Lola (originally written in Malayalam by P.Padmarajan)

My name amazed her a great deal

“A Sanskrit name?” 
“Yeah” 
“Is it Sanskrit that you speak?” 
“No” 
“Then, why the name?” 
“Malayalam as a language is very much akin to Sanskrit” 
“Still, can there be a name like the Lotus King?” 

The Lotus King?! I was embarrassed, yet I told her;

“We worship the lotus” 
She looked a little reticent. I saw that she was trying hard to tell me something, so I urged her to speak. She then asked me how we came to worship the lotus 

“I don’t know” 
“Does Obrion say anything?” 
“I don’t know” 
She grew even more shy. A faint red from her bare neck crept to her face

“What do the petals of the lotus signify?” 
“I don’t know” 
“And the sepals?” 
I was getting bored. Our conversation was beginning to sound more like an interview to me. I replied without much interest 
“I have no idea” 
“I’ll make a move”
There was a smile of mischief in her eyes. She left. 

During my four months of stay in America, it was on that day that I first came across a shy American woman. A bashful American woman had always been my imagination. Today, when I look back, I feel that this was one of the reasons why I was attracted towards Lola. 

Down memory lane… 

…I guess I am in love with Lola Milford, a student of literature. Let that be. A woman like Lola…someone so beautiful, adorable and intelligent and articulate. 

Why did you brush your leg against mine in that restaurant today? And again, why did you… 

I am not able to read anything these days. This woman is driving me nuts. Wish I could see her right now…this very night! 

She had short hair spread out on her forehead like Audrey Hepburn. 
I asked her: 
“Is Audrey Hepburn your favourite star?” 
“No, it’s Shirley MacLaine” 
I mused that the life of Shirley’s eyes were innocence. 
“Lola, you have the same eyes as Shirley’s” 
“Flattery” 
“No” 
“Yes” 
“No, really! You are the most beautiful woman I have ever come across”. Suddenly she lowered her head and then, all of a sudden, she grabbed my hand. I looked at her and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. 
“I…”, She was struggling for words...
“What is it ?”. I urged her again to speak. She pressed my hand without saying anything. 

Darkness had spread over the Lake of the clouds and a fog had started to form on the surface of the water. From a vague distance we saw a motor boat passing by. 

Lola muttered, “I.. for me,..” 
Her lips were mildly trembling and her hands, which were in mine, were sweating. Whatever it was I knew that she never was going to complete it. 

I also knew what it was that she was struggling to tell me. 

Michigan… 

I kissed her the night before we were to leave for Ohio. We were standing above the St. Croix river and there was silence all around us. While walking towards the car she held me by my waist and whispered: “ I am a virgin, remember that” 

Lola had a black mole on her neck and it bothered her. One of her teeth, the fourth one from the middle on the top row, was an artificial one. Maidens from south west America are very beautiful and imaginative. Lola had much of both these attributes. Whenever she talked about Texas, her homeland, she waxed poetic. 

Cool winds from the Bay of Corpus Christi… 
The sprawling park by the bank of St. Antoine. 
Come, come to Texas once 

She wrote poems but never got them published 
“Why don’t you get them pubished?” 
“I don’t want to be a second hand writer,” tat came her reply 

Lola was proud of American literature. Just talking about it excited her. She believed that Mark Twain was the world’s greatest novelist. Once while we were talking about him she extended an invitation to me… 

“Let’s go to Missouri” 

I agreed.

Missouri… 

In Hannibal, we stood under the giant statue of Mark Twain. The river, made eternal by him, flowed in front of us. 

Lola continued her excited speech on American literature. 

Christmas… 

I made use of the holidays to explore Las Vegas. Lola came along with me. She hated Las Vegas and appeared to be very distressed. I asked her for the reason and that day, for the first time, she spoke about her father. 

From Texas he came to Ohio for business and made money. He squandered his entire wealth by playing roulette at Reno and Las Vegas. A total pauper, he ended up murdering someone and was given capital punishment. That was the day I heard about John Milford. His wife was a prostitute; a cheap broad who appeared on TV and occasionally on the big screen. When Lola grew up her father took her to Ohio and she never saw her mother again. 

When we passed by the Reno arch Lola leaned on to my shoulder. “This place destroyed my father…,” she whimpered. She got drunk that day. Her child-like face and cheeks turned flaming red with the heat of the liquor. 

She slurringly cursed the state of Nevada

“Do you have such a city in India?” 
“No,” I answered proudly 
“Then I would also like to come to India” 
That evening, totally freed from the intoxication of her drink, Lola was riding alongside me, in the sun- cast shadow, on one of the two rented female horses, when she asked me again: 

“Can’t I also come to India?” 

I didn’t say anything. 
“Can we get married?” 
“I am a Hindu, I don’t know if a Hindu is at liberty to marry a Christian” 
“Can’t you get converted to our religion?” 
I gave her a wry smile. I held this notion that changing one’s religion for a woman would lead him to slavery. 

We stopped on reaching the shores of Lake Tahoe. All of a sudden she suggested,” Otherwise, let’s live here” 

I turned a shade uncomfortable. She perceived it and asked me,” Do you need to get an American citizenship to live here?” 
“I don’t know” 
My indifference irked her. She abused both the countries; Indian and American citizenship, India and America, a Christian and a Hindu, Christianity and Hinduism…For a while she sounded like an insane woman. 

It was at a hotel in the capital of Arizona that I told her about my state of affairs. “I may never be able to marry you, my Lola. You shouldn’t be disappointed”. 

“No, I am not disappointed,” she said. But I noticed that her voice was quivering. 

I talked to her more about my circumstances…an entire family which was dependent on me…the poverty at home (if it hadn’t been for this scholarship I would not have made it to America) And then, you, who grew up here, could never live there comfortably. There are no big hotels, no beaches…there’s only poverty; just penury. She did not seem to understand. 

Lakhs of huge buildings which belonged to the Phoenix city lay spread out in front of us. An orchestra was hurriedly singing something in a distorted manner. She looked at me, dazed 

“Poverty?” 

The day when Marlyn Monroe died, she came to my room. “Our greatest star was a fool”. She was sad.  “Still it’s better that these asses die”. And then, for a long time, we talked about suicides and the reasons behind them. She was convinced that all those who committed suicide were fools, irrespective of who they were or what their reasons were. 

In between, I told her,” At such a time when the hurt becomes unbearable, we too might do the same…” 

She suddenly  fell silent and asked me a minute later, “How many days do you have before you leave?” 

“Three months,” I replied. Later, many a time, I have often wondered what had prompted her to ask me that question at that moment. 

A week before I was to leave Lola told me,” This week belongs to me. I would plan it as per my liking. You better listen to me.” I agreed. 

“How are we going to spend this week? “.She answered my question without a trace of any embarrassment. ”This week is going to be our honeymoon…in Southern California” 

She made it sound so simple because Lola had a great fortune left behind for her by a deceased aunt.

Southern California… the famous Hollywood. Wide side-walks with orange trees on both sides, the well known Rose Bowl stadium. At the peaks of Lajola, in one of the houses that stood out to the sea, I came to know that she had told me the truth: Lola Milford was a virgin 

Sometime earlier my mother had written to me: They want to have the wedding as soon as you come back 

My fiancée who I grew up with, wrote to me : Can’t wait to see you 

Through that white night

We two sat on your window sill 

Shivago’s poems 

“Imagine that I am carrying your child within me” 

“Hmmm?” 
“I will give birth to him, right?” 
“Yes, and..?” 
“I will bring him up” 
“Bring him up?” 
“He will grow up to be like you and when he reaches your age….by then I will be very old- I will kill him” 

I felt quite sad, but still I asked her smilingly” Then why can’t you kill me now itself?” 

“I don’t think I will be able to do that”. 

Later she pressed her face to the ground and cried 

“This shouldn’t have been…all this should not have been…” 

A wind blew up from the valley where millions of Aselia flowers were in bloom. The wind blew her hair carelessly. I gently put my hands on her shoulder. She got up with a jolt and wiped her eyes. 

For a moment, she looked at me intently. Then with a renewed excitement she kissed my fingers and said, “Forgive me” 

Southern California is the land of sand dunes and a hot air hung in the atmosphere constantly 

There were giant Joshua trees, rising up to a height of thirty feet, bearing huge bunches of flowers. When the winds blew the flowers came down in odds and clusters. I took a photograph of Lola with a flower bunch in the background and she posed for it, smiling beautifully 

I took her snap and she muttered as if to no one: 

“I feel that I might commit the same blunder” 

“What do you mean?” I asked her 

“…the one by Marlyn Monroe” 

The bells of Santa Barbara mission chimed sadly. Dusk flew in low and the doors of the old church closed silently. The sound of church bells from another church crept in from a distance through the snow and reached us. In the dark, with her head on my lap, Lola asked me: 

“Isn’t that what I should be doing?” 

“Don’t be stupid. See me off happily” 
She didn’t say anything.

I felt sad.

I thought of the various faces that I came across during the past few days at the Gabriel Mission and at St. Charles Borneo facing the Bay of Carmel. The brides and bridegrooms of eternity. “ 

You should never do that. It is a form of cruelty” I told her 

The long dark shadows that have been lurking around dissolved in the dim light of the valley. Mist covered the orange trees. 

I wiped off the wetness from her cheeks 

The last day 

Lola appeared to be very enthusiastic. But I knew that it was only a pretense. We roamed around the streets till it was very dark. Now and then she would suddenly stop at the corners where the light wouldn’t reach and kiss me. The night clubs were getting noisier. We weren’t talking. I felt that Lola’s mask of enthusiasm would come off at any moment and that she would break down. 

That happened at a turning. Three young men were leading a bikini clad woman to the darkness 

She was drunk and was cursing someone in an unintelligible voice: 

Golden memories…Silver tears 

“Let’s go,” said Lola 

We continued walking and she was struggling to say something. After we walked for sometime she asked me: “That stupid woman is trying to forget some sorrow by drinking and whoring, isn’t she?” 

Her voice was edged with sorrow. I stopped her and looked deeply in to her eyes. They were full. 

“Let’s go back,” I said. We walked towards the hotel. The door closed on us and we were alone. 

It was late in the night; we could almost see day approaching 

I sat on the bed and Lola, was at my feet, on the bare floor. Now and again she would kiss my hands gently or look at my face intently. And during those moments, I found it difficult to believe that she was an American woman. 

We parted at morning. There isn’t going to be another meeting. 

Let each one believe the other to be dead. 

Take leave of those lips that have been kissed.