Maa to accompany them to Bombay. She flatly refused."This is my village and will die in the village. But, I am happy you came and go back to Bombay and make me and Baba proud. I know he is happy that our sacrifices has not gone in vain. One day you come and make me visit your city. Waise mujhe bahu pasand hai." Ankita and Prakash touched the feet of maa. They left for Bombay on the same day.