1. i

It is one of the most uncomfortable moments in my life. When a girl hugs and cries. If I am into a relationship with her, it is my chance to further proceedings. But if it is a girl who is just a friend, I become utmost uncomfortable. Like now.

Her tears were drenching my T-shirt. He arms were around me. She was sticking to me. In her entire self. I could feel her warmth. I could see her collar stretched to her shoulder. I hugged her and patted her back with extreme efforts to divert my feelings. As I took my mind off the volcanic movements within me, I realized that she was crying.

“Tell me Shaami Kabaab…what happened?” That’s what I call her. Shaami Kabaab. It has long story to it. We used to call her Shammy. People still do that. Then one day I tasted Shaami Kabaab at Mohd. Ali Road. And the name reminded me of her.

Next day I called her that. Shaami Kabaab. She was mad at me. Reason. She asked why I called her that. And I replied she could be as hot to east as Shaami Kabaabs. But the name became the connecting factor between us. It was an anchor with which I pulled her out of delicate moments. The name always draws a smile on her face. Or at least made he open up. Like now.

“He called up again last night!” She said wiping her tears.

I hugged her tighter. The ‘He’ she refers here is her ex-boyfriend. I would take the liberty to call him a bastard. In truest sense. I consider bastard the worst of abuse. That is because other abuses just hit you. They degrade you. ‘Bastard’ abuses your source of life. Your mother. Her character. And her integrity. It’s worse than son of a bitch.

That bastard went around with her for two years. In third year, he broke up with her. Got another woman. Got married. And in fourth year, he started calling her again. Saying that he missed her. That he wanted to be with her again. That he was not happy with his married life. And this girl, lost into the past every time he called up. And the old flame turned into fire. And each time he was talking to her on phone, she had to fight this fire. And after that, she spent at least eighteen hours surviving the great emotional upheaval she went through on the phone call. And when he couldn’t convince her, he abused her on phone. Easy way out. Last night was one of those kinds. And the morning was this one.

“Don’t cry Shammy…come on….what did he say
He…….he said…..he said he loves me!” She cries more.

Bhenchod! What a move. Now he just doesn’t need her. Now he has realized he loves her. And what about all these days she had spent with her irritative loneliness? Where was he then? Where was his love when she was going through the post break off turmoil? Everybody, and I mean Every damn body had to face her aggravation then. And now, the bastard comes and says that he loves her. How convenient!

“Bastard!” I finally say it before her.

The moment the word is uttered from my mouth, her demeanor changes instantly.

“No Anay…” She said wiping her tears “…He means it!”
“How do you know…”
“He cried last night on phone…”

What a judgment of genuineness. He cried on phone last night. And what a woman to believe it. How easily his tears could change her attitude towards him. What do we classify this as? Naivety or stupidity?

“….He wants me back in his life Anay…” She said further.

I just nod my head.

“What do you say Anay??” She asks me.

“What do you feel?”

“I want to go back to him Anay!”

(Contd.)