My name is Robert Browning. Born 1812, died 1889. 12th December 2009, exactly 280 years have elapsed after my demise………..and how the world has changed……..
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day……..
It was I, who wrote this…..so many years ago…….and yes, it has been 163 years since we eloped, Elisabeth and I….oh, and those were the days……
I shuddered at the thought of eloping with someone, the one thing in life I would never probably experience. I fidgeted with the brownie in my hand and inspected it carefully, only with my eyes, not my mind. Mind was somewhere else, floating, in the vast expanse of the universe I have created around me. Brownie-Browning – So that’s where Browning came from, trying to trace my way back the train of thoughts to recollect why I had been thinking about Browning for over the past few minutes. I suddenly realized that all this while I had been contemplating the brownie between my fingers and a poker-faced expression was staring at me with big soulful eyes.
I blinked and came out of the trance and threw him a furtive glance. I must have looked embarrassed, for with raised eyebrows he leaned forward and probed in his archaic, pompous manner “Pray tell me, what the matter with you is? Why is it so special - that brownie that you behold?” We knew Ricky for the past 35 years or so and were accustomed to his queer, antediluvian language and I nearly smiled that he did not substitute ‘thou’ for ‘you’ on this occasion. My usual self would normally take note and go bantering at him but not today. I looked at him, glanced away and finally met his eyes “Nothing, man. It’s just that I have not been keeping well” He reached for his wallet and carefully pinched out two hundred rupee notes and tucked them inside the leather folder placed on the table. Before I could say something else, a chinky waitress attired in a red outfit appeared from somewhere as if by magic and asked permission to clear the table. Once done, she flashed her plastic smile with the mugged up “Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day, sir”. We thanked her and slouched our way out of the café. “Hmmm….not feeling well, is not it? I reckon it is for that reason that you spake to me yesterday over the telephone?” he smiled, something which he rarely did and I observed his countenance as we traced our way through the umbrageous corridor of flora back to his office. His frail constitution and balding pate embellished by a crown of white hair made him look like he 70 although he was only 55 years old. I raised my hand to feel my hair and convinced myself yet again that they were there, intact, despite the hairline threatening to recede since quite some time. I returned his smile and he continued expressing himself more with his emaciated hands than with his vieux jeu speech “I am told you are now a man worth his weight in gold? Am I to believe that? Travelled every single nook and corner you have. And what have we got yonder? Some wrinkles to cover your forehead, that is all, is it not? ”
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,
The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,
A year ago on this very day……..
It was I, who wrote this…..so many years ago…….and yes, it has been 163 years since we eloped, Elisabeth and I….oh, and those were the days……
I shuddered at the thought of eloping with someone, the one thing in life I would never probably experience. I fidgeted with the brownie in my hand and inspected it carefully, only with my eyes, not my mind. Mind was somewhere else, floating, in the vast expanse of the universe I have created around me. Brownie-Browning – So that’s where Browning came from, trying to trace my way back the train of thoughts to recollect why I had been thinking about Browning for over the past few minutes. I suddenly realized that all this while I had been contemplating the brownie between my fingers and a poker-faced expression was staring at me with big soulful eyes.
I blinked and came out of the trance and threw him a furtive glance. I must have looked embarrassed, for with raised eyebrows he leaned forward and probed in his archaic, pompous manner “Pray tell me, what the matter with you is? Why is it so special - that brownie that you behold?” We knew Ricky for the past 35 years or so and were accustomed to his queer, antediluvian language and I nearly smiled that he did not substitute ‘thou’ for ‘you’ on this occasion. My usual self would normally take note and go bantering at him but not today. I looked at him, glanced away and finally met his eyes “Nothing, man. It’s just that I have not been keeping well” He reached for his wallet and carefully pinched out two hundred rupee notes and tucked them inside the leather folder placed on the table. Before I could say something else, a chinky waitress attired in a red outfit appeared from somewhere as if by magic and asked permission to clear the table. Once done, she flashed her plastic smile with the mugged up “Thank you, sir. Have a pleasant day, sir”. We thanked her and slouched our way out of the café. “Hmmm….not feeling well, is not it? I reckon it is for that reason that you spake to me yesterday over the telephone?” he smiled, something which he rarely did and I observed his countenance as we traced our way through the umbrageous corridor of flora back to his office. His frail constitution and balding pate embellished by a crown of white hair made him look like he 70 although he was only 55 years old. I raised my hand to feel my hair and convinced myself yet again that they were there, intact, despite the hairline threatening to recede since quite some time. I returned his smile and he continued expressing himself more with his emaciated hands than with his vieux jeu speech “I am told you are now a man worth his weight in gold? Am I to believe that? Travelled every single nook and corner you have. And what have we got yonder? Some wrinkles to cover your forehead, that is all, is it not? ”
......to be continued.........
