Barrister Parvateesam

As I didn’t respond, they came closer and said, “Hello, Johnny!” “You’re mistaken! I’m not Johnny,” I replied, moving ahead. “Too young!” (meaning, too much of a youngster), they laughed to themselves and walked away. Young men and women, strolling arm in arm along the road, watched this spectacle, laughing and going about their way. Some were lovers in their middle age, some were married couples, and others were just pairs. A few of them tried to greet me, and when I didn’t reply, they attempted to grab my hand and pull me into their group. I gently freed my hand and said, “Sorry, good night,” and walked on. Noticing this, they called out, “That’s right, young man! You’ve got to be jolly careful!” Well done, boy, you must be a little careful with these people, they said as they went on their way. By the time I reached my lodging, it was midnight. The landlady and her children seemed to be in deep sleep; not a sound was to be heard. I quietly entered my room. On the table, the landlady had left a little hot milk and two or three slices of bread with a pat of butter. I drank the milk, changed out of my clothes, put on my pajamas, and, thinking over the night’s events, wished myself good night and went to bed.

The next day, at three in the afternoon, I went to the meeting place the young lady had mentioned. By the time I arrived, she was already there, waiting for me. As soon as she saw me, she came forward with a gentle smile, said, “Good afternoon,” and extended her hand for a handshake. “I’m so glad you came. I was confident you would, but still, I had a little hesitation. After all, your face doesn’t look like one that tells lies,” she said without a trace of doubt. “So, you can judge a person by their face! Please teach me that art as well. Whoever I see, I only notice the good in them. Why is that, do you think?” I asked. She laughed and replied, “You see good in everyone because you are a good person yourself.” Chatting thus, we went to a nearby hotel, had a light tea and snacks, and then went to a cinema.

There, they screened a film starring a certain Charlie Chaplin, which was full of humor. That was the very first time I watched a Chaplin film—words cannot express how marvelous it was. Without a single line of dialogue, without song or verse, the entire story was made clear to us solely through their acting. How skillfully they accomplished this! And Chaplin’s comic performance was simply extraordinary.

For about an hour, I, the girl sitting next to me, and—why just us?—all the audience in the hall were utterly enchanted by that comedic acting. We were so absorbed, so delighted, that we lost ourselves in waves of laughter and joy. The hall resounded with our laughter.

When the picture ended, we stepped outside, had a little more tea, and then, chatting away, we strolled leisurely up a hill for an outing.

By then, it was around six o’clock. By the time we arrived, hundreds—no, thousands—of people, all in pairs, had already come to the hill for their excursion. More than ninety percent of them were young people—young men and women.

All the young men and women, paired up, sat here and there, utterly fearless and unconcerned, embracing each other, laughing, chatting, lost in their own world as if they were the only people atop that hill. Just like in the movies or plays, they seemed to forget the outside world entirely, reveling in their own happiness. Only a handful—some mischievous fellows in one corner, a few girls in another—sat apart, gossiping among themselves. We reached one such spot. Though by now I had grown somewhat accustomed to such scenes, here, apart from romance, nothing else seemed to exist. We sat down as well. For two or three minutes, neither of us knew what to say.

Then, the girl looked at my face and said, “Why are you sitting so silently? Did you bring your friend all this way just to sit in silence?”

I laughed and replied, “You need to correct that a bit. I didn’t bring my friend here—my friend brought me. So, the responsibility of entertaining me with lively conversation falls on you.”

She smiled and said, “Is that so? Then first, tell me about yourself—where you come from, how long you’ve been here, what your experiences have been. Tell me everything, one by one. That should keep us occupied for a good while.”

I said, “I don’t know if it will pass the time or just give you a headache.”

She laughed, “No matter! If a headache starts, I’ll quietly slip away and fetch a headache tablet without even telling you.”

With such introductory exchanges, two or three hours slipped by in conversation—what I said, what she said, what either of us talked about, I couldn’t say. Time sped by so quickly in our mutual acquaintance that we didn’t even notice it passing; it was our stomachs that finally reminded us. Both of us, in unison, suggested we should leave. I stood up first, offered her my hand, gently helped her up, and we strolled slowly towards the hotel.

There, after having some refreshments, we each went our separate ways, agreeing to meet again sometime. I returned home and sat for a long while, lost in thought. That girl was truly intelligent, gentle…

The enthusiasm she had shown in the theater was nowhere to be seen now. She made no attempt to come closer, neither in word nor in deed. It seemed she had come simply to make the acquaintance of a new person, but she gave no hint of expecting anything more than that. I thought she was just like me—alone, come to pass the time.

As I was thinking