The car stopped. A smart solider in Bravo uniform opened the door and crisply saluted the colonel, my dad. While another chap opened the door for the lady. It was a rather breezy autumn evening in the small picturesque cantonment of Nilgiri hills. The cold northern winds sweeping down from the mighty peaks of the mountains greeted me like a long lost friend. It was another of the Saturday night balls at the gymkhana club. It had been a couple of days into my diwali holidays. Wellington was the most ideal place to spend some laidback days doing nothing in particular, before the arduous term started again back at the university. I was yet to get fully acquainted with this town and most of the folks here, and it also didn’t help that I had nobody of my age group who could familiarize me around. But then again I wasn’t complaining.
The gymkhana was situated in a small valley, which was formed at the low points of two mountains ranges. A small stream of spring water flowed into the valley, through its gardens. To complete the vista, the gymkhana building was a big sprawling bungalow made of Malabar teak wood with red cobbled roof and small charming lights illuminating the bungalow and its verandah. The bungalow was constructed in mid nineteenth century to cater for the likes of Viceroys and the top brass of Army and Administrative services of ‘The Raj’. This was later converted into a gymkhana Club. The Inside of the gymkhana was maintained quite exquisitely. It had all the hallmarks of the time bygone. The walls were beautifully decorated with myriad objects, Right from the long muskets to the hunt trophies. There was a different section for trophies and the gifts donated by various dignitaries dating back a century and a little more. The loveliest of all was the ball room. It was a sprawling hall with red tapestry adorning the walls and the French windows, complete with golden embroidery. The teak on the dance floor was polished to a high finish. And the chandelier had more than a quarter of the room covered with its crystals and competing with it were the small but glorious bulb holders.
After meeting with the acquaintances and the family friends, I was left to fend for myself. I walked myself over to the bar, ordered myself a drink and sat down at the corner of the bar, from whence I could see the dance floor and hear the melodious music being played. I was minding my own business, when I crossed paths with a relic. I saw her flutter past me in black evening gown. Her tantalising perfume and her lush back hair tied elegantly in a crystal bow had me totally enamoured. You see, this relic, she was a friend of mine from a not too distant past. We had been quite close friends in high school, lost touch when her folks moved out. Her name was Alisha Sharma and I hadn’t seen her since then.
I watched her walk by, hardly able to believe it was her. That’s when she turned and took a seat near the fire place. The light dancing from the log fire on her beautiful ivory face was breathtaking. Her eyes they were same as I remembered, so brown that when she faced the fire, they had a orange tint to them. She hasn’t changed much, except maybe her hair are a little longer and curlier at the end. Right there, in that moment she looked like an Elf princess, descended straight from the heaven. Her slender arms against the black satin were so flawless that even a feather would have glided down effortlessly. It was as if was seeing her in a new light. On her right hand were blue, red and black bracelets that looked like darkness themselves. The necklace she was wearing was looking as if the star constellations had themselves descended in them to personify the elegance. She wore blue earrings that were in the shape of a hearts with silver metal feathers at the ends of the hearts. They were the same ones I had given her on her sixteenth birthday. It is serendipity, I swear.
