1.j

I was taken aback by her answer. Is this what all her pain and sufferings come to?

“Tell me na Anay…What do you think?”
“Is it important?” I snap back.
“Yes….It is!” She almost shrieks and starts crying again.

I hold her again and start comforting her.

“It is important what you think….please tell me what do you think...” She says in a tear soaked voice.

I feel pity for her at that moment.

“Should we talk about it here?” I ask.
“Let’s go to the room”
“Let’s go to the canteen”
“I don’t feel like going anywhere today….let’s sit in my room”
“Okay..” I agree.

I am the only privileged one who is allowed to enter her room whenever she or I want. At times, it makes me comfortable to enter her room. It is always so tidy. Unlike our room. Messy. Even the messiness in her room has tidiness to it. Except once or twice, when one of the Victoria’s Secrets was lying noticeably on the heap of clothes on her bed. And I always get something homemade to munch whenever I enter her room. But today, that pleasure might not be on the list.

I enter her room. Shamita goes straight to the loo. Preeti is about to leave for her lectures. She greets me. I greet her. She picks up her books and leaves. This is usually the time when studious are in a hurry. She reaches the doorframe and turns back.

“Please try to put some sense into her….she has gone crazy” he says in a soft tone to me and leaves immediately. She doesn’t even wait to know my reaction.

Shamita comes out of the loo and sits on the bed with her chin resting on her knees. He shorts slipped down slowly as she sat folding her knees, pulling them close to her chin. Without her knowledge, a phenomenon had been uncovered. I stood staring at it mesmerized. It ended into another Victoria’s Secret. I had an uncontainable urge to touch the phenomenon. I went closer pulled by them. On being close, the phenomenon mesmerized me more. I stretched out my hand. Everything around me darkened into an illuminated darkness. The phenomenon glowed in its place. It was the moment of rendezvous with divinity. My hand was almost upon it and the world brightened up suddenly. Realization struck me on my medulla oblongata. I was standing near the bed she sat on. I hadn’t been there to slide my hand over the phenomenon. My presence there had a higher cause to it. I Sat down besides her. I offered her one of my chewing gum strips left in my pocket from I don’t know when, to comfort her. She smiles with tearful eyes and takes it.

“Tell me now Anay…what I should do?…” She says.

It is a difficult question for me to answer. If she was to decide purely on my response, I would’ve clearly asked her to ask that bastard to Fuck Off! But the problem here was of love. She still had the same amount of love she had for him before. And with this, things would never change by my statement. People, especially women, become blindfolded in love. And in this extreme psychological condition, they never accept logic presented to them by individuals surrounding them. So I had to find an answer. And guess who helps me now. Bollywood!

“What does your heart say Shammy?....what do you want?” I speak out my favourite lines.
“I want to go back to him...”
“Then that is your answer”
“Really?”
“yeah Shammy…nobody else can decide your happiness except you…..so do only what your heart says…If you want to go back to him…then go back to him!...Just be a bit careful…and I know that you will be” I place my hand on her head.

Never ever try to preach a person in love about his mistaken path. One, you will be categorized as Bad. Two, you will not be heard at all. Let them learn from their experiences. Burnt child dreads fire. Had learnt it in fourth standard for a scholarship exam.

She smiles amidst her tears. I smile back.

The smile says it all. She is going back to him. Sidelining every moment of pain and exclusion. She was prepared to run back into his arms. She had already decided it. All she wanted was a social approval. He roommates had already declined her idea, leaving her helpless. Shaking her predetermination. Leaving her in tears. And I was the twig which she needed. Upon which she could step and raise herself. Rise high and touch her otherwise insoluble decisive perplexity about going back to him. And now that she had it, I am assured that she would go back to the bastard. I resolved her dilemma. But it had given birth to a new question. How were Harshad and Piyush to be told about it? Without letting them know the past. Without bruising Shamita’s character. Without letting them feel that I am lying to them because I am close to her. And without letting the thousand other qualms clog the minds of those two chauvinist male lovers, whose minds are certain to run in all directions towards her, excavating and envisioning her existent and inexistent past. It was difficult.

Shamita had wiped her tears with the right mega sleeve of her top. The glumness on her face had disappeared by now.

“Thank you Anay!......you are the best!” She says turning to me and hugging me again. This time, out of happiness. Tighter than last times. For a second I gasp for breath after her blitzkrieg hug. Then I feel a venom spreading into in the heat of the hug. I loose control over my equilibrium. I am about to tumble over the edge of her bed. To gain my balance back, I struggle to grab something for anchoring myself. I land my hand on something and it sinks into it. It emits a warmth that envelopes my hand into it. The warmth which reaches my heart like a lightning and fills into my body. My half alive corpse gurgles with bliss. I dig my hand deeper into it. My fingers ink into it, curling up. Involuntarily forming into a gentle clutch, kneading it in a reach for support.

I am holding the phenomenon.

(Contd.)

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.)