AN AFFAIR TO FORGET

What surprised Kamini was the fact that even the realization of not being disgusted about it today didn’t surprise her – as if she had known all along it would come down to this. What seemed like torture, an unbearable ordeal until a couple of weeks ago was nothing more than a job for her today, a task she had to perform to get Karan out. Yes the fact that she hadn’t come to visit the police officer and pay him her respects last Tuesday and Thursday guaranteed the fact that this last encounter was especially going to be something she’d carry the scars of for a long time – but it was the last time after all. And she was ready for it.

And yet somewhere deep down she knew – that wasn’t the only reason she felt different about it. Point in fact, that was not one of the reasons at all – although there were several others. Like the fact that the police officer had grown milder and didn’t hurt her anymore; and the fact that there were no subordinates placed outside the cabin to keep a watch; and the fact that the cabin to which she had been coming twice a week, every week for the past seven months itself seemed a little cleaner now than the first time she had entered it and laid down on its dirt laden floor, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to ignore the stench of her surroundings or the pressure of the police officer’s body on her own – chanting incessantly in her mind ‘I am doing this for you Karan, I am doing this for you my love…’

Whether the subordinates were relieved of their duty to save her the embarrassment, or to prevent them from lusting her she’d never know. But yes, there was an unmistakable change in the police officer’s demeanor over the past couple of weeks.

And still nothing in the world could ever make her think of any other man even for a moment – or so she thought until two weeks ago.

The police officer heard a rap on the door.

‘Come in.’

The door opened. Kamini stepped inside. She shut the door behind her and began to unbutton her shirt.

‘That won’t be necessary.’

Kamini froze. Her hands dropped to her sides as she looked at the police officer.

‘Sit,’ he said without looking at her.

That’s when she looked around and realized – the place had been thoroughly cleaned. There were clean sheets on the cot; the junk was gone, and there were wild flowers on the table.

Kamini tried to absorb her surroundings, still rooted to the spot where she was standing since she came in.

‘Sometimes you can’t explain why you do or don’t do things in life,’ the police officer began. ‘But what you can at least try to do is understand situations – for they are the fact. Not like your emotions – something that even you yourself can’t be sure of at times.’ Pause. ‘I fucked you – I fucked you over damn hard. But I had my reasons, twisted as they were and still are.’

‘Just as you made me construct and come up with mine to comply with your demands,’ Kamini thought, as she recalled the day Karan had been dragged by his arms by two of the police officers subordinates and dropped onto his chair across the counter. She had sat and watched him bleed and cry, slipping in and out of consciousness, as the officer’s voice rang in her ears – ‘You just wait and watch what I do to your sweetheart now.’

‘I am not going to try and explain or justify what I did,’ the police officer continued, ‘for it can’t be explained or justified.’

Kamini waited for him to go on.

‘That’s all.’

Pause.

‘You may leave.’

‘But what if I don’t want to?’

The police officer glanced at Kamini. Her face was blank – at least it didn’t look like she had just said the words he thought she had.

‘I think – did you just –‘

‘Yes.’

Kamini’s posture was still absolutely composed and calm, and self assured, and everything that her voice was not – which was insecure, sad and hurt.

‘Twisted as they were and still are, you had your reasons. But what reason did Karan have to call me a whore?’ Kamini said.

The police officer got up from his chair and walked over to Kamini. He allowed himself to look at her for the first time since she had come. He saw her shirt was still unbuttoned – but the bosom that awakened his deepest, fierce desires didn’t even tempt him today. He slowly pulled her shirt together and buttoned it up. Kamini didn’t move even as he finished. He hesitated for a moment, and then lifted her face to look at her – and the sight stabbed him.

For he was looking into the eyes of a woman defeated and crushed beyond he thought was possible. The faith, the determination that the big black beady eyes had carried all these weeks and which drove him mad and to the extreme were now replaced with a sadness that was unthought-of to ever be able to be possessed by them.

‘Kamini!’ he exclaimed.

And their lips locked in the most passionate kiss ever.

And the passion was on both sides.

Tears streamed down Kamini's eyes – the tears she had fought back all this while, and which she knew were to betray her as she faced the police officer today. He tore himself apart from her and looked at her face again. And he pulled her close again and put his arms around her and held her as she cried and cried.


– x – x –


She looked at the man coming out of the door.

He smiled at her.

Her mouth curved in a semi smile.

He walked upto her and hugged her. He had gone over this moment in his head scores of times since he entered the prison cell, and every time she went away after their visit, and every night he slept. He had gone over it while eating his food, while exercising, while being beaten…

But it didn’t feel anything like it was supposed to.

And he knew what he had done.

His embrace loosened slowly.

His arms dropped.

And he watched her as she slowly walked away…

ESSENCE OF EX-ES

‘so…’

‘no Sojwala is not here…’

‘oh come on…’

‘no yar… we just got back na… I don’t want to go anywhere now…’

‘ok the beer’s getting to you…’

‘come on!’

‘what come on! You were the one who said you don’t want to go anywhere!’

‘I know, m just sayin we’ll go chat in my room… mom, dad, bro are not used to this kinda stuff…’

‘why they never had a best friend?’

‘maybe they did. I dunno… we never talked…’

‘my god! How have you been managing to keep mum past 20 years!’

‘it wouldn’t be so difficult for anyone you know, if they had my family.’

‘oh well, to each his own…’

‘her own, you mean…’

‘are you sure? Why does it have to be ‘his’ or ‘her’ all the time?’

‘yeah like we don’t know ‘they’ exist too…’

‘god is the beer getting the better of us or what…’

‘how would god know?’

‘god knows…’

‘no he doesn’t! he wasn’t there lifting up his glass n saying cheers to us!’

‘oh he was… didn’t you see mutthu?’

‘oh mutthu darling… don’t you remind me of that devil…’

‘and his devilicious smile…’

‘MUTTHU! MARRY ME!’

‘oh he might just say yes…’

‘is he single?’

‘oh yes…’

‘you bitch! Why didn’t you tell me before?’

‘cos then you’d go be the bitch right there and then!’

‘n what is wrong with that?’

‘nothing really…’

‘give me your mobile.’

‘I don’t have his number…’

‘n you call yourself my best friend! You can’t even hook me up!’

‘whatever…’

‘god… I can’t stop thinking of him…’

‘hmm I can’t stop thinking of him too…’

‘lay off woman! He is mine…’

‘sure…’

‘oh by the way… give me the bill, we need to split it.’

‘gosh! The beer was on the house!’

‘now you are really drunk darling…’

‘you know…’

‘yeah I do.’

‘what?’

‘a lot of things…’

‘go on… tell me one…’

‘I know you are my best friend…’

(Kissing sound)

‘yeah… ever the bitches, aren’t we…’

(Laughter)

‘you know, I know something too…’

‘what?’

‘we’re drunk and talking shit.’

‘oh no we are not!’

‘come on! Of course we are drunk!’

‘yeah we are, but we are not talking shit…’

‘prove it…’

‘well, sameer does really not love me… its true.’

(Silence)

‘and I don’t love him either.’

‘oh now you are talking shit.’

‘no.’

(Silence)

‘well good for you then…’

‘now you are talking shit. This isn’t good for me… its not. In fact it’s a total 100% complete the opposite of good for me.’

(Silence)

‘well you know… that is actually feeling good.’

‘what? Talking shit?’

‘no. accepting it.’

‘shit.’

‘what?’

‘you are losing the whole essence of our evening…’

‘what essence?’

‘getting drunk… talking shit about our ex-es…’

‘well we are, aren’t we?’

‘we are?’

‘yes.’

‘how? Enlighten me!’

‘aren’t they in deep shit that they’re our ‘ex-es’ already?’

(Laughter)

‘yeah…maybe you’re right.’

‘I’m always right!’

(More laughter… and ribaldry of course…)

LUCK BY CHANCE

Ever wondered why we just lose touch with some of the best people we meet, and yet stick to some others we don’t really want to...? Some people you just tend to not be able to get rid off, in spite of a thousand things that happened… and some people – they come in our lives for a short while, and then just disappear. And we never see them again…

Do you believe in karma? Fate? Destiny? Luck? I do… I think everything that happens in our life has at least a little to do with either or all of these things. At least the part about meeting the right people at the right time – or even the wrong ones at the right time – at least the part about who we meet in life, get in touch with, befriend or don’t has got a lot to do with either or all of these things.

What triggered me to rant about all these things right now, you ask/wonder? Like everything else – or most other things – that I rant about it, this train of thoughts was triggered by what me and a friend of mine went through recently…

He was an online friend... but someone I went to school with for a couple of years, until he changed school. We were pretty dormant for a while... there in each other’s friend-lists, but conspicuous by our absence in each other’s scrapbooks – which is to say we hadn’t really ever had a conversation, or so much as even exchanged a few words online. Then one day we just hit it off – just like that – and got along so well, we wondered why we hadn’t done this before!

Now in a short time we got along really well – with similar interests, same zodiac signs, roughly the same attitudes in general, same experiences as school kids... you get the drift, ya? Then one day he told me about this friend of his that he had had a big row with and was not talking to since a very long time. I having gone through similar situation just a few months back, felt really bad for the two of them. With considerable possibility of sounding like a Grandma, or like a ‘been-there-done-that’, I am going to say that, I know what it is like to lose a best friend. So I kind of tried to persuade him to talk to his friend. Of course I didn’t do it too passionately, just a little elbowing, if you know what I mean... but nonetheless, it worked. The next time his friend was online, my friend talked to her, and they talked and talked and talked. And the bitterness dissolved somewhere in between, and they became friends again.

And as if that completed my role in his life, the very next day my friend sent me an e-mail, to which I gave a strange funny reply, and then we had a fight, and he chose to break it up. And I didn’t resist.

It seemed so strange to me at the time it happened, that I didn’t know what to make of this whole thing. The way I had reacted to his mail was not me – that person writing a reply to his mail was not me. The person who spoke to him when he called after reading my mail was not me. The things I said were not my thoughts! It was incomprehensible. I don’t give up on people so easily, never on friends at least! But with him, I let go like I never knew him.

As you sow, so shall you reap; tit for tat; karma – there’s a lot of ways to say it, but it all means the same thing. But sometimes it is beyond our control to explain things that happen around us, things that happen to us. I have had and lost some of the best friends life can give anyone... but one thing I have learnt from all this is to not feel bad if at some point of time, someone just drifts away from you – or rather when people leave – and to not try and hold on to them when they do drift away or leave. Of course there is a difference between trying to make a friendship – or any relationship – work out, and to cling onto something that’s already not working out. We are all after all instruments who carry out, work for and work against each other’s destiny’s... all of it, or part of it. Sometimes people enter in our lives only to make us experience or face or go through something, and that is all that their role is in our lives... our paths stick along as long as this purpose is fulfilled, and then, life just moves on. Sometimes we are meant to be cheated by our most trusted people, or be surprised by the most unexpected… or even be loved by the ones that we never thought would give us a thought, or someone we’d never give a thought to ourselves... that’s just how it is, nothing official about it!

But if there’s someone out there, keeping an account of all this, phew! He’s gotta be one hell of a mathematician...

ON BODY ODOR, LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST...

Came across a rather interesting article in the paper a couple of days back that said something like: men and women are attracted to each other depending on the smell of their sweat; or rather body odor. I am sure many of you will react to this by saying: duh, doesn’t everybody know that by now? But what really caught my attention was that scientists believe it is the genes located in the HLA Complex – Human Leucocyte Antigen Complex – that play the key role of finding our ‘true love’ for us... (For all the non-Biology students: the HLA Complex is concerned with the immune system of man; and that is all I am going to say here… it would take me eons to explain how and why! Google it... :) )

Chemistry of attraction, eh?

This kinda explains why there might be instant attraction towards a girl who is not necessarily breath-takingly beautiful, or a guy who is not Brad Pitt. (Although let me please mention here – and I do NOT care what you think – I DON’T like Brad Pitt. I think he looks nice, and acts decent. But I will not drool if ever I find myself standing in front of him.)

This also somehow explains the age old concept of ‘love at first sight’ (only it should be love at first ‘smell’!)...

But pray, how does this explain falling in love with someone you haven’t ever met in person?

Like maybe someone you met on a social networking website maybe?

Or someone you saw at a party???

Crazy man... really...

After the first read, I casually joked about the article with my Dad (yeah yeah, he is a very cool person I have no problem discussing sex with... :) ) and then totally forgot all about it... until today when I saw a Marathi Film not really related to the issue, but which had physical relations playing a major role in the story. (I won’t mention the name of the movie; but if you know me personally, and if your curiosity gets the better of you, contact me!)

‘Shevati donach goshti/bhavana kharya... pot ani chambdi.’

(In the end, only 2 things matter... hunger and sex.)

Is it really so?

If one really thinks very objectively about this whole ‘falling in love’ business, then it is all only about finding the right match, or the ‘most-fit mate’ for yourself, so that you can be sure your species isn’t gonna go extinct, and that your off-springs shall be fit and healthy and shall survive; and even science can be said to have proved it (according to the article I just mentioned about... you know, HLA - immune system - body odor - falling in love – love at first sight etc etc...) Does this reduce all the feelings, emotions, love, attachment, affection, attraction, and scores of other things we feel for our partners to just the skin? And just sex? And if ‘yes’ then who are better-off? The ‘good guys’? Or the ‘flirts’, the ‘chaplus’ guys, the ‘romeos’, the ‘Casanovas’, as they are variously called, who have only one thing on their mind?

Probably all this emotion-play came into being to keep us engaged! They say guys like the chase... girls like the suave ones... unpredictability... mysteriousness... this, that... falana-dimka... imagine if all this was gone, and finding ‘the right one’ was reduced down to one sniff... we’d be really bored! With all the ‘worldly comforts’, inventions or whatever, taking care of all the things we have to do, we’d be left with a horrible amount of free time and nothing to do!

I guess that’s why, we need ‘sex with ALL strings attached’... rather than with no string attached!

OF STOLEN KISSES...

My legs are aching out of wearing high-heeled footwear for so long. Not that I particularly like high-heels, but I had to match him. The heels reduced our height difference from 7 inches to 5. Not much, I know, but still better.

We reach the apartment and park the bike in the parking.

My heart sinks, for I know his mother and sister and brother will be upstairs, and we will have to go back to being ‘polite’ in front of each other... not carefree and bindaas anymore... and not even slightly romantic. Not that we are going around... but I guess we are at least heading towards it.

The thought of climbing up the stairs makes my legs ache even more, although his flat is only on the first floor. I sigh.

‘Is your tongue still weird?’ he asks.

We have just had coffee in Barista; and mine was sinfully strong and bitter and without sugar – the exact way I like it – but with two scoops of Vanilla ice-cream. My tongue had become a bit numb in the café with all that ice-cream, and we had had ourselves a big laugh with me trying my best to say my name properly.

‘No! Its fine now. It doesn’t stay that way for too long.’

‘Really?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘How about we find out?’ he says.

And the next moment he has pulled me into his arms and is kissing me like there is never going to be a tomorrow.

I am zapped.

I lose balance.

He catches me and holds me up against the wall. He is still kissing me, his hands pinning me to himself.

I am breathless.

Suddenly, he lets go of me, looks into my eyes, and smiles... only for a second... his smile one of triumph, challenge, and extremely coy... all at the same time…

And then he starts walking up the stairs again... as if nothing happened.

And I am left begging for more...

THE PATRIOT

I drag myself to the footpath and look around me. I see my blood spattered over the road, my shirt lying soaked in blood somewhere.

I curse myself and the moment at which I had looked at the statue of my beloved leader at the crossroad. The dirt is still not gone from his face. It is splattered across his specs. My heart cringes at the sight. The statue of one of the greatest men in History – smeared by feces.

If only I had not noticed the horrific sight.

If only I had not been angered.

If only I had not tried to wipe it off.

If only it had not been the day of elections.

If only the Party who considered my very hero as their ideal had not seen me in that position…

… I wouldn’t have been lying half dead by the footpath, beaten till I could hear my own bones split within my body by the supporters of the Party and the mob.

Where had so many people poured in onto the street from at that hour of the day anyway? There was never a soul on the street every morning that I jogged on it.

I tried and tried to comprehend what had happened in the past few minutes.

‘Aye!’

I turn. I see members of the Party. I get off the statue.

‘Kay challaye?’ (What’s going on?)

The man standing ahead of the mob, hands rested on waist asks me. He could pass as a typical ‘member of XYZ Party’; dressed all in white, Kolhapuri chappals in his feet, hair gelled back and not daring to move even with the breeze, thick black moustache, with the corners purposefully turned up.

‘Kahi nahi…’ (Nothing…)

‘Kahi nahi?’ (Nothing?)

‘Ghan lagli hoti putalyala… Pusat hoto…’ (There was dirt on the statue… was wiping it off…)

One of the other men standing behind the man pulls him by his shoulder. He signals at my feet.

I look down at my feet.

The Party looks down at my feet.

My shoes are covered in shit.

I stare in disbelief.

Suddenly it comes back to me. My neighbor’s dog had done his morning job close to my house. I had stepped into it.

I panic.

‘Aho, mi kharach kahi nahi kela!’ (I really haven’t done anything!)

‘Amhala kay angutha chhaap samajlaye?’ (Do you think we are uneducated fools?)

'Aho kharach, mi nahi - ' (Trust me, I didn't - )

'Hana re haramyala!’ (Beat the bastard!)

I try to run away. But I know there is no escaping the situation.

And now here I am…

Thousands of questions cross my mind… doubts… fears… but the most overwhelming of all feelings is disappointment and sadness… at the whole situation we, as the People of our country and of the world, are in. And its not just politics I am talking about.

I look up at the sky… the sun is beginning to rise higher over the horizon.

I look back at the statue.

I will myself to get up, despite the pain.

I lean on the street-light and drag myself up. I look at the face of my favorite hero. I think of his co-workers… all great men who did things we probably can never comprehend completely.

It gives me strength.

I take a deep breath, and heave my body.

I am standing on my feet.

My legs hurt till I want to cry out loud. But I look up at the statue and smile.

I raise my hand and put it to my temples.

I salute.

I collapse.








Author's Note: it is a request that the reader view this only as a piece of creativity... there is nothing I want 'to hint at' or 'suggest'. No names of any political parties were mentioned, and I leave it upto the reader to give the statue the name of whichever leader he/she wants to give. This was just a piece that popped up in my mind, and I penned it down. Heck, I am not even interested in politics! Still if anyone's feelings were hurt, all I'll say is, it wasn't my intention...

.....................

Got up at eight today morning and took to cleaning my room immediately. Dust had settled all over. I had been putting it off, waiting for exams to get over. And now that they were over, I couldn’t stand all the mess!

Started with my clothes cupboard. Then my dressing table. My bed. And lastly, my study-table. I always save it for the last. Every year, I have to think and think of how I am going to make place in my already over-full study table for the whole new stack of books. And this being my final year, I had not one, not two, but 11 reference books with no place to go! And they were only the bare minimum.

About 20 minutes later, both the cupboards to the sides of my table were open, their contents spilled out on the floor – and me spilled out somewhere between them. I looked around me and sighed heavily. Books, papers, magazines, school report cards, class photographs, pen stands by the dozen, stationery enough to go into 3 bags, novels, encyclopedia, my diaries, old greeting cards, medals, colours, paints, palette, drawing books… even charcoal, from the one time I tried to do a sketch in charcoal and ended up looking like an adivasi...

Mom came in, took one look at the mess, and burst out laughing.

‘Mom! You should help me out! Not laugh at me!’

‘I would… but you don’t want to throw any of this, or give it away… how else can I help?’

I made a face. Mom laughed.

‘Ok, I am off to Veena-maushi’s… will be back by 5.’

Mom had a lunch date with her friend that day. And dad had left early morning. I was gonna be home alone.

‘Ok, have fun!’ I said following Mom out till the door. I saw Mom walk down the stairs, and pulled the door shut and returned to my den.

I looked at all the mess and sighed again.

‘Ok! Looks like I am gonna have to throw a few things away I guess!’ I said out loud to no one ion particular.

But I just kept staring at the mess for half an hour, sitting on my bed.

I couldn’t possibly throw anything away! Each of the myriad little things lying on the floor was so important to me! And special. Each had a story behind it. Like the first piece I had knitted. Or the cards I had received from my Atya for each of my birthdays. And those pressed grass twigs in that big fat story book! I used to make greetings out of them and used to post them to all our relatives for Diwali. And how could I possibly throw away all those paintings! No way! And the Japanese Fan! The Japanese Fan I had made! The straw hat from my first dance in school... As I went through these and many other things I had even forgotten I had kept still, I thought of all the summer vacations and all the crazy things I used to do back then… from making greeting cards, to fabric painting, to pottery, to lying on my bed reading a book and listening to songs… working on a painting the whole day, and then calling all my neighbors over to see ‘my new creation’… I couldn’t remember the last time I had held a paint brush in my hand, or spent a lazy afternoon just dreaming. Each of us has a fantasy world… a world full of all of our favorite things. I had one too… in fact, I still have one. And it still is full of all things that may seem ‘childish’ or immature’… but heck, it’s my world… where anything is possible…

I looked at all the greeting cards, and read all the messages penned down for me… the last card I had received from my Atya was for my 12th birthday… why do we stop doing things like these when we ‘grow up’? We cross a certain age, and suddenly birthday cards with cake and balloons seem childish…. Or embroidering your initials on your handkerchief seems like a stupid thing to do. I was so serious about becoming a painter as a kid… and somewhere down the line; I just gave it up… for a worldlier career… why? Why do we give up on things, but still cling on to their memory?

As I cleaned my room, I ended up dusting my mind too. It was like I had met myself after a long time…

That day, I did a lot of things I had not done in years.

I started working on a painting.

I spent the afternoon reading a novel.

I made a few snacks and called my neighbors over for tea.

I even went for a walk with Dad in the evening, on the hill, and came back with a bag full of colorful odd looking stones!

And it felt amazing doing all those things…

JENNIFER

This one’s dedicated to the loving memory of Jennifer, the finest female Golden Retriever I have ever come across. I just met her owner – a loveable 65+ Grand-pa by the name Mr. Nandu Kulkarni – a couple of weeks ago, and came to know Jennifer passed away month-and-a-half ago.

Sweetheart, this one goes out to you…

They say a dog can understand upto 500 human words. I don’t know that, and I can’t vouch for it. But this I can say for sure – dogs do understand human emotions perfectly. And they particularly can tell a dog-lover from a non dog-lover.

I used to see Jennifer everyday when I was in school. She was easily the finest female Golden Retriever I had ever come across. Driving to school, parking my bicycle in the parking lot, going up to my classroom on the fourth floor, and then waiting by the window to see Jennifer had become a routine for me. As for Jennifer, her eyes would begin to search for me as soon as Nandu-kaka crossed the street to the side on which my school was. She would look up at my classroom, and would give me a friendly bark everyday – every single day.

It all started one day when Nandu-kaka was stalled close to our school by one of his friends I suppose – and Jennifer had nothing to do. She was sniffing the ground when I reached our classroom and saw her from the window. She might have been 6-7 months old back then. I could make out she was beginning to get restless and wanted to continue with the walk. I decided to entertain her.

I looked around to check no teachers were anywhere within ear-shot, and I whistled.

Jennifer was as if frozen on spot. Not a muscle moving. I smiled. I leaned a little out of the window and whistled again.

This time Jennifer turned to face our school building. Clever bitch! I laughed.

The third time I whistled, Jennifer precisely looked up at the exact window in which I was standing and started barking. That caught Nandu-kaka’s attention. He followed Jennifer and looked up at me. I smiled and waved at him. He smiled back.

‘Such a fine pet you have! What’s her name?’ I asked. It was quite early in the morning and there was practically no one on the road, so I didn’t really have to shout.

‘Jennifer!’ the old man replied.

The incident repeated the next day. But by the third day, I didn’t have to whistle to catch Jenny’s attention. She’d by default look up at my window when Nandu-kaka reached our school.

I started to come a little late to school everyday, in the hope of catching the old man and Jennifer someday. But somehow things just didn’t work out. They’d always come only moments before our school began. But one fine day, I got lucky. I reached school about 20 minutes early – we had to put up some charts and all in the corridors – and was in the parking lot when I heard someone call out – ‘Good morning!’ I turned around and saw Jennifer and the old man. I was so happy! I immediately sat down on my knees and called out –

‘Jennifer!’

She looked at me for a split second, and in the next she was bounding and leaping towards me! She came and crashed right into me and within moments I was slobbered all over! Jennifer was licking my face, my hands – it was crazy! She was barking and jumping and going round in circles around me! And I couldn’t stop laughing.

Dogs can always tell dog-lovers from non dog-lovers.

I had to ride back home that day and change into my other set of school clothes and go back. Obviously the ones I had been wearing went straight into the washing machine. But I was still smiling when I reached school.

I continued to see Jennifer every day till the end of that year. After that I forgot all about her in the summer vacations. But I never saw her after school re-opened.




Just a couple of weeks ago, I met Nandu-kaka. It was great to see him after all these years, and I was surprised to realise we both still remembered each other so perfectly. He told me they had shifted to another part of the city, that’s why I never saw them again. And with that he gave me the news of Jennifer having passed away – peacefully, in her sleep.

That meeting brought back all the memories of Jennifer, and particularly of that day when she licked me all over. It felt nice to know she had not suffered in her last moments. May her soul rest in peace.

BEAUTY

I get off the train – sticky, sweating and smelling like a pig.

I lay eyes on her.

And suddenly I am not feeling tired anymore, and my fatigue is gone..

She’s not beautiful. Not even close. She is just an average looking Indian girl.

But nothing about her is average.

She is wearing a beautiful sky blue colored salwaar kameez, and long dangling ear-rings. Ok, the ear-rings are a bit too long for my taste. But it really doesn’t matter. Everything else about her is so beautiful.

I look around, as I try to comprehend what I am feeling.

I would never otherwise describe her as beautiful.

But that sight… of my best friend… whom I am seeing after all these years… the sight is beautiful… the light scent of her perfume, which is still the same after all these years… the wait in her eyes… her frantic search for a familiar face in the crowd… for my familiar face… the stillness in her stance, her calm body language contradicts her state of mind, which she cannot hide no matter how hard she tries… for her eyes are too innocent… and bare… I see her anticipation, her excitement right through her efforts to conceal it. And the child like beauty amuses me and pulls me like a magnet.

She still hasn’t seen me, almost as if purposely. She is looking in every possible direction but mine.

I linger close to the edge of the platform where I got off, and enjoy the moment… the moment that will soon be gone…

I’m almost crushed as I realise it won’t last too long.

She looks at her watch, as if to remind me how long it has been since I have seen her.

I pick up my bag and start walking towards her, and I laugh as it comes back to me…

I had asked her for a recent picture of her, just in case I don’t recognize her. And I realise that at that moment, the picture just isn’t coming to my mind…

LIVING WITH YOU

I stop writing suddenly. The pen falls out of my hands.

A gentle breeze brings in that peculiar smell that I have just begun getting used to.

I sniff.

I can’t believe it.

My heart starts racing.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath till the smell fills my lungs. I take a deep breath till your smell fills my head and drives me mad. That typical smell after you have just had a bath.

I breathe again, and I forget all about my submissions and notes and books.

It couldn’t be!

Has your love driven me so mad that I am imagining and feeling things like they were real?

How could you be in my house!

But the smell… it refuses to go away.

I get up from my chair and walk out of my room. My heart’s begun to race faster, if at all it can. I tip-toe towards my door.

I open it.

The smell hits me. Stronger.

I am sure by now that my olfactory has gone haywire.

I track the smell to my parents’ room.

My parents’ room?

I reach for the door.

I open it.

My heart stops beating

“Hey, you up already?” Dad asks, looking at me.

“What’s that smell?” I ask.

“You like it? One of my friends gifted it to me,” Dad says, throwing a bottle of cologne at me.

I catch it.

I open the lid.

I smell it.

I close my eyes.

I smile...

ITI

There was once a scene I randomly came across in a daily soap on TV. The girl’s face was new, and for a change she looked sensible. I paused momentarily. The girl was reading a letter. From her father. A sentence in the letter kind of stayed with me for a long time… ‘There is no one in the world who hasn’t at least once felt like ending it all and taking his/her life.’ I pondered over it for quite some time, and it led to me filling up over six pages of my personal diary.

But I couldn’t recall any of those pages.

All I could recall that moment was that line I had randomly heard that day.

There is no one in this world who hasn’t at least once felt like ending it all…

I looked at the white hills around me. I took a deep breath in. One among my last few ones. I felt the cold air pass through my nose and into my lungs. It filled my lungs. The cold was getting to my bones. I could feel it. I looked up at the sky.

I threw my shirt off.

My upper body was bare.

I began climbing again. My mind clogged with thoughts for a few moments, and then cleared into an emptiness that I never thought I was capable of feeling… just like the clouds were clearing from time to time to reveal a plain, blue-grey, empty sky. With no airplanes. No birds. No eagles even, when it is known they ‘fly above the clouds’. But then I realized.

I was above the world.

Just like I had once been.

But this time, I was really above the world. Up and above. Where no one could reach me. Or find me.

Up and above the hypocrites.

Up and above people.

Beyond the reach of mom and dad.

Beyond the reach of anyone.

It felt amazing.

My pace quickened. I was almost jogging up now, the stones cutting at the bare sole of my feet. The blood caked around my toes almost as quickly as it started flowing. It froze, and the red crystals fell off my feet and crushed beneath them as I broke off into a splint___ or as close to a splint as my condition could allow me. No clothes on, except my thin track-pant. No shirt, no shoes. Nothing. Except the cold cold wind blowing across my entire body, determined to throw me off my feet. To bend me. Break me. And I determined not to be broken.

Not to be broken before I decided.

Before I chose to break.

I felt small drops of water freeze over my body and melt___ for surely I couldn’t possibly sweat in these conditions. Even with all the running. I possibly couldn’t. You don’t sweat topless and in below freezing temperatures. The wind was cruelly cold. It stung my bare body, as I ran against it.

I ran like my life depended on it.

Ha.

How far the truth was from this thought. This stupid stupid thought that had entered my mind.

Even in these final moments, I hadn’t given up being stupid.

Stupid.

Fucking stupid.

But no more now. It was all going to end. Shortly.

I had reached the highest point I could. I looked around me and took in the earthly beauty, as an unearthly calmness settled over me. My breathing grew steady. I wasn’t feeling cold anymore.

I looked up at the sky. It was blank. Empty. Just like my mind, at that instance.

I looked down, into the valley.

My final resting abode.

I looked up at the sky again.

I saw her face.

The only truth of my life… which had ceased to exist… which stole away from me any reason to live.

I closed my eyes.

I spread my arms.

I am coming…

I jumped.

BLANK CALL

Aditya entered the board room and the lights grew dim. Geet was standing in front of him, wearing the bright red skirt, flamenco-like white shirt and black jacket she was wearing when Aditya last saw her. The chorus began.

‘Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa… Aa-a-a-aa-a-aa…’

A tingling sensation ran through my body, and after months and months passing by without a thought of Neel, my mind suddenly floated back to the memory of my calls to Neel when ‘Tum Se Hi’ was his caller tune.

I smiled.

I lingered in the moment for a while. I could almost hear his voice, happy and clear like the morning sun.

‘Hi,’ I would begin.

‘My God! I thought you were dead! Or probably that you thought I was dead. Where’ve you been!’

No matter how often I called Neel; either of us had to be dead, to account for the gap between two calls.

‘I am good, just been busy with college. You say how is office going?’ I would ask him.

‘Ah! Going on…’

‘And how is Sheetal?’

‘Can we talk about you and me before we move on to that subject?’ he would suggest, only a tad angrily. I would laugh.

‘Ok, ok! So how have you been?’

‘Okay-ish man. I told you about our trip?’

‘No… What trip?’

‘Oh all of us from office are planning for a trip to Kanyakumari…’

‘Oh that’s great!’

‘Yeah, but what is not so great is, I have been given the responsibility to make the reservations.’

‘No way! Then I am sure you guys are going no where!’ I’d tease him.

‘Shut up!’ he’d say.

And so we’d go one for at least an hour. Talking rubbish at times, talking things too mature for our respective ages sometimes, and just enjoying the comfortable silence that fell upon the conversation sometimes. Neel. My best friend, albeit an online friend. Frankly, I don’t remember how we bumped into each other. But Neel does still remember… or so I think. Sometimes I feel I live with him, I know so much about him! I’m sure I would be able to find a small ear-ring lost in his apartment if ever I get the chance to be there actually. I could probably draw a map of his apartment for you. Or even a road map all the way from his place to his office, although he is just about more than 1000 kilometers away from him. We talked about the silliest of things. Neel. I feel like something’s gone terribly wrong if I don’t talk to him once every couple of days.

No I haven’t met him in my life ever.

No I am not in love with him.

No he is not a long lost friend.

He is like the best friend I never had. Miles away and yet right next to me when I want him to be. Few can understand the chemistry we share. A lot more ridicule our friendship for the mere fact that we haven’t met each other in person as yet. Right from the day we became friends in fact.

But there is a part of Neel that lives in me, and a part of me that lives in him.

I would tell him anything in this goddamn world if I had to, and not feel scared or insecure or like I maybe ridiculed. I could tell him I don’t ever want to talk to him again and that he was the most heartless person I ever met, and as sure as the sun rises in the east every morning, he would call me the next day, and we’d talk like nothing happened, or like whatever happened happened so long ago, we don’t even remember it. He knew my darkest fears, my deepest secrets. He knew things my mom-dad didn’t know. He knew things I’d not dare to tell my gal-pals about.

He actually knows me inside out… or so I think.

And now its been almost 5 months since our fight. 5 months since we last spoke with each other.

And now that I am listening to this song after all these days, I remember him.

His laugh rings in my ears.

His voice fills my head.

I miss his laugh.

I miss his voice.

I miss him.

I miss the senseless conversations we used to have.

I miss the times when I cried over the phone and he consoled me like no one else could even in person.

I miss the times he got angry at me and shouted at me and then felt bad about it and called me up and apologized.

I miss the times when we spoke till 2 in the night and I cut the call as mom got up and called him again when she went back to bed.

I miss having someone by me who was dearer than the dearest.

As I come back to reality, I realise the song is over, but I’m not in the mood to finish the movie now. I turn the TV off and sit on the sofa with the remote control in my hand for a while. I look at the clock on the wall… its still a while before mom and dad get back from the dinner. The song keeps playing in my mind, and with it my conversations with Neel.

Suddenly I get up from the sofa and dash towards my room. I rummage through a countless number on things lying on my bed and finally find my cell phone. I go to the contacts and type ‘Ne’. But Neel’s name doesn’t appear in the list. My heart sinks deep down in my chest as I remember having deleted his number just a couple of weeks back.

I sigh. I sit heavily on the bed. My eyes start to well.

Out of the blue my old diary pops up in my head. I lift a shoe box thats on the top of my cupboard and put it on my table. I open it and go through my old diaries until I come upon one that’s covered in brown tinted paper. I open the last page of the diary, and my face splits into a wide smile as I see the number.

I take the diary and go sit on my bed again. I pick up the cell phone. I think for a minute and toss it aside. I pick up the cordless and punch in the number. And just as I am about to hit ‘call’ my doorbell rings.

I jump. My heart is racing. I quickly gain control and open the door. Its my neighbour. I remember I had asked her to pick up a parcel that a courier-man left with me when she was out earlier in the day. I give her the parcel. She thanks me and goes back to her apartment. I close the door and go back to my room. I look at the phone and Neel’s number typed onto the screen. I pick up the phone and sit on the bed again. But now I cant bring myself to press the ‘call’ button. I keep staring at the screen for a long time.

I finally hit the ‘call’ button.

The bell rings. I realise Neel no longer has a caller-tune.

I start counting the bells.

I put the phone on the ‘speaker’ mode and put my hands under my lap to prevent myself from cutting the call.

Neel answer’s the call.

‘Hello?’

I take a deep breath. I am scared to exhale. I begin to tremble.

‘Hello, who’s this?’

I open my mouth to say something, but suddenly I feel like I have forgotten to talk. I try to think of something to say. I can’t.

‘Is anybody there?’

Neel’s voice! Hearing his voice after all these days makes me want to burst into tears. It makes me want to scream with joy. But I sit still, not moving a muscle. I have no control over my body and my voice.

There is a long pause. The silence is deafening.

I can hear him breathe – slow and steady.

He begins to say something but stops. I silently pray he’d go on, for even though it was for a nanosecond, I heard his voice – he was going to call out my name.

Please... please...

But he doesn’t go on.

The line goes dead.

I finally breathe out.

My body relaxes.

I unclasp my fingers. They hurt.

I look around.

Lost.

Numb.

I keep staring out of the window, willing myself not to cry. Suddenly the phone rings and shatters the silence. I pick up the cordless and see the number that’s flashing. It doesn’t look familiar. I take a deep breath. I swallow. And in the best voice that I can manage, I answer the call,

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘I knew it was you…’

Its Neel.

I hold my breath again.

I try to control it, but I can’t. I sniff. Really softly.

But who am I trying to fool? I forget its Neel I am talking to.

He hears the sniff alright. He responds with a sigh.

‘God, I missed you so much…’ he says.

And the tears finally run down my cheeks.