Twenty-five

Welcome :)

This is the fourth part in a set of stories.

If you want to check out the previous parts, below are the links-

One - 'Cheers'

http://thetiltedkaleidoscopechronicles.blogspot.in/2013/08/cheers.html

Two - 'Cheers 2'

http://thetiltedkaleidoscopechronicles.blogspot.in/2014/09/cheers-2.html

Three - 'Stunned'

http://thetiltedkaleidoscopechronicles.blogspot.com/2015/02/stunned.html

You could still read it without reading the earlier ones though. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing :)

Disclaimer - This is a work of imagination. The characters have nothing to do with the people I know. If you find a similarity between reality and this, then well, you know interesting people :P. And the similarity purely coincidental ;) :P :)

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I stare at the box for a whole minute trying to decipher it. I turn it. I look at every corner inspecting for a trace of something. I check the wrapper again. There is a tiny red cushion inside the box. I press it softly, hoping something might pop out. I inspect the ground on which we are standing. It is white marble. Blank. Nothing has fallen down.

‘The box is empty’

I expect to see my surprise reflected on your face as I say that.

But you stand there, nonchalantly, beaming. I realize that perhaps I should have made smarter friends. Who know when to act embarrassed if nothing else.

‘I know’ you say.

I am confused. I just stare.

‘Is the pretty box my gift?’

That’s my thing. I try to add logic where I see none. I believe logic should be omnipresent. It has to be. If not, it is just hidden. If you dig deep enough you shall find it. So yeah, empty boxes mean the box itself is enough for a gift. But I don’t find it amusing. Is it supposed to represent my quarter life crisis? The emptiness of my life? You have piqued my curiosity.

‘Not really, but I was confused’ you say.

‘Confused? That makes two of us’

‘I was confused about what gift to choose for you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you are already too gifted’ you say and you hold my hand as you say that. I feel you are trying to explain something serious to me.

I am not sure whether to concentrate on asking you what the empty box means or to try not distract you from whatever is making you hold my hand in that serious way. It somehow makes my pulse shoot up to unhealthy levels. But I show as if nothing has happened. I am calm. I pretend that I haven’t even noticed how crazily connected I feel with you just cause of your hand holding. If only these moments were recorded, I am sure I would win a lot of Oscars this year. I act as if the hundreds of nerve endings on the tips of my fingers do not care that they are meeting with yours.

‘I do have something for you’ you say, as I break off rehearsing my Oscar acceptance speech in my head.

I look at you questioningly. My power of speech has disappeared since my pulse is high. I am speaking with my eye gaze now.

You walk away a bit and start fishing for something in your bag. I have time to calm down finally. I try to remember what I thought of today morning. This feeling only leads to somewhere bad. There are no happy endings when it comes to such a thing. I cannot possibly let myself feel that way. ‘Calm down, it is nothing.’ My brain tries to instruct itself. ‘Just your average friend stupid enough to gift you an empty box.’

‘So this is what I want to give you instead’ you turn around after you are done with the fishing episode and hold a sheet of paper in hand, rolled up and tied with a ribbon.

I wonder if it’s one of those supposedly funny greetings with congrats you are old again!! written over it. I do not have appetite for such humor. I suffer from a terrible case of FOMO (fear of missing out for the uninitiated) and you reminding me of my age is not going to sit well with me. I wonder if overnight you learnt to make portraits and made one of mine. It is interesting whatever that rolled paper holds inside. How it is connected with the box I do not know.

I untie the ribbon slowly after you hand the rolled paper to me.

You tap your feet with impatience and look at me and say ‘go ahead, open it’.

I see a page long scrawl in what I should say is good handwriting. Wow, a handwritten note.

‘Thank you’ I say with a reflex.

‘You gotta read it first. How do you know it is something nice you fool?’ you say.

And that’s enough to kill whatever attraction you created. No one calls me a fool.

‘You are the fool.’ Now we are even.

‘Are you going to read or should I do the honors?’

‘I should sit first’ I say.

‘It’s not a letter from someone dead, you don’t need to sit.

You should stop reading mush like P.S. I love you’

‘I cannot read for 5 minutes standing up. It tires me.’

‘Right cause you’re older now, easily tired. I get it. I get it.’ You smile crookedly.

‘Shut up cartoon’ I say as I plop myself onto your bed. The girly pink pillow of yours is helpful. I place it on my lap.

‘Do you also hug soft toys and sleep? Might blend in with the pink pillow’ I say.

‘Should I take that letter back?’ you try to snatch the only birthday ‘gift’ that you have ever given me. And yet that’s the level of maturity you display.

‘No let me read now, serious’ I say.

‘Okay’

I must admit I feel more on the edge now than while opening the box. This is a set of words. It could be anything. I haven’t yet let it sink in entirely that you took time off, for I hope at least an hour and thought about me exclusively and wrote something you knew you wanted to give me on my birthday. It makes me feel incredibly special. And for it’s from you, it makes me elated. I am anxious. I do not know what my reaction will be. I want to read it alone, smiling broadly, allowing uninhibited reactions on my face. I don’t want you to see that happy twinkle in my eye right now, it makes me conscious. But looking at your excitement, I have to give in. Maybe you do want to see how I react.

Dear Almika,

I thought to give you a list of twenty five of your ‘imperfections’ (assuming you took one year to develop each of them) which I find too perfect. 


Here’s the list –

       1.       Your desperately fishing for complements

       2.       Your acting that it doesn’t affect you once you do get those complements

       3.       Those silly jokes you crack

       4.       The way you forget the lyrics to the song you’re humming and abruptly pause and ask me what’s next. And when you make up any words at all to fit in just so you could continue singing.

       5.       The way you act as if you did not almost cry watching that movie scene which practically choked you from inside and wipe that escaping tear as if no one noticed.

       6.       That childish giggle of yours

       7.       The eccentric selection of jokes which cause that childish giggle of yours

       8.       The way in which you poke out your tongue a little while painting

       9.       The way in which you switch expressions from politely smiling to totally unaffected with the ease of a theatre artist (yes I am making your fakeness sound cool :P)

      10.   The way you pretend to not get my jokes just to annoy me

I look at you and murmur ‘I really don’t get them’. You just smile knowingly, adoringly while I act like the adamant kid who doesn’t believe what you have written.

      11.       The way you greet kids and discuss with them your personal problems as if they were your therapists

      12.   The way you play with them as if you are a kid yourself… you cannot let them win can you?

      13.   The way you squint like 10 times while reading a book causing your eyes to crinkle in that cute way before realizing you forgot to wear specs

      14.   The way you can never narrate a funny story without breaking into a laughter fit yourself

      15.   How you can never tolerate any mess and act like you are paid to organize someone else’s room

      16.   How you remove your glasses every time you need to make a point and act all bossy without realizing it doesn’t really make a difference to me or anyone for we are intimidated with or without your spectacles through which you shoot us your bossy stares :P

      17.   The way you have that long list of movies to watch, books to read, music to listen to stored on your computer – classified by genre, length, artist and target completion date ( I know this feels normal to you)

      18.   The way you doodle masterpiece random comics while on the phone, and filter the parts of your chat that you are least interested in

      19.   The way you pretend to know French

‘I do know it’ I retort. You smile again sheepishly. Okay I know the words but not the perfect grammar to go with it. Maybe you do have a point.

      20.   The way you total almost every other number in your life to one digit and apply your limited knowledge of numerology and cook up random predictions.

      21.   The way you cannot resist touching any velvet clothing in the shop, as if seeing something soft for the first time

      22.   The way you try to bargain every single thing sold on planet earth

      23.   The way you have tried to start at least thirty different horror movies and not been able to get past the first five minutes

      24.   The way you look at firecrackers in the sky, candles on your cake, and ice-cream - as if you have everything in the world you ever wanted.

You might be wondering why am I compiling this list.

You don’t remember this I know, for it was late last night, but you said something crazy. (don’t worry I will omit the embarrassing part here)

I look at you incredulously ‘What embarrassing part?’ You place a finger to my lips and point to the letter. I am about to start my feminist speech on suppressing females from speaking their opinion and how it is a problem since old Roman traditions. But you again look at me pleadingly and I can’t help but follow what you tell me to.

You said if I may quote

‘I am so imperfect. Imperfect beyond repair’.

 I was surprised. Don’t get me wrong, I know you are imperfect. I was surprised that you believe that is something wrong to be.

I believe we are all born imperfect but we try to become perfect in ways which help us survive. But maybe our beauty lies in the imperfections we carry. Ah well, some people’s ugliness also lies in their imperfections. But that’s a different story we’ll talk about on some other birthday. My point is, you are imperfect in the perfect ways. And they make you stunningly beautiful. I love each of the million ways in which you are imperfect. I know, you want examples. You sometimes just don’t know how to accept a complement without any details. That’s your first imperfection I love. You have this habit of somehow observing every little corner of any place you are in and looking with judgy eyes without even trying to pretend acceptance. I find it lovable. And don’t even get me started on the way you are gloating and trying to pretend this doesn’t make you i-have-goosebumps-i-am-that-happy while you read this.

I stop and observe, God, you are right, I do have goosebumps. But you are dumb, I have them cause your sitting practically brushing my side, not because your letter made me emotional. The letter will make me cry. I hope you stop using ‘lovable’. It is not fair you twist my brain into your mush even after all the breakfast I made for you.

I can understand how difficult it would be to live with such a perfect set of imperfections. Maybe there are many more beneath the surface. But I just want to let you know, all of them together, just the way you are, is perfect. And if there’s anything you want to change right now, it should be that you should keep this paper away, read it again as many times as you want later, and cut the cake waiting for you in the kitchen. Cause as we concluded, you love cake. And it is your birthday.

Happy birthday precious. Thanks for being born.

 Love,

Person waiting for the cake to be cut.

P.S. - I am sorry for the empty box, but I guess I wanted to surprise you. I hope this letter made up for it.

It takes me more Oscar winning skills than before to stop that tear from flowing down my cheek so I look at you and hug you. Second self initiated hug in two days. Wow, I am progressing. Could this count as growing up?

‘Thank you, I have no words. That was beautiful. And I never knew you noticed such little things. It makes me feel very special.’ I say still hugging.

‘You’re always welcome’ you say as we part.

‘Let’s have the birthday girl cut her cake’ you say as we enter the kitchen.

There is a small pink candle on top of the chocolate icing. It is lined with a very articulate design and there are tiny pieces of almonds on top. I can see three distinct layers, with different shades of cake and chocolate icing. Basically it is something you cannot look at for long, you need to eat it then and there. I suddenly realize how hungry I feel.

You get the match sticks and carefully light the sole candle and take it to the living room and place it near my breakfast buffet. It looks too pretty. I take a picture.

We sit down, hunched on our knees near the cake and I close my eyes. I search for a wish. For once, I do not know what to wish for. Everything I want, everyone I want is with me, in this moment. I just pray something simple -

I wish to have this forever.

I do not know what I mean by ‘this’. It would be too much to ask if it meant you. I hope the birthday Gods are wise enough and don’t ignore my wish just because it is a bit vague. I open my eyes and forget that thought as I look at you, eagerly waiting for me.

I blow the candle.

Some birthdays are perfect – they make you feel as special as you should have felt when you were born. This is one of them.

Post script –

I try to wipe the chocolate off my face. Even in a party of two, you acted like your silly self and smudged a bit over me. I remember to ask you something.

‘I am twenty five’

‘I know.’

‘There were twenty four items in that list on the letter’

‘I know’

‘Why one less?’

‘I thought I would show you the last imperfection in action’

‘What?’

You put your index finger to my left cheek and gently rub off the chocolate with a tissue.

‘That doesn’t answer my question’

‘Oh it does’

You guide me to the mirror so that we are both facing it now, together in the same frame. I look a bit hideously covered with chocolate, more so for my left cheek is a blank patch now.

‘See that? That beauty spot’ you point.

‘It’s very tiny, unnoticeable ’

‘But it is still there’ you say.

I try to angle my face in different ways trying to see if any pose makes it look better.

‘It is fine just the way it is’ you say, laughing and walk back to get some more cake.

I notice a ring on your dressing table. Curious, I pick it up, turn it around. It has a tiny mark embossed on it, maybe like a manufacturing trademark – a diamond. I just realize, it is the exact same mark I saw inside the empty box.

'Some times life is like a slice of cake.
Layers of joy, no matter how dig you deep '

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Thank you for reading. :)
What do you think? 

You can leave a comment below :) 

Cheers! :) :) 

   

Half Empty

He looked at her half empty glass of vodka from the other side of the bar. It seemed very odd. The glass in her hand. He thought he was mistaken. Maybe she was given to hold it while one of her girl friends had gone to use the restroom. He stared at that dimple which would appear when she would smile a little. She was lost in a world of her own. The music was blaring, making it impossible to shout out even a ‘hey’. He wondered how she could concentrate to think whatever made her smile in that way amidst this noise. Just then, she looked at him, a slight glance, and looked back at her glass. He reprimanded himself for being rude, for staring like that. He did not want to be signed off as a creep. Not by this girl at least. He looked around a bit, at the figures on the dimly lit dance floor.

Sharp coloured lights – neon, green, orange, yellow shot across those lost dancing figures now and then. They were peacefully lost in oblivion dancing to the not-to-peaceful music. He was very tempted to join them. Yet he was even more tempted to know this girl’s story. To what made her smile when she was looking at the glass. He could not resist looking back at her.

When he looked back, her girlfriend had joined her now, and they seemed to be having a rather happy banter. The friend was a bit unlike her and he could clearly see what her girlfriend could not- that she was not interested in anything her friend had to say. But he had to give her credit for acting interested, she was good at being polite. He smiled a little now. She sipped a little from the glass, and his eyebrows shot up just a bit. She did not look drunk in the least. But now that could explain the smile at least. He had not met too many happy drunks this evening. He was surprised to find this one so easily. The party was now joined by a dude of about 20. He was neat. Pretty damn fine, someone would say. He wondered what she thought of him. All the while staring now. He wondered whether his beer had gotten to him. Maybe it had. His sober self would definitely not allow him to stare like that, that was very rude and impolite. But his drunk self, his true self would not mind staring at this interesting woman all night long. Unless of course she had him kicked out of the club.

She seemed intrigued by the new guy in the group. He could see her starting to talk a little. But the guy didn’t notice her at all. The girlfriend had better moves apparently. A decent guy would back-off, he thought. But the dude did not. He seemed to insist them to do something, probably dance with him.

The floor was getting crowded with more dancing figures now. It was a good crowd and a nice setting. The music loud but not trashy, the lights dim but not creepy. It was sure a good place to let your hair down, he thought. Had he not come alone he would have. He tried to find a dance group, trying to judge which one wouldn’t mind taking him in to dance with them. He might have acted creepy by staring at the girl across the bar, but he wasn’t a creep at all, drunk or not. Pretty polite for the situations he had been in.

He was about to head towards a group which seemed to have strangers like him in their midst, when he looked at the girl with the glass one more time. The girlfriend and dude had left. And so had others at the bar - the man with a beard who looked like a cab driver, and the woman who looked like she was straight out of her office. The girl however, she was alone. With her glass which now empty. She wasn’t smiling. But she wasn’t frowning either. He wondered whether he should walk up to her, whether he would be able to resist commenting on her dimpled smile if she cared to give him one. He debated whether he could control saying rubbish. Not that she was the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on. But there was something distinctly intriguing, something which demanded his attention, he was not sure why. He was debating, looking at his beer can, and her impassive face. Back and forth. It was then, that she met him in the eyes. She looked at him with some emotion, he couldn’t understand what. But it definitely was inviting. She didn’t look at him the way some women stare to give a strong message to back off. He was good at reading people, because he knew, and people had told him that as well. He walked over to the space between them. He wanted her to reconsider talking to him. He wasn’t exactly what he would call in the best, healthy states of mind right now. Not even his sober self felt entirely sane these days. It had been broken a little. And he was a work in progress. More like repair in progress. He couldn’t however tell her that. It was a secret. And secrets are meant to be kept to yourself, he thought. So he would do that, keep everything to himself, even though it was killing him.

She came over slowly. In a very gentle, off-handish way. She didn’t seem too sad for any of the happenings of the evening. That her girlfriend left off to dance with the dude, didn’t seem to bother her much. She seemed to him like a woman of guarded emotions. A type he hadn’t come across these days.

‘So, where are your friends? Off dancing?’ she asked, in a confident tone. 

He liked the sound of her voice. Not shrilly, not too loud, just a bit husky, factual even. Not a trace of emotion though, sadly.

‘I came alone today. I wouldn’t let them leave me if I came with my friends’ he said, high on the beer now.

He regretted it immediately. She would know he had seen. He saw it coming, a look saying ‘get lost’ and her going as away from him as possible.

‘She’s not really too much of a friend. And we don’t even know that other guy. I felt it was easier relaxing here, happy knowing at least someone is staring at me from across the bar’ she said, more confidently now, laughing at the last sentence.

Now that’s a new reaction. He thought. 

But it might just be the drink speaking. She looks more like the girl who has her regular coffee at 8 am and lives the 9 to 5 life. Maybe with kids.

‘Are you married?’ he asked.

‘Do I look married? I hope not.’ She laughed again.

‘No I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just felt you look like the girl next door who might be married, doesn’t make sense. But that’s why I asked that’

More laughter.

‘Excuse me, sorry I am laughing so much. I guess I am a bit high on the cranberry’ she added.

‘Oh, no vodka?’ he asked.

‘I am not even with people I know well, obviously nothing too spirity’ she said as if convincing herself more than informing him.

‘hmm’

’hmm what?’ she asked, a little too inquisitively.

‘I was wondering why you were smiling at your glass before’

‘I am wondering why you are wondering about that’ she snapped playfully.

He looked ahead now, smiling sheepishly.

‘I hope you have a ride home, you don’t look like you should be driving.’ She said.

‘Yeah, I live right across the street, no ride for me’ he smiled brilliantly at her now. She laughed again like the biggest joke had been told.

‘I’ll help you cross the road’

‘you might give me your number, I’ll call you whenever I need to cross the road’

‘How about, I just pass by tomorrow to drink more cranberry juice. I think I am getting a hang of it now. It looks very interesting. I would like to know how they make cranberry juice here.’

‘So you’ll help me cross the road tomorrow at 8?’

‘yes’ she smiled ,with that dimple now. The dude and the girlfriend were calling her from the figures on the floor, shouting ‘come over’. She smiled a brilliant smile and shot up her hand, showing two fingers and mouthed ‘two minutes’.

She gave him that look again, impassive at first, as if deliberating, deciding, thinking through a complex equation, and then smiled a little, then a little more, and turned around. And with that, she was gone for the night, to the figures on the floor, where the neon, green, orange and yellow lights flashed squiggly streaks to the rhythm of the music.

'Sometimes you need to be a little empty to find something to complete you'

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Do comment below and let me know what you think :) 

Art

 

 

I love art, I love expression

I like small words with big meanings

I like those sentences which are too short,

But even when spoken with the meekest of voices

Evoke emotions so deep, and an applause which is only felt

In the confines of a mind, where there is a confluence

A confluence of conscience, wisdom and beauty

 

I love expressions so evocative, so provocative, so impulsive

That they make you jump in your seat, they make your eyes wide

They fill you with these flavors of joy

And rivers of sadness

And make you feel more than you have felt before

Something which you hadn’t lived or been through

But only imagined.

 

I love the creativity, of those thousands of fluttery thoughts

Which evade like those pretty butterflies

Which are often shooed away by the strong hand of discipline

In ignorance of what beautiful wisdom they could have carried

 

I love to collect those, to announce within these unruly confines

That no rule should be left unbroken

That no mad flutter of a tiny creative thought

Should escape

For I want to collect them, I want to see the pattern

Of what discipline thinks is madness

 

I want to pick each one, and weave through their beauty

And create something of intangible value

A value which makes me applaud

As I sit back some later day…

Looking at those thoughts, those crazy flutters of imagination

Making sense like an out of control orchestra

 

For I love art, I love expression

And although discipline toughens with its blows the unruly mind

I love art

For I think, there’s nothing more divine.

Wrinkles

This is something I wrote about a year back, I hope it brings a smile to your face :)
Let me know what you think and comment below :)

 

 

 

 

 

Jogging down the park, with ‘Rock you like a hurricane’ blaring from my fluorescent green earphones and snug grey hoodie, it was a happy moment. The sunset beyond the trees in the park looked so perfect. Catching a deserted wood park bench, I decided to relax for a while. I could hear my heart thumping, blood gushing through every vein, I felt alive.

This is exactly how it should be, every moment of your life. This is life. Everything else is self-created drama to satisfy nonsensical traditions.

I remembered grandpa’s mumblings years ago on the same park bench after having jogged with me. Panting and a little out of breath, with this brilliant childlike grin, I would hear him speak golden nuggets of wisdom - universal truths in a fashion only a man who got to experience life would. He would ask me simple questions - how was I doing, how was life. And off I would rattle on and on, things which any other sane adult would simply ignore as a conceited rampage of madly opinionated teenage mind. I remembered one such incident very vividly.

…

“So, wassup today? That’s how you speak these days I heard, going all American.”

“It’s a trend dada. It’s something I am used to. I didn’t choose it. Now that you have asked, I will tell you what’s up. Only if you tell me what’s up with you.”

“Same old same old. When you are my age, all you have to do is keep score of your medicines. Talk whatever you feel like, for everything sounds perfect. Life is a bit slower though. I don’t attend swanky office parties or work with overseas clients over phones like you. You tell me, how do you feel?”

“Sad.” I said simply, and looked down. Like I was guilty or something. For a long moment we didn’t speak any further. I didn’t know why he didn’t probe. But he never did. Unlike my parents. It was oddly comforting, it was like him gently telling me ‘It is okay’ without having uttered anything at all.

“Let us go for another run” he said finally.

“No, I have something I want to tell you. And something I want to ask you.”

“I hope it’s not some girlfriend drama you need to talk about. I still don’t understand females after all these years. Your grandma acts like a kid whenever she feels like dragging me down the guilt trip, your mother is tolerable, but then again there’s the maid. She is the most cunning, deceptive females I have come across. And she’s not even educated. That alone can spark off some research on education and intelligence. She is enough for that, she is absolutely more than enough.”

I couldn’t help laughing when he went on these rants. The animation on his face clearly gave away how he was exaggerating for comical effect. It was something I think I inherited from him.

“No no dada, it’s no girlfriend drama. Not at all. I am just sad as in dissatisfied. I feel stuck in an infinite loop. That is it. I don’t like it.”

“Even this jog isn’t going to take you anywhere. We are still running in circles right?”

I pondered for a moment before responding.

“But it is improving something in me. Physically. And I am running with the best person I know”

“Exactly my point”

“Don’t be laconic as always.”

“Okay, so here’s my deal. I know it’s a circle. But I feel different at the end of every circle. Maybe we are running on the same path with the same person, but we change, physically and mentally. It looks the same. Since it’s a place. But what you are, with whom you are, how you both are together changes, Rahul. Nothing is constant, even if it appears to be so. It just can’t be. Now if you say you are dissatisfied, it’s not because of this infinite loop, it’s because you want another loop. You just haven’t found it yet.”

“Really?”

“Yes and no. That’s just a theory. Point is, there’s scope to change everywhere. But you have to determinedly make it happen.”

“You don’t understand how scary it is, do you?”

“The best things always are”

“You mean the best thing that ever happened to you, you were afraid of it at first?”

“No, I mean the best things that ever happened to be, terrified me at start”

“Really, like what?” I wasn’t going to let my I-will-exaggerate-everything grandpa get away without an explanation or example.

“Like your father for instance. Don’t tell him though. I was always bad with kids. They terrified me. You need to take care of them in every way, and god forbid anything happen to them, you would have only you to blame. I hated the thought of having someone to take care of. Your grandmother was already someone I did that for, but it was easy, she was self-sufficient. She could shout out her way of any mess. She still does. But bringing someone else into the picture, someone more helpless than our imagination and making them into a proper talking person, with a personality was terrifying. But it was the best. I mean he turned out to be a proper person somehow. In spite of the combined madness of me and your grandma. And then he got you into the world, the perfectly mature, brilliant son.”

“You didn’t tell how you coped up with it. Your fear”

“Well for the most part, the fear was the first step, the fear lied most in deciding. And then it was easier. Then again fear struck when he actually came into the world. I could feel my hands shiver as I held him for the first time. But like all other humans, I got help. I was not alone in this. There was a team. And even without them, I genuinely became better. I did things I never did before, teaching, caring and loving. It wasn’t easy. But it was effortless. I think most challenges work like clockwork once we do face them heads on. There’s no point shying away, there’s no use either. Especially after you have decided.  Something will make everything work out”

“But what about taking the next step. Like what you say is a change. What I want is absolutely earth shattering change you know. I am going to be on a flight to California next week. I am going to be away from each one of you. It will be devastating. How will I build up what I have here? Is that even possible? I will have firangs and nerdy Indians all around me. No more color, just neatness. Irritating neatness. I never thought I would miss these roads. But I do already, they are so flawed, they give me a sense of belonging. What will I become there dada? Will it be enough? Will it be too much for me?” and with that I choked. Stifling a sob though, being the man, I just sat there. I could feel his soft, wrinkled palm now trying to touch my hair. My face in my palms, I tried to control what had been wanting to come out since the day I decided ‘this was happening’. His hands didn’t help though, I felt like sobbing uncontrollably.

“Rahul, look at me” he said after feeling it was safe to reveal my face now, now that the moment seemed to have passed.

“Yes, don’t tell anyone this” I said like a 3 year old kid found eating more than allowed candy.

“About what?” And he winked with his all-knowing smile.

I just looked on solemnly, regretting this outburst, waiting. All he said is –

“I am not going to lie to you Rahul, it is going to be difficult. It is like leaving a world of your creation and entering another. But I will tell you this once, so listen carefully. It is going to be magic. Whatever it is. You will change, it will seem too much, way too much. But that’s what life is. When you sit on this bench, some decades later, you will have plenty of wrinkles. From smiles. Even from frowns. And you should have those. That’s what makes you beautiful. That’s what makes life beautiful. You know how when we run and become so breathless in a while and tired, yet the same time we feel more alive than ever. That is exactly how it should be, every moment of your life. This is life. Everything else is self-created drama to satisfy nonsensical traditions. And that’s how it is going to be when you try to build a life for yourself out there. Stranded, confused, scared and alone, but you will know there’s someone miles away who loves you more than anyone. And when you cross that bridge, work hard, you will look back and remember me, you will marvel at the life you have made for yourself, at your successes. I know you will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I want this for you. And you know how it is for me, I always get what I want” he concluded with his brilliant smile.

And that was enough for me to dust myself off and start running another round.

…

California had been everything he had said that day and much much more. And so had been my other country trips, interactions with all sorts of people. Turned out, I did get what he wanted for me. I wished I could just have one last talk though. But I was sure, some miles away, some miles far above me, in the stars he must be looking down now. And loving me the best way anyone ever could.

 

 

Stunned.

Link to part one of this story
Link to part two of this story
 
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“What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?” you say suddenly, surprising me. I thought you were fast asleep. I pull back a little, not taking my eyes off your face. The face which I have been staring for a creepy amount of fifteen minutes now. And I am not even making a portrait or anything. I keep staring, sober, as you slowly open your eyes, blinking, taking in the light.

“I wasn’t staring, I was about to wake you up” I retort, my eyes firmly on the pillow which has your messed up spikey hair sprawled all over it.

“Pink pillow.” I smirk as I say that. It is ridiculous, those tiny little white bordered hearts on the pillow.

“Shut up” You say with a mischievous grin. I am genuinely curious how that piece of mush found way under what I assumed to be your masculine head.

“Are you gay?” I blurt.

“Are you still drunk? It is not normal to still be reeling from last night. Maybe we should visit the shrink” you laugh as you say this.

“You are gay. You didn’t answer my question.” I say.

You just shrug it off and rise from your sofa. Yes, you slept on your sofa. The host of the drunken party of two. And I let you stay abandoned there, while I slept on your big bed - which had interesting things laid out near the stand by the way. I intend to ask you why a palm lotion, an eye-mask and an unmentionable bottle of a certain something is doing there. But I want to get you breakfast first. I am spoiling you I guess. No one really gets you breakfast every morning. But it is my birthday, and someone needs to be treated special, and it is okay if it is not me. I have no option anyway, you don’t remember it. I am hoping in the next 10 minutes that you wish me. If not, my revenge plot is to bring up the discussion of the unmentionable bottle. Your embarrassment will give me joy, it might be overkill too.

Revenge and overkill. Wow. Way to maturity, you 26 year old.

That sarcastic voice in my head says as I head over to the kitchen, your perfectly organized kitchen. You are still brushing your teeth, unaware that your now-sober friend is moving around stealthily, serving breakfast and all. You are mumbling some song in between your brushing noises, singing in a tone which sounds hilarious. I don’t want to interrupt your singing, so I don’t ask which song, but I am curious. I go about arranging the cutlery as if it is some geometrical challenge. The breakfast table (which I cleared off, stacking your clichéd Car magazines which I am sure you have put there simply to look cool, not because you understand any of it) is fancier and less practical. I need to drag a chair and arrange some of the stuff there.

I look at the shiny silver clock on the wall as I settle down on your sofa after arranging everything, and it is 1 pm. Your lame singing has subsided and I hear some shuffling and then some footsteps. I feel nervous as I hear them heading to the living room. It is not every day you make unsolicited breakfasts. Maybe this was a bad idea. Leaving your house would have been a smarter choice.

“What is all this?” you exclaim, eyes wild open, as your enter your own living room.

This equals an orange juice, a few butter toasts, a steaming pot of tea, tissues, water. I don’t really understand what is so surprising. Maybe it is not enough for your appetite. I stare back, big eyes wide open, trying to decipher.

“Do you need cornflakes as well?” I ask in a way too innocent tone.

“No. I am just… “ you take a deep breath and smile and chuckle “Surprised”

You walk around the arrangement and start blabbering.

“Wow. Amazing. Come over every night. I mean every day.” You chuckle again, not taking eyes off the feast I have laid out for you as I feel proud of my toast making and tea making abilities. This is ego boosting stuff.

You settle down beside me probably wondering whether to bring up the elephant in the room which was our weird encounter last night. Which reminds me of my birthday.

Wish me already! The whole world did today morning while you were sleeping.

“So is this all for me?” you ask, still in a trance. It is slowly becoming pathetic how you are so awed by it all.

“Obviously not” I snap playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

You smile and slowly pick on the toast. Pick on, since you don’t eat like a normal person today. The surprise of having a friend who can’t go beyond making tea presenting you with this has probably blown your mind. I have had the tea tested though, it is perfection. Maybe just birthday luck.

“So last night…” you speak to your tea cup.

Finally you address the fact that there had been a last night. That it wasn’t my imagination, the whole crying and laughing episode. And I just needed a confirmation. It wasn’t any path breaking moment for me, but I do remember a pleasant distinct feeling of relief. Something heavy which I felt until yesterday had evaporated. I felt free from a part of me which I hated. Something magical had happened and solved something that I didn’t even realize was a problem. And I just want to confirm that it was real even though I wasn’t in the best states of mind. I smile and look at you, giving you my full attention, hanging on to what you will say next.

“…where did you sleep?”

Great, because that is exactly the kind of discussion you want to have, practical and soulless.

“Your bed, obviously” I answer, flat toned.

“Shit”

“Why?”

“Nothing” you say looking embarrassed

“No, seriously, why?” I prod.

“I didn’t say goodnight” You lie. You are a bad liar.

“You snoozed off on your sofa, I helped you lie down on your heart filled pink pillow.” I add.

“I know that”

“Is that what I did?” you add.

“No, you didn’t do anything. I switched off the TV, helped you lie down, took your calls and told your friend that you were alright, made this breakfast with my limited cooking skills, and of course, patiently  waited for you to wish me on a big day of my life.”

I say snappily, a flurry of Is in my sentence, anger lacing my tone. You look taken aback.

“Wish?”

“What is the day today?” I ask

“Saturday.”

“The date stupid.”

“You asked for the day, stupid”

I look at you in a you-are-too-hopeless way.

You pick the tea cup and pour some for yourself, an extremely small quantity - small enough to be rude. I look at you with ridicule on my face as you first take in the aroma, and carefully take small sips looking at me. You finally put the cup down and fill it again, to the brim. I have almost forgiven you for forgetting my birthday. At least you like the tea. It is ridiculous how you can forget it, but I have to try.

You sip slowly, lost in your own world of senses. I look around for the TV remote, but you hold my hand and ask me to sit back. I wonder what insights you have to offer about the world, you are chatty and people think I am a good listener. Truth is I just have patience, I am not interested in listening to you now.

“So last night was amazing.” You say.

“It was crazy” I retort.

“Not crazy, it was amazing. I don’t remember any night in the recent past which matches last night. Thanks for being here” you say as if I was here for you.

“I am not exactly used to this situation but it was fun.”

“Too much, we should do it again”

“Not really” I say, looking you in the eye, meaning it.

“Why?” you ask.

“It is not healthy”

“I know, I know. It is not healthy, maybe we should invite more people over” you say.

“I mean, the drinking is not healthy”

“Oh I thought…”

“What?”

“Nothing”

I am wondering about the conclusion of this chatter. So in your head drinking is healthy, but not in my singular company. Or maybe my singular company is unhealthy. I should have reached for the remote, this is complicated, I have patience to listen to you, but not to decipher you. I feel your nudge while I am lost in thought. You have poured a cup for me. I take it still feeling lost.

“So why did you sleep till noon?” I ask.

“I have no idea” you say. “Let’s see what happens next time”

“There won’t be a next time” I state.

“How can you be so sure?” you ask, mock disappointment, puppy dog look on your face.

“Drink your tea” I reprimand.

“You are an amazing tea-maker” you dole out your flattery.

“Is the tea amazing, or is it me?” I ask.

“Both” you chuckle and wink.

“You are smart”

“No your tea makes me smart” you say.

“You are over-smart”

“It is all your fault.” You say.

“Let’s stop”

You chuckle as you go back to your room. I notice the mirror in your room and look at myself. I am blushing. I am wearing your old blue shirt, and my blingy skirt from yesterday night, face cleansed of the makeup and I am blushing.

What is wrong with me?

I guess this is the point where I should leave before it gets bad.

This breakfast thing is probably not me. This whole episode is definitely not me. This staring at your face for fifteen minutes and wishing you remember to wish me and wishing you like my tea, this might be me, a part of me, but I don’t want that part.

This whole thing sucks.

It is immature. And I am twenty five for god’s sake. I don’t have time for immaturity. I had it before, when I was busy being mature and perfect and disciplined. And I loved and embraced the abandon but I can’t continue this wishing. It is bound to head somewhere bad. Somewhere I have decided not to go, since as long as I can remember and I don’t even remember why.

“Hey there” your voice breaks my sad trance. I turn back, snapping to reality and trying to put on a normal expression.

“Are you okay?” You can sense it. Maybe you have sensed it with someone before and that thought makes me sad.

“Yes, I am fine.” You don’t believe me, I can see it in your eyes. But you don’t comment and make things awkward. That is one of the reasons I like you more than I should. That you just know and yet, you stick around. I break eye contact, looking all around, assessing the furniture. There is something in my eyes that I don’t want you to see, that I can’t let you see.

Something bright and blue that you are holding catches my eye. I see a perfectly wrapped box tied with matching blue lace in a way which makes me smile.

You remember. Of course.

“Happy birthday amazing person” you say. I jump a little inside.

“Thank you. Is that something for me?” I say, still avoiding eye contact. Feeling the familiar rush of my childlike need to know what is in the box.

“Obviously”

You come over and hand it to me. Rather, pretend to hand it to me as you snatch back like the idiot that you are until I finally get hold of it. I untie the lace to save it for later. I love opening wrapped presents. Blood is rushing through my veins and I can feel my ears turning red hot. I can pretty much feel my heart beat too, as if it is for some marathon. I go through the possibilities- a watch, a keychain, a tiny frame? I look at you just before I open the box, and I see an eagerness in your expression. Maybe you are as excited to see my reaction. I take a deep breath to calm down. I open it. The calmness evaporates, and I am stunned.

 

 

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I hope you enjoyed the read. About what is in the box, well I don't know yet, we will find out the next time you are here ;)
 
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