Elvira Fernandez
- Feb 19

A Look of Pure Love

“Paro...? Did you even hear what I asked you?”

“Huh? Sorry Aayi... I was thinking of something. What were you saying?”

“How’s the dosa? Would you like to have one more?” Indrani Chitnis repeated herself.

“Your dosas are always yummy. I loved it but I can’t have any more. I’m stuffed.” Parvati Chitnis smiled ruefully.

“Drink the tea in your cup. It’s getting cold. Yesterday, you left in a hurry and forgot the tea,” Mrs. Chitnis said pushing her cup closer.

“Sorry Aayi. I guess I was thinking of the exhibition,” Parvati said raising her cup to her lips.

“Yes, Yes. I can understand. But you need to eat and drink also to keep up your strength,” Mrs. Chitnis said smiling warmly at her daughter. “Have you got that perfect picture for the centre spot?”

“Not yet, Aayi. And, that’s beginning to worry me,” Parvati said chewing her lip. “The exhibition is due in a week.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something. Don’t worry,” Indrani Chitnis squeezed her daughter’s hand comfortingly.

“It has to be something very special, Aayi...”

“All your photographs are special, Paro. Whether your pictures are of steaming teacups, snacks, rustic settings, common people, Indian flowers, animals, or even the betel leaves, they all tell a story. You capture everything so beautifully,” her mother said with pride in her voice and eyes.

“It’s my camera, Aayi... Papa’s last gift to me,” Parvati said and smiled nostalgically.

“Yes, and your magic. Each one is incomplete without the other. Your father would have been happy to see you doing so well as a renowned photographer,” Indrani Chitnis said and wiped away a sole tear slipping down her right cheek.

“Aayi... Please...”

“Alright... alright... I’m not crying. Don’t give me those looks. Aren’t you getting late now?”

“Fine Aayi! I’ll be back by dinner time, I guess. I hope I’ll find something for that vacant spot today,” Parvati said fervently.

“The gods are generous. They’ll guide you. God bless you!” Mrs. Indrani blessed her daughter as she prepared to leave.

“Bye Aayi. Take care,” called Paro slinging her bag onto her shoulder.

****

Parvati Chitnis a professional photographer had steadily built her reputation for finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. She was better known for her clicks of steaming tea cups, tea time snacks, broken tea cups, and the likes. At the moment dressed in a pleasant white cotton kurta, a pair of dark blue jeans, a blue denim jacket and a white dupatta wrapped about her neck she boarded a local train. Her black metal earrings and bangles tinkled softly as she made her way to an empty seat. She was going to mingle with the common people who lived uncommon lives and she wanted to capture something special that would capture the hearts of those who visited her exhibition.

She looked out of the moving train at fields and hills flying past and thought of her earlier days of struggle and the efforts she had invested to reach where she was today. This was her first ever exhibition of the best clicks of the last two years. Beautiful pictures in colour and even black and white adorned all the walls of a lengthy hall. Only one wall in the centre still stood vacant. No picture seemed to suit that spot in the truest sense, according to the theme she had picked – Love.

The train stopped with a screech of wheels and she stepped out and looked around, her camera now hanging around her neck. She was ready to explore once again today.

“Chai... Chai... le lo... Chai...” a voice called.

“Bhaiyya, could I have some tea?” she enquired. “How much?”

“Why not, madam ji? That will be ten rupees,” the boy said pouring the fragrant brew into an earthen glass. “This is kulhad waali chai, madam ji... It’s our speciality.”

“Really? Let me see how it tastes,” she smiled at him.

Parvati sipped the sweet tea and asked for a few pictures. The boy obliged without hesitation and she got a good many shots.

“Thank you for this lovely, refreshing tea and the pictures,” she ruffled the eight year old boy’s hair fondly.

Once she drank her tea she walked out of the station towards the market. She stopped once in a while when something got her attention and clicked away with the camera – women smiling through rows of dangling earrings and bangles, kachori-samosa-jalebi stalls, a lonely stray dog looking at passers-by with hungry eyes for a few titbits, women with their sweet smiles weaving fresh flower garlands, roadside stalls doing a roaring trade selling thick stuffed paranthas, idli-vada-dosa with sambhar, kanda poha, and vada pav. She captured the delicate dupattas fluttering in the wind and the lonely woman with her toddler selling balloons at the traffic signal.

The entire day passed in a pleasant haze of a myriad of colours and fragrances. It was getting dark and she wondered what she could eat that would satiate her hunger till she got home. She looked at her watch there were still thirty minutes before she intended to reach the railway station. She spied a tea stall a few feet away near the clock tower. She turned her kolhapuri slipper clad feet towards the wooden benches where people were devouring maska-bun and washing it down with hot, sweet and fragrant tea. A smile lit her tired face as she approached the stall.

“Tera saath hai toh... mujhe kya kami hai...” the owner was humming as he stirred the tea on the fire.

“Is this song for the chai or your wife?” Parvati queried with a smile.

“For the chai, madam ji,” he replied, then looked at his wife and added warmly. “It is for this chai that I sell, so that I can bring everything I can for her.”

Parvati looked at his wife who was standing nearby preparing the maska-buns. The woman blushed and smiled shyly at her husband.

“What would you like to have, madam ji?” he asked courteously.

“One chai and one maska-bun.”

“Sure, madam ji. Just a minute,” he said. “You can sit there on that bench. I’ll bring it to you.”

Parvati walked to a quiet spot and sat down. She keenly observed the customers. Some were labourers and others were probably students with a limited budget.

“Here, madam ji. Your chai and the maska-bun.”

“What’s your and your wife’s name?” Parvati asked accepting the glass and paper plate.

“I’m Mahesh and she’s Madhu.”

“Do you have a minute to talk?”

He looked at his wife managing the stall and nodded.

“How long have you been working here?” Parvati queried sipping the hot brew. “Hmm... nice chai.”

“Thank you, madam ji. It’s been two years I moved here from our village. Everything was working out well but then last year I had an accident. I couldn’t walk, my left leg was fractured. I was worried how I would manage. But my wife decided to join me; she took up the stall and ran it efficiently as you can see her doing it even now. She’s very brave and hardworking. I’m so proud of her,” Mahesh looked at his wife with pride glowing in his eyes.

“Wow! I’m impressed. This maska-bun is very tasty too,” Parvati said biting into it.

“Thank you, madam ji,” he said with a broad smile. “Shall I tell you a secret, madam ji?”

Parvati looked at him questioningly and nodded, her mouth stuffed.

“I have planned to take her out for dinner tonight to a dhaba nearby once I close the stall in another hour or so,” he said with excitement in his voice. “Then as we walk home I’ll buy her favourite gajra of mogra and kanakambaram flowers.”

“Anything special? Your wedding anniversary?”

“Nahin... nahin... madam ji. Today’s Balentine day, na.”

“Good... very good,” Parvati said with a smile. “Your wife will be very happy.”

“She deserves the best, madam ji,” Mahesh said as he turned to go back.

“Yes. She does,” nodded Parvati sipping the tea thoughtfully.

****

“Thank you Mahesh ji, Madhu ji... I enjoyed the tea and the maska-bun,” Parvati said as she paid the amount due.

“Thank you, madam ji. Please do come again,” Mahesh said with folded hands.

“Sure, I will. You both make a lovely couple. Can I take a picture of you both? I’m a photographer. I would like to capture this day, this moment.”

“Why not, madam ji? Come Madhu,” Mahesh beckoned to his wife who smiled sweetly.

“Come closer,” Parvati said encouragingly as Madhu joined her husband hesitantly. “Very good... now smile.” Madhu smiled and turned her head to look at her husband shyly as he slipped his arm around her shoulders.

Parvati drew in her breath. This was perfect. She had found the picture for that vacant spot. No wonder nothing else seemed to fit there.

She captured the moment... that look of pure love!

Khachak!