‘I really need to get it done today. Can you please help me out? I will wait back tomorrow to make up for today if you want. But I have to go now. I have to leave. Please yaar…’
I looked at my lab partner and the look of utter determination on her face – determination of non-cooperation. I took one look at her face – and I couldn’t look any more; for I am not a good liar, and I somehow didn’t want to get caught that day. All I needed was some quiet. I wanted to be alone. There was no pressing family matter that I had to attend to – it was my own pressing need of wanting to be home that mattered more to me that day; more than anything else in the world.
I don’t like being weak. And I absolutely don’t like begging or pleading people for anything. I don’t like to ask for help, but this has got nothing to do with me wanting to put up an image of me. It’s just the way I am. I’d rather be on the other side of the table and help people out than ask them for help.
But a lot of things happen in life for the first time. And I was only beginning to discover what all that included.
My lab partner miraculously fell for my lie – or at least showed like she had; for she agreed to cover up for me that day and do some of my lab work. And that to in exchange of nothing. I guess she sensed something amiss. I picked up my books and packed my bag and left before she changed her mind.
To hell with the project and the thesis and my guide and my lab partner and college and everything in life.
To hell with catering to people’s needs.
Today, it was my turn.
I switched my phone off as I climbed down the stairs. Mom was not going to be home either today. And dad was going to come back late. So I had the whole house to me. And I wanted to make everything of it. Didn’t want to attend to or talk to or be disturbed by anything. Today it was going to be just me.
I decided to pick up Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup on my way home and make myself hot chocolate and enjoy the rains, cuddled up on my bed under a big quilt, looking outside my window.
But I was restless. Yes something was definitely amiss.
I tried to put the feeling away and sought after getting home as early as I could. But as fate would have it, one of the loneliest streets in the city was exceptionally busy that day, and I was soon caught in a massive traffic jam. Quite reluctantly I switched my phone on again and played some music. Soon the mood of the song got me and I began to nod my head ever so slightly to the beat of the song. I observed the people around stuck in the traffic jam with me. A guy on the bike next to me tried to strike up a conversation.
‘Music lover, eh?’ he asked.
I just smiled.
He looked away. And suddenly at the exact same moment we had both spotted two street kids – one boy and one girl – sitting under the fly-over, and the kids had looked at us. They started talking among themselves. The guy turned to me again.
‘I bet they are going to be here in no time,’ he said to me – like that wasn’t the most obvious thing at that moment. But the kids surprised us. The boy quickly got up and came running to us from in between all the vehicles. The girl stayed put where she was.
The small kid somehow skipped me and chose my ‘friend’. The guy first denied to give him anything, but then pulled out a one rupee coin and placed it in the boy’s hand. The kid happily bounced off to join his mate under the fly-over. He held up the coin for his friend to see and teased her. She looked at him for a moment and then turned away. I looked at the guy next to me.
‘I can never beg anyone for anything,’ he said.
‘Neither can I,’ I spoke my first words to this stranger. ‘But just imagine a way of life like that.’
We both turned to look at the kids again. The boy had procured a handful of peanuts out of what he had just received. The girl with him looked at him – but there was no longing on her face. She just looked at him as if to observe him. Or just about as casually as we were both looking at them. She then turned to look straight at me – a pair of eyes looking straight into another pair of eyes. Somewhere I had connected with this girl. I could see a part of me in her, and I guess she sensed it too. We both just kept looking at each other for a long time, as if we were only looking at our own reflections in the mirror. Begging was not a way of life for both of us – though the connotations and implied meaning of the word maybe very different in each of our lives – and it would never ever be; we wouldn’t let it ever be. Even in our lowest low, we would rather die than beg.
I let my lips curve up in a very small smile. But the girl didn’t return the gesture. She didn’t need any stranger’s sympathy or friendship. She didn’t need to smile back at me just because I was rich and might take a liking to her and give her some money or nicer clothes to wear or something to eat. She was cordial, in the least; for there was no animosity on that sweet little face with its child-like features and mismatched grown-up eyes. But there was no sign of amity either. And yet, that little face under the fly-over was not blank or devoid of expressions.
I went home and spent that entire day with the memory of that face in my head. Somehow in those few moments I had connected with that girl to such a depth as was unimaginable. Next day was a Sunday, so I didn’t have to go to my project place. But I still went to that road under the fly-over – just to catch a glimpse of that face again. And there she was, right where I had seen her yesterday. Only the boy was missing. I went and stood under the fly-over, a little distance from her.
‘Ikade ye,’ I said. (Come here.)
She got up and walked up to me. Only then did I realise there was blood stain on her torn frock.
I looked at it and asked – ‘Kay jhala?’ (What happened?)
‘Munna ala hota, gheun jayala.’ (Munna had come to take me away.)
‘Mag?’ I asked (So what happened?)
She quietly walked back to where she had been sitting and pulled out an iron rod from under a few gunny bags and showed it to me. I looked at it, and looked back at the girl. There was no sign of remorse or regret on her face.
‘Kaam dein. Paise pan. Khana, pina sagle. Shalet pan jayala milel. Yetes?’ (I will give you work, food and money. You will even go to school. Will you come along?)
She nodded.
I took the girl home. All the way back there was a battle of two voices in my head. On the one hand I was feeling guilty about making a small girl work. I strongly object child labour. But on the other hand, I knew this girl wouldn’t come with me if I didn’t give her anything to do. She was not one to accept favours. And I didn’t want to leave her on the streets, to the mercy of more Munna’s.
I opened the door to my house. Mother was standing near the phone. She saw me and put the phone down.
‘Kuthe geli hotis sakal-sakali? Sangun jayachi paddhat?’ (Where had you gone so early in the morning? Couldn’t you tell me?) She then saw the little girl behind me, and her expressions changed. I turned to the girl.
‘Naav kay tujha?’ (Whats your name?)
‘Sangi.’
‘Avadta tula?’ (Do you like it?)
She nodded ‘no’.
‘Kuthla naav avadta tula?’ (Which name do you like?)
‘Madhuri.’
‘Thike. Chal, anghol karun ghe.’ (Ok. Go and have a bath now.)
She walked away into my room. I told Mom about her. She was glad I had got her home.
I went inside the room and took out an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts from when I was a kid and gave it to her to wear.
‘Udya jaun tula navin kapde gheu.’ (Let’s get you some new clothes tomorrow.)
I smiled at the girl, and I knew she was going to smile back at me; for that was her way of expressing gratitude, she would do no more than that. She was never going to hug me, or touch my feet, or sing false praises to me of how good I was, and God bless me for helping her and all. But she had accepted to come into my home in exchange of work and a better life. And I was glad she had.
The girl smiled back at me. And I knew I had got that younger sister I had always wanted.
Showing posts with label Heartrending. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heartrending. Show all posts
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
25
Woke up with a wonderful feeling yesterday that lingered till my last waking moment before I hit the bed. Mom had gone out to meet her group of friends at Vaishali early morning, and it was only after she got back and rang the bell did I wake up from my slumber. I quickly put on my specs and opened the door for her. she stepped in. I turned around and went into my parents room and lied down next to my father. Mom came and sat next to him on the other side. I raised both my hands and stretched them out, one at each of them, and wished them –
‘Happy 25th Anniversary!’
Both smiled at me and then at each other very sweetly. Mom immediately got out of the bed. I got pissed off.
‘Bas na ga jara… kiti uthlya uthlya kat kat karte?’ (Sit for a while, no! why do you have to hurry into your chores right away?)
‘Tujha Ajja utarnar nahiye warun, swaypak karayala… baghu de mala kay kay karayachaye te!’ (Your grandfather is not going to descend from the heavens to make food! Lemme go and see what to do…)
She walked out of the room before I could further try to persuade her to laze around a little more.
‘Ashi kay arre hi!’ I said to Dad. (Why is she like this?) dad just raised his hand and let it fall right back onto the bed. I gave him a bear hug. Felt like childhood, when I used to get up and out of my bed, and come and sleep with Dad again for a while, every Sunday. Mom came into the bedroom and started complaining, completing the childhood memory.
‘Uth na ata bande, kay challaye?’ (Come on now, get up dearest! Whats going on?)
‘You should be the one hugging him! But since you are not, I am!’ I teased my mom. That finally did the trick and Mom sat down on the bed, laughing. Dad uttered his first words of the day –
‘Chal we’ll celebrate Lazy Day!’
‘Yay!’ I said.
‘Nandu arre jara aajchya divashi tari uth lavkar!’ (Nandu at least get up early today !)
Dad just nodded ‘no’ sleepily. And Mom agreed. Moither was being very easy to convince and coax today! Maybe she too didn’t want to actually cook food today or anything. I seized the opportunity.
‘Ok that’s it! The head of the family has declared it to be a Lazy Day, and so shall it be! I’ll go get eggs and bread. We’ll have nice omelet sandwiches for brunch!’
‘With cheesh!’ Dad added, his eyes still closed.
‘Okies! With cheesh!’ I said, mimicking Dad. About a couple of hours later we were all enjoying hot omelet sandwiches at our dining table.
‘What yaar! Twnty-five years with the same woman!’ Dad said, eyeing Mom out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t you think I should upgrade?’ he asked me.
‘Go and ask barni!’ I said. ‘Barni’ is a nick name we had all given to one of Dad’s very old college friends – Dad had been her romantic interest back in those days. They happened to have met recently at some wedding and were back in touch now.
‘Tereko 25 din bhi she legi na, toh main khud khushi khushi tereko talaq degi!’ Mom announced. (If she can tolerate you even for 25 days, I wil happily divorce you and step out of your way!)
‘No, but you know why I never remember our anniversary, or how many years it has been?’ Dad asked me genuinely. ‘Its because I never had to count…’
I put the sandwich in my hand down in my plate and clapped. ‘Brownie point, Mr Belvalkar!’ I said. Mom leaned in and gave Dad a hug. She served herself another couple of bread slices and went about making her second sandwich, when suddenly she looked at Dad and said –
‘Aila Nandu! Pacchis saal ke baad fir se omelet sandwich yaar!’ (Hey Nandu! Omelet sandwiches again, after 25 years!) And what followed was a Kodak moment. Dad, who is usually quite subtle about his emotions, actually high-fived Mom! And his face was lit up with the happiest smiles I had ever seen on that face, that reflected in his eyes. I looked at the two of them, having their moment, and smiled, satisfied and immensely happy. I wanted to ask Mom what she meant, but I didn’t. It was clear from their expressions that it was a very dear memory and probably also a top secret! And I wished to keep it that way… I continued to devour my sandwich and let them have their moment. Soon brunch was over and Dad had dressed up and was ready to leave.
‘Arre wait! What about dinner?’ I asked Dad just as he was about to step out.
‘If the car arrives, we go to Mainland China… so pray the car arrives!’ Dad said, and pulled the door shut. Me and mom eagerly prayed out new car arrive in the evening, and arrive it did. to complete a perfect day, we went and dined at Mom’s favorite restaurant and had a nice time together, just the three of us after a long long time. I didn’t attend to any friends that day, Dad canceled his Harmonica batches in the evening, and Mom actually asked me to give her a facial at home! – which is so so so unlike her!
We had one of the loveliest dinners we had had in a long time. Mom and Dad were both elated and in a world of their own. I felt a little like an outside, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I felt very happy for the two of them. And I know I am their daughter, but I still silently blessed the two of them in my mind and in my heart. When our drinks arrived we all raised a toast to ‘another twenty-five years of togetherness’… and it was perfect. The last images in my mind before I went to bed that night were of mother waiting for Dad to return in the evening. There was something very different in her eyes, on her face that day. And it was beautiful.
If in another twenty-five years, I can be even half as happy with my husband as Mom and Dad are with each other, I will consider myself blessed. God bless them.
‘Happy 25th Anniversary!’
Both smiled at me and then at each other very sweetly. Mom immediately got out of the bed. I got pissed off.
‘Bas na ga jara… kiti uthlya uthlya kat kat karte?’ (Sit for a while, no! why do you have to hurry into your chores right away?)
‘Tujha Ajja utarnar nahiye warun, swaypak karayala… baghu de mala kay kay karayachaye te!’ (Your grandfather is not going to descend from the heavens to make food! Lemme go and see what to do…)
She walked out of the room before I could further try to persuade her to laze around a little more.
‘Ashi kay arre hi!’ I said to Dad. (Why is she like this?) dad just raised his hand and let it fall right back onto the bed. I gave him a bear hug. Felt like childhood, when I used to get up and out of my bed, and come and sleep with Dad again for a while, every Sunday. Mom came into the bedroom and started complaining, completing the childhood memory.
‘Uth na ata bande, kay challaye?’ (Come on now, get up dearest! Whats going on?)
‘You should be the one hugging him! But since you are not, I am!’ I teased my mom. That finally did the trick and Mom sat down on the bed, laughing. Dad uttered his first words of the day –
‘Chal we’ll celebrate Lazy Day!’
‘Yay!’ I said.
‘Nandu arre jara aajchya divashi tari uth lavkar!’ (Nandu at least get up early today !)
Dad just nodded ‘no’ sleepily. And Mom agreed. Moither was being very easy to convince and coax today! Maybe she too didn’t want to actually cook food today or anything. I seized the opportunity.
‘Ok that’s it! The head of the family has declared it to be a Lazy Day, and so shall it be! I’ll go get eggs and bread. We’ll have nice omelet sandwiches for brunch!’
‘With cheesh!’ Dad added, his eyes still closed.
‘Okies! With cheesh!’ I said, mimicking Dad. About a couple of hours later we were all enjoying hot omelet sandwiches at our dining table.
‘What yaar! Twnty-five years with the same woman!’ Dad said, eyeing Mom out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t you think I should upgrade?’ he asked me.
‘Go and ask barni!’ I said. ‘Barni’ is a nick name we had all given to one of Dad’s very old college friends – Dad had been her romantic interest back in those days. They happened to have met recently at some wedding and were back in touch now.
‘Tereko 25 din bhi she legi na, toh main khud khushi khushi tereko talaq degi!’ Mom announced. (If she can tolerate you even for 25 days, I wil happily divorce you and step out of your way!)
‘No, but you know why I never remember our anniversary, or how many years it has been?’ Dad asked me genuinely. ‘Its because I never had to count…’
I put the sandwich in my hand down in my plate and clapped. ‘Brownie point, Mr Belvalkar!’ I said. Mom leaned in and gave Dad a hug. She served herself another couple of bread slices and went about making her second sandwich, when suddenly she looked at Dad and said –
‘Aila Nandu! Pacchis saal ke baad fir se omelet sandwich yaar!’ (Hey Nandu! Omelet sandwiches again, after 25 years!) And what followed was a Kodak moment. Dad, who is usually quite subtle about his emotions, actually high-fived Mom! And his face was lit up with the happiest smiles I had ever seen on that face, that reflected in his eyes. I looked at the two of them, having their moment, and smiled, satisfied and immensely happy. I wanted to ask Mom what she meant, but I didn’t. It was clear from their expressions that it was a very dear memory and probably also a top secret! And I wished to keep it that way… I continued to devour my sandwich and let them have their moment. Soon brunch was over and Dad had dressed up and was ready to leave.
‘Arre wait! What about dinner?’ I asked Dad just as he was about to step out.
‘If the car arrives, we go to Mainland China… so pray the car arrives!’ Dad said, and pulled the door shut. Me and mom eagerly prayed out new car arrive in the evening, and arrive it did. to complete a perfect day, we went and dined at Mom’s favorite restaurant and had a nice time together, just the three of us after a long long time. I didn’t attend to any friends that day, Dad canceled his Harmonica batches in the evening, and Mom actually asked me to give her a facial at home! – which is so so so unlike her!
We had one of the loveliest dinners we had had in a long time. Mom and Dad were both elated and in a world of their own. I felt a little like an outside, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I felt very happy for the two of them. And I know I am their daughter, but I still silently blessed the two of them in my mind and in my heart. When our drinks arrived we all raised a toast to ‘another twenty-five years of togetherness’… and it was perfect. The last images in my mind before I went to bed that night were of mother waiting for Dad to return in the evening. There was something very different in her eyes, on her face that day. And it was beautiful.
If in another twenty-five years, I can be even half as happy with my husband as Mom and Dad are with each other, I will consider myself blessed. God bless them.
Friday, April 24, 2009
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...
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...
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
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.
‘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.
Friday, May 2, 2008
MOM LOVES ME
I looked down at the floor
Two big fat tears fell on my dress. They blotted it and made it a shade darker___ a strawberry pink from a rose pink.
I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stop the tears from coming. As if rebelling, they came bigger, faster, as I clenched harder.
I tried to swallow; my throat had gone dry in seconds. I tried to breathe, but my nose had choked. I opened my mouth and took deep breaths. I ran a tongue over my lips. They desiccated within splits seconds.
The more you try to avoid something, the more it gets back at you.
A thousand voices screamed inside my head. An army of thousand men, marching… a thousand firecrackers bursting in the sky… a thousand drums beating in perfect synchronization… nothing could have equaled the pandemonium in my head at that moment. Altogether, at once, I went back in time to when I was in seventh-grade… tenth-grade… college… last month… last week… I grew taller, bolder, smarter, wiser, more sensitive, more responsible, more mature…
But Mom was the same.
Judgmental.
Strong-headed.
One-track minded.
Hypercritical.
Insensitive.
Uncaring.
Mom was still the same.
My vision blurred as the tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked. The tears ran down my cheeks.
‘You say my behaviour hurts you. Your behaviour hurts me too.’
The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.
There was a moment of dead silence.
‘But I never say it.’
Pause.
‘Because I don’t like to. And because I love you.’
I had finally found my voice. Thousands of words were on the tip of my mouth, but I clenched my teeth and stopped myself from saying them. ‘Cause I knew myself and I knew that I was capable of inflicting stinging tears by saying fewest of the most vicious words. And I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to learn not to do it.
And still my mother said I didn’t love her.
That I didn’t care for her.
How could she?
My ears felt hot. They were burning, red. The tears kept coming in steady streams.
I tried to think of our best times together.
But they kept coming.
I tried to think of the many times when we had laughed till our stomachs ached and jaws went numb.
But the tears kept coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut again to clear the pool of tears in my eyes. As I opened them I sensed some movement towards my right. I didn’t look up.
Mom came up to me. She put her arms around me.
And all dams broke loose as I heard her whisper in my ear…
‘I’m sorry.’
I put my arms around her and put my head in her bosom and cried.
It felt nice to be held by my mother, in her arms… after all these years…
It felt safe.
It felt secure.
It finally felt like… despite all my faults and the times that I had unknowingly hurt her, Mom still loved me…
Yes. Mom loves me.
Two big fat tears fell on my dress. They blotted it and made it a shade darker___ a strawberry pink from a rose pink.
I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stop the tears from coming. As if rebelling, they came bigger, faster, as I clenched harder.
I tried to swallow; my throat had gone dry in seconds. I tried to breathe, but my nose had choked. I opened my mouth and took deep breaths. I ran a tongue over my lips. They desiccated within splits seconds.
The more you try to avoid something, the more it gets back at you.
A thousand voices screamed inside my head. An army of thousand men, marching… a thousand firecrackers bursting in the sky… a thousand drums beating in perfect synchronization… nothing could have equaled the pandemonium in my head at that moment. Altogether, at once, I went back in time to when I was in seventh-grade… tenth-grade… college… last month… last week… I grew taller, bolder, smarter, wiser, more sensitive, more responsible, more mature…
But Mom was the same.
Judgmental.
Strong-headed.
One-track minded.
Hypercritical.
Insensitive.
Uncaring.
Mom was still the same.
My vision blurred as the tears pooled in my eyes. I blinked. The tears ran down my cheeks.
‘You say my behaviour hurts you. Your behaviour hurts me too.’
The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.
There was a moment of dead silence.
‘But I never say it.’
Pause.
‘Because I don’t like to. And because I love you.’
I had finally found my voice. Thousands of words were on the tip of my mouth, but I clenched my teeth and stopped myself from saying them. ‘Cause I knew myself and I knew that I was capable of inflicting stinging tears by saying fewest of the most vicious words. And I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to learn not to do it.
And still my mother said I didn’t love her.
That I didn’t care for her.
How could she?
My ears felt hot. They were burning, red. The tears kept coming in steady streams.
I tried to think of our best times together.
But they kept coming.
I tried to think of the many times when we had laughed till our stomachs ached and jaws went numb.
But the tears kept coming.
I squeezed my eyes shut again to clear the pool of tears in my eyes. As I opened them I sensed some movement towards my right. I didn’t look up.
Mom came up to me. She put her arms around me.
And all dams broke loose as I heard her whisper in my ear…
‘I’m sorry.’
I put my arms around her and put my head in her bosom and cried.
It felt nice to be held by my mother, in her arms… after all these years…
It felt safe.
It felt secure.
It finally felt like… despite all my faults and the times that I had unknowingly hurt her, Mom still loved me…
Yes. Mom loves me.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A LETTER
DEAR TAI,
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
Congratulations! Heartiest congratulations on your wedding, and may God bless you and Jiju with his choicest of blessings.
I am sure you didn’t expect to get a ‘gift’ from your younger sister today, and definitely not a letter. But then, it is the best I have to offer. What else can I give you? I don’t work or earn! Hee hee…
The first time Dad told me you are getting married, I was stunned. For a moment, all was lost to me, and I was lost in nothing. And then suddenly, I was smiling ear-to-ear and hugging Dad tightly. I was so happy! Ecstatic! And even more so when he told me you are marrying Sanjay. I was so pleasantly surprised! You wont believe me, but in that insane moment, I tried to imagine marrying one of my school friends; God! I went crazy rolling with laughter. But I was so happy for you… really. ‘It must be the best thing to marry your friend,’ I thought to myself… atleast that’s what I think. But then, I’m only 16, so I maybe wrong. But I’d like to believe I’m right; it makes life so much easier.
I was very nostalgic the day Dad told me about your marriage. I found it pretty surprising, and I shocked myself with what I felt about your wedding. I mean, I never saw much of you, but then, you are my real sister after all, even if we don’t live together, and never will perhaps. And now I was not going to be able too see you at all; what with you migrating to Switzerland. I am going to fight with Jiju over this some day…
I have always wanted to have a real sister or a real brother. I used to look at you and Dada, and my heart used to fill with envy. And I used to hate myself for envying you. I used to be so excited when we met at all our family get-togethers. Really! Even before Dad told me about us being real brothers and sisters__ about us being real siblings__ you were always special to me. I don’t know why. On the very few and extremely rare occasions that you’d come to live with us, I would be so fascinated! I used to copy everything you did. I used to get up and laze in the bed. I used to sit in my window, close to you, with my toothbrush in my hand. I used to shake my head left-right vigorously after my bath. You’re hair was shorter than mine, so it was ok for you. But my waist-length hair used to get entangled so badly, Mom used to really have a tough time untangling them, and I used to often get a slap or a rap on my back for my stupidity. I never used to cry.
I remember the night very clearly when Dad told me about us. I remember his exact words, and how shocked and surprised and confused I was. I tried to make head or tales of what he had told me for a long time. So many of my questions had been left unanswered… Why you and Dada didn’t live with us, when we were real brothers and sisters; why did you never even come to stay with us and play with me, atleast once in a while; why you didn’t call my Mom ‘Mom’ but called her ‘Maushi’… I struggled to try and understand why things were the way they were. I was too young to understand the situation. It was more like, I knew the situation, but didn’t know what it meant.
I never ever felt depressed though. Never. I was never ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ or ‘angry’ or any of the things. I never for a moment hated Dad, or even you or Dada for that matter. In fact I felt more and more close to you, and I loved you and adored you and idolized you even more day-by-day. But I did feel deprived; very deeply deprived.
As I entered secondary school, I began understanding what it meant… us being siblings and not staying together. And that is when it really hit me. I felt so terribly deprived. It was like, I had a brother and a sister, a Tai and a Dada; but I could never tell it to anyone. I would always stumble when my new-made friends would ask me: So do you have a brother or a sister? Only briefly, but I would feel… awkward. And more often than not, I’d end up lying: Nope, I’m alone. And if my friend had a sibling, he or she would call me ‘lucky’; and if they didn’t, he or she would say ‘me neither; join the club!’ they’d say they were glad to be alone, and I’d nod, pasting a smile on my face.
Every time we all gathered for any festival or festivity, you would all talk about the fun you had as cousins; and the stuff you confessed into each other; and the way you covered up for each other; and I’d feel like an alien amongst my own cousins. You had grown together, and it seemed to me like I had tagged along. I had attached myself to a group of brothers and sisters whom I had nothing in common with. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I would always closely listen to you guys, and try and think what it must have been like. I tried to do stuff that would make you notice me and talk to me. I listened to English songs in hope that I would get to talk to you about them. I tried to adopt the several things you guys did to try and blend in with you and be a part of you.
But most of all, I always tried to be your younger sister Tai; your ‘kid’-sister. I always tried to bond with you. I loved you so much! I was in awe of you. I was fascinated by you; by the thought of having a Tai I could share my stuff with__ ear-rings, clothes, boyfriends, break-ups. I always wanted to be your ‘kid’-sister. But I never got to be.
Every time I was at your place, I’d go through your stuff and try to find out more about you; your likes, your tastes; so that I could adopt them and then probably have something in common with you that would help me strike a chord with you and make you think of me a little more and talk to me a little more and notice me a little more. I would go through the books you read__ Archie’s, Comics, Garfield, Sherlock Holmes__ I’d leaf through them. I never meant to pry through your stuff or take it Tai. I never ever meant to steal it! If I had known you did not like anyone going through your things I wouldn’t have dared to even look at your things. I wouldn’t have dared to enter your room. All I wanted was to be your sister and all I wanted was you to be my ‘Tai’. All I wanted to do was connect with you and feel at least for a moment that I had a sister; a real sister.
I was deeply hurt that day when you told Dad that you didn’t like me sneaking in your room. But I didn’t say anything. And unknowing to me I started detaching myself from you guys, from my cousins, from you. I started having my meals with Ajoba on the dining table when ever we gathered, instead of sitting among you guys and chit-chatting and having fun. I used to pretend to feel very sleepy after my meals and used to go off to the bedroom of whosever house we had gathered at and used to try and fall asleep. I had come to accept that I never was and probably would never be a part of your world; a world which you had all shared together as cousins, but which you were too old to share with me now. I never thought there would be a ‘generation gap’ between us, but that is what happened… to an extent. With you, the youngest of you all, being 9 years older to me, I was another generation for you guys, and I tried to accept it.
I am sorry. I am sincerely sorry for going through your stuff and for doing those things I did. But believe me, I never meant to be privy. All I wanted was to get to know you…
As I see you standing on the stage with Jiju today, I know you have changed. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your gestures. I can feel the aura that you seem to be radiating. I felt it the day when, on our recent get-together, you asked me why I had chosen to sit on the oldies’ side of the table in the restaurant and not with you guys; and it’s stronger than ever today. I can see that you have ‘come of age’ as they say…
I wish you all the luck and all the very best things in life. It is great to see you so happy, and I am happy for you. In fact, I am sure I am the happiest person in this wedding-hall right now; next to you and Jiju of course!
I have put a bet with Dad that I won’t cry when you leave. But I know I am going to cry buckets when I’m alone later in the day.
Don’t tell Dad though! Or I will lose the bet…
I love you! And I am going to miss you a lot…
YOURS TRULY.
Monday, March 3, 2008
CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE SOUL...
Ok. So it was happening again. And I was prepared; or so I thought…
At the exact moment when I realised I was falling head over heels for my friend all over again, I also realised he was not interested in me, all over again… or that he would probably never be…
I still tried to play it cool… Try and ‘take it all sportingly in a stride’… Be happy for him… Ask about the girl without feeling jealous or left-out… Smile and actually mean it… act mature…
But the main problem with acting mature is that at the end of it, you are still ‘acting’ mature… and not actually being mature…
I again convinced myself… or tried to; that I am a ‘nice’ girl… good-looking and all… and that maybe I am just worth someone better… that I am not his kind but that doesn’t mean I am never going to have a boy-friend or anything… For the zillionth time in my life I tried to get over… over what? Even I don’t know really if you ask me. I mean, we weren’t going around, so I can’t call it ‘heartbreak’… so whatever it was that I was trying to get over… I still haven’t figured out… maybe trying to get over being the ‘outcaste’… trying to get over the fact of being the only person among my gal-pals who didn’t have a boy-friend, and so also didn’t have any of her friends who could spare some time for her and meet her and catch up on things… trying to get over feeling unwanted… trying to get over the feeling you get when your feelings are not reciprocated… Like always I tried to convince myself and said good things about myself to me… things that would, or were supposed to cheer me up… I tried to tell myself… I tried to argue, ‘why is it so important for me that a guy should like me, fall for me or whatever?’, and ‘why was my happiness conditional?’, and on and on I went inside my head. He was sitting in front of me and talking… I could make it out from his lip-movements, but I wasn’t really listening.
I went on and on… trying to ‘look at the brighter side of things’, if there were any… and I tried to ‘act mature’…
And then at one point… I just snapped.
You know what? No matter what you say and what you do… IT SUCKS.
It sucks to be the only single girl in your group of friends… It sucks to always fall for guys who don’t like you… It sucks to have all guys think of you as a ‘guy’… as an equal… just because you are frank and straightforward and bindaas… It sucks big-time. It really does. I am fed up of having to be the ‘poor-me’… and I don’t know what to do about it… I am fed up of eating with a voice at the back of my head that constantly reminds me the number of calories I am putting on… I am fed up of watching models with unrealistic figures on TV… I am fed up of going to college to look at girls who are ‘bitchy’ and pathetic people on the inside but who are also surrounded by people just because they act sweet on the face and are ‘oh-so-girly’… I am fed up of hanging out with friends who have nothing but their boy-friends to talk about… It’s such a shame that people should judge you by how you look and who you hang out with and what time you sleep and whether you go to pubs or not and whether you have a boy-friend or not… and whether you are fat or not… and whether you enjoy late night parties or not… I am fed up of going to romantic movies and then wistfully looking at the hero and the heroine as they kiss each other in the end… It’s so so sick. I am fed up trying to make myself ‘fit’… make myself accepted… I’m fed up of trying to be someone I am not… Ya I don’t wear make-up; I sleep at nine; I am fat; I am not a typical girl; i don’t go to pubs; I don’t wear short skirts and I don’t have a tattoo; and I have never had a boy-friend; and I have never been kissed… SO WHAT?
You try to be cool… you try to get people to accept you into their group… and you don’t succeed… and then at the end of the day, its just you sitting with your tears giving you company… even when you know the whole thing is nothing worth crying over… You know that you are better off such people… and that it’s not the end of the world… but nonetheless, it’s a fact. It is the world you are living in… it’s the world I am living in. It’s a world where I am alone in a crowd. It’s the world that is pathetic to the core, but it’s the real world… and my only consolation lies in this sentence I read somewhere…
Life is a dream… I will wake up when I die…
At the exact moment when I realised I was falling head over heels for my friend all over again, I also realised he was not interested in me, all over again… or that he would probably never be…
I still tried to play it cool… Try and ‘take it all sportingly in a stride’… Be happy for him… Ask about the girl without feeling jealous or left-out… Smile and actually mean it… act mature…
But the main problem with acting mature is that at the end of it, you are still ‘acting’ mature… and not actually being mature…
I again convinced myself… or tried to; that I am a ‘nice’ girl… good-looking and all… and that maybe I am just worth someone better… that I am not his kind but that doesn’t mean I am never going to have a boy-friend or anything… For the zillionth time in my life I tried to get over… over what? Even I don’t know really if you ask me. I mean, we weren’t going around, so I can’t call it ‘heartbreak’… so whatever it was that I was trying to get over… I still haven’t figured out… maybe trying to get over being the ‘outcaste’… trying to get over the fact of being the only person among my gal-pals who didn’t have a boy-friend, and so also didn’t have any of her friends who could spare some time for her and meet her and catch up on things… trying to get over feeling unwanted… trying to get over the feeling you get when your feelings are not reciprocated… Like always I tried to convince myself and said good things about myself to me… things that would, or were supposed to cheer me up… I tried to tell myself… I tried to argue, ‘why is it so important for me that a guy should like me, fall for me or whatever?’, and ‘why was my happiness conditional?’, and on and on I went inside my head. He was sitting in front of me and talking… I could make it out from his lip-movements, but I wasn’t really listening.
I went on and on… trying to ‘look at the brighter side of things’, if there were any… and I tried to ‘act mature’…
And then at one point… I just snapped.
You know what? No matter what you say and what you do… IT SUCKS.
It sucks to be the only single girl in your group of friends… It sucks to always fall for guys who don’t like you… It sucks to have all guys think of you as a ‘guy’… as an equal… just because you are frank and straightforward and bindaas… It sucks big-time. It really does. I am fed up of having to be the ‘poor-me’… and I don’t know what to do about it… I am fed up of eating with a voice at the back of my head that constantly reminds me the number of calories I am putting on… I am fed up of watching models with unrealistic figures on TV… I am fed up of going to college to look at girls who are ‘bitchy’ and pathetic people on the inside but who are also surrounded by people just because they act sweet on the face and are ‘oh-so-girly’… I am fed up of hanging out with friends who have nothing but their boy-friends to talk about… It’s such a shame that people should judge you by how you look and who you hang out with and what time you sleep and whether you go to pubs or not and whether you have a boy-friend or not… and whether you are fat or not… and whether you enjoy late night parties or not… I am fed up of going to romantic movies and then wistfully looking at the hero and the heroine as they kiss each other in the end… It’s so so sick. I am fed up trying to make myself ‘fit’… make myself accepted… I’m fed up of trying to be someone I am not… Ya I don’t wear make-up; I sleep at nine; I am fat; I am not a typical girl; i don’t go to pubs; I don’t wear short skirts and I don’t have a tattoo; and I have never had a boy-friend; and I have never been kissed… SO WHAT?
You try to be cool… you try to get people to accept you into their group… and you don’t succeed… and then at the end of the day, its just you sitting with your tears giving you company… even when you know the whole thing is nothing worth crying over… You know that you are better off such people… and that it’s not the end of the world… but nonetheless, it’s a fact. It is the world you are living in… it’s the world I am living in. It’s a world where I am alone in a crowd. It’s the world that is pathetic to the core, but it’s the real world… and my only consolation lies in this sentence I read somewhere…
Life is a dream… I will wake up when I die…
Thursday, December 27, 2007
THE MEETING
Just about two hours ago, I was an ordinary teenager, sitting in the canteen of her college, enjoying with her friends, and eyeing the few good-looking guys (read: extremely rare and almost endangered species) in the college as they came and went; and now, I was sitting in Barista, acting suave and grown-up, reading a book while I waited to meet him. Exactly after four years.
Recap.
We met. Became friends. Lost touch. Were back in touch (courtesy an old slam book and courtesy my efforts). He shifted to Bombay for higher studies. I still tried to remain in touch with him. One day I come to know he doesn’t really care to be in touch with me, and wouldn’t mind it (or maybe would be rather glad) if we didn’t talk, stay in touch.
I stopped contacting him.
But somewhere in the midst of all this, I fell in love with him. Truly. Madly. Deeply. And inexplicably.
Then why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him?
He was getting married.
Oh, didn’t I tell you? He is seven years older to me.
Yeah. Seven whole years older to me.
Still; why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him to come?
I couldn’t explain that myself. Jut about two hours ago I had received an SMS from him. Note: he still had my number.
But I tried to figure out whose number it was. Note: his number was not stored in my phonebook.
It may seem trivial, but this meant a lot. For me, a person who wasn’t in my phonebook was virtually dead.
The SMS read: ‘hi.m getin married on 2dec.u r invitd to d reception.venue central park junglee maharaj rd,time 7 to 9pm.pl b der.rgrds.’
My stomach lurched. And suddenly I placed the number; it was his number.
I had anticipated the arrival of this day so many times… and for so many days and months… and now that it was actually here, it numbed me. I was so totally unprepared. I didn’t know what to say!
‘hi.congrats.nice to hear frm u.thnx 4 d invitation.bt I dnt think I’ll b abl to mak it.of curs u knw,my wishes always wit u.’: my reply.
‘cm on.u hv to com.try n mak it.pl.’: his reply.
And I smiled. Laughed actually; a blushy girly laugh. And what I did next was totally mad; dumb, unexpected… incomprehensible. Unneeded.
I replied: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’
What was I thinking? Why did I have to do it? And then I knew he had changed! He had gone from the person I loved to the person I had come to utterly dislike now… I won’t say ‘hate’ because hate is a very strong word. I plead temporary insanity… no. Actually I plead nothing for getting myself into the situation I was in. But I guess, by that one SMS, he had transported me back to the time I was madly in love with him.
His reply: ‘bt u hv chngd a lot.’
My reply: ‘lemme assure u I hvnt.’
His reply: ‘hw abt letin me decide tht?coffee?1hr.barista.if u r free.’
My reply: ‘ok’
I don’t know what absurd moment it was when I agreed to meet him. God. Yes, I loved him. I mean, I used to love him. But I had just gotten out of him recently, of course with a lot of help from my old world friends, and this special friend… but more on that later. Anyway, so I had agreed to meet him within an hour, at a coffee shop I didn’t like, at a time I didn’t have coffee at, in a way I had never expected, and under circumstances I had never dreamt of.
Sigh.
I glanced at my watch for about the zillionth time. ‘Bridges On Madison County’ was propped open in front of me on the table, and for the first time, I wasn’t able to absorb into a book to get away from something. And just then I looked up; and I was staring at him.
Telepathy? Maybe…
Style check: he was wearing black jeans and a wine-red full-sleeved shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbow. Full marks. But… his hair was messy, his face was pimply, he had put on weight… God! I couldn’t help finding flaws in him. He had changed so much. And yet I had to go and type that SMS out and send it to him: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’ Mad. Totally mad!
But most of all, I noticed something that really ripped my heart out.
His smile was gone.
He spotted me and nodded. Wow! So he recognized me after all these years. But even as he smiled, I noticed yet again there was something strained about it; like he was making a Herculean effort to smile. I tried to smile back, but couldn’t. How? Why? What had happened? I kept wondering. He came and sat down at the table.
‘Hi!’ he said.
‘Hi…’ I replied.
‘Let’s order first and then talk,’ he said, and picked up the menu card. ‘I’m hungry.’
He went on to study the menu card, I studied him till then.
‘I don’t know,’ he said suddenly. ‘I never come here. You say, what do you want?’
‘I never come here either,’ I said. ‘But I guess espresso is the same everywhere. I’ll go for an espresso.’
‘Black coffee? You like black coffee?’ he asked, as if I had ordered for poison.
‘Yes, and without sugar,’ I added, quite bitterly too. Suddenly I was cursing myself for ever having agreed to meet him. The only thing I wanted to do was get up and leave. The hatred, the disgust… the hurt… it was all coming back, gushing into my mind with a force I couldn’t counter.
‘Hmmm… I didn’t know that....’ he said. A boy came to take our order. He placed the order. The boy left.
‘So… how is college? You are in, what… second year now?’ he asked.
‘Yes; and college is going great,’ I replied.
‘Modern right?’ he asked. Modern as in, the name of my college.
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘And you are doing science I guess…’ he said. ‘An intelligent and talented girl like you would be wasted in commerce or arts.’
‘Yes I am doing science. But I do have second thoughts about my decision sometimes,’ I reply truthfully. ‘There are so many things I would have liked to do, if I had the time to.’
‘Like?’
‘Oh, like lots… drama, for starters; music, and maybe photography too.’
‘Which reminds, I saw your album on Orkut. It’s brilliant.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, just as our order came. I eagerly took a sip of my coffee and burnt my tongue.
‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed.
‘Careful!’ he exclaimed, and reached out to wipe my mouth with a tissue paper. I moved back. There was an awkward moment. I wiped my mouth and set the cup back on the table. I took a sip of water. Suddenly I saw he was smiling.
‘Ajunahi tashich ahes, wendhali,’ he remarked (You are still the same, careless.)
I kept quiet.
‘So where were we? Right! Photography. ‘
‘Yeah.’
‘I love the stuff you have put up on Orkut.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And drama you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know you had a liking for drama.’
‘I am an artist at heart after all… and drama has always fascinated me.’
‘But English drama doesn’t have much scope___’
‘Marathi drama I mean.’
‘Marathi drama? Wow! That’s great.’
Pause.
‘And what about painting? You used to sketch right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. But I realised it isn’t my cup of coffee.’
‘Strictly without sugar.’ He remarked, and for the first time, we both laughed together. Genuinely.
‘You tell me about yourself,’ I said. I was beginning to relax, just a little, but still…
‘Nothing yaar,’ he said. He tore the packet of sugar open and poured it into his cup. He picked up the spoon and stirred it. ‘Same old life.’
‘Yeah right. You are getting married and nothing’s new. Same old life.’ I said. He didn’t respond. I changed the topic. ‘How many days are you here?’ I asked.
‘Leaving today evening,’ he said. ‘Anyway, majha sod. (Forget about me.) You say yaar. What are you doing? I mean, what are your future plans like?’
‘Well, I will do my graduation in Microbiology.’ He raised his eyebrows at this. ‘And then, I will go abroad and complete post-graduation. I want to do research.’
‘Wow! That’s great… so I am sitting with a future scientist.’
I smiled.
Pause.
‘Mrunal please talk to me.’
My spoon fell out of my hands and right into the cup, sending small droplets of coffee flying around.
‘Oh God! I am so sorry…’ I said, as I took a tissue and wiped the coffee off his hand and mine. He waited for me to finish. I made as if I hadn’t heard him. He repeated: ‘Come on. Talk to me.’
‘I am talking to you,’ I said.
‘You are not.’
‘Come on, honestly. You are imagining things.’
‘Kunala banavtes Mrunal, mala?’ (Whom are you trying to fool Mrunal, me?)
Pause.
‘Why have you come to meet me?’ I finally came out of the closet and asked him the question I was burning to ask. And I can see he has been waiting to hear it too.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Talk to me about what? You didn’t want to be friends with me right? Mi sodla tula, (I left you) then what do you want to talk about now? Haven’t you had enough of me? God!’ I held my head in my hands. ‘Why did I even come to meet you…’ I said, in a low, tired voice. ‘This whole meeting is a bloody mistake…’ I blinked as I realised my eyes were welling up with big fat tears… and I thought I was done with crying over him, crying for him. He waited for me to compose myself. I could feel his gaze on me. I took my own sweet time. Finally I looked up, but not at him. I lifted my head and looked out the window. My eyes were still a bit watery. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his was feeling it… my pain, my anger. And somewhere… it stung him.
‘I wanted to tell you something,’ he said. ‘And I must tell this to you before I get married. Or I never will… I know I won’t.’ He took a deep breath.
‘Frankly, I don’t know where to begin. I have always imagined this moment, when I would tell it to you. But now that the moment is actually here, I don’t know what to say… When we were together at the fitness centre, I was aware of your feelings for me. I knew you used to like me. Even after I shifted to Bombay for studies and job and all, you still kept in touch with me. And every time we talked, I felt it. And I even felt you were trying to hide it. You were trying to not let it show. But, good or bad, I saw through it. I am a PRO after all… we are taught to read people’s body language as part of our training. So yes, you tried your best to hide it, but I found out anyway. And that is how I started avoiding you… But I am sure you think I started avoiding you because I didn’t want to be friends with you… because you were too small to be my friend, and I was embarrassed when you called in front of my friends. But its not so. The truth is…’ he paused; took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. ‘The truth is I was afraid of making a choice. I was afraid of taking a decision, of taking an action. And I regret it now.’
I was stunned. I looked at him. Right there, right then all I wanted was to get up and hug hum. I felt so many things at a time. I felt… naked. I felt insecure about the fact that someone knew me so well… and yet, it was heady. I was petrified and ecstatic at the same time. Was he implying that… that he loved me too? Even saying it to myself made me feel so strange.
‘Even if you don’t believe me, it’s true. I regret not having done what I wanted to do; not having done what felt and still feels, and will always feel the right thing to do. I can’t imagine what I put you through… and I just wanted to say, tujhyat kahich kami nahiye, mich kami padlo.’ (There is nothing lacking you, I was the deficient one.)
By now I had started crying… tears were rolling down my cheeks in a continuous stream. I imagined what life could have been if he had had the courage to come up to me and say yes he loved me too; and as I did, I realised what I had been deprived of; what we had both been deprived of.
‘I know this doesn’t help in any way, but I just had to tell you this. I knew I just had to. But if there is any way you could forgive me… I would be extremely humbled.’
But I realised… how could I blame him for not having the courage to speak up? Can you blame someone for not being strong enough to do something? Yes it hurt a lot. At one point, all I wanted to do was die or kill him. But was it really his mistake? Could he be held responsible for all that happened? It was neither his fault, nor mine. And in that one moment I realised how big the word ‘fate’ is. I used to think I was so terribly wronged. And here was a guy who, just because he didn’t have the courage to do something, was now asking me to forgive him; thinking it might be his ultimate penance. Who was I to forgive him?
But he deserved it.
‘Its ok,’ I said quietly, ‘I forgive you.’
And just then, just like that, he got up, hugged me, and said something I would have loved to hear before, something that would have satisfied my ego and made me immensely happy some time ago, but something which tore my heart from my chest now as he said it. He hugged me and said;
‘I am sorry.’
Recap.
We met. Became friends. Lost touch. Were back in touch (courtesy an old slam book and courtesy my efforts). He shifted to Bombay for higher studies. I still tried to remain in touch with him. One day I come to know he doesn’t really care to be in touch with me, and wouldn’t mind it (or maybe would be rather glad) if we didn’t talk, stay in touch.
I stopped contacting him.
But somewhere in the midst of all this, I fell in love with him. Truly. Madly. Deeply. And inexplicably.
Then why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him?
He was getting married.
Oh, didn’t I tell you? He is seven years older to me.
Yeah. Seven whole years older to me.
Still; why was I sitting in Barista waiting for him to come?
I couldn’t explain that myself. Jut about two hours ago I had received an SMS from him. Note: he still had my number.
But I tried to figure out whose number it was. Note: his number was not stored in my phonebook.
It may seem trivial, but this meant a lot. For me, a person who wasn’t in my phonebook was virtually dead.
The SMS read: ‘hi.m getin married on 2dec.u r invitd to d reception.venue central park junglee maharaj rd,time 7 to 9pm.pl b der.rgrds.’
My stomach lurched. And suddenly I placed the number; it was his number.
I had anticipated the arrival of this day so many times… and for so many days and months… and now that it was actually here, it numbed me. I was so totally unprepared. I didn’t know what to say!
‘hi.congrats.nice to hear frm u.thnx 4 d invitation.bt I dnt think I’ll b abl to mak it.of curs u knw,my wishes always wit u.’: my reply.
‘cm on.u hv to com.try n mak it.pl.’: his reply.
And I smiled. Laughed actually; a blushy girly laugh. And what I did next was totally mad; dumb, unexpected… incomprehensible. Unneeded.
I replied: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’
What was I thinking? Why did I have to do it? And then I knew he had changed! He had gone from the person I loved to the person I had come to utterly dislike now… I won’t say ‘hate’ because hate is a very strong word. I plead temporary insanity… no. Actually I plead nothing for getting myself into the situation I was in. But I guess, by that one SMS, he had transported me back to the time I was madly in love with him.
His reply: ‘bt u hv chngd a lot.’
My reply: ‘lemme assure u I hvnt.’
His reply: ‘hw abt letin me decide tht?coffee?1hr.barista.if u r free.’
My reply: ‘ok’
I don’t know what absurd moment it was when I agreed to meet him. God. Yes, I loved him. I mean, I used to love him. But I had just gotten out of him recently, of course with a lot of help from my old world friends, and this special friend… but more on that later. Anyway, so I had agreed to meet him within an hour, at a coffee shop I didn’t like, at a time I didn’t have coffee at, in a way I had never expected, and under circumstances I had never dreamt of.
Sigh.
I glanced at my watch for about the zillionth time. ‘Bridges On Madison County’ was propped open in front of me on the table, and for the first time, I wasn’t able to absorb into a book to get away from something. And just then I looked up; and I was staring at him.
Telepathy? Maybe…
Style check: he was wearing black jeans and a wine-red full-sleeved shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbow. Full marks. But… his hair was messy, his face was pimply, he had put on weight… God! I couldn’t help finding flaws in him. He had changed so much. And yet I had to go and type that SMS out and send it to him: ‘u hvnt chngd a bit.’ Mad. Totally mad!
But most of all, I noticed something that really ripped my heart out.
His smile was gone.
He spotted me and nodded. Wow! So he recognized me after all these years. But even as he smiled, I noticed yet again there was something strained about it; like he was making a Herculean effort to smile. I tried to smile back, but couldn’t. How? Why? What had happened? I kept wondering. He came and sat down at the table.
‘Hi!’ he said.
‘Hi…’ I replied.
‘Let’s order first and then talk,’ he said, and picked up the menu card. ‘I’m hungry.’
He went on to study the menu card, I studied him till then.
‘I don’t know,’ he said suddenly. ‘I never come here. You say, what do you want?’
‘I never come here either,’ I said. ‘But I guess espresso is the same everywhere. I’ll go for an espresso.’
‘Black coffee? You like black coffee?’ he asked, as if I had ordered for poison.
‘Yes, and without sugar,’ I added, quite bitterly too. Suddenly I was cursing myself for ever having agreed to meet him. The only thing I wanted to do was get up and leave. The hatred, the disgust… the hurt… it was all coming back, gushing into my mind with a force I couldn’t counter.
‘Hmmm… I didn’t know that....’ he said. A boy came to take our order. He placed the order. The boy left.
‘So… how is college? You are in, what… second year now?’ he asked.
‘Yes; and college is going great,’ I replied.
‘Modern right?’ he asked. Modern as in, the name of my college.
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘And you are doing science I guess…’ he said. ‘An intelligent and talented girl like you would be wasted in commerce or arts.’
‘Yes I am doing science. But I do have second thoughts about my decision sometimes,’ I reply truthfully. ‘There are so many things I would have liked to do, if I had the time to.’
‘Like?’
‘Oh, like lots… drama, for starters; music, and maybe photography too.’
‘Which reminds, I saw your album on Orkut. It’s brilliant.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, just as our order came. I eagerly took a sip of my coffee and burnt my tongue.
‘Aaah!’ I exclaimed.
‘Careful!’ he exclaimed, and reached out to wipe my mouth with a tissue paper. I moved back. There was an awkward moment. I wiped my mouth and set the cup back on the table. I took a sip of water. Suddenly I saw he was smiling.
‘Ajunahi tashich ahes, wendhali,’ he remarked (You are still the same, careless.)
I kept quiet.
‘So where were we? Right! Photography. ‘
‘Yeah.’
‘I love the stuff you have put up on Orkut.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And drama you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know you had a liking for drama.’
‘I am an artist at heart after all… and drama has always fascinated me.’
‘But English drama doesn’t have much scope___’
‘Marathi drama I mean.’
‘Marathi drama? Wow! That’s great.’
Pause.
‘And what about painting? You used to sketch right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. But I realised it isn’t my cup of coffee.’
‘Strictly without sugar.’ He remarked, and for the first time, we both laughed together. Genuinely.
‘You tell me about yourself,’ I said. I was beginning to relax, just a little, but still…
‘Nothing yaar,’ he said. He tore the packet of sugar open and poured it into his cup. He picked up the spoon and stirred it. ‘Same old life.’
‘Yeah right. You are getting married and nothing’s new. Same old life.’ I said. He didn’t respond. I changed the topic. ‘How many days are you here?’ I asked.
‘Leaving today evening,’ he said. ‘Anyway, majha sod. (Forget about me.) You say yaar. What are you doing? I mean, what are your future plans like?’
‘Well, I will do my graduation in Microbiology.’ He raised his eyebrows at this. ‘And then, I will go abroad and complete post-graduation. I want to do research.’
‘Wow! That’s great… so I am sitting with a future scientist.’
I smiled.
Pause.
‘Mrunal please talk to me.’
My spoon fell out of my hands and right into the cup, sending small droplets of coffee flying around.
‘Oh God! I am so sorry…’ I said, as I took a tissue and wiped the coffee off his hand and mine. He waited for me to finish. I made as if I hadn’t heard him. He repeated: ‘Come on. Talk to me.’
‘I am talking to you,’ I said.
‘You are not.’
‘Come on, honestly. You are imagining things.’
‘Kunala banavtes Mrunal, mala?’ (Whom are you trying to fool Mrunal, me?)
Pause.
‘Why have you come to meet me?’ I finally came out of the closet and asked him the question I was burning to ask. And I can see he has been waiting to hear it too.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘Talk to me about what? You didn’t want to be friends with me right? Mi sodla tula, (I left you) then what do you want to talk about now? Haven’t you had enough of me? God!’ I held my head in my hands. ‘Why did I even come to meet you…’ I said, in a low, tired voice. ‘This whole meeting is a bloody mistake…’ I blinked as I realised my eyes were welling up with big fat tears… and I thought I was done with crying over him, crying for him. He waited for me to compose myself. I could feel his gaze on me. I took my own sweet time. Finally I looked up, but not at him. I lifted my head and looked out the window. My eyes were still a bit watery. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his was feeling it… my pain, my anger. And somewhere… it stung him.
‘I wanted to tell you something,’ he said. ‘And I must tell this to you before I get married. Or I never will… I know I won’t.’ He took a deep breath.
‘Frankly, I don’t know where to begin. I have always imagined this moment, when I would tell it to you. But now that the moment is actually here, I don’t know what to say… When we were together at the fitness centre, I was aware of your feelings for me. I knew you used to like me. Even after I shifted to Bombay for studies and job and all, you still kept in touch with me. And every time we talked, I felt it. And I even felt you were trying to hide it. You were trying to not let it show. But, good or bad, I saw through it. I am a PRO after all… we are taught to read people’s body language as part of our training. So yes, you tried your best to hide it, but I found out anyway. And that is how I started avoiding you… But I am sure you think I started avoiding you because I didn’t want to be friends with you… because you were too small to be my friend, and I was embarrassed when you called in front of my friends. But its not so. The truth is…’ he paused; took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye. ‘The truth is I was afraid of making a choice. I was afraid of taking a decision, of taking an action. And I regret it now.’
I was stunned. I looked at him. Right there, right then all I wanted was to get up and hug hum. I felt so many things at a time. I felt… naked. I felt insecure about the fact that someone knew me so well… and yet, it was heady. I was petrified and ecstatic at the same time. Was he implying that… that he loved me too? Even saying it to myself made me feel so strange.
‘Even if you don’t believe me, it’s true. I regret not having done what I wanted to do; not having done what felt and still feels, and will always feel the right thing to do. I can’t imagine what I put you through… and I just wanted to say, tujhyat kahich kami nahiye, mich kami padlo.’ (There is nothing lacking you, I was the deficient one.)
By now I had started crying… tears were rolling down my cheeks in a continuous stream. I imagined what life could have been if he had had the courage to come up to me and say yes he loved me too; and as I did, I realised what I had been deprived of; what we had both been deprived of.
‘I know this doesn’t help in any way, but I just had to tell you this. I knew I just had to. But if there is any way you could forgive me… I would be extremely humbled.’
But I realised… how could I blame him for not having the courage to speak up? Can you blame someone for not being strong enough to do something? Yes it hurt a lot. At one point, all I wanted to do was die or kill him. But was it really his mistake? Could he be held responsible for all that happened? It was neither his fault, nor mine. And in that one moment I realised how big the word ‘fate’ is. I used to think I was so terribly wronged. And here was a guy who, just because he didn’t have the courage to do something, was now asking me to forgive him; thinking it might be his ultimate penance. Who was I to forgive him?
But he deserved it.
‘Its ok,’ I said quietly, ‘I forgive you.’
And just then, just like that, he got up, hugged me, and said something I would have loved to hear before, something that would have satisfied my ego and made me immensely happy some time ago, but something which tore my heart from my chest now as he said it. He hugged me and said;
‘I am sorry.’
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