Prologue Four years of knowing each other. They had never been apart for more than a day. Not even when the water had entered their homes one monsoon and stepping out had been impossible. Not when he had been in hospital with dengue. Or when she had been locked in the tiny storeroom for not listening to her Abbu. They had never been apart despite their dissimilar upbringing. They had never been apart because of their similar aspirations. He was the unrelenting wind beneath her wings, prompting her to soar higher. His undeterred support made her dream. She was the all-encompassing ray of light that brightened the darkest days in his life. Her cheerful disposition gave him hope. They had never been apart because there wasn’t any meaning to life without dreams and hope. Until that fateful day. Everything had changed in a matter of hours. Unanticipated. Somewhat like the floods; sudden and destructive. Except that it had been a deluge of blood. And while both water and blood dry up over some time, it is the bloodstains which never really fade away. *** The February sun flirted with an army of white clouds that seemed to have lost their way, meandering aimlessly in an otherwise clear sky. Swapan sighed as he held the piece of paper close to his face. A familiar floral fragrance greeted him. Faint. And yet overpowering. That scent had never left him. And it never would. He smiled recollecting his first exposure to it. *** “Uff, what a strong smell, Ma! Did you buy a new perfume? Don’t tell me it is an agarbatti.” Eleven-year-old Swapan grumbled, stepping out of the small room he hibernated in, to study in peace. Peals of laughter greeted him. “Arre, I spilt my mother’s new attar all over me and came for help. If Abbu-Ammi find out, I will be in big trouble. It was a gift from Mamujaan in Dubai,” announced a high-pitched voice. Not used to strangers in the house, Swapan stepped back and managed an embarrassed stutter, “M..Ma, I d..don’t want to be disturbed. C…Could you open the windows so this scent can be less suffocating? And could your guest and you lower your voice a bit?” “Arre, what guest? I am your neighbour and I am your age. Can’t I come over for a chat? Kyun aunty…am I right or not?” “Yes, beta,” Swapan heard Ma say. Before he could say something, the boisterous voice teased him, “Stop being grumpy. I am not here to stay. Will come tomorrow.” “Why?” Swapan asked, “ Why do you need to come tomorrow? Planning to break another of your mother’s perfume bottles?” “ Swapan, that’s rude!” Ma rebuked. Swapan went inside and slammed the door of his room. After a few minutes, he heard the unexpected visitor leaving. He heard the familiar sound of the pressure cooker whistles interspersed with the clanging of pots in the kitchen. He relaxed. But that scent, that damned scent persisted. And much to his surprise, the laughter too. *** Swapan folded the precious letter and kept it in his table drawer. It had been lying there for the last four years. That was all that he had of her. That and a bunch of stories. Stories that they had lived. He preferred calling them stories and not memories because in his heart he believed that stories could be revived. And he could begin living them all over again. The pitter-patter of excited footsteps announced the arrival of the kids. The kids who were now his life. They filled his days with unconditional love. The initial days of shyness and the awkward silences were long gone and now his abode echoed with melody interspersed with giggles. It was amazing how music bridged the gap that words couldn’t. And this was not the only time Swapan had witnessed it. He had experienced something similar a lustrum back. *** That morning in July had brought with it the first whiff of the monsoon. Swapan had woken up to the constant banging of an open window. As he had walked up to the window to close it, an unfamiliar tinkling of bells had caught his attention. The sound had been new to him. There seemed to be a pattern to it. He had listened with keen interest and started tapping his fingers against the window pane in rhythm to the tintinnabulation. Recalling the notes of a song he had been recently taught at school, he started humming along. Absorbed in the moment, he hadn’t realised how powerful his voice was; how his singing had crossed closed doors and opened a few too. That morning in July had brought a fresh wave of enthusiasm in Swapan’s life. The musical trysts had continued, beyond the superficialities of name or greetings, beyond the mediocrity of the whos and the wheres and beyond the complexities of time and space. It had taken a month for the truth to dawn on Swapan when one day the familiar tinkling of ankle bells had seemed to be unusually closer, prompting him to rush out of his room. He had felt a rush of warmth on his cheeks on realising that the sound was echoing in his own home. “Ah, here he is. Now, he will ask me to stop and turn me out again, is it?” she mocked. “Not that I will listen to him, aunty. I need to practice for my competition tomorrow and Abbu is at home, so I cannot practice there. Abbu is dead against my dancing. Your son is going to be like my Abbu.” Swapan shook his head in bewilderment. It was hard to digest that the enticing sound of anklets had the same origin as the repelling shrill voice. Not to forget the compelling fragrance too. But then, he remembered the past few mornings and grinned. And he simply went back into his room, left the door ajar and started singing, his fingers tapping his desk. He sensed the sudden silence outside. He fathomed the initial hesitation of the anklet bells. And then as his voice had risen to an unbelievable crescendo, he had heard a pair of anklets lose all restrain with their bells breaking into a joyous dance of exhilaration. “Arzoo! Arzoo!” a distant voice interrupted the unusual rendezvous. “Coming Ammi!” The tinkling of ankle bells faded away. But the magic remained. The magic of melody and rhythm had not only opened a few doors but broken some walls too. Walls that were invisible but existed. Walls that were protective but stifling.Walls that ensured safety but kept the light out. **** The door opened and Swapan came out of his state of reverie. Little Aamir had come rushing in, panting for breath. “Late again, Aamir?” Swapan chided. “Swapan bhai, Apa took me with her. She wanted to participate in a photography contest. But she also wanted her pictures taken with those colourful flowers…those ones…Arre, I am forgetting their name. I didn’t want to go…what flowers…how boring…But bhai, they are lovely, like the rainbow has come to the ground. You must see, bhai.” “Arre, how can Swapan bhai see?” quipped Aadya. “Sssh,” a few kids quietened her. Aamir stuttered, “S.. s..sorry bhai, it was so beautiful that I wanted to share it with you. I forgot that…” “That I can’t see? That I was born blind?” Swapan completed the sentence taking a deep breath. “Sorry, bhai !” “No, no Aamir. You forgot that you are my eyes. Whenever I am with you all, I see everything, every little thing that even a person with the best vision cannot. I hear your excited chatter and perceive every possible colour in the world, I hear your elaborate descriptions and feel I have visited the seven wonders of the world, I hear about your day-to-day activities and learn how to go about mine and above all, when you all call me bhai, I see a love that is unparalleled with any other.” “Then, you have to go there with me, bhai.” “Yes, bhai, you promised a picnic last month. We all can go together,” Aadya insisted. “Yes, yes, picnic picnic, picnic,” the kids cheered in unison.” “But where? I didn’t even understand where Aamir wants to take us,” Swapan said. “Wait, I will Google and find out…what was the name of those flowers, Aamir?” an older girl pitched in. “Can’t remember. But they are blooming right now, and won’t be there for too long. It’s some T.. festival.” After a pause of a few minutes, he shouted, “ Here it is. bhai, didi found it. Tulip, yes tulip festival. We must all go.” Swapan felt his heartbeat stop. Tulip. That was not just the name of a flower. That was much more than a name. The mention of tulips flooded his heart with a myriad of colourful emotions. Emotions that he had long concealed under a veil of darkness. *** “Uff… my clothes are all soaked and I lost my chappal in the water,” Arzoo grumbled wading through knee-deep water. “Arre beta, the water has entered most houses. You shouldn’t have ventured out today.” “Aunty, we have to record Swapan’s song today and send it,” Arzoo emphasised. “Today is the deadline. He will not do it on his own. I have got to know him very well in these three years. If this big musician likes it and becomes his mentor, then no one can stop Swapan from fulfilling his dreams.” “Bless you, my child.” “Aunty, I am fourteen now, not a child!” “Ok, young lady, what’s with the scent?” chided Swapan. “You didn’t forget to wear it even on a day like today.” “Haha, so that you know of my presence wherever, whenever.” “You wore it before you met me.” “Actually, I met you because of it, didn’t I?” Arzoo chuckled. “Yeah, sure! How can I ever forget that?” “I don’t know why I love it. The bottle has a picture of a flower on it. I have seen the flower in many movie songs. You know, Swapan, rows and rows of colours – red, yellow, pink, violet, white. All together, similar yet different. Reminded me of us humans, all of us co-existing irrespective of our colour, names, castes, and religions. What if we are different? We mingle with each other yet we are all beautiful, and exquisite in our own way, aren’t we?” “That’s worth a thought. I think I understand what you are saying despite not being able to appreciate colours as they are. But which flower are we talking about, if I may ask?” “Tulips. And I want to believe that this fragrance that adorns me is from a tulip….” “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I studied somewhere that tulips do not have much of a fragrance,” Swapan interrupted. “You can sure take the romance out of everything Swapan. Well, I believe that a fragrant tulip is rare, like me!” Arzoo had declared. “And my dear, you must not lose rare things!” “Can we start recording?” Swapan had digressed, visibly uncomfortable. *** Swapan couldn’t think of going to a tulip garden without Arzoo. How could he? Just mentioning them had created turbulence inside him. Wouldn’t he break down in front of his students thinking of all the multi-hued dreams that Arzoo had dreamt? He had not realised when her dreams had become his aspirations. But then, he had never accepted how much she had meant to him. He hadn’t ever acknowledged how his days had become brighter with her non-stop banter. He had always shied away from telling her how he waited for the familiar banging on his study door every evening. And now, he had lost her. Holding his tears back, and straining to keep a straight face, he addressed the kids, “ This flower festival …what was it’s name …it’s a bad idea. We should go to a fun place. A water park? Or India Gate? Or even Sundar Nursery- I heard it has music festivals too.” “Sounds good,” said Aadya. “Arre no, these places will always be there bhai. The tulips are only there for a few days. Apa told me they have opened it for visitors only till the end of February. We must…” “Aamir, I think we have wasted enough time,” Swapan interrupted. “Let’s get on with the Raag Yaman song that I taught you all last time.” Swapan was thankful for the black shades that he wore. They hid the turmoil inside him. They served as the perfect cover for any embarrassing display of sentiments. They had never betrayed him in the past either. *** “I want to travel and dance; dance on every possible stage in the world,” Arzoo exclaimed. “Ishnallah, you will,” Swapan said. “It’s INSHALLAH, dear.” Arzoo replied, “ And I want to take you with me.” “Think about that. I will slow you down. A snail cannot catch up with a butterfly.” “Had it not been for the snail, the caterpillar would have never come out of its shell.” “Nonsense. You were dancing much before you met me.” “I was dancing less for myself and more to Abbu’s tunes. Hiding and practising. Rehearsing in secrecy. It was your faith in my calibre that gave me the courage to talk to Abbu about pursuing Kathak seriously. You came into my life for a reason, Swapan and you are going to be with me always.” “You also got locked in that rat-infested storeroom because of my suggestion,” laughed S. “That’s a small price to pay for what I got after that, right?” “Hmmm.” “And can I ever forget how you stood outside that room, in the scorching summer sun, talking to me through the small vent?” “Haha…I got you into trouble, so I was making up for it.” “Swapan, stop it. Why is it so difficult for you to admit that you love me?” Why, Swapan?” exclaimed Arzoo. Swapan fiddled with the walking stick in his hand. He stuttered. He stammered. He didn’t know how to tell Arzoo that he wanted her to fly rather than be tied down with him. He struggled to speak up. But she did not let him. For she shut him up with a kiss. A peck on his lips which lasted for a brief moment. A moment which would stay with him for a lifetime. A moment where a gentle caress seemed to have brushed away all his doubts. But the black shades. They never betrayed him. Stoic. Unwavering. They stood their ground. Even as his whole being longed to take her in his arms. *** After the children had gone, Swapan gave in to the storm brewing inside him. “Ma !” he called out, “ Ma, I miss her. I miss Arzoo.” “I miss her too, beta. She brought light back into my home the day she stepped in. There was something about that girl.” “Why do you say ‘there was’? There ‘is’ something about her,” cried Swapan. “ Arzoo is out there somewhere, Ma. She is.” “Yes, yes, she is… Beta, please calm down.” “I could never tell her how much I loved her, Ma. And…and then I could do nothing for her. I lost her, Ma. It’s my fault.” “Ssh, my dear. You know nothing was in our hands that day. What could you have done? Those were the darkest days I witnessed. Days when I was glad that you didn’t see what I saw. I still get nightmares.” “True Ma, my blindness is better than the blind following that leads people to kill each other,” Swapan sighed. “Sadly, people, who have been blessed with fully functional eyes look out for the differences and overlook the similarities. I do not see those differences. And so I do not differentiate. But I can sense. Sense the vibes emanating from anyone approaching me. Most humans are the same, with the same fears, hesitations, and frustrations. The same dreams and desires too. Their hearts beat for their loved ones and their brain pushes them to work hard and achieve. And when they do not find a solution, they turn to ‘God’ – the Almighty in despair. The ways of reaching this Supreme energy are different…they may fold their hands in Pranam or raise their cupped hands in Dua. I fail to understand why it causes a rift. How can they ever reach that divine energy by harming their fellow human being? “What do I tell you, son? Do you not remember how everyone thought me to be dead after our house burnt down in those devastating riots? Those who fought for their religion ..did they stop to wonder who they killed?” *** Swapan heard Arzoo gasping. “Our houses, Swapan. There’s smoke coming out of the windows. The miscreants have set them ablaze. Abbu and a few others are trying to douse the flames.” An hour back, Swapan had accompanied Arzoo to her dance rehearsal. The girl had been adamant about going despite the worrying circumstances. It had been quite an ordeal returning. “Ma, Ma” Swapan cried out loud, panicking. He could smell the acrid fumes. He felt helpless even as Arzoo, her Abbu and the others rushed about doing whatever they could. The chaos, the mayhem and the mindless violence had been going on for the last two days in the eastern part of Delhi. Now it had reached their doorstep. It was only after a couple of hours of battling the fire, a few men could go inside the houses. Arzoo’s house was empty. But, at Swapan’s house, a ghastly sight awaited them. There, in the bedroom, lay a charred body; charred beyond recognition. Swapan could hear murmurs all around. They had been contemplating how to break the news to Swapan when a familiar voice shouted out, “Swapan! Are you ok?” “Ma. oh Ma!” Swapan’s mother was standing before them, shaken and dishevelled. “Aunty, we thought…” Arzoo’s voice trailed off. “I had gone to buy the inhaler for your mother, Arzoo. She was breathless due to anxiety. I let her rest on my bed and rushed to the chemist. But I got stuck there as the police blocked the road, not letting me return. Where is she?” A shocked Arzoo pointed towards the blackened house. “ Ammi!” Then she screamed,” Does it matter anymore what her religion was? Can you look at her unrecognizable remains and tell me whether she was Hindu or Muslim? She has vaporised into thin air, just as we all will merge with the elements one day. Will you label the elements, the air, the water and the earth as Hindu or Muslim too? Arzoo crumbled to the ground. Swapan stood, paralysed. And then they lost each other in the frenzy of angry mobs, police sirens and tear gas. February, a month synonymous with the advent of spring, goodwill and cheer. But the February of 2020 was not to be so for Swapan, Arzoo and many of their neighbours. It was instead a harbinger of gloom, pain and destruction. And what seemed to be an unending separation. *** Four years had gone by. Swapan had no news of Arzoo. Her father’s cell phone was switched off permanently. Swapan and his mother had shifted to a smaller place nearby. After his schooling was over, he had started taking vocal music classes for children in the neighborhood. It was the only thing that cheered him up. The chattering kids made him feel closer to Arzoo. Their incessant banter made him laugh occasionally. As he prepared for the day’s lessons, Aamir came in. “Early today, Aamir? Did the sun come out from the west today?” “Arre no bhai, I just came to take you to the Tulip festival. You have to come with me.” “Again, the same thing, Aamir.No means no. Anyway, you told me it would be over in February. February has ended.” “Bhai, this is a leap year. Today is the 29th, the last day of February. You forgot?” “It’s a le..eap year? It didn’t strike me.” Swapan spoke in a daze. “And I know of a promise someone made to you on the last leap year, bhai!” Swapan stared at Aamir in disbelief. “How do you know?” *** Swapan had found the letter on his bed on returning from school. The characteristic scent had conveyed who it was from. That someone had made the effort of getting it written in Braille. Dear Swapan , Date: 20th Feb,2020 There is an old belief about the leap day. This being a leap year, I want to make that belief come true for us. If you are ready to take that leap of faith with me, let me know. I will be waiting to hear from you on the 29th. Arzoo 29th February 2020 had come and gone amidst the upheaval in their lives. Swapan could never let Arzoo know. He often took out the letter and wondered ‘what if….’ *** “I told you Apa loves tulips, Swapan bhai.” Aamir quipped as he guided Swapan through crowds of visitors admiring the splendid display of tulips. “But you never disclosed who your Apa was.” “She is my cousin. She came to live with us after her Abbu passed away from COVID -19 in 2021. She never talked much. Last year, when I was discussing about your singing to my Ammi, she overheard us. That was the first time I saw her smile.” “Oh..Abbu is no more?” Swapan’s face fell. “Here’s a bench, Bhai. You sit here.” “Are you sure you can find her here, Aamir? “ Swapan asked. “ It seems there are too many people here…huh..Aamir….” There was no answer. “Aamir?” Swapan took a deep breath. The mid-morning breeze played with the blooms and brought with it an array of aromas. All of a sudden, he became aware of a familiar scent. He wondered if it was the tulips. “I told you, you would know my presence wherever, whenever!” a voice from the past nudged. Swapan’s heart skipped a beat. He felt a soft hand on his hand. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you Swapan. On this leap day, are you ready to take the leap of faith with me? We could fly together, you know! ” The black shades betrayed Swapan for the first time. The tears gushed down his cheeks as he embraced his lost soulmate. “Tulips are magical and those with fragrances are rare. So am I. And you better hold on to rare things dear,” Arzoo whispered in his ear.