He gently shut the door behind him. That left him alone in the room – a small room of about 7 feet by 8 feet – the bathroom. The bathroom – one of his favourite places.
This has been his favourite place for years. Ever since the time when he left behind his age of ‘only play’, ever since the mid-teen when a feeling of loneliness stealthily crept into a corner of his heart he started to fall in love with the closed loneliness of the bathroom and the saga continues till this day when grey streaks and lines are rapidly increasing their prominence on his appearance. It gives him so much – that bit of time to be off from the bustle of the day, that bit of time to pass with himself, that bit of time to rekindle, reinvent himself.
He loves the lines Mirza Ghalib -
Dil Dhundta Hei Phir Wohi Fursat Ke Rat Din
Baithe Rahe Tashabur Mein Janam Kiye Huye
It is beyond him to have the luxury of Fursat Ke Rat Din; the bustle of the day, the schedule does not allow him for that. What he yearns for is only few odd minutes of Fursat and he believes he definitely deserves that and the small space inside the bathroom is ever eager to lend him exactly that.That’s why the love saga of long years.
He stood in front of the mirror for a shave. He loves the mirror, the bathroom mirror in particular. He took a long pause before picking up the brush, as he does very often, to take a hard look at himself. The mirror always tells him the truth. When he is in jovial mood the mirror asks him – hi you, what’s up, so happy today. On a sullen day the mirror enquires – oh ! what’s the matter, why so damp today ? Now cheer up cheer up. Ever since a sense of ekaki a sense of tanhai a feeling of loneliness amidst all nestled in his heart, he has been passing some time with the bathroom mirror. He is sharing his joys and sorrows, ups and downs with the bathroom mirror all throughout these long years probably more than with anybody else. The mirror had faithfully and truthfully showed him the He in teens, in youthful days, in middle age and now at the doorstep of old age. The mirror made him see appearance of the thin blackish line just above his upper lip, appearance of beard on his cheeks and chin and helped him to use the razor first and is faithfully helping till today. The mirror gave him the shock of his life showing him the first grey line in his dark hair. The mirror even reads his mind and guides him to think and rethink and rethink, plan and re-plan and re-plan and make up his mind on so many matters. That’s why he is talking to the mirror with all intimacy throughout the years.
He had a good leisurely shave and sat to relieve himself. A while later, leaving the body to relieve itself the mind flew off. While the body remained in the 7 feet by 8 feet confine the mind went boundless. In such a situation he zooms off to the sky, beyond the universe, back to the earth moving through imaginary places and veers off the places he had been so far as well ; he becomes a child, he turns a teeny bumpy boy and flashes up with the boyhood buddies; he travels down the memory lane and recalls the odd events of the bygone days as also recent days and picks up one or two threads and develops a story. He had painstakingly thought out good number of stories sitting on the seat in the bathroom. But only a few have found a way out of his heart through the pen to be scribbled on paper. Vast majority of the stories have remained inside him and got redone, redressed number of times but not seen the light of the day. Had he not been lazy enough with the pen the stories and poems would have made few volumes. He postpones that at the excuse of not achieving the desired standard and also at the excuse of keeping in store for a post retirement occupation.
After hopping and scurrying through places and memories he framed one story, reframed an old story decided to pen down ASAP knowing as always that time won’t be ripe soon to do so with fursat.
He felt relieved and got up for the final event – be under the shower. The falling water provided the excellent setting, the perfect background music and he found himself murmuring a song as he soaped. He repeated the song letting his throat open up a bit more and became bolder to sing one more and then one more – Bhupen Hazarika, Md Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Jayanta Hazarika interspersed by numbers of Khagen Mahanta ------. The background music, occasional percussion on the wall, the excellent echo effect made him bolder and bolder and he continued with Jagjit Singh, Talat Mehmood, Ghulam Ali and felt like there being no singer better than him ever. He surpassed all and soared and soared leaving all great singers of yore, all actors of repute of his time by the wayside. Fursat in the confines of the 7 feet by 8 feet made him the best singer ever, the best actor ever that he always yearned to be – oh what a voice what tone what variations what perfect selection of lyrics what poetry what composition!
A gentle knock at the door and the mind came back to the confines of the four walls and confines of the body. She said gently—It’s almost crossing the hour mark, don’t make yourself catch cold. He lowered his tone, murmured the last one-- a slow melodious number, as he turned off the shower, wiped and wrapped the towel around the waist ; he felt thoroughly entertained – entertained with Fursat in the confines of the bathroom by himself -- the Best Entertainer.
Rekindled and refreshed he opened the door, stepped into the bustle and got consumed in the beeline of schedules with a lingering spirit left behind by the entertainer.