Tara Bhatta

Arun! I am tensed, brother!” I broke the ice as he turned his car at the Towson Square. “ I called Professor Hunt this morning.” Professor Hunt was my English teacher at Indiana, an old lady in her seventies. Our intimacy started when she called me to her office to talk about the compassionate essay I wrote on her free writing class. “She sounds so sweet, honey”, she said hinting at the girl I had described. “And you know professor, she’s coming here next year.” “Wow!” she flared. It would be great to see her, honey.” The next day in her request, I opened my email and showed all her pictures and her long adorable emails. One beautiful October morning professor Hunt surprisingly offered me to go to church with her and showed a truly overwhelming hospitality. The very next day was the girl’s birthday and I gave her a surprise call when it was early morning in Nepal to soothe her concerns. “Nanu!” I apprised.

“Granny wants to see you.” “Okay, My Raja! Let me come there. Your wish, my command.” I forwarded this dialogue to the old lady assuring that it would come true. Gradually her desire to see her became real serious.

Now it’s been over six months I haven’t seen her since she bade me farewell with a warm hug and tears in her eyes, as I was ready to embark on a journey to the US. And yesterday when I disclosed to professor Hunt that she had already got her visa for US and was coming soon, she without more ado invited us for next thanksgiving party. Unable to make out what to say, I just drawled, “Yes Granny. If I ever see her, I will convey your request”. Bewildered, the old lady stood numb on the phone while I could do nothing but smoulder with guilt and turn my cell off. When we arrived, Naresh was ready with my favourite fruit cocktail salad and shining bottles. It became dark and in otherwise ever arid Baltimore, I saw from the balcony raindrops falling over the blue Hartford Garden pool, perfectly agreeing my dismal mood. “My guitar has been tuned off.” I said. “I got new bronze strings today.” “You better change the strings of your mood; have some Champagne.” Arun interrupted. “But…!” “What have you ever let go, boy?” roared the today twenty-three-year-old gentleman. “So, will your Honda do the job?” “ It will take wings!”