Titli

It was almost 05:00 AM, Khoka strained his eyes to look at his wristwatch. In another few minutes he would arrive at his destination.

The shrill cry of the porters and tea-sellers meant it was the station Kathgodham. Generally, Khoka travelled light, however this time he was carrying two suitcases, the extra one was for a dear friend whom he was visiting in Ranikhet.

From Kathgodam, Khoka hired a taxi. An hour and a half later, he reached the hotel where he had booked his stay in Ranikhet.

Khoka was excited. And a little nervous too! How does she look now? He vividly remembered the twinkle in her eyes and her dimpled cheeks. Has her hair grown long enough to touch her shoulders? What about her missing teeth? Her impish smile. Has she finally picked up the alphabet? Could she speak Hindi fluently? Does she still need to be rocked before sleeping? Will she recognize him?

Khoka’s mind was a whirlpool - thoughts, questions, emotions - all going around in no serious order. He gulped down the tea and finished a light breakfast of toast and eggs. The next minute he found himself in a tuk-tuk (auto-rickshaw) chugging along the cobbled road that would finally take him to her.

This was Khoka’s second visit to Ranikhet. The previous one, about a year and half back, was more keeping his academic interests in mind. He was working on a research paper as part of his M.Phil submission. Field visits were a regular feature to collect data for his study. He had met Titli during one such visit.  

She was all of four then. Wiry and frail looking for her age, Titli had the most beautiful smile. And a very sharp mind too! During their first meeting, Khoka requested her to recite any  poem. She chose – “Johnny Johnny Yes Papa.” Blushing, and with frequent nods of her head that made her hair fall over her face (she had to pause to push them back) she recited the poem in grand style.  Titli…, Titli…, Titli…-the audience boisterously encouraged her with cheers and applause.

Khoka took out his pocket camera and asked if he could click a picture, Titli suddenly became conscious. Preening herself, she pirouetted like a ballerina, held the helm of her skirt, tilted her head sideways, and exhibiting a toothless grin posed for the camera. She has all the airs of a star in the making, Khoka thought lovingly.

Titli stayed in an orphanage for HIV children along with her foster parents. She did not go to school as no school was willing to admit her. Her parents taught her at home.

Being a shy child, she would take time to warm up to a stranger. Yet, for some unknown reason, she and Khoka got along like a house on fire. She would call him Kaku and would look forward to his daily visits. While together, Khoka would read her stories as she made monkey faces imitating him. She loved playing hide and seek, and one of her favorite hideouts was the space under her bed. Crouching underneath, she would call out to Khoka, daring him to find her. Khoka would put up a big drama of trying to look for her here and there, all the while calling out her name and not finding her. Then he would slowly tiptoe to the bed, bend down to look under and cry out loudly - ‘I Spy, I Spy.’ She would lay perfectly still without making the slightest noise, refusing to come out. She would relent only when Khoka flashed a torch on her face and implored her to come out.

For few months, after returning from Ranikhet, Khoka had exchanged correspondence with Titli’s parents. However, his work and other pursuits kept him busy and slowly the connection broke. Then, a few days back, a sudden letter opened the flood gates of memories. The letter solicited his immediate presence at Titli’s house, the parents had requested. The letter only said this much.  

A pleasant smile played on Khoka’s lips remembering his little friend. Suddenly a rude jolt shook him. He looked enquiringly at the driver. His glance was returned rather sheepishly, the driver pleaded guilty of rash driving. He had driven the tuk-tuk into a roadside pit. Khoka had to look for another vehicle. When he did find one, he requested the driver to be careful.

Realizing the doorbell was not functional, Khoka knocked softly. A little later, a middle-aged man, Titli’s father, appeared at the door. He greeted Khoka and invited him in. Please be seated, while I get you a cup of tea, saying the father went inside. Khoka kept the suitcase he had brought with him and sat down on the sofa. His eyes were searching for Titli.

The father came back carrying a plate of sweets and a glass of water. His wife followed him shortly. Titli was nowhere to be seen. Khokha could sense an uneasiness in the air, and he did not like it a bit. Please call Titli, I would like to meet her he asked, unable to restrain himself any longer.

The wife was the first to break down. Our daughter was a warrior she said, however, her frail body could not take it any longer, In Titli’s own words, she had now found a place among the stars, shining brightly to show the path to lost travelers.

She has left this for you, the father said, handing a little red heart shaped box to Khoka. She would wait anxiously for you each day and was certain you would come. In case you came, and were not able to meet her, this box would be her parting gift. She made me promise that you will be the first one to open this.

With trembling hands Khoka opened the box. In it were cowrie shells, a twisted iron key, a torn one-legged doll, a small mirror, used lipstick, broken comb, hair clips, and a box of crayons he had gifted her. Beneath all these, he found a letter, rolled and tied with a red ribbon. On it was scribbled – ‘FOR YOU.’ As he untied the ribbon, Khoka had to fight back tears to read the complete message - ‘Kaku, wen w i l l YOU co me, I mis yo u a lot.’  (‘Kaku, when will you come, I miss you a lot.’)

Back in the train, Khoka sat clutching the box close to his heart. He thought about the name ‘Titli.’ In Hindi it means a butterfly. Interestingly, a butterfly lives only four days on an average. Such less time, yet she is never in a hurry to go about life. Savoring each moment, without a worry chasing her, she dances, flutters and moves blithely from one flower to another. The myriad hues and splashes of bright colors that she paints the world with is a source of unbridled joy and inspiration to millions.

Clutching the box even tighter, Khoka smiled remembering his friend Titli. In her short sojourn, she touched and inspired so many lives. 

Khoka felt blessed to have known her.