Beatific Ambiguity - The Realization.

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Dedicated to: You know who you are.

I had no intentions of looking forward to getting into a relationship. Commitments in a way scared me. I did not see myself ever wanting to meet a girl who could captivate me enough for me to be just myself in her company, shunning all the dramatic nonsense I usually do when I go out with different versions of the opposite gender. To me, most of them seemed to be the same with very minor variations. Self conscious, trying to be sappy all the freaking time, checking their make up in what they think is the time I am not noticing them, having the latest trend of the hair style that makes their head look like a huge sparrow nest and at times, brains bewitched enough to spend thousands on gifts for me. I just didn’t get it. No matter how many of them I went out with and shared unbelievable horrible jokes – for which they laughed like it was the funniest thing of the century – with, it always stayed as a one day entertainment factor for me, it failed to reach me personally.

It was just another day, I thought, reminding myself not to use the phone a lot and gearing up to talk endlessly as I packed my bag and checked my hair style in the mirror. Something seemed very out of place.  A haircut, maybe. I rechecked if my camera and the additional lens were in their right spots in my bag and kick started my friend’s bike. It roared enough to awaken the whole neighborhood on that lazy Sunday morning. She was supposed to be meeting me at the mall. The rain clouds were gathering very prominently and I sped across the roads of Chennai; my Chennai. It has been two whole years since the bike I drove had kissed its streets and the feeling was just amazing as the breeze kissed me awake, prodding me to accelerate to the next degree. I parked the bike and came to the food court directly. She was waiting there, playing with her phone, making it ski on the table and catching it just before it fell. Nut case she is. I sat there, clicking a few pictures with my DSLR and posing for a few and making her take some, slowly relaxing myself and getting out of the sleep. This was about the second or third time I was meeting her and there was no need for either of us to pretend with each other. Being in my natural element, it felt good. As usual, I started bragging about the stupidity quotient of the mall we were in and she was slowly brimming with temper. I was beginning to enjoy it. After loafing around aimlessly in there, she finally made up her mind that she wanted to go to the bigger mall in the city. Women, I tell you. I always have this feeling that they know just exactly what they want and how to do a thing but they keep the men guessing and swear that they have no idea, hoping that all of a sudden we men could turn into mind readers and magician at the same time.

Some ten minutes later, we were driving towards the next mall, weaving our way through the traffic. She held my bag with my life, my camera in between and held onto some bar on the side of the bike’s seat. She kept shooing me off as I went on ranting about how Bangalore was a better place with a better climate and better looking girls to drool at. She kept telling me the directions, chiding me for not having listened to her to leave the bike and go by the train or bus. The sky was threatening to open up any moment and I was determined to reach the place before it started drizzling. The wind kept lashing my face with cold streaks of atmosphere and I shivered as we entered the parking lot. As usual, we headed straight to the food court and went around searching for the right place to buy food from. It wasn’t surprising that she pointed straight at the only vegetarian outlet there. It beat me how people could survive eating just green things – vegetables, greens, peas, fruits. Eew. I pitied them very genuinely and considered them very unlucky and cursed souls. But there I was, dragging myself to the vegetarian food. I ordered a plate of fried rice for the both of us and with one last sigh looking at all the chicken barbecue on the either side of me, I moved to the place where she was sitting, rotating her mobile between her fingers. Hardly 5 minutes into eating, she demands fried cauliflower and I go to wait in the long queue yet again. I could not get myself to say no to her. And it was just not fair because she seemed incapable of demanding anything that came with a huge price tag. I kept glancing back at the table and saw her concentrating very hard on doing something to the food on my plate. 10 highly irritating minutes later I walked back to the table with steaming hot manjurian and I saw that she had arranged the rice in such a manner that I could read her name between it. She smiled. I clicked a couple of pictures and ate the whole thing up, telling her how the manjurian reminded me of another girl in my past life and the story that related to it. She hummed at the right places and listened to me attentively. After eating at a torturous slow pace, we moved and walked around only to stop for ice golas. I picked up my favourite orange and she picked up a seemingly boring looking lychee flavor. Are girls always like that? They pick up the exact thing that will disgust guys and make them run for their lives.

We settled to some bench like thing where I spotted a really nice looking girl. After inquiring about the name of the hair cut she had and naming her as my dark parrot, I spoke more about myself. She was listening dreamily. She then clicked a picture of my tongue much to my horror – all of my mouth was painted in bright orange. Too many girls around. I couldn’t afford to look like an idiot. She had the time of her life, laughing at how much I could crib about my hair style and all my choices of sun shades that we tried to shop for me. We went through the movie hall waiting lobby, walked through practically all the floors, staring out through all the windows. Do women find pleasure in proving men that they are always right and not listening to them makes us men wrong? This one sure seemed to have some weird fun in telling me that I should’ve listened to her. It was raining cats and dogs outside and there was no way we could venture out of the mall. She had wanted to go to the beach and it didn’t look like she was looking forward to a drenching ride. We went down to the ground floor, to the centre of the mall where a gigantic Christmas tree stood with many hanging stream lights falling from the ceiling. It looked like all the kids less than 3 years of age in the city had been brought to that very place then. I was only too delighted to go clicking each of their cute expressions. She sat on some bench, tired of walking around for hours together. 

I should admit that it was absolute delight bringing to use my 46k worth camera. I shifted lenses and for the next half an hour, I was lost in my own world. Occasionally, she would tag at my collar, looking at some adorable kid – her cue to me, asking me to click a picture of the kid she was looking at. I took some shots of her too, when she was posing for me and when she was dreamily look away somewhere. After what seemed like forever, the rain subsided and we decided to rush to the beach in between. Standing at the counter to pay the parking fee, I looked around at a couple walking beneath a single umbrella and wished I could capture that moment. When you become the owner of a camera, at least for a few months, the world seems to be arranged in various frames for you, waiting to be captured by you.  I went around searching for the right route. I saw the tiny hotel that lay right across the street from the western side of the mall where I had had breakfast for the 2 years of my stay at Chennai. Only the board looked shinier now with a new coat of paint and I wondered silently how this huge mall had sprung up there all of a sudden. 

Finding myself the right road, I felt at home, driving through lanes that I had lost touch with, those that had frozen in my memories that were now 2 years old.  At that moment, I forgot about the girl on my bike, about the people in my life, about the responsibilities that governed me. Chennai was experiencing the best weather of the year and I accelerated even more, slowly taking in all the surroundings that then seemed to exist with a new shine after the showers. It somehow existed in the male adrenaline to enjoy the higher numbers of the speed factor. I had fun looking at the speedometer rising and falling every now and then. The beach welcomed me. It was hardly six in the evening and it was already growing dark. I parked my bike along the road adjacent to the beach sand and got myself an orange ice-cream bar. She pointed towards a bajji stall and jumped excitedly, running towards it even before I could catch up with her. I looked around at the waves there and she was visibly happy to be there. We ordered some and I took hold of my camera again, giving my bag to her.

I went around, running behind couples at a safe distance, capturing anything from human beings to crows to dust bins. She sat there in a small plastic chair clutching my bag tightly, shivering visibly and trying to eat an onion bajji.  It was fun watching her to that. She hardly seemed to know how to eat it. I should admit, it was extremely tasty and hot, just the right thing to eat in the climate. We walked right to the waves under her blue umbrella, the winds accelerating to the wailing forties. At the sight of the waves, she ran into the water, making footprints on the wet beach sand. It was pure delight for me, capturing her, the waves, the rain clouds. I made her pose for a few pictures and she screamed in delight at my annoyed face when the waves refused to spare my branded shoes. Only I knew that those were my only pair of socks for the next 2 days as well. After she satisfyingly wrote our names on the beach sand and took one last glance at it, we walked back towards the bike. It was almost completely dark by then save for the street lights and a few ice-cream stands that were minimal on that rainy day.  She was walking bare foot next to me, happy all over. As she tried to put on her sandals somewhere in between, she extended her hand towards me. I stood there wondering what I was supposed to do. “Hold my hand you idiot!” she said and I immediately extended mine and understood she needed it for balancing as she put on her footwear. Instinctively, I wrapped my left arm across her shoulder and held her close to me. Now that I think of it, I don’t have any clue how I did what I did do at that moment but it somehow felt right. I started the bike and she got on. I sped through the roads again, the rain starting to pour slowly. She directed me around and I filled her in with more stories of myself. I could feel her right hand gripping my shoulder tightly. It gave me a rush to speed on. The grip froze right there as if he hand was bound to my shoulder. Her fingers hardly moved. 

At one point, I was beginning to wonder if she was guiding me through all the wrong ways just to prolong the ride and I asked it aloud too. In a way, I didn’t mind it. The ride was easily moving up to the top ten best rides of the year. I didn’t mind it, apart from the fact that the drizzle was settling down at a more regular pace and my fingers were going numb. I stooped the bike at what seemed to be the last signal near her house and what seemed to be the longest as well. I rested my left elbow on her leg and thought about the day. Beautiful it sure had been. We went to the MC Donald’s nearby and only while leaving from there it struck me that we had no picture of us together taken for that day. My friend who had come to meet us there clicked a few snaps of us as she sat snugly next to me, my arms around her shoulder and her head resting against mine – I am definitely a few inches taller than her. I walked her to the lane nearby and told her to be safe and text me after she reached home. She nodded and hugged me goodbye at the same spot where I had waved at her a few months ago. 

Somewhere in the night, around 12, when I was messaging her and reflecting on the day, I admitted that though I had spoken so much to her, everything that was about me and my life, it still felt like there was a lot more to share, a lot more to discuss about and I had no clue why. She told me that she was extremely happy that I had hardly used the phone when I was with her. That was something, I noted for myself. Between some text regarding how the day had been, she had dozed off. Eventually, I did too.

The next day seemed to be my nightmare hangover. I had to get back to Bangalore and get back to work. The cold outside was freezing me and I did not like it in the least when my office id wouldn’t let me login to work from home. My junior - Jun – starts messaging me and trying to calm me down. I grab a cup of hot coffee and settle down in front of my laptop, arranging enough pillows and bedspreads around me. A message pops on my screen: Have you ever dreamt of how your date should be, with the girl you would like to spend the rest of your life with? I smile. Of course, I smile. I want to take her to a mall, be myself, talk with her about me, never pretend to be anything that I am not, maybe have lunch with her and spend a quiet evening with her. My Jun hums.

I go back to the refrigerator to check if there’s any dairy milk silk left in there to on much on while I wait for someone from office to respond regarding the login problem I was facing. I come and read my last message on screen and some realization strikes. Some girls are not the same after all. 

P.s: I have tried to write through a different perspective for the first time. Hope I have done at least a little justice to the same.

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Photography Courtesy: Fahad Y Mohammed.

~ Just Someone.

Retards.

Dedicated to: The retards that keep my day going - Sushritha [aka Specimen] & Thamizh Selvi [aka Pondicherry Rowdy]

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There is this random line that I read somewhere: ‘When I say I miss college, it actually means I miss my friends, not my college.’ The line holds truth enough in it that no one can disagree with it. College has this indescribable magical charm about it that simply grows over you through the years spent there. And in due course, the best of the memories that you will have of that place will definitely be of those spent with retards – jumping in the rain, bunking classes, counting to the last rupee to share a cup of coffee, movies with barely more than 10 rupees in the pocket apart from what went in the drain for the tickets, drawing doodles on the last page of the notebook - and the first and in the middle, making conversations in small notes, watching song videos on the phone with the volume off during class, passing knowing looks to each other and tearing each other apart, to name a few.


Luckily, I should say that I have been blessed with more than enough number of retards to keep me amused during every minute in college, save for the 2 month holiday they each take in a 4 month-long semester. After what seemed like a never-ending boring holiday, college finally re-opened and I was all excited to get back to being active all day and getting myself involved in anything but hogging, sleeping, T.V and the computer. ‘Redemption!’ I scream, at the top of my voice and go around all excited, calling up and messaging everyone possible, waking them up from their hangover slumber. I smile at every random person, including the auto-driver and suddenly, life seems so interesting when I get a text from Sushritha saying, ‘Come soon, it is so boring! FIVE boring hours at college today! I just don’t know how to while away the time!’ I roll my eyes and delete the message, deciding to punch the idiot on her face and trip along the road to my block. 


I hug Thamizh Selvi and keep my bag aside, sitting on the bench to survey all the faces I had missed to see for the past 10 days - all sleepy . A few classes, as expected, go emptily. We just loaf around and some go off to the canteen. But what happened between all that, now makes me write this post. Somewhere, sometime during a boring hour, Sushritha decides to throw something at Thamizh and like every other time, Thamizh aims her return missile at her, which gets wonderfully entangled in my head and leaves a constant humming sound inside my ear.  Before I can stop the after-effects of the same, the war continues when they decide to toss around my bag at each other, and I could almost swear that my heart skipped beats every time my 700-worthy beautiful bag flew in the air right before my eyes. In a flash, I also see Sushritha’s mobile sky-diving across the bench – her 8^th, I must add. She seems to be least bothered though. Slowly recovering from the zumming, no, humming sound inside my ear, no head, maybe both, I turn around only to see Thamizh using all her strength and jamming Sushritha against me and I was this mere flat little thing with hands and head flashing wildly, lips barely being able to shout for help. The angel friends that I have sure seemed to be having the time of their lives, barely being able to catch their breaths between all their laughter.


Somehow, Sushritha seemed to have gained strength and pushed Thamizh on the other side of the bench and Thamizh being the stronger one dragged Sushritha down the bench. Kicking up her leg dangling at some odd angle, Sush comes back with all vigor and they are at each other’s throat all over again. I do a ‘whatever’ with my hands, and go under cover, using my bag for protection and Sush jumps on the other side of me and pushes me towards Thamizh, demanding me to ask for ‘justice’ from Thamizh who in turn pushes me back towards Sush with even more horrible force. I wail, whine, beg, all in vain.  I suspect strands of my hair standing perpendicular to each other, judging with the way my hair clips seemed to have moved across my head. Before I can reach my hand towards any of them, it gets twisted behind my shoulder, courtesy Sush or Thamizh I fail to recognize, and in a minute I see my consciousness slowly dizzying into a whirlwind filled with what seemed like twinkling stars and a few bottle green butterflies. They then decide to jam me between their shoulders and my lower jaw fixes itself somewhere beneath my right eye very specifically.  I remember collapsing into what seemed like a pile of bags.  At about 4:45, they shake me awake and pack up my things, and goad me towards the parking lot. 


Sushritha tries to get her bike and in the process digs a hole some 5 feet deep in the ground, thanks to her back wheel rolling and the front not budging at all. Consequently her bike ends up depositing a considerate amount of mud all over the pink scooty nearby. The girl who owned it came along and with one look at my haphazard head and Thamizh’s evil laughter, combined with Sushritha’s adamant try at getting her bike across the huge stone slab in front, without a word, the girl wipes away the mud and runs away, dragging her bike along. They deposit me on the bike and honking some 10 times enough to awaken the whole neighbourhood, Sush kick starts the bike and we ski on the lane now filled with bikes and cars of students getting back home from college. Thamizh and Sush are now yelling some crazy joke at each other and the racket that they create is enough for all the people to rush out of the bike’s way to safety. I hold on to the side bar on the bike for my dear life and I get down hastily at the bus stop.


As I start moving away from them as quickly as possible, there they come, yelling, ‘I love you! I love you!’ non-stop, right back of me. The whole bus stop is looking at me, eyebrows raised. I try running away and Sush screeches her bike even more quickly and dramatically every time and both of them chorus a ‘I love you!’ at the top of their voices. The auto-driver in the stand nearby yells at me, telling me not to play in the road. I apologize and beg them to leave. They only seemed to begin enjoying it all the more. Thamizh then brings on more drama by telling me that she can no longer withstand any sort of separation from me and after satisfactorily pulling off a leaving-with-the-hands-losing-touch-slowly kind of a scene like in most of the bollywood flicks [If you didn’t understand that, never mind. It doesn’t even matter], they scream away together to their hostel on the bike, with me running for cover where people wouldn’t stare at me.


I limp my way back home, the buzzing at a different pitch and note inside my other ear – not particularly sure which - and here I am, staring at my computer and typing this down, my head still aching like crazy, body screaming in pain and my stomach dying with hunger, writing about the both of you. No, I haven’t forgiven either of you for what you made out of me today – a squash, to say the least – nor will I ever. But let me give you this: College sure wouldn’t be what it is without the both of you. Continue to wreck around and make life fun for me, but I would appreciate not being made into a squash, a sandwich, a shapeless cartoon and an unconscious piece of pancake all at the same time.


P.s: Sometimes, the best parts of life are the tiny things that make us smile through the day.

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[Picture Courtesy: Deviatart.]

- Just Someone.

A story. [Will be named soon]

Dedicated to: Fahad Y Mohammed, my very own special *Boss* 

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It was a day I had played so many times in my mind. It seemed picture perfect always. Just the way it was supposed to happen. Just the way it was supposed to be. Happy faces everywhere. Happiness everywhere. And, on top of the elevated platform, maybe you could call it the stage, they stood, smiles pasted on them – head to toe. It seemed that everyone was extremely delighted – that sort that you get after finishing a big deed you have always been waiting to complete, coupled with a sense of satisfaction and fatigue. Somewhere, kids were playing hide and seek and deeper into the hall, inside a very remote door, a man seemed to be yelling a lot of instructions. Chairs screeched and moved everywhere. And mobile phones kept singing every minute – to each, his tune. I stood at my place, near the door of a very intricately carved teak door, slowly rotating my mobile between my thumb and my index finger. My eyes were observing the people around me, and weirdly, something felt totally wrong. 

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The previous night’s party was so much fun! We had danced and danced and danced through the night till our legs had screamed in pain for salvation. The head was still feeling dizzy. Party lights were glistening from all directions and the decorations were still glittering. Too tired to think about anything, everyone was returning to their rooms past 2 in the morning, the big day, or let’s say, the big moment reckoning in less than 5 hours. I dragged on to my room and flipped right into the bed. After what seemed like a minute, somebody was banging on my door. “Get ready, get ready! We have just 2 more hours to go! Wake up, sleepy-heads!” I could hear the joy evident in his voice, as he happily went tripping by, banding on any door his hands could reach. I was picturing how his really-nosy-and-pompous aunt would have crushed him into a big early-morning hug to show that she was also westernized and that she has ‘forward’ thinking. I laughed a little to myself and rubbed my eyes, sitting up on my bed and stretching with a huge yawn. I saw the clock that was beside me on the table. Oh, boy! It was just 4 in the morning. I couldn’t remember seeing that time on any clock before in my life. Big day, it sure was. 

In about half an hour, the whole place was buzzing again, and I could sense the excitement even within my room. Even the children had woken up and babies were wailing at the top of their voices. Everyone seemed to be shouting instructions to everyone else. I didn’t hear his voice again. He should’ve been pouring over himself in front of the mirror. Definitely. I could hear a lot of bangles clinking outside my door and a few bangs again, just checking if I was awake already. I had to keep shouting from my shower that I was already up. Forty-five minutes later, fully dressed, I stepped out of the room and walked to the grand hall. I could see red drapes hanging from the ceiling. Balloons were fixed everywhere. The walls had been decorated with white satin and a lot of laces tied them together. The red carpet ran from the entrance to the grand hall right until the stage. The chairs had been adorned with the same white satin and a bunch of flowers were placed to hold the cloth. The whole room seemed to glitter, white and red deftly combined to bring about the air of celebration and joy. 

I had chosen a blue dress. Of course it had a lot of sophisticated work on it. When I had first seen the dress at the shop, I had jumped a few steps back. The dress looked like it had been dipped into a basin full of glitter and stone work. The blue and white balance was perfect. But I would look like an idiot, walking around with so much of a flashy decoration. But he had insisted that I get it. “It would look amazing on you! It’s the big day! Come on! You should do it for me!” I couldn’t ever argue with him. And I wanted his day to be filled with everything that pleased him. And there I was, wearing the blue and wondering if people would be able to spot me or if they would mistake me for another piece of decoration, considering the amount of glow the hall was generating. I was thanking the stars that at least the colour was different – blue. It should stand out from the red and white everywhere.

His friends were laughing about some joke and trying to attract the attention of the girls. Couldn’t blame them. All the girls around were extremely pretty. Measuring by the intensity of the laughter, it sure was an adult joke, that much I could say. I could recognize a few of them. They turned towards me and a few waved. They spoke among themselves and a shot of recognition wiped a few more faces and they called out a hello. I smiled, waved and moved inside. In the side room, his mother was chatting happily with her sisters. 

“Oh, my little girl! You look so beautiful! I told you this dress would look so wonderful on you! Looks like I should appoint someone to watch over you so that no one kidnaps you from the hall!” she joked and laughed. Her sisters laughed along with her. I blushed and stood there. 

“Is there any work I should do, aunty?” 

“Definitely! Enjoy yourself and eat a lot!” she said and laughed, tapping my cheeks.

I took leave from there. Time seemed to be running and the grand hall was filling quickly. Music started playing from somewhere and the excitement grew even more. Waiters with shining white suits weaved through the crowd carefully and took around drinks and snacks, smiling at everyone they met. The attire of all the forty-plus women in the hall put my dress to shame. They were walking glitter factories. It looked like they had forced their husbands in their tuxedos because not eve one of them seemed happy or comfortable enough to be inside one. The rich NRI sons seemed to be gleefully flirting with all the girls around, boasting about their brand new N8s and Rolex watches. 

At about 8 o’ clock, he came into the grand hall from his room, draped in a cream-coloured traditional suit and adorned at the borders with a band of gold. The cameras went in a frenzy, clicking him from all angles. He loved it, no wonder, the narcissist that he was. He was searching for someone. And his eyes flashed a look of extreme pride when they found mine. I gave him a thumbs-up. He beamed. And in minutes, the crowd arose and burst into applause as the girl was brought inside the grand hall. She was draped all in red, flowers adorning her hair and garlands around her neck. There was a glow beyond all diamond that she was decked with, from her face. Her dad stood beside her, proud man. The music changed notes and I think the grand march was played. Dad and daughter, they walked the red carpet, the cute little cousins of his following suite, with flower bunches in their hand and obvious delight pasted in their round, big eyes, wide-open and taking in the grandeur of the moment, smiling to every camera possible. The elders were murmuring among themselves. I was positive that the topic of discussion was definitely about the girl’s beauty. I smiled. The girl reached the altar and he stood there waiting, beaming at her. 

The ceremony took about forty minutes. At the end of it, he held her close to him and kissed her on the forehead. The crowd erupted into a cheery applause and more cameras flashed. I caught a tear slipping by my cheek. More ceremonies followed and people were dispersing for lunch. The cameras followed the couple like paparazzi and I retired to my room. I was way too tired and sleepy. 

The sound of music awakened me. The clock said it was four in the evening. I decided to have a shower. I was just then putting on my ring when my mobile rang – the much awaited call. Finally, ‘The-Dream-Guy’ was coming. This just couldn’t get better. I rechecked my make-up in the mirror. He was definitely going to like what he was going to see. I smiled to myself and went to the grand hall. The crowd was assembling again. I decided to take a walk outside in the garden. The children were happily chasing each other.  He came, scooping me into a sideways hug and giving me a peck on the forehead. I was way too stunned to talk anything. He took me out in his car – there was one more hour to spare till the evening celebrations began. We went to an ice cream parlour and had a double scoop of everything I wanted. He spoke about his business deals and how beautiful his office was turning out to be, after the redecorations. He seemed to be enjoying his work. He gave me a little package, gift-wrapped. 

“Give it to your Boss. I have a feeling that he will like it.”

He came and dropped me back at the grand hall and kissed me goodbye. He had to get back to work for some important meeting. I walked back into the hall. And there they stood. Beautiful and stunning. Definitely, they were made for each other. They matched each other so completely even at the intellectual levels. The photo-shoot seemed to be going on. The music so easily tuned everyone into the right mood. The DJs sure were doing a good job. The dance floor opened up and couples were dancing ever where. Aunty and uncle were looking so adorable, doing a few moves together. I captured that moment in my mind. The couple descended to the dance floor. The cake was cut and the speeches and toasts were made. 

He stood there, holding her in his arms, in his master tuxedo, stitched specially for the occasion and re-checked a few million times by him over the past one week. I never understood why he wanted a purple coloured suit. He seemed to fancy it a lot. And he had white roses at his pocket. She was the personification of perfect beauty, draped in aquamarine attire. A couple of diamonds glistened there and here. The rings were joyfully showing themselves off, bursting into the rainbow effect when any source of light but touched them. I walked up to them and he beamed his big smile for me. Being the wedding planner for my own Boss’s wedding was no joke. Every arrangement had to be rechecked three hundred and forty times. He wouldn’t let me go arrange for anything alone. Which meant a rechecking for the rechecking for another half a million times. We had chosen everything, right from the colour theme up to the DJ, together. Most of the times, his enthusiasm would eat up my energy levels and I would collapse into a heap of tiredness on his shoulders and sleep it off, as we came back from arranging whatever we could for each day. I gave him the package ‘The-Dream-Guy’ had brought and gave her the jewellery I had purchased for the occasion some two months back. She smiled. “Good luck, Bhabi! It takes an enormous amount of skill, talent and patience combined to handle him. I am hoping you turn out to be the master of them all!” She laughed. He beamed even more and wrapped me into a tight hug. He mumbled something like, “Thank you, baby. For this day and everything.” It might have even been, “I’m going to kill you baby, for this.” I have no clue. He seemed to be too crazily enjoying the moment, or maybe he was intoxicated by the magnanimity of the moment, to talk any sense. I slipped away from them as the cameras suddenly started flashing wildly again. 

I took a good twenty steps away from the centre of attraction and wondered to myself. It was a day I had played so many times in my mind. It seemed picture perfect always. Just the way it was supposed to happen. Just the way it was supposed to be. Happy faces everywhere. Happiness everywhere. And, on top of the elevated platform, maybe you could call it the stage, they stood, smiles pasted on them – head to toe. It seemed that everyone was extremely delighted – that sort that you get after finishing a big deed you have always been waiting to complete, coupled with a sense of satisfaction and fatigue. Somewhere, kids were playing hide and seek and deeper into the hall, inside a very remote door, a man seemed to be yelling a lot of instructions. Chairs screeched and moved everywhere. And mobile phones kept singing every minute – to each, his tune. I stood at my place, near the door of a very intricately carved teak door, slowly rotating my mobile between my thumb and my index finger. My eyes were observing the people around me, and weirdly, something felt totally wrong. 

I ran upstairs and went to the window where we had sat a month ago, on the evening we had chosen this grand palace for the wedding ceremony, sipping coffee and observing the rain pouring outside. He was promising me that he would take up the job of the wedding planner when ‘The-Dream-Guy’ and I would decide to get married. He promised to roam with me a good three extra months more than the time we had worked for his marriage – which would mean half a year – and help me hire the best of everything for what he called the second part of the best moment of his life. And now I sat there, wondering: Would we be able to sip another cup of coffee after maybe 5 more years and plan my wedding? Would we be able to so carelessly roam around the city at odd hours, searching for a catering service when it was heavily pouring outside? Would I still be able to take the liberty to sleep off on his shoulder when I was way too tired after the day’s roaming? Would it still make sense to call him up in the middle of the night and demand him to speak with me to entertain me? Would I still be able to lay down rules and kick him every day and make him do his work with lesser distractions? Would his wife think me as an intruder, insisting on the idea that anything apart from being blood-related didn’t qualify as being siblings?

I was trying hard not to let the tears slip by and I was very quickly losing the battle. What if I could never yell at him again in the tea-stall or what if I could never ask him to take me out to shop for the exact shade of pink hair clip? Too many questions were flashing in the mind and it seemed like a zillion voices were screaming in my head. The quiet upstairs was driving me insane. Wiping my tears, I came running down the stairs and I stumbled into Nivash. He seemed to have cried a bit too. His eyes were red. 

“Hey, Bugs!” he quipped.

I breathed deeply, not talking anything, scared if my voice would break and give me away. 

“You need to remove your eye makeup, Bugs. Your tears have smudged it enough to give it away quite easily.” 

I gave up and let another tear roll by. He gave me a tiny hug and patted my shoulder. The silence seemed enough. Suddenly, a loud shot of music blared from downstairs and the people were cheering loudly for something. Should have definitely been an attention-grabbing antic by him. And he seemed to be getting every bit of what he asked for. 

“I’ll join you in a few minutes. Go down. That guy is having the time of his life!” Nivash said, as he smiled and disappeared upstairs. I slowly descended the stairs and saw the bride and the groom swaying to the music. He was trying to dance. The people loved him and even aunty and uncle were cheering loudly. I wanted to laugh. 

I stood there, head titled, slowly absorbing in every detail of the moment. Every part of the hall held a story for me. So many bus trips. So many picture-posing sessions. So many tea shops. So many arguments. So many bargaining skills and so many memories. I heard some footsteps behind me and before I could turn around, Nivash was there, standing beside me, an assuring hand on my shoulder and smiling through his moist eyes. The dance ended and he kissed the bride. I leaned into Nivash’s elbow – no, I couldn’t reach his shoulder, thanks to his unearthly height – and he held my shoulder. He posed for more pictures and out of the whole day’s celebration, his beaming face and his glistening eyes and that million-dollar smile were pasted firmly in my mind. Wrapping up all the rest of the memories to another section of my brain, I let that picture of him stay in my mind. 

“Time runs away so quickly from our grasp, no?” Nivash says. I smile and shrug and lean on the carved door. It still had a small stain of the coke we had splashed on each other during the fun-fight we had had on the day we booked the hall, much to the horror of the watch-man who had to chase us away.

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P.s: This is just an imaginative write-up. I was just trying to visualize how that day would be, in the future, when my Boss gets married. 'Boss' not in the literal sense - I just call him that. :)

[Picture courtesy: Deviantart.]

- Just Someone.

The beginning.

*Dignified repose*

Now, how does that sound? Definitely not 18-year-old material to me. I think I was having in mind ‘a sneak-peek into my own self’ as the idea when I decided to name this blog. Or rather, I created this blog only so I could use that name. Makes me want to smile and stretch out and relax, every time I visit this page, see the template and read the blog name.

How many of you are sure you know yourselves? Apart from the judges that we are to our own selves, how many of us can claim to be prejudice-less spectators to our own selves? I can, as a matter of fact, step right out of what I am and witness me growing, perishing, returning, withering and even appreciate the after-glow quite picturesquely. I come across usually as this very simple girl who can laugh her heart at every simple thing that holds her in captivation. I am that. Simple things amaze me. No matter how many kids I see in a day, each and every one of them make me go ‘Aww’ genuinely. I find pleasure in surprising people. I step away a bit to see who would turn back to wonder where I have been. I write and read and I play and sing. And I wonder. How much more is there to me that I can shamelessly admit?

I love the spotlights, the attention. I love surprises. I like it when people treat me special. I love being pampered. I love when somebody manages to click a whole set of natural pictures of me, without my noticing it and I love it even more when they show it to me very casually. I love it when somebody holds my hand. I love it when my friend comes along and takes me by the shoulder, walking with me silently, clenching my arms and I love it when that silence so beautifully envelopes all the unsaid things that had been taunting me. I wish I could walk along the beach, the water just softly lapping my feet and I love it even more when a friend can walk by me, silently. I‘d love to have that same silent company while waking up in the morning at 3, lying down on the grass and waiting for the sun to rise. I wish I could wait, lying on my back, counting stars and making wishes, slowly tracing the thousand blushes the sky would send before it retreats to its personal haven to relish in the biggest secret it has been hiding from mankind since time began. I love birthday surprises. I love new clothes. Colours. Rainbows.

I wish I could keep trotting and singing by some river side when somebody would remember that I love daisies and bring them coupled with a few touch-me-nots. And once in a while, I would hear a song that someone had written for me, and smile to myself. Mid-night coffee breaks. Paint wars. Redecorating the house. Sitting on top of the terrace and watching people walk by. Just traveling. To anywhere. And, talking. 

I can talk for hours. And then, remain silent for days. At times, I wonder if I can ever explain it right to someone about how I write. Will they believe me? It took me quite some time for my own self to accept that fact, anyway. Let me try. When I write, I don’t feel like I am me. I am someone else. Some possessed soul, getting instructions from someone or something. It feels as though, in a split second, I am ripped from being who I am, and something else takes over me. I lose consciousness. Self-realization. Control over my thinking. Something keeps dictating things to me. And I just write, without giving a second thought about how silly or stupid or embarrassing anything that I write might turn out to be. And, I drop the pen. I relax. I feel like me. I don’t feel like going through what I have already written. I feel bored. I leave the piece of writing at that and go on. And later, when someone stumbles upon it and praises it, I smile vaguely. I search for what I had written and it stuns the hell out of me. How could I have written something like that? No kidding me, please. Those words sound real nice when strung together. It makes perfect sense, unlike the thoughts in my head that always wind themselves and reorder every damn minute and defy the definition of the very word confusing. I try to grasp what it was, that made me write it. It seems to simply slip away from my grasp and smile and run away at an exponentially increasing speed as I try to chase it down the corner. And then, the craze to the limelight takes over. It likes basking in the attention, in the glory. It convinces the confused part that it is purely the reason for the mastery just exhibited. And by the time a full formed doubt takes shape, the light-hearted side takes over and happily dances away with the remaining of me and makes sure that no complex thoughts force themselves into me. It makes me lazy, not wanting to explore into eluding secrets and keeps day-dreaming about the fame that will catapult me to great heights. And all along, who was it that made me write it? Or rather, what?

You don’t believe it, do you? Neither do I. And the worst part is, I don’t have a choice.
You seriously enjoyed reading through all this? Bribe me with a milkshake with ice-cream, or even better, a chocolate-filled sundae. I can go on endlessly about this.

You think I am shameless? Late realization, mate. I had figured that out some good 7 years ago. And I am still successful enough in fooling myself into believing the fact that I am absolutely the most special person alive, ever. Who knows? Maybe, I really am.

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- Just Someone.

[ Picture Courtesy:  Deviantart ]