A twist in the tale...

I was getting ready for the evening, tunelessly humming a popular song. I was concentrating on what to choose to wear. I purposely wanted to appear very non-formal. Finally, I settled on a faded light blue ‘abused’ pair of jeans and a striped black full arm t-shirt. I deliberately accessorized it with a weird ‘un-matching’ red scarf and off-color casual shoes.

Thus clothed, and convinced it was casual enough that I could be mistaken for someone out for the night with friends, I stepped out to attend the wedding reception of a very special person. He would see the humor in my clothes.

I wanted to reach the reception venue well ahead of time to get a few minutes alone with the bride and the groom. Oh! How I hated thinking of him that way? How I wish I was standing there next to him?

I thumbed the invitation to look for the ‘landmark’ information. The invitation was pretentious to the core. Should have been her choosing! Surely he would not have chosen such fancy and gaudy prints. If not anything, he had good taste.

Finally after many twists and turns I reached the party-hall. The board at the entrance announced the details. I entered the heavily decorated room. Though it was quarter past the time mentioned in the invite the celebrations had not started. On enquiring I was informed that the couple had not yet arrived. So, I settled myself in a seat far away from the blaring ‘light music' troupe that was yelling some supposedly popular songs.

The air was too warm inside. I loosened the scarf around my neck. I remembered the scarf only too well. He had gifted it to me, on a very significant occasion, kind of like a closing-a-deal thing. But that was all past, slotted to be forgotten, forbidden to be remembered.

We were together, happily, for a few years. It was wonderful. We never imagined that we could be separated. But it happened. We parted the moment he informed me of the alliance and the arrangement to marry her. How could he forget the time we spent together and go away to marry someone else, some stranger? I pleaded, begged and even threatened, to stop him from committing to her. But he did it anyway. With good reason, I hoped. He explained about his family and pressure and other stuffs which forced him to choose that marriage.

After weeks of moaning, mourning and tantrums, I was back to sanity. At least that was what I was letting the world know. The fact that he had chosen her, chosen her over me, pained me badly. I had no choice but had to get used to that fact. We met again, talked, and slowly things got normal as it could. We were back together as friends and just. I know it was not right. But I let it, for the simple reason of not being able to stay away from him. He, it seemed to me, encouraged it too. My continued presence even after his engagement, as expected, did not raise any suspicion. Such being the nature of our secret!

Those he gave as reasons when he invited me to his wedding. But I intentionally did not want to attend the ceremony for I didn’t imagine I could bear it. Though I pretended things were fine I could not stand to witness him becoming someone else’s and hear him reciting promising vows. It would haunt me for a long time, and such I had many other nightmares to care for already.

Time seemed to tick very slowly as I was in and out of my reverie. I got curious. What need for him to visit a Beauty-Salon? Why would he need make-up and grooming? He would look his best as it were and she wouldn’t look half as nice and half as worthy of him, I thought. I was also curious on how he would introduce me to her.

But wasn’t it true form of love to wish that your loved one’s happy with whoever they were with?

Finally the couple made an entrance, to raucous singing from the troupe, he in a faded pink Sherwani and she in a gaudy designer sari. He looked positively lovely. She looked like she would drip a kilo of oil by the time the functions would wind up.

He was holding her hands and was whispering something in her ears as they walked on to the dais. Cameras clicked madly trying to capture the bride blush. I would have done a better job faking it.

He saw me seated in the third row and waved. That was my cue. A queue had already formed to wish the couple. I joined the insanely slow processes of the march up the dais, listening to everyone’s opinion on the wedding. As I neared the end of the queue and was next in line to step into the limelight, he winked at me. I felt myself slipping into an involuntary smile, which I had promised I wouldn’t present him.

There was that one guy who was regulating our line. He would let a guest get near the couple and would give a meaningful look toward the professional cameraman. If even after the photo-op when the guest was not rushing to dinner, that person would significantly clear his throat, step forward to remove the gifts the guest had laid in the hands of the bride or the groom and would push the next-in-line-to-wish person to step forward.

Finally, I shook hands with the groom and wished the bride a happy and content married life. As I was talking to them, I heard a veiled cough from behind. A pair of hands came into view to remove the gift I normally should have given the couple. Finding none, he verbally asked the photo guy to hurry things along.

The photographer then dully looked at me and said, ‘Sir, neenga konjam Mapillai sidela nillunga!’

All in a day's time.

Ah! The relief of no work! It’s a great thing to wake up to an empty to-do-list. You can snooze all you want. But you know, I’m warning you, it gets boring after a few days. When you had to work, the leisure felt rightfully earned and so was sweet. Now that you have uninterrupted free time it will make staying vetti a work.

And talking about it makes it so much better. Shut it.

So you have a million things to do. And you don’t have any inclination to start anytime soon. You haven’t even listed the things to buy, things to do, people to say goodbye to...You know what’s going to happen... Even with so much time in hand it’s still going to be a whirlwind at the moment of leaving. Is that what you want? Is that right?

Stop nagging.

You have been wanting a makeover, for so long, even I don’t remember. Have you decided on which to opt. Hair color? Tattoo? Hair style? You would want elegance and dignity and yet at the same time want to look appealing and nice. More than anything you definitely need to lose weight, get fit and wear trendy clothes. Your image speaks before you do. Smart dressing does the trick most of the time. But I guess at some level perhaps you don’t care.

Never mind!

You know the need to stay in touch is tough act. It’s the responsibility of all the parties. You know, they have the Internet, they are connected via mobile and yet I’m the one calling and mailing and I’m the one waiting for the response that’s yet to come. And sometimes you blame me for losing touch with your friends. How is that fair? How long can I sustain the interest solo? Needs to work both ways

Right.

I am missing a lot of people. I need to tell them that. Or should I? What if they don’t think so? I will let them know they are being remembered? Don’t you want to?

Yes.

If saying ‘I miss you’ is okay, then why is saying ‘I love you’ not? Yes. Yes, I know. It’s quite powerful. But isn’t that a reason enough to be vocal about it. I can say it to my father, brother, boyfriend but not a friend. Without sending wrong signals, without causing eyebrow rises! Even in this “well educated” and “modern and forward” society it is still considered taboo to use those words other than when it is meant in the sense of relationship. Why can’t it be used in the league of “please” and” sorry” and “thanks”? “Thanks for the support dear... it means a lot to me... I love you for that”. Why that is unnecessary and reacted to as some thing that need not be explicitly told? It’s not like I’m going to jump them!

......

I want to watch ‘Engeyum Kadhal’ or ‘Water for Elephants’ in theaters. Need some company... Will there be any takers?

I wish.

Is the baby alright? She is been silent for a long time now? Are you doing something wrong? Better call up Mother and confirm. Ask her to come here...

Oh, my God.

“Dil torna humari adhat nahi hai...” Nice line. Can be used as prompt for writing?

No mood.

I will tell you a secret. You work better while you are doing a repetitive task. Haven’t you noticed that it heightens your sense of concentration? I have come to realize that when the mind is supposedly occupied, the thoughts get organized and you kind of get a perspective. Don’t you see it as the reason why you feel that during exams and tense project moments you get lots of interesting things to think about? The thing with repetitive tasks is that after sometime it becomes monotonous and the mind tries to concentrate on something else. I personally find cleaning, doing pradhakshinams etc to be calming and relaxing. Isn't that what people claim about Yoga?

Enough!

I have heard, Food is the only thing that can be enjoyed and when offered more would elicit an ‘Enough’ response. I don't believe I can say enough to anything else. Maybe sadness, sleep etc... But the words I choose to express it may not be 'enough', per se

I’m going to divert myself.

Archer is a very nice read.

Internet, perhaps.

Sara Teasdale songs are really simple and straight forward. I know one other woman writer of her time who also had a letter-friend beau and also suffered from depression. Who?

Will TV work against you?

The level of tolerance has increased multifold. I attribute it to the spike in the amount of TV watching. Gruesome violence and sex are mainstream now. Subsconiscouly I don’t seem to even mind them. Now you know why what was deemed indecent has somehow become tolerable?

Music?

'O-Mama-maama Vippaamalaama' is a good song. Mrinalini is a wonderful name. It was in vogue sometime back...others I can recollect are crazes on Nivedhita,Aishwarya, Arya...

Sigh!

It’s too hot in the house, even in the evenings. But summer nights remind me of the lazy times in Agrahaaram. The warmth in the air, the dryness, the earth trying to cool down since the Sun had disappeared, the fragrance of new flowers, Ponds talc, Hamam soap, All India Radio, lying in the mithtam and staring at the stars, in the dim and barely burning gundu bulb light...

Wow.

Did I ever mention to you about the nights in the ‘Grim old place’ and the scandalous, forgotten secrets shared behind closed doors in whispered voices?

Was there.

If you are caught in-between what you want and what is wanted of you how to choose a side without offending the other?

Shut up.

Separation is a good thing

DONT. GO. THERE

***
Some people feel bad that their Thoughts deserted them. How did they ever manage to get rid of them? How glad would I be if mine ever did that?

Remembering that night.

I was pregnant.

I was bit along before I realized it even. The not-so-insignificant flutters in the stomach, the pronounced attunement to certain fragrances, the nearly pacing heartbeat and such were the indicators to the wondrous fact.

Yes, I was pregnant. Very much so with the excitement, the secrecy, the anticipation, expectation, imagination and all other emotion relevant –tions!

A mere chance meeting brought us together. It started as polite acquaintance and general hanging-outs along with mutual friends. But certain common interests brought attention on each other more. We grew comfortable. We talked sense and more nonsense. I always had a word and he always had a reply. It was around then that I started feeling funny in my stomach, every time when he looked, smiled at me, or teased me. I felt happy in his presence and I was always in wait for any opportunity to meet him, to talk to him. Few more weeks passed before I became conscious of the fact that I was exhibiting marked preference for him. Though he was formal and normal as was usual, I started fantasizing that the attraction would be reciprocated. If he felt any change in him, any change in me, he didn’t show it.

Break came in the form of me moving out of town for few months for work. Though the likeliness and feasibility of my wants confused me, that separation really helped put lots of things in perspective.

Almost towards the end of my tenure in the new place, Chance made us cross paths again, and he came into town for a few days.

We met for dinner on the day we were heading back home. I had imagined that meeting in a million different ways. But I forgot all that when I saw him waiting for me. I used to ache to see him but the acute relief on seeing him again was nearly painful and as powerful as the ache itself. Butterflies all over me, in me! On seeing me, he made a movement to get up, but mid-way appeared to change his mind. As I reached him he said ‘Hi’ in a preoccupied, musing tone and looked at me curiously. I too just stood there looking at him and somehow felt peaceful and calm. He made me sit near him and I was afraid he would hear my heart thumping erratically. I remembered that that was the first time I was alone with him in a long time. After a few moments of looking at me deeply, he smiled a little and slowly but simply said ‘Of course! Now I know I’m attracted to you. It feels good to be with you, talk to you. I don’t know if this feel good thing is love. But I really wish it is. I think it is’.

I did not know how to react. For one thing I was surprised that he felt the same way about me; second, I was shocked at the almost casual way he was expressing his interest; thirdly, I was floored at the simple yet profound and sincere expression in those words; and fourthly, well, I don’t remember ever getting that far. I was not sure of the expression on my face that day, but he seemed to have found something that made him smile a smug grin. He leaned over and said softly, ‘I love you!’ I would have agreed to anything even more clichéd or even less romantic. If I hadn’t had the sense to control the rush of excitement I felt, that which was making me weak in the knees, I would have swooned.

After the very special conversation on that night, he did not seem to indicate by means of action or words that we were in a relationship that was more than platonic friendship. As the saying goes, days rolled on to weeks and months. No special smile, no pampering, or lovey-dovey-mushy-ness. Nothing! It was as if we were the same, except that we weren’t. No promise of future, no stories of the past; the thing that mattered was we were together, dependably so. But it was confusing at times. Whenever I got the guts to voice it, half-way through my convoluted acquisition, he would wink at me and remark something, which, knowing as I knew him would be very caustic to put me in a reaction mode and yet at the same time be very funny to almost make me ignore. And I would be torn at what he was actually intending. No hand holdings, no cuddling, nothing further. Only solace was, ‘You know how I feel. Take care’ sms that he would send me everyday night that kept me going. All the while, the shameless belly residents were very hyper and high at those times when he was beside me, almost touching.

As it were like that, after a few months, one normal and boring day, we were zooming through the town in the ‘flying’ train. We were settled in the seats that offered the best view of the town below and also the symphony of movements inside. As per habit I was rambling on about my work anecdotes, plans for the later-that-day and all other sundry nonsense, when he suddenly held my left hand and turned it over and pressed lightly at the place where my ring-finger joined the palm. Tingling-ly electric! Abruptly I lost thread of what I was saying. The wretched butterflies were all strutting around lending me almost incoherent.

Very gently, in a voice very new to me, he asked ‘Can we be?’. Raising our entwined hands to signal between us he finished ‘Always?’

Mere minutes or hours could have passed and I wouldn’t have known. I had eyes for no one else. He waited patiently, never relaxing his hold on my finger.

Finally, now that I can, I put my cheeks on his shoulders, and asked inaudibly ‘Promise?’

He pressed our hands to his heart and said ‘Promise!’

Deliverance!