—45—
Talwarpur Palace
[In Urdu]
Dear Elsie,
Do I remember the day at your art school?
I remember the light pouring from your skin as you stood in the ballroom, looking for me, and the blaze that shot from your eyes when you saw me.
I felt I had been born for that very moment, when I knew it was going to be all right, that you still loved me.
We kissed in the garden, and I thought I might dissolve entirely.
I remember the siren lure of you looking so closely at me as you painted, the delicious anticipation of that hour and the kisses we shared in the courtyard afterward.
I remember the storm at the party and the rain pouring down as we met that evening, alone, and burning. Have there been two lovers more in love than we were then? I cannot believe there ever have been.
What I also remember from that weekend was the terrible picnic, the colonial hysteria of the tent, the absurdity of the mix of decorations, some of it India, some of it Africa, none of it real, and the man (what was his name?
Payton?) drawling his superiority into what could have been such a good day.
It spoiled my mood, and I regret that deeply.
If only we had known that we had so little time, I would have used it more thoughtfully.
But isn’t that how it always is? “If only we’d known” must be one of the oft-used phrases in the world.
Never doubt I remember. I remember all.
Stay whole, Elsie. Stay alive. I worry about you every day, every hour, thinking of the blitzkrieg raining down on you and your dear mother and all of beautiful London, destroying it.
Tanveer
PS: One small beauty is the camera I bought Channan. She has taken this photograph I think you will like. Gurdaya says he looks exactly like me at that age, which you would remember, too.
PPS: I remember you reading to me, to all of us in the hospital.
It might not have seemed to have made much difference, but it was a great kindness.
I remember the flowers, too. You brought them from a garden and set a little vase on each soldier’s bedside.
I am sure there are men from that ward who still dream of you, jaan. I am among them.
[Enclosed photo of Kirandeep, age 13]