Lost conflict

His silence angers me. 

And when they come by, 

his words drive me mad. 

No more poems for him, 

no more outbursts. 

Irritation simmers. 

This close to being tipped off, 

I notice he hasn't learned yet 

how to bite away a nail properly. 

I look up. 

Eyes braving to fake innocence. 

I look down. 

Footwear in colours 

I wouldn't dare mention together. 

He is a fool. 

I sigh. 

Just as he is effortlessly making his way in..

'You know, when I write, it..' 

'.. yeah, yeah, blahblah.'

I won't write for him. 

Promise.

This is what memories are made of.

Many a soul skips by these quiet spaces nonchalantly, never a pause in the mind. Cruel time flies by; us - busy lavishing emotions on lands and faces beyond this timeless wrap.

And the silent halls will continue to deeply echo our silly fights and meaningless laughter, long after we are gone.

----

Dedicated: Ethiraj College for Women

---- 

.“Don’t worry about the election loss. The department will welcome you with open arms as its association secretary,” was the consolation a majority of people chose to give. And sure as hell, when college reopened, it happened. Apart from my senior batch missing in their class and absence of the persistent sound of familiar voices that always hung about in the air, nothing much seemed odd for a few days – until the freshers came along.

It only then dawned that I had to be there seat them in the auditorium for the first time for the orientation ordeal and I also had to take them around for the ‘college tour’ which in reality translated to showing them the way to the department and their classes, and whatever happens to be standing on the way. It felt very strange the way we had to tell them about rules like ‘mobile phones strictly not allowed,’ ‘Wellington plaza, Kanchi hotel and Spencers strictly out of bounds for Ethirajians.’ I had to suppress a chuckle by pulling on a straight face which very easily gave away the moment I met Shailee’s gaze across the room. 

After several attempts at trying to explain about ‘Aarambh’ and ‘Maithri’ and ‘Srishti’ and ‘Scrambler’ and several other details at once to them, we decided it was time we let them eat their snack in peace. Five minutes later, we were goading the enthusiastic bunch towards the auditorium, weaving our own versions of the history of the library, the hostels, the canteen and I even caught a friend raving about the how ‘special’ the soil around the basketball court was. 

Finally, after the first years from all the departments settled down, the cultural events by various college teams began. Harini finished the classical dance rendition. The college light music team came on stage next. They did their usual ‘Docomo’ tune sound check and the auditorium was roaring with cheers. A tiny lump formed in my throat. Indu then takes the mike and says that the next song they were going to render was very special to both the team and the college itself and right after that, my memory blurred and I was transported to a different time. ‘… this is definitely our second college song,’ the girl on stage says as the team breaks into ‘Aathangara marame…’ which had us screaming at the top of our lungs. Right after that followed ‘Please sir’ from boys performed as an acapella. I was trying to figure out which voice related to whose face and after a few moments, I just decided to close my eyes and listen to the entire rendition. I had goose bumps when the performance ended. ‘This is team Swasthik. We had Gayathri on the lead, Swathy on the vocals and the base guitar, Archana on the keys and this is Shruti,’ she said to another huge round of applause. ‘… we are team Mithra,’ Indu finished and I figured right there that this was no joke.

Samantha, the new college president takes the mike and asks the first years if they liked the performance to which they scream their approval. The sense of excitement is thick and very evident in the air. She announces that she would keep asking questions between all the programs and says that she’d start from the basic thing they had to know about the college. And just as she was saying it, I mouthed it right along with her, audible enough for Dharini, who was standing right next to me, to hear: ‘What is the college colour?‘  My eyes clouded right there and I turned to look at Dharini. In one breath we said it at the same time – ‘Apoorva.’

A million memories came rushing and tears were swelling up uncontrollably. Other friends who were sitting in the opposite side of the lower gallery bent forward to catch a glimpse of my face, equally shaken at the enormity of what was happening around us and the shock the slap of reality gave on our terror-stricken faces fresh. The same orientation programme that had happened when I had joined Ethiraj stayed fresh in my mind. The regular guesses of ‘purple’ and ‘lavender’ came along for the question about the college colour and I said to myself, ‘Mauve,’ picturing how Apoorva twisted her lips when she said that, laughing a tiny laugh to myself amid the tears running down my cheek.

I remembered all at once the white and pink salwar she wore during the first day of my orientation and how the entire Students’ union was in white that day, the way she would mime clapping, standing at one wing of the stage and how the auditorium would instantly burst into thunderous applause. The letter that I had written – out of pure admiration, I strongly add - which was very wonderfully read in the auditorium right there and the way people identified me as the ‘letter girl’ and the ‘Apoorva girl’ for a long time to come – I faced that question even during my campaigning sessions when people asked me why I had written it and what I had written in it. It annoyed me after a certain point of time, but at that instant, sitting in the auditorium, I was unable to conceive why I wasn’t among the general first year crowd, looking at the ‘Reflections’ themed dance and cheering for the Western Music team. Blurring again – Anjana. And her guitar.

Pradeepa, sitting in the chair beside the spot I stood, tugged at my t-shirt and jerked her head towards the first years who were seated in the rows in front of her. I realized that we had grown up way too fast and it was time that a new set of enthusiastic kids looked up to us as the secretaries and seniors. I gulped and hastily wiped off the stray tears and joined the cheering for the western team on stage.

There were times during the first couple of weeks of my final year when I used to walk to the union room, half-expecting to catch a chat with Srunika, Umapriya, Anupama, Meena, Ishwarya or Deepa. To discuss about sponsorships, about a departmental activity and about plans for other events. When I would ask Shailee if she was late because she was camping in the union room yet again. And when I would look into her eyes and we’d smile weakly before moving on to some other topic of discussion.

Getting over this terrible feeling that the years have run over us will probably take a lot more time than the tenure I have left at college. Final year. Already. Madness. But I guess there’s this one single year that is at my disposal as of now. Time to forget stupid fights, keep aside silly egos, spend quality time together, bunk in healthy intervals – for first day, first shows, for C&C visits, to roam about aimlessly at Spencers, to go window shopping at EA, to raid Pondy Bazaar, for the umpteen other shopping trips, for sleepovers and the deep sleep we plunge into when it dawns and for bunking just for the sake of it -  take more than enough pictures and make memories worth considering life to have been lived in. 

Someday, far into the future, maybe at least 5 of them would turn up for my wedding and I would have pictures to show my kid while explaining what ‘friends’ and ‘fun’ mean.

P.s: All the people whose names I’ve mentioned here and other seniors including my department secretaries, the Students’ union of the past 2 years, those in the different college teams and those who were an integral part of making those years very colourful and full of captivation, thank you. You have given me moments to cherish, reminisce and write about.

-       Just Someone.

Berty Ashley.

Dedicated: To my favourite Sooper-Hero!

It has been about 3 weeks since I first got the urge to do this post. I’ve always wondered what this guy is beneath all that trippiness. Secretly, I still wish that some day he would seel the rights to doing a biography about him to me. But all that apart, I wanted to write something for him and thought it might be special to do so on his birthday. But as luck has it with me always, I keep procastinating and finally when I make up my mind to do it, my compute dies.


So I met him a few hours ago and thoughts about him are still stuck in my head. This is one guy who can talk with you for a 5 minutes and keep you thinking about the tiny convo you had 5 days later. Ans just as I was walking back home, I was thinking about this long pending post and I knew I couldn’t resist the urge to write about him anymore. So I walk all the way back to the net centre and here I am, typing whatever comes from the top of my head.


After slogging off in NCC during my first year and nearly killing myself in the hospital, I was sitting in the auditorium a year ago, during the department association day, as clueless as the first years about what was happening. There is this guy on stage, conducting some competition, desparately trying to make a spellbee contest look interesting and draw the crowd’s attention. Something about his name kept ringing a bell in the head and I just couldn’t place it. I come back home and like every other time, log in straightaway to facebook. There’s a friend request from a school friend with whom I had lost contact a good 4 years ago; maybe more. In her list, I see this Berty guy and then, it all clicked. Vikaasa was the link!


Though I initially related him to one of my seniors and Madurai Vikaasa, I later slowly recollected how everybody from my school used to talk about him whenever they were wondering whom to approach for clarifications or help for issues ranging from events to food during Youth Festival. I used to wonder who this guy was and I also remember sprinting into a Berty-hunt on the last day of the Youth Festival in the last year I ever attended it. No, I didn’t see him.


A few days later, I get to talk with Elton, a school friend who had studied at Loyola and I tell him how this Berty was a judge at some event at college and he says, ‘Tell me about it!’ and narrates his experience of bumping into this guy at his college during a department association as well. A month later, I go to Stella Marris for Creative Writing and I hear the familiar voice, announcing that anyone who solves his crossword would get his entire Tintin collection. I run and click a picture of him and my friend uploads it. I tag him and he says, ‘Heyyyy! Why didn’t you just come and say hello?’ Mind voice: HUH? Yeah, right. Big personality this fellow. I will go say hello, it seems. And only he could’ve come up with a reply like this: ‘blah! chee go ya.. what nonsense.. please do not even hesitate to yell 'Oye berty wassup!!' from anywhere anytime :) and i how can i forget poet/blogger/college mag editor/ now photographer you?’


So that was how it started, more or less. Fun(da) should be his middle name. No one, absolutely no one can ever match his energy levels or hogging skills. 10 Chilly Cheese Toasts at a time, or was that record further high up? Whichever, you’re no match for Berty there. He is so effortlessly funny and even when he is narrating a tale of how the girl he liked later says that he is her best friend because he helped her find the love of her life in someone else, you can’t but help laugh till your stomach pains. And no one but Berty can come up with experiences of driving all the way from Madurai to Kodaikanal on a bike during a tea-break at college to have a 7 rupees ‘eruma paal tea’ [tea made from buffallo’s milk]. Seriously, eruma paal tea. Who else can look cool saying that?


Just about the time when I was having ‘Batman’ in my syllabus at college and when I started adoring the character for all that he is, I get to see that I am dealing with Batman himself. Bertman, the Batman, yeah. Of how he was the first person who came to my mind when I thought of asking for help to pick up a tagline for elections at college and the speech consequently, I have no idea. But there was something strong that bound me to him and the respect that grew further, looking at this guy and how he carried himself with all the weight that hangs around him. and how it would always remain special, the way he called up right after I finished my speech and how he called after my results and how it felt very fatherly, very comforting when he spoke whatever he spoke then.


At school, he was this big man who had the answers and solution to everything, the guy who everybody used to talk about. And suddenly, at Chennai, he is the judge I see everywhere, drummer, jammer, quiz master, first-name-google-able, co-founder of ASAP productions at the awe just grows everyday and the jaw just drops further down. And I know, someday, when I am teaching science to my kid, I’d be teaching about ‘The Berty Cycle’ and I would be fondly recollecting how I used to know this guy even before he became that famous and I am also pretty sure that it would have something to do with food. Also, his caller tune would go ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’


Berty Ashley. So I’ve been in this internet café for over and hour and I am still typing. It’s time for me to go home. The word count says it is a little over than one thousand. I still feel there is so much left to say. There’s a picture of batman in my mind, Berty. And though I am not able to put it down in words here right now, it’s pretty much close to the picture of you in my head.


Not like I have to say this, but be you. Be Berty. Keep doing everything you do. Even when you are are a million miles away, whatever you say or do keep spreading smiles to people like me out here. It’s hard to see you low. More than that, it is weird. Bertiness in you goes down then, you know. And I am just out of words, my head is blank and there I stand, clueless as to what to say to make you feel better, if at all, but still desparately hoping something magical would happen to get to back to being you. Write more often, Berty. No reasons. Just write.


Also, nothing can equal a big bear hug from you. Special you will always be. When you decide to let someone write a biography about you, let me be your first option, please? My co-authour says: Try bathing more often. :)


< Happy Belated Birthday, Dark Knight!
We love you like crazy!

*BEAR-BONE-CRUSHING-HUGS!* >

Co-authoured by: Srunika Kannan.


~ Just Someone.

[Photography Courtesy: Nrithya Randhir]

Death by happiness.

Taken via Nokia N8

----

Dedicated: :)

----

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking about when I’d asked him if we could go to the beach at 4 in the morning. I did claim that I had wanted a photo walk there. It would be a wonderful chance for him to click a lot of pictures and rant about it. Well, I honestly did. And, I wanted to do it for the first time with him. After giving the idea enough thought, I realized that it would be brilliant if I could see the sun ‘rise’ with him. 

After a good flopped attempt at making this happen, we finalized on the date for the second try. I woke up 6 minutes late, despite my favourite song singing endlessly as the alarm tune. Just as I took the phone in my hand, he called me and woke me up. That should have been the indicator of the day ahead for me – EVERYTHING unusual. I showered and put on a casual shirt looked into the mirror. I could’ve easily passed off as the dead walking.

After about 20 minutes, I was standing at the gate of my apartment and he came. Without a word, I hopped on to the bike and off he zoomed. My hair was still wet from the bath and the cold morning air hit my face. I could feel the moisture on my head cooling off with the wind and the feeling was out of the world. The chill air stung my sleepless eyes and for some mad reason, I was smiling a lot. To myself.

Usually, when I am on the bike with him and we pass by a place that holds a memory for me, I end up giving the history and geography of the spot. For the first time ever, silence weaved itself through me entirely. I wanted to be quiet. To just silently absorb in every detail of the roads we were riding through. Or maybe, all I could think of was the time of the day it was, the cold wind, the bike, the man and my hand gripping his shoulder.

After about 30 minutes, I could see the beach visualize inch by inch. The early birds walking with sticks and wives, the bikes, the cement slabs, the sand and the waves. He picked up his camera and switched it on. It beeped: Change battery. Swearing a little and hyping a lot, he walked beside me as I could barely control myself from rushing into the water.

I stood by the shore, the waves softly lapping my feet. It was still dark. And as I stood there, the sky slowly kept turning a different shade every minute. The pink blush set in first with an orange tinge developing slowly. I could see the horizon appear and as far as my eye could see, there was plain, pure water. The waves dancing away and jumping on each other, trying to rush to me. It felt as though time was transporting me across the plains and I was standing in the middle of the sea. A sense of ulterior calmness washed through me and in a long, long time, I felt a peaceful silence take the centre stage within.

I looked back at him. He sat on a plank, carefully avoiding the water and still looking a little grumpy about the camera. HOW could someone NOT stand by the waves after coming to the beach. It always beats me. I came and sat next to him and suddenly realized that it was all bright. The sun seemed to be nowhere in sight and he kept demanding to see it. Like I was hiding it inside my pocket.

About 15 minutes later, he points in a direction and says, ‘Ha, finally the bloody bugger comes!’ I look and see a small ball of orange flames emerging slowly. That, I am sure was the widest smile I’d managed to put on naturally. I was seeing the sun ‘rise’ with him!

He spoke about random things. My mind was still on the silent mode. I was just listening. We decided to leave at about 7 and as we walked back to the cement slabs, I sat down to put my sandals on. He spoke about some girl in his life.

I remembered Nikhil after a long, long time. Somehow, I felt the urge to tell his story. When I was in my 2^nd std. Wearing a pink sleeveless and the white shorts. And how he had tried to kiss me and how I failed to understand what he was trying to do and kept trying to push him away. Weirdly, I still remember the combined smell of chocos and milk that hung about him, and how much I hated it back then.

Talking about it made me realize that I had opened up that story to someone for the first time. And it began. We spoke. And spoke. And spoke. Endlessly. The sun and the heat brought us back to reality and we drove back, had a tea and went to the park. We switched benches thrice. Only, the topics didn’t seem to cease. I was opening up my entire life history, and the guy told me his. One thing that touched me about it – it was honest.

After a few more hours and one more drink, he dropped me home. I literally skipped my way while walking. Strangely, I had spun myself around this guy. It made total sense and gave no insecurity to talk so openly about all the men in my life. Well, not all. Still. The wall clock at home said that it was close to 11. And I stood there, amazed, and wondered how he had tolerated me so long. Six hours! Easily, the best of my life.

Time plays a crucial role in our lives. Time in the duration sense. Time in a span sense. Time in every sense. How long it happens or when it happens. Or when it could have happened. And how very different it would have been! Pun intended.

The next time I think of 4 o’ clock in the morning, go to the beach, hear someone talk about the sunrise, go for an early morning ride or feel the wind wash against my wet hair, you know what I’ll be thinking of.

----

P.s: To contact the author, try searching behind all the curtains, sofas and beneath desks and tables. She’s hiding somewhere, scared if someone will slap across her face and claim all of it to have been a wishful dream. #deathbyhappiness

~ Just Someone.

You. Happy Birthday!

Anirudh Venkat. You know why this picture? You look young. Nice. Paavama. 

AND, *Vikaasa* uniform. :) Btw, is that Raagav next to you?

----

Okay. What on earth made this guy to go out of his way and console me after elections? Now I am sitting here, trying to figure out a proper birthday gift within the tiniest budget that I have now.

What does this guy like?

BATMAN
Dark side of the moon
Pinky Floyd
Comics
Cartoons
Chocolate
Wilbur Sargunaraj(?)
Football
FOOD

And maybe he'll be happy if I make one crazy nonsense poem especially for him? And it has been ages since I even tried to make one and my vocabulary isn't that great, or great at all. And the black chart card and print outs… Money issues and time issue. And THE match had to be tomorrow! And the hall ticket giving ceremony also had to be tomorrow!!

AND, this guy has to act weird now. The heat, it seems! My foot! Just when I am waiting to get some money to top up for my number and call and yell it off, his birthday would have to come and I have to try to put up my best behaviour and be nice and all. Ha. Anirudh Venkat, you'll so pay for this!!

Batman is the coolest ever, agreed. But hey! I have watched only 2 movies and not read the comic strips and I have not really mugged up any of his lines apart from the one Berty gave me for my election speech. So knowledge here is practically zero.

The dark side of the moon.
I understood *&^$%@#%& out of the lyrics of that song. 

Pink flyobleahd. Rock music. Balh. No, blah. Rolls eyes and half-faints.

Comics. I wish.

CARTOONS!! Yes! Casper. Jetsons. Yogi Bear. Scooby Doo. Top Cat. Swat Cats. Tom & Jerry. Dexter's Laboratory. The Mask. Johnny Bravo. Ed, Edd n Eddy, Courage the Cowardly Dog, The Addams family, Atom Ant, The Road-Runner Show, Captain Planet, Looney Tunes, Cartoon Cartoons, Flintstones, Johnny Quest, Richie Rich, Josie and the Pussycats, Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm, Popeye, Powerpuff girls. THIS much I can relate to. But what am I supposed to do with that? Sigh. Major sighs.

Chocolate. Absolutely, chocolate. :) No, I really wish I could get you some nice thing. Like some huge, rich looking stuff I would die for. But the financial problems of India again.

Wilbur Sargunaraj. Okay. He's super cool. Louwe marriage and all. But that's where my profound knowledge of him ends. o.o

Football. Ahem. *Clears throat* Ahemmm. *Clears throat even more loudly*
Erm. Mid-fielder. Goal-ie, umm, centre player?
And how some guy, no, two guys can come and stand in front and the guy dribbling the ball cannot, well, pass it or kick a goal. Something very close to that, I bet. And, they get pretty tired, all those people on the field if they keep running across the field throughout the game. So they split and stand and well, kick the ball. And if it is near the goal-ie, quite surely goal, no?

FOOD! 
Yes. Best thing in life. 
\m/
[You. Are. Yet to take me out. So still no clue which is your favourite. 
No. Everything is your favourite. 
But still.]


So, what do I have in hand?
:(

One BIG sad face. 
One big yelling session pending for all your 15-min scheduled replies and sudden vanishings.
A clueless & bankrupt me.
And my poker face, waiting to wish you a very happy birthday.


P.s: I know I have murdered the descriptions of a lot of things that mean a lot to you. Or probably all the things that mean the most to you. But hey, come on, I tried! I genuinely did.

You. Love you. :)

- Just Someone.

S-runika.

I still remember how many messages I typed and saved in the drafts, erased and re-typed to let you know that I had grown to like you a lot and that I look up to you like a lil' sister would.And then the elections would come to mind and I would throw back my head and decide to wait till all the drama is over.



And then, farewell plans were in the flow and though there were just a few pictures with you in it, I remember my eyes going moist when I included those pictures of Uma and you - the clown costume and the one with both of you sitting on the stairs.

 

Shailee & I went 'Aww!' as we saw those pictures scroll by, in the video. I remember meeting you for the first time when you were in the 'Scrambler' team and I was gearing up for a ragging session when you smiled at me plainly and said I write well. I remember smiling sheepishly and running away to the main canteen.

And thanks to National Seminar, MUN and Srishti, things have become what they are today. 

I swear I tried to keep the emotions in check but farewell didn't help, really. In fact, I was just talking with a friend a few days before farewell and telling her that I've gotten to love you like a big sister and that it felt so odd and out of place to even think that you wouldn't be around anymore. And I told her that I couldn't get myself into telling you this thing - what with all the election and suspected buttering and ice-potifying et all. All she tells me - I think I know how you feel. Why don't you do what you love the best? Close the call now, go open a fresh word document and type down whatever you feel. Yes, I did do that. But that's how far I got - opening a blank document.

Now that the elections are over, to hell with trying to keep it quiet! 

That pink shirt you were in, sipping rose milk and leaning on the pillar near the audi in front of the union room, tying to be bitchy to us contestants and saying, 'All you pretty faces who missed out campaigning to us, better do it tomorrow!' you have absolutely no idea how hard it was for me to stop laughing and try not to sneak my phone to take a picture of that! 

And more confessions: I was waiting for you to come to the audi before our speeches began. Kept scanning the crowd hoping you were in there somewhere and my first genuine relief came when you stepped into the pit holding some paper in your hand. And I made a note in my mind to look straight at you when I'd be saying, 'As batman says...' I couldn't really wait to hug you after the results were announced, pull you out somewhere and talk for sometime with you. And hear that it is okay and maybe better things are waiting. 

Yes, I'll miss you dearly. Miss working with you and all that midnight and barely-morning messages that you send, saying we have to buckle up and work harder on something, miss your pout, that aww-ish poses and.. :D Okay. I'll miss a lot. 

Stay in Chennai, okay? There's SO much of catching up left. You're the big sister I never had and the big sister I am never going to give up on.

P.s: NO. This post is NOT a crazy deed of adolescence. 
I am writing it in my fair senses only.


Sorry about the randomness in the thoughts and this scribbling.
Words just fail us sometimes.
I louwe you, S-runika. ♥

- Just Someone.

Beatific Ambiguity - The Realization.

----

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.