Kanjar, who was on the threshold of his twelfth year, had his heart pierced the moment he first laid eyes on Hamauma Kishti. Both were studying together in the same college. Kanjar expressed his feelings the next day. In the afternoon recess, Kishti politely stopped the boat going in the corridor, 'Excuse me, my name is Kanjar.' 'I know. I also know that I don't want to know anything about you beyond your name. Kishti said this and left quickly. Behind his back he heard Kanjar's words, if you know more about me, you will fall in love with me.' Kishti turned the barrel-shaped dock and looked back, shooting arrows from the corners of her eyes, 'No need to think yourself so great. I am Kishti. I would prefer to swim only in the water that suits me. Don't make me a fool to jump into any dirty puddle I see. Time will tell if I am a dirty puddle or a lake of fresh water. I will wait.' Kanjar also started walking in the opposite direction. The relationship started with such a flurry, but time passed and Kishti kept a close eye on Kanjar's speech and behavior. Within six months, she realized that if any young man was most qualified to be her partner, it was Kangar. Kanjar was not a ranker in studies but he was good. He was handsome in appearance. He was civilized in behavior. He was soft spoken. Not too rich and not too poor. All the girls in the class had a high opinion of him. Normally, girls don't walk up to a boy and 'propose', but one day at the end of eight months, during the afternoon recess, Kishti stopped a passing kangar in the corridor and asked, 'Yes, so what were you saying that day?' 'I used to say my name was Kanjar.' A surprised Kanjar said. Now his ears were eager to hear what Kishti was saying. Kishti said shyly, 'Nice name, just like you.' After listening, the tinkling of silver bells began to ring in Kanjar's ears. He felt like saying, 'My name is just nice, but your name is very beautiful, just like you.' But he could neither say so nor utter two words to thank Kishti. This is a true love story set on the soil of Ahmedabad. This is a phenomenon of the time, when mobile phones did not enter India. Talking on a landline at a girlfriend's house risked getting caught and breaking bones. Love letters cannot be written openly. Surreptitiously handing out love letters was the norm. The lover would pour out his heart on a sheet of paper and the lover would caress that heart with her eyes. Even the words felt like a smooth feather was moving over them! Kanjar wrote in a small note, 'What do I owe you; A dirty puddle or a lake of fresh water?' In response, there was a chatterbox, 'This boat does not go down in dirty water, Mr. Sarovar!' Kanjar's hair lit the lamp. Exchange of love letters started. Both could meet only during college time. Once Kishti went home, her strict father would not allow her to go out alone. Kanjar's father had a harsher nature than Kishti's father. The son was only a tool to fulfill his desires. That's why Kanjar was afraid to talk about his girlfriend. How long can the scent of a flower be suppressed? One day the father asked Kanjar in front of him, 'I heard that these days you are in love with some girl!' 'Not crazy, dad, I'm in love with her. Her name is Kishti…' Kanjar's sentence was left unfinished. The father's decree was released, 'I asked the girl's name? I don't want to know his name and you have to forget the name you know. Make up your mind, do you want to be with your father or with him?' 'Dad, I want to live with Bey. I have already promised him. If I am forced to choose only one of the two, I shall spare you…' Kanjar spoke his decision without speaking. Next day Kanjar spoke to Kishti. Kishti was shocked, 'Kanjar, why did you do this to dad? do you love me so much I also promise you that even if the Himalayas fall on us, I will not leave you.' College period is over. Kanjar left his father's house before marriage. A rented house, a medium-paying job and mental preparation for an uphill struggle. Every evening the two lovebirds would meet and build a nest of the future world in their thoughts. One evening Kishti saw Kanjar's face and asked, 'Did you eat something sour last night? Did not sleep all night? Why is your mouth swollen?' 'You think so too? Everyone in the office was asking me the same question. I think I will have to go to the doctor tomorrow.' Kanjar was also feeling tired. The next day the doctor examined her and ran some laboratory tests, then advised sonography, then more hi-fi investigations. The three experts came together and announced the same diagnosis, 'You have bilateral renal failure. Why did you come so late? You must have had this problem for a long time.' The shocked Kanjar could barely say, 'I only knew then, when the mouth rose. I wonder what is going on inside the body…?' 'Let it all go. Now there is only one permanent solution. Another good kidney has to be implanted in your body. For that, one has to look for the kidney of a brain dead person. If there is a hurry, one of your blood relatives can donate their kidney to you. Mother, father, brother, sister…' explained the doctor. There was no one else. Only the father was alive, but he was not ready to speak. Kanjar spoke to Kishti that evening, 'Tell me one thing? do you believe You forget me and choose another character. I cannot give you any happiness.' The next day, Kishti went to the doctor with Kanjar, 'Sir, I am the future wife of your patient. I have a good kidney for that…' Dr. Pranjal Modi was speechless seeing such love. But the blood groups of both came positive-negative. We should wait for the cadaver's kidney.' Until then Kanjar has to go for dialysis. How does this work? Kanjar had to quit his job. Kishti started the job. After eight months it was Kunjar's turn in the waiting list. A brain-dead donor's kidney was transplanted into his body. Even if a minor illness occurs, the engagement of a boy-girl is broken. In such a selfish world, they stayed with Kanjar-Kishti in such a big illness, got married and also became parents of children. In the desert of selfishness, calculation and infidelity, a rose bloomed, never to fall.} Title line: Gani Dahiwala
Image Credit: (Divya-Bhaskar): Images/graphics belong to (Divya-Bhaskar).
