4.c

I kiss her into her bedroom.

Aunty is not at home. It’s not the regular closing time. Yet the shutters are down. Sneha has the permission to pull them down whenever Aunty isn’t there. After all she is an attractive young girl in her days of bloom. And every mother of an attractive young girl in her days of bloom is worried about leaving her alone, directly exposed to millions of scanner eyes and lusty proposals. In cliché terms, keep a freshly blossomed bud within the range of countless hungry male bees.

But, even the strongest of pesticide can’t stop a king bee from entering into a flower. Larger the bee, larger the thirst. Larger the thirst, larger the fervour.

I had woken up late due to overdrinking at last night’s booze bash. I had woken up once at my usual hour. But I crashed down again realising its worthlessness. I woke up later and found it worthless again. I was about to crash again but I resisted it out of shame. I stood up. Had a wash and left for late brunch to Aunty’s. A permanent feeling of worthlessness had gripped me completely as I walked towards Aunty’s place. This wasn’t the first time I was feeling this. But this was the first time I was feeling this when I was alone. I did have people around me. But I hadn’t felt the feeling of belonging to any one of them. I was all alone in this dark hole.

All I needed was a shoulder to rest my head on. A shoulder which could soak up my dry sniffles in it. A shoulder which could comfort my ache. A shoulder which could glue me to itself.

I reached Aunty’s café. I saw Sneha alone at the counter. She had worn a crimson Ganji. Her chest open and her shoulders bare. Their glaze stood out prominently over the crimson darkness of her top. Her nipples stood out as two dark dots on her chest. The café was unusually crowded today.

I stared at them as I walked to her. I wanted to touch them. Feel their softness. To slide my fingers over their smoothness. Maybe to touch them with my lips. Or even dig my teeth into them. Lust at times, remains a male’s only way out from pain.

A stand before her looking into her eyes.

“Aunty?” I ask.
“Not at home!” She replies with a wicked look in her eyes.
“Now?” I ask.

“Afternoon” she says making a sandwich for me. She knows my taste. “She will return at night!”, she pushes the sandwich into my hands approaching to touch hers and bends over the counter to take a closer look at my face. I get a closer look of her ripening cleavage.

***

She pulls down the shutter. I enter from the back door. Her shoulders and her cleavage is on my mind since the moment she had lifted herself back to straightness.
It had filled my mind. I had not for a moment thought of Apu’s loss but instead what occupied my mind was gaining Sneha.

WARNING:
People with High Moral Stand Please Refrain from reading this part. It is an excellent example of Pornographic Literature.

The moment she closed the door, I entered into a lip lock with her. I had kissed her in a violent excitement. She returned it voraciously. I had assaulted her with my lust. And she was bathing herself in it. My hands held her by her arms tightly without letting her move. I made her walk my steps. I knew the place well. And I knew what was where. My hands reached for her shoulders and began caressing them. Her hands wrapped my shoulders and pulled me closer.

I kissed her all the way into their bedroom. I pushed her on the bed. I lay there with closed eyes awaiting my arrival. I crouched over her and kissed her fervent cleavage, about to spill out of her low neck. The softness felt by my lips urged them to explore those blooming bosoms more. I kissed her endlessly on the smooth skin of her chest. I went on kissing to the covered parts of her breast and found their peaks jutting out of the cloth over them. I kissed them gently. She twisted with a moan. Her fingers running through my hair suddenly held them tight for a moment and began caressing them again.

I trapped her between my legs and I rose to sit on my knees. I pulled off my T-Shirt and reclined over her again, this time attacking her shoulders. He bosom kept rubbing on my chest as I attempted to swallow her shoulders. One of her Ganji straps had slipped off her shoulder when I had began kissing her, revealing her gleaming shoulder and a bit oversized for a teenager breasts, which had tempted me to eat her more.

I kissed ceaselessly over the shoulder, upon the neck, down the chest and up her lovely jigs. My hand crawled upto their perfect roundness and pressed them softly. She moaned again. I pressed them again. A bit harder than the last time and she moaned louder.

I went kissing lower and kissed her belly in the gap between her Ganjis and her pyjamas. I pushed her Ganjis up and kissed delicately on her navel. She shuddered on the touch of my lips. I pushed up her top further and rubbed my cheeks on her belly. She held my hair tight pulling me upwards. I pushed her top over her hillocks carefully as if I was unwrapping a gift paper without tearing it.

Women always hold the power to surprise men. Whoever they may be. And surprise them more if they are known men. Sneha, like every other woman possessed it too. As I rolled up her Ganjis to her shoulders, a surprise struck me hard in my face. On a dark cloth suspended by two thin laces were two parts of a heart on each breast, supported by the ‘elegant’ designs that a lingerie is supposed to have. Two roughly cut parts of a bright red valentine heart. It looked like the designer or whomsoever had torn it and placed the two pieces on each of her breast. If it had been better, I could have called it ridiculous. But it was not.

She caught me staring dumbfounded at the intriguing design and said,
“Heartbreak!”

The word suddenly rang hard in my ears.

Heartbreak!

“That’s the name of the design. Heartbreak!”

It’s next utterance hit me like a blow. I remained steadfast in the position I was staring at it. Sneha, with a smart bend in her knees, slid herself down and bring her face to the level of my eyes.

“What?!...Haven’t seen a bra before?” She asked smiling with ‘gotchya!’ look on her face. She was too happy about the trick that she just played. And I was engrossed with the word she had just spoken.

I tried to shake myself out of my reverie. She wrapped me in her arms and turned me around. I freed myself from her arms and pushed myself back to sit up, reclining on the curve of their bed. I was loosing my hardness.

“Oh!...Revenge?” she said and crouched over me with new vehemence. She began kissing me from my navel and moved upwards towards my chest. In normal circumstances, this would have provoked me the most. But today it didn’t create even a slightest of tremor in me. She placed countless kisses on my chest. I sat there stoned. She took my nipples in her teeth and sucked them. But I sat numb. She took her final step. Rubbing her bosom on mine, she approached to kiss me. I felt the pieces of heart rubbing on my chest. The work reverberated once again in me. Heartbreak!

Some thing had started growing within me when she had spoken that word. It burst inside me now. My heart filled with Aparna’s thoughts. The longing, the craving, the moments, the memories and the parting. Where is Apu?

Sneha reached for my lips with hers and began sucking them. I just responded mechanically, moving my jaw. She slid her hand down my chest, across the belly into my pants. She thrust it into my undies and reached for what she was looking for.

Men too at times have the ability of surprising women. She looked at me in disbelief.

“Anay??” She asked in a horrid tone.
“Lost it!” I said.

Innocent guilt appeared on her face. She opened my pants in a scurry, pulled down my underwear and began stroking my organ to bloat it up.

“Don’t Sneha…” I stopped her. “Won’t help…”

My words froze her movements. She dolefully left moved aside and sat a feet away from me. She folded her hands and bent her head in sorrow and shame. The guilt had got over her.

Notice:
People with High Moral Stand can resume reading from this part. The Pornographic Literature ends here.

I sat there helpless staring meaninglessly at the bedsheet. I pulled up my undies like the white cloth that is pulled up a over an unidentified corpses to cover up its unpleasantness. I zipped and buttoned my pants. I looked up something met my eye.

There was a large picture of Krishna on the wall opposite to me. A Krishna standing near a cow playing his flute. He didn’t look out of the picture towards his devotee. He instead looked at something inside it. At some vague point. Somewhere on the ground or the river close by. He stared at it intensely. If he had been real, one could have seen tears gathering up in his eyes. I went closer top see if his eyes were moist. I raised my hand tried to touch his eyes. The glass kept me off from touching his eyes. But I knew that he was weeping. I moved back and sat on the bed staring at him. Sneha snuggled up besides me like a kitten, staring at the picture with me.

From where I stood I could get a clear view of the picture again. And it is from here that I realised, there is supposed to be a Radha in the picture.

Krishna was alone. The space besides him, reserved for Radha was empty. Entire picture looked sad without her. It looked unbearably gloomy. Because Krishna was without Radha.

(Contd.)

4. b

I return to the room. People frolic around me. They try to include me in their attempts to keep themselves happy. I try to be a part of their effort, but then slowly slip out of it. I feel the loss of an otherwise present, inherent urge to jump in co-ordinance with the spouts of happiness. But I am in no mood today. I don’t feel being myself.

I tried calling her again. And she didn’t answer. So I had tried again. And again. And Again. And again. And again. I kept trying to call her till it was time for me to give up and accept the fact that she had gone away.

I rode all the way back to the arsehole of the world in a daze. The daze of quantified dejection. I don’t remember how many cars I bumped into. How many bus drivers rode past me abusing me for my pathetic riding skills. How many aunties crossing the road shrieked of horror when I road through their pack indifferently.
Her wordless farewell blazed like smouldering coals within me.

Her silence had sublimated every tether of togetherness that was between us. Every moment that we had spent together, every hug, every kiss, every touch, every laughter, every wonder, every squabble, everything of it was just wiped off. Every evidence of our liaison had disappeared abruptly. All that was left back were the memories. Memories which had become sharper with the suffocating silence of her exit.

I climb up to the terrace and sit atop the water tank. The night is darker than the usual. I decide to myself that I should forget her. I look up. Stars shine in their clusters with a disjoint unity. I look around. I see the tops of the bungalows scattered in all directions. I light a cigarette. Scattered was the word. Maybe they weren’t scattered as I saw them. Maybe I saw them as scattered today. Unlike every other day when they must’ve seemed organised to me if I had looked at them. I took a long puff.

Flashback:

Apu and I were sitting on a rock on one of the hills. She had driven me on her scooty. It was a pride to be her pillion rider. She talked to winds. And I to her hair caressing my face.

She owned the road. And the hills aligning them.

She stopped besides one of the hills in her kingdom. Parked her scooty besides an old Banyan tree and dragged me to a hill top holding my hand.

We sat there staring the sun slipping down the curtain of sky. I wondered at the moment of the sun. One never saw it moving but yet one could see it moved. From one place to another. People called it science. I felt, sund didn’t want to be caught when he was on his way forth. He purely hated farewells. He just wanted to slip away without his absence being noticed. He assured you that he was there till his last bit was lost below the horizon. And then suddenly you realised that he was gone.
As opposed to humans, in whom the loss was evident and prominent. We could see people leaving from our lives and it made us loose ourselves and our minds.

I took out a cigarette and lit it. I began smoking. I spoke out this thought to Apu.

“There is one more difference between them….” She replied. Her eyes fixed on the horizon.

“What?” I asked. Eyes fixed on the horizon.

Apu took the cigarette from my hand.

“We can’t stop the setting sun…..but we can stop a human leaving away…at least try…” She took a long puff from my cigarette and coughed badly.

I took her in my arms to calm her. Her words echoed down the hills in their feeble way.

“We can’t stop the setting sun…..but we can stop a human leaving away”

Flash Forward:

Fuck! Why the fuck do I remember this incidence now! At the time I need to forget her the most. That is the fucking irony of life. You remember only those people, whom you are trying hard to forget.

I throw my cigarette off the edge of the tank and I get down from the tank.

I join the cacophony below. I have a company in my cheerlessness. Piyush.

I still wonder how Apu could go so abruptly.


(Contd.)

Chapter $

4.a

“And yes…..please reach station on time…train isn’t Aparna…” I am sure she must’ve smiled cheerlessly after this sentence.

“Yes ma’m!...Roger will be there ma’m!”, A lame attempt to cheer her up.
“Over and out Roger!” She laughed forcibly. Bloody technology has always been unreliable. You can’t trust it to veil your emotions. You always expect a reason like bad connection or low voice output or something like it to conceal your emotions during a conversation. But like a strong electric current, emotions reach the person on the other end of the line, overcoming all obstacles in its path.

“Over and out Charlie” I held back my emotional upsurge. What comes strongly to you than the feeling of the loss is the realisation of their impending incurrence. The realisation that such moments would be rare henceforth stings the composure of the serenity, driving it to fall apart.

“Bye Ani”

“Bye Apu”

“……Love you!”

“Love you too…”I feel like breaking down and crying over the phone. But I resist giving up myself to the reign of tears.

“Bye”

“Byeee”

“T’ta”

“T’ta”

None of us disconnect the phone. We keep holding the phone pressed on our ears and concentrating on little sounds on the other side. Taking our guesses about each other’s gestures.

Aparna finally disconnects the phone. Women are indeed stronger than men.
She had called me up to inform me about her confirmed departure time. She has been calling me up several times for petty reasons like these since morning. She is trying to lull the pace of time through them. But time is a shrewd bastard. It won’t dawdle it’s steps for people like her and me.

There comes a time, when humans have to stand up for their bondings by taking up something that your heart shudders when even thought of. I decide to reach the platform scheduled for departure on time. After all, the train won’t be Apu.

***

Structure of a Perfect Last Meet:

Block 1:

I ask Piyush for his bike. He agrees. Good start!
I leave early to avoid any delay. If I reach early, I can spend time loitering around the station, smoking or sipping tea. But If I reach late, I won’t be able to see Aparna again. My heart misses a beat.

Block 2:

I go to the sole ATM of my bank at the outskirt of the place and withdraw money. I want to buy a parting gift for Aparna. My watch says I have enough time.

Block 3:

I take his bike and ride it for a kilometre and realise that it has a flat tyre. I pull it along to a tyre work shop. The tyre man says it’s a puncture. Needs half an hour to mend. I look at my watch I still have a lot of time.

Block 4:

He opens the tyre and tells me the tube has screwed up, he needs to put a new one. I argue. He wins. I agree. We decide a reasonable price for it. He asks his assistant, a timid young boy, to get one. The boy leaves and returns after eternity with a wrong tube. He leaves again. There’s still quite enough time for me to reach the station.

Block 5:

The boy returns with the right tube. The tube is fixed. I pay. The budget for her gift cuts down a bit. I am still in time to catch her.

Block 6:

I ride fast to make up for the time lost in mending the tube. I find my way through the vehicles. I jump over the speed breakers. I ride through the potholes. I ride past the signal. And I hear a whistle. A policeman walks across the road and stands before my bike. I brake hard to halt exactly eight inches before his knees and vital organs above them.

He asks me for my license. I hand it over to him.

Block 7:

I beg his pardon. I ask for mercy. I spread my arms for clemency. I lean before him for absolution. I join hands before him for amnesty. I join my legs for exoneration. I touch his feet for exculpation. I am ready to give him a blow job for pity.
He agrees on hundred rupees.

I pay him and win my license back. I compromise on a gift that I shall buy. I have still some time left with me.

Block 8:

I begin riding again. I halt at every signal. I am almost near the station. There are no more signals to cross anymore. But still I halt once more. For the traffic that jams the road. No cars move. No space for the bike to find it’s way through. Even the six inch gaps are filled by some vehicle or the other.

My wrist watch says I am running parallel to the time.

Block 9:

I try finding a way somehow through the blocked traffic. Finally I decide to take another route, the longer one, and reach the railway station. I turn my bike and begin moving. The longer route turns out to be the longest one. I am running behind time a bit.

Block 10:

I reach the railway station. But I don’t find a place to park the bike. I go around the other corner. I try my luck at three bike-stands. None of them have 24 inch spave for my bike. I reach the farther bike stand. The fourth one. It accommodates my bike. I am running behind time.

I feel a buzz on my thigh. I pull out my mobile. Aparna calling. I answer it. She says she is on the platform. I say I will reach in five minutes.

Block 11:

I walk my way back to the station. I stand in the queue to buy a platform ticket. The queue is at a standstill. I receive another call from Aparna saying the train would reach the platform in three minutes. I realise I haven’t bought the gift during my efforts to reach on time.

Block 12:

I give up the thought of buying a platform ticket. I compromise on not buying a gift. I run up the bridge skipping steps. Aparna calls me once again. She says that the train would be there in two minutes. I say I will reaching one.

Block 13:

A Ticket Checker stops me. He asks for ticket. I say I don’t have it. He takes me to a corner. I give him an offer. But he refuses it. Mario Puzo frowns in my mind. He is adamant on making a receipt. I try my best for out of law settlement. He doesn’t agree. I hear a loud horn. I hear an announcement.

Aparna calls up again she says she is boarding the train. I am in a panic state. The TC is still adamant on receipt.

Block 14:

I hear another loud horn. I thrust two hundred rupees in TCs hand. I run without looking back at him. I run down the outlet for the platform of departure. I jump down the steps. I see the train moving. People block the exit of the bridge.

I push my way through the crowd.

Aparna doesn’t call me up again. I reach the platform. The train leaves out of the station.

Block 15:

I stand on the platform looking at the rear end of the train. I see a large yellow X on it. The train keeps shrinking in size. So does the X. X. eX. Ex. Ex. Ex means past.

I don’t meet Aparna. I don’t catch a last glimpse of her. She just goes away. Just like that.

Just like that.

(Contd.)

3. m

On the way back, we felt a sharp aching in our bellies and we had to thrust something down our food pipes to defeat it. Smoke had burnt down all that we had in our bellies, making the trip stronger for us. There was a fierce urgency of gobbling something NOW!

The arsehole of the world has a peculiarity about its shops. They close down at eight thirty post meridian. After that, every inhabitant of the arsehole is left to struggle with his own destiny even if they need a matchstick. One has to come to the Chowk, where all shops close at nine thirty post meridian or has to go to the adjoining town at a distance of ten minutes form the Chowk.

We sought for the most probable places which would be open at the moment. We found each one of them closed. A fear began building amongst us. Everywhere we would go, we would find shops closed. We wouldn’t find anything to eat. We would have to seek for every shop in the Arsehole and find it closed. We won’t find anything to eat. The ache in the belly would grow and we would have the worst craving for food of our lives. Then slowly the ache would grow and suck everything in. First our gall bladder, then our pancreas, then our liver, then our lungs, then our tongue, then our teeth, our eyes, our intestines, our bladder and finally our hearts. Everything would stuff the belly up and then begin churning. The dilute Hydrochoric Acid would be released in our belly and each of these parts would dissolve into it. And we would obviously die in absence of each of these body parts. We remembered the references and incidents which fortified this fact further.

We desperately kept finding for a shop to eat. And we were persistently finding each one of them closed. We went frantic over food.

“What now?”
“I don’t know”
“What if we don’t get anything to eat?”
“We will die”
“I don’t want to die”
“Me neither”

It wasn’t important who said this to whom. Both of us were in the same state of mind and body. So the conversation could be looked at from both the sides.

But God is a powerful being. Or luck is a strong factor. Or co-incidence is a greatest trick of time. Or whatsoever.

Piyush’s vehicle stood after taking three jerks before a temple. The jerks which a vehicle takes if you ride it on a slow speed at a high gear.

“Piyush…temple!”
“We need something to eat…”
“We will get it here…”
“How?...by praying?”
“No…by pretending to pray”
“But the god won’t listen to our pretended prayer…”
“But the priest would…”
“Yes…I think so..”
“And he’d give us Prasad!”
“Bloody Bhenchod…What a magnificient idea!!...he will save us from dying!”
“Yes…what do you say then?”
“Let’s pretend to pray”

He parked his motorbike out side the temple. I realised it was the same temple, the voices from which could be heard as we sat on the Rock of Loneliness.
We entered the temple. On the right of the temple there was a small lake of people sitting as if prepared for a discourse. And before them stood a lone microphone. We crossed the next door. And we saw the god.

We saw two black stone idols, dressed and garlanded. A god and his soulmate. Both stood close to each other with their hands on their waists. The way parents look at the mischief of their toddler. They stood as if they were looking at the world with distress and were about to question each one of them who were responsible for the ruckus.

I moved closer to them. They looked at me through their stone eyes. The couple from Pandharpur. The guardians of countless saints and followers. The inspiration of innumerable pages of poetry. And the reason for largest sacrifices. The couple behind the miracle that shaped the generations and minds of Maharashtrians. The parents whom their kids meet twice a year, walking over a distance of hundreds of kilometres from every corner of Maharshtra. The Vithoba and the Rakhumai of Pandharpur. The love of millions of Warkaris. The hope of and resort of the numerous distressed souls. The Marathi face of Vishnu. The Ghati incarnation of the Krishna. I closed my eyes and a voice rose to the skies.

“Pundalik Varda….Haare Vithhal”

Hundreds of cymbals rattled in synch with each other. A strong voice overcame them and sang aloud.

“Hari mukhe mhana…Hari mukhe mhana….punyachi ganana koan kari”

‘Sing the god’s word…sing the god’s word…for your deeds are counted’ A verse from the Dnyaneshwari. The abridged version of Bhagvad Geeta written by a great saint Dnyaneshwar at the raw age of twenty. Almost my age. A Geeta for the common men in Maharashtra.

I opened my eyes. I saw Piyush greedily shoving the bananas from Prasad into his oral cavity. I walked past him. He didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to care.
I walked towards the voice. I saw an army of white kurta, dhoti and large turban clad men with cymbals in their hands. Ringing them in unanimity. They raised to crescendo as I approached near. And suddenly they stopped. One amongst them took his flute to his lips and played it aloud. It filled my ears.

A sudden voltage fluctuation turned the mercury lights blue. Spreading a blue gleam over us. Their clothes seemed blue and my body. One of the cymbal men came to me and placed a peacock feather in my pocket.

They all turned to me and began singing.

“Hari mukhe mhana…Hari mukhe mhana….punyachi ganana koan kari”

‘Sing the god’s word…sing the god’s word…for your deeds are counted’


***

3. l

We are sitting on the Lonliness Rock. I can hear cymbals ringing in a temple on the other side. A faint clinking noise. And a high pitched voice of a man. Singing words undecipherable due to the distance between us.

I light my joint and pass on the light to Piyush. He lights his one with it.

I take a deep drag. I hold up the smoke and blow out as less as I can. I wait for some moments. It begins affecting. I get drenched in its daze.

A lethargic stupor paints me in itself. I absorb its paint as if it were mine. I know it’s having the same effect on Piyush. We sit silently tripping on the cars passing on the Expressway.

“Bhenchod…they were together today!” Piyush drones.
“Bhenchod…because of you!”I shout!
“What?!”
“yes Madarchod…………You!!!”
“How me?...Maine kya kiya”?...What did I do?”
“You couldn’t stand up for your love….Chutiya!!!”

Outburst! I was blasting into pieces. And I was enjoying it!

Piyush hid his face in his palms and sobbed. His body jerked at his each whimper.
“Why are you crying now like women?...Saala chutiya…look where he has gone…and where you are…you should have acted fast…but you were busy with your love in the eyes bull shit….this is what you are left for now….weeping like a widow!!!....Lundfakir saala!” I continued.

He sobbed more. I enjoyed it more.

“You saw him having ice cream…..he must be having dinner with her later….then he will take her for drinks later….and then he will have her….and you will be left here alone to masturbate…gaand fattu saalaa!!”

“What should I do then?” He says with wet eyes and helplessness.

“Suck my dick!!....I asked you that day…What do ‘You’ want to do?....you had no answer then….I said I will ask you later….and I am asking you again today…..What do you want to do?...decide fucker….decide NOW!”

“How can I?” He was almost sitting on the ground.

“Why can’t you?” I stood beside his contracted posture.
“Because he is my friend!”

We resembled the flutist and the warrior on the cover of Bhagvad Geeta.

“So….?..” I begin. “So what?...So you will leave the women you love for him?....and will he do the same for you?”

My question put him in a prolonged stupor. His trip had mixed with his study. He was floating towards a limitless destination in the darkness of gloom. And he had to keep floating till he got back to the point where he stared at.

“I ask again…will he do the same for you??” I had to wake him up from his trance.

He raises his head and looks at me undecided.

“What happened?...You aren’t able to answer?”

He shakes his head.

“Then we shall test!” I say concretely.

I know certain realities for sure. And even when I am stoned, they stay with me. Or maybe, only they stay with me. And I know what answer will Piyush get.

I feed my revenge its first piece of flesh. The game has begun.

Now I can go near to my heartbreak. Caressing Apu’s loss in peace.


(Contd.)

3. k

“Harshad and Shamita!”

The names shake me a bit too. But I am not Piyush to crash over conclusions on minimal information. In that case I would have jumped back in surprise and wondered how Shamita could have shifted her loyalties on such a rapid pace, after having a ‘sleep fest’ for four days with the ‘Bastard’.

“Where?” I begin my investigation.
“At the Xerox centre….”

Xerox for world’s information is the name Indians have given for Photocopy machine. Nobody knows how it adopted this name. But it has been decades since it has been living with the name. Even shops have hoardings with the names as Xerox centres. The phenomenon occurred when photocopy machines released by Canon were called Canon Xerox. That was the final step in conforming the name Xerox for the machine. Later on there were Colour Xerox and Xerox Photos too. Along the time, Xerox are cheaply available and 93% of India’s educational growth is dependent on the presence of Xerox Centres near the colleges and schools. Name any author and I’d bet that his work has for sure encountered the scanning light of a ‘Xerox’ machine.

“Must’ve gone for notes…”
“People who go for notes don’t eat ice creams together…” Piysuh snapped as if I had pricked his heart with a sharp needle.

“Were they having an ice cream?”
“Yeah…and that bastard bought her one”

I used to be similarly jealous when I was in school and had newly discovered dark hair over my upper lip and pimples on my cheek. Over the years I had learnt to shave those hairs and pimples disappeared on their own, Piyush’s romantics were still stuck in his pimple days.

“Hmmm…” I just hummed.

We sat silent for some time. He, caressing his baseless heartache. And me, fondling mine.

The turmoil churned inside me continually. I wanted to choose the grief of loosing Aparna. But something held me back. It was revenge. It stood like a guard between me and Aparna’s grief. I had to satiate him to reach the grief inside. My ego, in an unrealised form had engulfed the love in me. And the only way to rescue my love was to overcome the ego. And the only way to overcome it was revenge.

“Hari Patti maarega??” I ask him to bring him out of his cocoon of self dismay.
“Haan” he agrees.
“Chal…”

I go to my sack. Put my hand in one of its side pockets. I pull out a packet made out of newspaper. I open it. I pick two cigarettes and empty them. I take the leaves in the packet in my hand and crush them with my thumb on my centre of my palm. I crush them into a neat powder. I separate the seeds. I fill the crushed dust in the cigarettes.

“Here or outside?” I ask him.

“Outside” he says.

(Contd.)

3. j

It is a dilemma. There are two strong emotions reigning your thoughts. And you don’t exactly know which one to subscribe to.

On one side you have the pain of loosing your love every moment. And on the other side you have a revenge ablaze inside you. And you stand holding these two emotions laterally. Like the symmetrical wings of a butterfly. Occupying equal parts of your contemplation. Choice of one neglects the other. You tend to loose your balance around hundred times a day making a choice. You try to correlate them to draw solitary solution for both. But they expand in different directions. And you run directionless to contain them.

Your sensations heighten. You can get highly reactive. Even on a snap of a finger. And it’s a phase when you could display any outburst of emotion any number of times.
Piyush enters the room depressed. Considering his emotive latent, it is an obvious reaction to some inconsequential incidence. Based more on assumptions than on reality.

“Welcome!!....cigarette?” I held out the cigarette in my hand before him.

He refused it. I didn’t force him. He didn’t demand again. I would’ve loved to say ‘fuck yourself’. His high power melodrama puts me off somehow. Each time he wears this morose expression, he assures me that a long verbal assault in on its way. The one against which I would he defenceless. And the only solution to counter it is by using the primitive method of defence. Attack.

“What happened?” My aggravation condensed into a question.
“Nothing!”
‘Then why are you sad shitpiece?!’ I felt like shouting on his face. But peace is a virtue.

“Then why are you sad dude” I say peacefully.
“I saw them together” He replies with pain. A pain of a lifetime for him. A pain of a teenager for me.

“Who?” I ask.

He sits on the bed pulling his legs close to his chest. A clear sign of prevailing gloom. I walk over and sit besides him. I give him a cigarette.

“Tell me…whom…”

He breathes in deep. Exhales. Then rubs his palms over his face. He tires me well with his damned built up. He speaks out…

(Contd.)