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'
Two - 'Cheers 2'
Three - 'Stunned'
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 :)
---------------------------------------------------------------
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 –
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 ' |
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for reading. :)
What do you think?
You can leave a comment below :)
What do you think?
You can leave a comment below :)
Cheers! :) :)
