Ouch that pokes

I groggily awoke to the prickly feeling inside me. Rudely awoken if you ask me. Being in the swirly machine always makes me dizzy and pass out for a few hours.

Ouch ouch ouch. The poking is coming from within! Oh God what’s happening?

This isn’t as bad as the time we stepped on a that thorny bush that pulled at my string. That was from outside. This feels like its coming from within. The human’s feet are usually smooth. The occasional long nail poke at only a few places. What is happening to me?! Am I still dreaming.

“Righty? Do you feel it too?” I whispered

I looked around for my partner. No where in sight. We’re usually separated in the swirly machine, and occasionally when we’re hung out separately. However we’re united right after.

Wait, whooaaa…vertigo. Why am I being suspended so far up in the air? It’s so heavy. It’s gotten way heavier that with the human’s leg. He doesn’t put that much weight on his feet. My insides are being pulled down. WHAT IS INSIDE ME? Is someone filling me with needles? I think I’m going to break.

Where is my partner?

“There’s only a few inches left empty mom, is this much rice enough?” The human was asking someone.

Rice? Are they filling me with rice? Why would they fill a travelling entity like me with rice? I met a jute bag once and he said he carried rice for the humans. He was huge, ginormous. Surely the rice I hold will be a useless tiny amount compared that!

Ouch it really pokes.

“RIGHTY” I called out a little louder. Where did it go?!

OH. MY. GOD. I’ve never felt such excruciating pain before. Like someone is twisting my very fibers

“You can’t hold in the rice with a rubber band sweetie, you’ve got to knot it up like this. It’s a pity one of them got lost. This is such a pretty design too. Perfect timing however, this will help you loads with your back ache. Go on, put this under your back and lie down”

-

R.I.P

-

PS: I can’t breathe. I can’t feel. Am I dead? I think I’m dead. Righttttyyyyyyyy

Splashing, Sputtering and Spewing - Learning to breathe from scratch!

Breathing was the ONLY skill we never had to learn. It's the first thing we do when we entered this earth. Some of us did it easily, some with a little fuss, but we all did it.
When something is easy, we say it comes as naturally as breathing.
Now I have to relearn breathing - and my entire head it revolting at the idea!

Every time I jump into the water, it's natural instinct for my mouth and eyes to shut tight - and nose to suffer with the consequences of that!

Rewind to two weeks ago, when my friend was saying how great learning to swim is!

It's always been on my list, there were classes at a time and location that is quite comfortable for me, and it seemed like one more perfect thing to check off my list before I turned 30!

So I joined last week. The first 4 days were brilliant. They were blissful. Float keeping me a float securely, I just has to move my hands and legs to go forward in the water. It felt almost effortless. Towards the end of class 4, one master after jokingly asking me to try floating with a float, actually helped me do it. So easy!

I was so wrong!

Enter class 5, couple of laps, and my normal master goes - "Let's take off the float now"
Luckily for me, I wasn't alone. I had a friend (A friend of the friend who suggested we join swimming classes). We were both in initial classes, and at the same level.

"Float across width of the pool" the master suggested. "I'll be at the centre to push you along, don't worry"

Beginners luck long gone. Yesterday was when I found that I'd forgotten how to breathe.

I later realized that I hadn't forgotten to breathe, I was too stuck with my old way of breathing, that my body was absolutely rejectly the idea of trying the alternate breathe-through-the-mouth method. In my body's defence, it rejects the alternate idea even when I have a cold - which has had be waking up breathless in the middle of the night multiple times. [Said out loud, I realize how silly it be-s]

However, sputtering and gasping for air, we both made it across the width of the pool. Each of us feeling like we did worse than the other.

About three times into that, and the master said ok, go to the ladder and climb out.

Had we done so bad that we're getting evicted from the pool? Can they do that to us in the fifth class after we've paid for thirty classes?

Those thoughts and doubts were shortlived. After that moment, we were actually wishing that we'd just been evicted instead.

We were invited oh so sweetly to just “take a seat” by the edge of the deep end of the pool. My friend was busy voicing the thoughts that were screaming in my head “Please please don’t ask us to jump in here. We’ll drown. We’ll sink right to the bottom! It’s just the fifth class! I’ll die!”

Before I joined, my friend said "When you go, blindly follow what the instructors say. Don't tell yourself you know better" - At what cost, an imp in my head questioned.

The masters laughed sweetly and said “Just sit ma” Oh the endearments. Never trust the endearments!

“Now take some deep breaths”

“Ok. Please don’t ask us to jump” was that a quiver in our voices? Most definitely.

“It’s okay. Just breathe”

I’ve always known that water has the ability to clear our head. My snorkeling experience is still the most serene memory I ever hold. I was about to find out that water can wash our brains clean. Lol.

“Now jump”

I want to say that we either bravely or obediently just jumped. But no. We sat, we shivered, we pleaded with our eyes, hoping they’d change their minds. No luck. Finally, I decided to get it over with.

One deep breath. It became a prayer. Lungs and mouth filled, and splash.

The nose tried desperately to do what used to be so easy – to just take in oxygen and breathe out carbon di oxide. What went in was not air. What went in was a shock of water that seemed to fill your skull with the only objective of chocking and drowning the brain. The hands and legs moved. Not as they were taught to – it was a primal tune they danced – just to stay afloat. Just to stay alive. The mouth and eyes shut tight – another primal instinct? I never knew we had these.

When I did finally manage to bring my head up to the surface, it was only long enough to blow out all the water in my orifices. And before I knew it, before I was ready for it, I was back under water, cursing it as it went to attack my brain once again.

Some distance voice – from within my head? From outside? Shouted – instructing me to keep my eyes open. I opened them. Just water everywhere. This helped though, it didn’t feel like I was being water-boarded in a black hole anymore. It also helped me see the ladder not too far away. I desperately reached for those. When I did reach them, and held on for dear life, I could feel the water draining away slowly.

“I’m ready to go again” I heard my mouth say. 

Three Ladoos

Occasionally, I go to office on my scooter.  A couple of those times, at a Subway close to my home, I’ve spotted this really wrinkly old man – pushing his rickety old cart up. The first time I saw him, he was struggling to push his cart. Despite his cart being mostly empty, he is old and mostly bones, and was really putting all of his might into it, and yet moving only a few feet per minute.

The first time I saw him, after a brief internal discussion, I turned left at the signal (instead of going straight) parked my scooter, and went (walking against the traffic) to help him drag his cart up. The entire time I was pulling (he was pushing from the other side) he kept saying “Paravalla ma” “Naa pathikraen ma” and “Thanks ma”

Sometimes, when I stop to help someone, or even see someone like this, I wonder; It’s their job, they choose to do it, so maybe they should be fine? They probably won’t find someone to help every time, so why help occasionally – it probably doesn’t make a difference anyway!

Like once, my boyfriend and I spotted and old man looking obviously lost on the street, with 2 big bags. We helped him get in the car after asking him where to go. “The big gate, near the turning, at the corner” were his directions. We took him right to the corner, found the big gate, helped him get off. As we – a very satisfied couple, turned the car, he was still standing outside staring at the gate. We asked him what was up and he looked even more confused than before, and said, that doesn’t look like the right gate. Worried now, we helped him get in again, and turned out that the gate he was looking for was a mere metres from where we’d picked him up. Close to the turning we were supposed to take. He’d mentioned corner, and we’d assumed corner of the road we were on. Since then, I’ve been a bit wary of helping old people especially. They’re not the clearest when articulating what they want sometimes.

Last Wednesday, I saw him again. This time, his cart was overflowing, and he was panting and his toothpick sized legs were really struggling. If he’d moved feet earlier, this time, he was moving inches. He had hardly come up 1/3^rd the bridge through three traffic cycles. So, I parked my bike again, and went to help him haul it up. This time, there was no protest from his side. He was obviously too tired and glad to have any help. This time when we reached up and turned left, he gave the happiest wrinkliest smile ever, and told me a “Romba Thanks ma”. I was glad that the decision of my internal discussion was to stop and help him, even though I’d been hungry.

I realized then that it doesn’t matter if it’s their job. Or, if they may not find someone to help them everyday. Maybe God sends us along to help them when they need that extra boost.

Today, on my way to work, on my scooter again, I was crossing a bus stop, when a lady waved me to stop and said “Please drop me at the end of the road” (in Tamil) The road is on my way, and a good 3 km stretch. I stopped, she handed me a plastic bag and requested I keep it in front – I hung in on the little storage holder hooks provided in scooters. When it was time to get off, I gave her the plastic bag back. She opened the plastic bag and asked me to pick one of the little pouches inside. “My daughter is getting married” she said with pure pride and happiness that only parents can express. “These are sweets for that.” She beamed and hurried away. Sputtering out a congratulations, I looked happily at the pouch with three ladoos in my hand. My Monday was made!

Ripped jeans

I picked up the jeans from the corner of the bed where I had tossed them. The rips were quite wide and prominent - near the knee. But you know how difficult it is to find jeans that fit perfectly nowadays. And to find them on sale! It's a no-brainer that you pick them up. Even if you have four other blue jeans. Well each of them is a different fit/ style/ shade. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it)

I couldn't help but grin automatically when I remembered my grandmother's reaction at looking at the jeans.

"This is a nice colour. But don't you have the same one already?" (She hadn't unfolded them yet)
"No paati, that's a slightly different shade"
"Oh my God! You have to return this. It's torn" (There you go. But I anticipated that)
"That's the style. They sell it like that"
"You mean they intentionally tore this?" Looking aghast
"Yeah...it's fashion"
"They sell torn clothes at shops now?" She completely ignored my fashion explanation, but now that she put it like that. "What is happening to this world." I almost have to agree.

My grin became a laugh as I sat down on the bed myself. It had been so long since I owned a pair of ripped or frayed jeans. A long forgotten memory popped up ... of two young girls who felt too much.

"Dude! It's so horrible. I can't believe she did that! If I had been there, I would have stopped this from happening" Utter dismay and hopelessness apparent in her voice
"How could this happen! You worked months for it!"  Mirroring the emotion. It might sound a tad dramatic, but which seventeen year old isn't?
"I sometimes think she does this intentionally. She could not have not known how much this meant to me. I was so close. So close!"
"The result was starting to look almost professional. God. They just don't understand" She said, wistfully looking down at her black hardly frayed jeans, which were no where near the level of perfection the jeans in question had reached.
"I know! How could my mother just cut off ALL the frays? And fold it and stitch it too! My boot cuts don't even sweep the floor anymore, so months of hard work put in getting them frayed all gone to naught." Oh the misery.
"I'm so sorry sweetie"
When there is so much pain and hurt, words don't suffice, so hugs have to be given. And a prayer sent up that this scar may someday heal.

Luckily those prayers were answered. Those young girls were now happy women. We've long since left behind boot cut jeans and most of the drama out of our lives. The love and bond stays on, and that's more than enough :)

With a nostalgic wistful smile, I threaded the needle and got down to sewing the rip.

The swing beside her

'When it's close to midnight, and the claws of the menstrual cramps are sinking their iron grips deeper and deeper, there is not much a girl can do - other than to lie in whatever position that best soothes that moment' Kayla thought ruefully, if not a tad dramatically. But the pulsating pain that was quite literally a bit too close to the bone probably justified the dramatics - if any.

Her new found safe position of the moment had had her moving away from the deeply engrossing activity of counting the concentric circles on her sheet, as she'd laid there. Now just the black walls stared back at her curiously. She couldn't find anything amusing on the walls. The brush strokes were too close to count unfortunately.

The blessed soul who was her boyfriend had gone to sleep without a care in the world, and the pain on her back - the real thing, was keeping her occupied and disabling from mustering energy to spend on being angry at him. So she'd decided to pin that for later. But it would have been nice to have someone to distract her from the climbing crescendo that were the cramps. She wished she could just demand the attention without coming off as needy.Maybe that was a skill that only women in movies and dramas possessed. 

Through the pain, a sudden smile crept up her face. 

Two little children ran up to the swings. A little girl with pigtails and a not so little boy - well actually, he was just a little boy too, but to the girl, he wasn't that little, he was a big boy to her - run up to the two empty swings. The boy reached the swings first, and climbed on to one. She reached a few moments later;

"I want that one!" she pouted, pointing at the swing that the not-so-little-little-boy now swung on.

He shook his head, but jumped off that swing in a not very safe jump. But that was done, and the little girl claimed the swing, and was climbing on to it with great difficulty. She couldn't reach the swing that easily. 

The boy had, by now, gotten on the next swing, and it slowly started picking up speed again. 

The little girl with pig-tails sat moving around on the swing, but it was by no means swinging. 

"Push me!" she announced at him

He once again said nothing much, slowed down his happy swinging, jumped off not so safely, and came around to push her. He gave her four strong pushes and said "Move your legs forward when going upward, and back when going backward" . She obeyed dutifully, and was swinging merrily. He gave her one final push, and got back on his swing.

They swung that way side by side, in peace for a while. But, try as she might, her little legs could only produce enough momentum for the swings to keep swinging for a little while. Her swing slowly came to a stand still. She stayed still for all of three seconds before announcing yet again; "Push me!". And he did. 

He probably was tired of the on-and-off swinging, that he decided to head to the slide.

He hadn't taken five steps up those coloured rungs of the ladder leading to the top, before he heard her little voice shout for his attention; "I want to come there!" And she needed him to help her bring her swing to a stand still. 

He climbed back down the ladder, helped her off, and came back to the ladder of the slide. He'd taken just two steps this time luckily, before she wanted; "Me first!". He climbed back down, and let her go.

They ran around and around the slide; up and down and up and down, always her first. 

She got bored of the slide however, and wanted to go back to swinging. She struggled her way on to the seat of the swing again, and went "Push me!" once again.

The little boy was sliding with great gusto, and couldn't decide if he should leave that fun, to go push her. He stood near the slide, weighing his options. "PUSH ME!" came the more indignant shout. This time, he took a small step forward, as though walking in slow motion.

"Mumma, Ronna won't push me!" she screamed out to their mother, who was walking around the park with their grandmother.

"My name is NOT Ronna" the little boy humphed as he stomped over to the swing to push the little girl with pig tails. 

So she had been able to demand a man's attention and get it. Without coming off as clingy. Many had mentioned that she was the dominating sister, while he was the poor older brother who got bullied. But, that wasn't the case. Between them they knew.

She didn't demand his attention to dominate him. She never had to. She just did because she could, because he let her, because he liked knowing and letting her know that he didn't mind. 

She smiled contentedly at the wood grains on the cupboard from her new found comfortable position.

"You know, smiling while the rest of your face looks like strangled duck is a very becoming look on you" A not-at-all-little,-but-still-holding-a-striking-resemblance-to-that-mature-little-boy man came into the room, holding a hot water bottle.

"I know. Doesn't it? I'm thinking I'll practice this look, and use it in photos here after" Kayla declared as she shifted much more comfortably, with the hot water bottle doing wonders to her back. "How come you are awake so late?" she wanted to know

"I heard you tossing around, and saw the hot water bottle near the water counter, so figured you needed it but didn't get around to filling it. So brought it to you."

"And my lemon juice Ronna?" she grinned

"With half a tea-spoon salt right? I'll get that" he said, as he left. 

And just like that, it was easy to smile again. Easy to remember that the pain will go, and she was not alone in this. Had never been.

 

Bottoms Up !

"Dude, it's time. Take the first sip." S said, nursing his own glass.

"I don't think I want to bro" R gave a dirty look at the liquid

"Hey c'mon da! How could this be your first ever! Just drink already" J huffed. She was already half way through her first drink.

R gingerly picked up his glass, took it close to his lips, took a deeeeep breath. And kept it back down immediately. "It smells so bad bro" he pleaded, looking at S.

S was busy trying to suppress laughter. Not really succeeding. "Just try it. It grows on you."

Not many knew this side of R. Or expected it either. The big guy, who was built like a defender shirking away from a drink.

R tried J with a different strategy this time; "I'm sure it tastes bad. What's the point of drinking this!"

When met with just a steely glare, he resigned himself to it, and took a teensie weensie sip.
"Eeewww. Why why why!!!"

J and S laughed away, amused at R's theatrics.

"I don't want it anymore. You have mine"

"Drink"

"Fine" - Another minuscule sip

"You know this is good for you" J tried

"I don't think so"

"I've had twice as much as you. S has finished his. Just drink dude!"

"I don't want to" bordering a whine

"Come on da, you can do it. Just think of it as medicine" S Suggested. Still doing a bad job of suppressing his laugh.

R sighed deeply. It's like they were alternating good-cop-bad-cop routines just to make him drink! He'd evaded for so long, and lived in peace. Why start now? Why bring this upon himself?! Giving into peer pressure was not a good feeling.

He took a bigger sip. And immediately covered his mouth, so he didn't spit it out.

"It's so much worse as it goes down my throat" this time, it was a whine.

"Be a man!" J commanded

"I don't think this is worth it" He sounded so sad, that J gave up her fake stern expression and doubled up laughing.

"Watch how I do it..." S tried, sympathetically

R looked at S with almost a hero-worship level respect. All he could manage was another small sip. But he'd downed almost half by now sip by sip. Small mercies! He kept his glass down, and some liquid splashed over and on the table. He looked at it with evil glee, hoping the other two didn't notice - only to look up and find four not so amused eyes trained on him, boring into his head with disapproving looks.

"That was by accident" he sounded like a wimp even in his own head, he knew. But a man's got to do what a man's got to do.

"Okay that's it! Bottom's Up! All three of us now." J said finally.

R took a deep breath and held it in. Picked up his glass with determination gleaming in his eyes. The contents of the three glasses were emptied ... chugged down.

S was snickering away, looking at the look of disgust on R's face.

"God! All this to make a grown man drink a glass of green tea! Sheeesh!"

Characters Lost in the First Chapter

She drove like an autobot. Eyes fixed on the road. Mindless music in a different language played in the background, but she paid no heed to it.

“Duds” he had called them. Not knowing that he had lent the most accurate word to describe himself. “I have met and spoken to many duds before, but not any good ones like you, you know?” He’d said. 

Another one bites the dust, she thought. 

It’s like those characters from the first chapter of a great romance. That little paragraph that describes those relationships past. Characters that get lost somewhere in between words like “There were many before” or “There were those who were decent, but didn’t make it”, sometimes even, “There had been that one guy she met at a café - arranged of course – they had connected like two pieces in a jig-saw puzzle, spoke nonstop for the next three days, and then something led to some other and it had gone kaput.”

Even the really good ones just get a line extra if they’re lucky. Does time spent on it matter? Sometimes! They might make it to a short story like this one.

She’d spent last night indulging in self-pity. Not anymore though; she was all cried out now. Not that there had been many tears. But the frustration lingered.

This wasn’t the same sadness as real break ups brought about. Nowhere close to the intensity of feelings that actual relationships inspired. But a break up of something tending towards a relationship is something as well.

~Rewind~

She’d spent a month talking to a guy she’d met through her parents. A month where they’d kept in touch despite of the 11.5-hour time difference. A month, when she’d told herself that this could be the one, ignoring every instinct that told her otherwise – allowing the foolish voices that had gone “It’s too late Jamie” and “Think of your biological clock” running through her head, dominate gut feelings.

A month when she had rationalized away every warning signal, and at some point, told herself that even love wasn’t necessary in a marriage. Just companionship and easy conversation would be enough. Even if the conversations had been eighty percent about him and twenty percent about her.

Okay, to be fair, it wasn’t all that bad. Even if the conversations were majorly about him, he had had a way of making it seem entertaining. Or she had decided to believe that. He was also intelligent enough to sprinkle plenty of facts into discussions. That was a definite positive.

He liked dogs a bit too much. Her friend gave him points for that. She herself was terrified of dogs, and was not amused about his strong belief that he could change her – like no one had ever tried that before! Ha! But she had decided to keep mum about that for the moment, and have that conversation again when they had stronger feelings for each other, and other priorities (like themselves, hopefully!).

He had finally come down to the country on his two-week vacation. The month long chatting had had him generally indicating that they would meet when he came and then they would go into third or fourth gear. He had arrived, at her push (he seemed in no rush) they had met. Her clothes had been a little crumpled, she had been quite late, but they met and dined and had continued good conversations. The mall had provided adequate distractions to keep the topics general. And at the end of two hours, the gears had not shifted at all. He seemed very comfortable just in this state of limbo and non-commitment. When asked about it after, he’d said that it was still too early for him to decide anything?

Did she like him? Physically he wasn’t her type at all. But she was willing to adjust. He’d been chivalrous, which she could always appreciate and give points for (Because one is always keeping score in these things!), he had seemed to listen when she talked and interrupted with his one opinions only occasionally (Ah well) and he seemed sane enough. So over all he passed (Just about) and she was willing to give things a shot. She had been feeling pleasantly open minded right then, you see.   

The second meet, no great progress. When she gave in and asked what next – “There’s a reason I am so old and single.” Came the proud reply. Followed by, “I can’t decide man, it’s too early!” she’d responded with “Fine, what about our parents meeting? Do we just stop it all?” Inside her head, she’d gone “Pfft dude! Some people get married within a couple of months of knowing each other. After falling in love!” with a disclaimer that always followed; “Not that I want to marry him right away!” (also inside her head! - She should have paid better heed to those disclaimers that were always following most decisions about him.)

He’d said no, he was comfortable with where they were and the pace. Where they were, was a non-relationship. Not friends, not a couple, just “potential interests” for more than a month then. That’s an irritating and emotionally exhausting dormant state to be in – especially for more than a week.

A pep-talk from her bestie and her husband had her convinced that guys take more time in deciding. They need parental approval first – many a time. So they all met - the parents and them- even that had gone smoothly. But the parents had been as non-committal as he had been.

He was to leave in three days. He wasn’t man enough to call like he’d said he would. He texted on the day he was leaving. Luckily for her, she was at breakfast and seen the texts an hour late. He had texted saying that he needed more time to decide. He seemed to have waited a couple of minutes, and on receiving no response, he’d said that he wished her the very best. She saw it (an hour late, stomach full and all), didn’t think it warranted a response initially. And knew that her dad would be very disapproving of the simple response (suggestion) that she was itching to give him, so she’d stuck to politically correct non-response.

That had been two days ago.

Did she miss him? Surprisingly no! She’d thought that talking to a guy for more than a month would inspire at least a little bit of attachment, if not affection – but she didn’t.

Did she think of him? Yes.

Did she feel sad? Probably not, but she was emotionally exhausted, and her body might have been misinterpreting it as sadness. Or maybe she was actually sad. She couldn’t tell. Her ego wouldn’t ever accept to that and give him the satisfaction – even if he would never know.

Did she regret it? The time spent – completely! The money- yes *wink” But the end itself? No. Her brain was too busy going “Ha! I told you so!” to the other half, which had rationalized. After all, Chivalry does not a man make!

And hence that frustration. Along with the month of “Oh my, What if!”s and the “Oh no, What if!”s in equal measure.

The day spent indulging in self-pity had helped. Licking wounds so to say. Was it a scratch or deeper? If her current mood was any indication, probably less than a scratch and more of remorse at her silliness in letting things get this far.

As she pulled into the parking lot and reversed into her usual spot she realized these duds inspired much the same emotions that a break up did sometimes. In very mild intensity, like hurt sans the grief. Necessary rite of passage, her friend had reminded her. And from prior experience, she had to agree. There were those that she might have thus grieved – a moment of silence for them.

She shook herself, to get ready for a new day and new beginning. Stepped in, and the first thing she could think was; “Whoa! That new guy looks super cute!”

A hand in hers

"I'm HUNGRRRYYYYY" he exclaimed again loudly, tugging at the seat belt.
The fact that he had eaten almost half a cake just twenty minutes ago didn't seem to change anything.
For an eight-year-old, he was still much smaller than most of his counterparts in his age. So his feet didn't reach the floor of the car. Far from, and they were now kicking at the seat.
Anna knew another silent tantrum was coming up. So she tried to mentally calm herself and concentrate on the road.
"Just a haircut, and I'll get you ice cream" She tried
"I don't need a haircut. It's fine. I need food" He declared
It wasn't fine. It was at least six inches long.
"They'll cut it really quick Noah. If not, your head will itch"
"It won't. You're making that up. You just want to punish me." He said and went quiet.
It wasn't loud or exclamatory this time. He sounded like he believed it.

Noah had come into their lives just about two weeks ago.
Josh and Anna had tried and finally accepted that they will not be able to have children of their own. It had been a long journey from that acceptance to considering adoption, But things had gone quickly from then. A little too quickly since the priest had recommended Noah - a bright and spirited kid - the priest had said, and earnestly requested them to give the little boy a home.
They had spent a long sleepless night considering it. It was a fact that when considering adoption, they had believed it would take a lot longer and that they would be getting an infant - not a fully grown child. And she had secretly hoped for a baby girl. At dawn, they had finally decided to go meet the boy and decide. They made that very clear to the priest as well.

Noah was a scruffy little kid who had said nothing and just stared at them. He hated haircuts, they were told. He didn't seem to look happy or sad about meeting them. Just a little impatient. He had liked the car that Josh had picked up for him and all but grabbed the chocolate from Josh's hand even before it was offered.
It had been love at first sight for Josh, and she had reluctantly agreed.

They had brought Noah home a week after that meeting. None of the adoption formalities had been completed, but the home administrators were more than happy to let Noah go to his "New Home"

In the two weeks that Noah had been with them, Noah had been rather quiet the first week. Not saying much. Over the last week or so, he had started demanding things.
It was always "Do this, or take me back". She understood that he felt insecure about his presence there, and was probably unsure about the permanence of this new arrangement. She wanted to give him time and make him comfortable. But no matter how much she tried, she didn't seem to have that rapport with him that Josh had already built. Noah and she seemed to tread on egg shells when dealing with each other. And today was the first time she was taking him out alone.

To her, that was a huge event, and it was not at all going as planned.

"It's just a haircut, Noah. How can that be punishment?" she asked as she backed into the parking slot.
He said nothing.
When she undid her seat belt, he made no move to get out. So she went around the other side and opened the door for him.

"Is it because I broke that plate yesterday?" his little voice shook
"What?"
Anna had always believed she was good with kids and that she was ready to be a mother. After Noah coming into their life however , she doubted every maternal instinct she ever believed that she had felt. What sort of a monster mother wished she hadn't had the child she had been given? - This thought had plagued her along with the all the helplessness and disconnect she was feeling.

All that doubt had probably seeped into her voice.  That or something else made Noah quietly get off the car.
She offered her hand. He didn't take it but stayed close when she let the hand fall and walked on ahead.

As they sat, she looked at the little head that was downcast now. She had forgotten about that broken plate. It had been a nice plate, but nothing important. She had known that he had dropped it by accident, and had just given him another plate of food. She was certain she had not expressed or felt any anger then.

When they were called in for the appointment, she took his hand and stood up. This time, he let his hand stay in hers.

They walked together quietly to the high chair for kids. She helped Noah sit on it, and saw the tears in his eyes. They seemed quietly resigned but so sad at the same time. She wanted to hug him close and tell him it's okay. He was her baby now. But she didn't know how he would take it. If he pushed her off, she didn't know how she would take it. Josh would have probably done this better, she thought sadly.

Just when she was about to step back to the couch to wait, Noah caught her sleeve. His eyes were swimming with tears now.
"Can I hold your hand? Will you stay"

With her throat choked, she could only nod and manage a small smile as she picked his hands up.

He held on tight the entire time and had his eyes closed.

When it was over, she tugged at him and asked him to get off.

"It's over?!" he seemed surprised
"Yes, it's just a haircut. Why do you hate them?"
The look he gave her was solemn, a little too old for his age, and serious. He seemed to be considering her.
"Back there, the older kids cut our hair. And when I do something wrong, they guy who cuts my hair snips my ear to punish me," he said matter of factly.

The urge to pull him into that hug was back. But he didn't look ready yet.

"I won't let anyone snip your ear or hurt you" she promised, softly stroking his little ear.

He looked like he might consider believing her. That she decided was a huge step forward.
Not bad for first time out alone.

"So we're going for ice cream now right?"
He looked like an eight year old again. A smiling one at that.

"Obviously" she smiled back.

This time, it was him who placed his hand in hers. She held on tight.

Straightened

She sat staring at herself in the mirror.

Her hair was divided into small organized segments, twisted and clipped atop her head. A guy with jarring blue streaks on his head was slowly but steadily working his way at ironing the frizzy hair into soft straight strands.

She couldn't see it yet, but she hoped the result would be as pretty as she had hoped it would be.
Would that even matter or will it get lost in the chaos she briefly wondered, then shut her eyes and mentally shook herself.

The guy was pulling out the next segment from behind her head. A slight tug.

She had always wanted to get her hair straightened. She'd been among those most excited when Hair Ironing as a concept became popular and widespread when she was still at school. But her parents had never let her iron her hair. Initially, they had just said it was too early. As she'd grown up, and crossed that point where any request of hers was met with a standard preceding statement: "After you get married, you can colour your hair", "After you get married, you can go on that EuroTrip", "After you get married you can get a tattoo" - this too had joined that troop - "After you get married, you can straighten your hair. Or chop it all off for all we care" Her mother had declared.

Not all rhymes were nice, she'd thought sordidly as she accepted her mother's declaration with nothing but an inward smirk.

She was tugged back to the present when the guy tugged out another segment of twisted frizzy hair.

She was getting her hair straightened. Finally! And it wasn't after she was married. "HA!" she exclaimed her victory - mentally addressing her parents. She was getting her hair straightened for her wedding. Was that even a victory?

Her wedding to a man who had been a stranger to her less than four months ago. A man who her parents had meticulously chosen for her.

She watched herself in the mirror as the guy put all his energy into taming her wild hair. Going over them again and again with the ceramic iron. Her mouth twisted in apprehension as she herself still couldn't see any results yet as the front half was still segmented frizzy hair that was yet to be worked upon.

She had known since her early years that despite growing up in the city, her family was very conservative and would not encourage many of the little independences that her classmates enjoyed. Barring the occasional resentment, she had accepted it. Had never questioned it, except for that one time three years ago, when she had wept to her mother that she really really liked that guy from her university who had asked her out for coffee, and could she please go. Her mother had kept a blank face and said no. Her tears didn't seem to touch her mother's iron heart.

She watched her hair as steam escaped the iron. Will they burn her hair? Will she go bald to her own wedding? The temporary panic must have reached her eyes, as the guy smiled and nodded his reassurement. She relaxed a little bit, hoping that he knew what he was doing.

She'd decided then, on that night, that she would never weep for a man again. And that she would never weep in front of her mother. Wasted tears anyway.

But she had done both again that day, just about four months ago. She was all dressed up, awaiting the potential groom to come and see her and her family with his family. Her father had looked his usual noncommittal not overly communicative self. Her mother had looked proud, with a wide smile on her face, that beamed through the tears in her eyes.

Looking out the window now, she saw the gentle drizzle. Little droplets of water. Great, just great she thought. Perfect for newly ironed hair. Drat. But the drizzle was so gorgeous!

It was like that moment. When he had walked through the doors of her house. Along with his parents, all of them dressed in traditional garments and smiling. He, to whom, during their only conversation three years ago, she had made a refusal. He, whom she had stared at many times... and had yet remained a stranger to.

She had looked at her mother in confusion, and her mother had just smiled and nodded.
"How" she had asked her mother later that night. "I didn't do that much. I met him once that month long ago when he first approached you. I told him that if he were really serious about you, he should come back and meet me after he has graduated and landed a good job. He did. Then I spoke to your dad about him, we met his parents over coffee last week, and they came today"
She had nothing to say except cry happy tears and "Thank you."
Her parents, whom she had always believed were against her wishes had in fact been at her corner the entire time. Fighting her battles with her, making it an easier battle to win.

The straightening was almost done now. The frizz dealt with. It all looked straight, and soft and perfectly in place. He was just ironing out the smallest of the curls from the corners. She wondered how she would walk back home in the rain with the ironed hair. It was less than five hundred meters, but it would still affect the ironing.

Even before her sigh could escape her, she saw him. Her him. He walked through the door, with eyes only for her, an umbrella in his hand and his car probably parked right near the entrance. He who had gone from stranger to best friend in four short months.

"Your mom asked me to pick you up and drop you home, as it was looking cloudy, and they've gone out to do some last minute wedding shopping" He commented, as he came over and in a natural move, picked up her hand to hold it. "I didn't tell her that I was already on my way to come and see you anyway" he said winking and laughing mischievously. She held his hand tighter and smiled. A smile that could have lit up any room. "Straight hair looks good on you. But I like the wild hair better" he decided.

"You will probably like me even when I'm bald." she said with the confidence of a woman who knew that he would do just that.

"Obviously"

She shook her head and felt the straight hair fluttering around her face.

It felt just right.

Spotted!

Theres this little creature in my life. It had been very quiet and MIA for a couple of days last April. We'd even given a shout out in the family whatsapp group, and got no response. And then there I was, scrolling aimlessly through my facebook feed - like we are wont to do these days, and I FOUND IT !!!

This is how that scene played out:

Me: I found it!!! (Excited and tickled)

Dad: What? (Looking disinterested)

Me: *Thrusts photo in front of his face*

Dad: (still not interested) Whats that?

Me: See see SEEE !!!

Dad: Is that the carrot?!

Me:Yess !!!

Dad: Idhukka avala anga annupi uttaen!! (Is this why I sent her there ?!)

Me:😂😂😂😂😂

Dad: No wonder she s been so quiet *sigh*

Oh the hilarity in suddenly finding your sister (I'm almost sure that purple thing is she 😉) [who is supposed to be busy with projects and reports, I must add!] all dunked in colours and grinning away to glory! 

This is a fond memory that I'm happy to be documenting and sharing!

This is also my entry in the 'tagged' contest by author Kaarthika along with 'the Chennai bloggers club' - with the theme of Fun or Memorable moment with Facebook :)

grin emoticon

Black heart

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

It had been eight years.

Since watching someone else getting blamed and prosecuted for what he had done. He had perfectly orchestrated the arrest of his carefully prepared scapegoat. Of course, the scapegoat did deserve it, also, he didn’t like the competition. And the idiot was stupid enough to leave trails.

Oh, it had been thrilling. The press, the publicity. Everyone talking about his amazing act. He had been the hero. Well, the others would have considered him the villain, but he knew that a villain is just what the scared people called the hero.

It had been hilarious to watch how they treated him like the hero but referred to his actions – which they obviously were too stupid to realize – as villainous.

After the buzz had died down, he had decided to lay low for a while. There was some limelight near him, and he didn’t want to be in it. He was too clever, too great to get caught by being careless.

When the cravings had been too strong, he’d been discrete about it. Took a vacation. Carefully performed experiments that he knew would alert none. He closed the experiments well. Even displayed so much mercy as to let the poor families believe that it was an unfortunate accident or a natural cause that struck too soon. He had trained himself well.

But, he craved recognition again. The excitement was almost as gratifying as the experiment sometimes.

Yes, he’d stayed around to watch an enraged relative or two in those minor instances that he hadn’t bothered to – or been too arrogant to – clean up. But that didn’t hold a candle to everyone talking about it.

He fondly remembered all those imaginary theories that people had come up with. Calling him Jack the ripper! Religious associations… those were ironic- anyone could tell it was all about the science!

Making references to the red colour of her clothes – when it was the red of pure and fresh human blood that excited him…excited him. They had gone as far as to declare that sales of red sarees had drastically reduced!

Eight years he’d held it in, and the night before – he’d given in to the craving. Actually, it had taken over him. It probably was the red saree, he now thought, laughing to himself. It had been so long that the people seemed to have forgotten and this girl was proudly flaunting her red saree.

One that would have looked so much better bloody.

And the high he had gotten in carefully getting that note written – sheer ecstasy!

He got up from his now pristine white again workstation. The sample of the intestine expertly preserved and neatly named. He looked at it with pride – his trophies – and carefully shut the box, locking it.

It took him less than a half hour to completely clean the room and rid it of all other traces of DNA. His living room – not some locked away basement– he was no coward. He loved his life, his experiments and his home – one he had carefully done up in soft pastel shades, and expensive pieces of art.

He felt good now. Content with his last experiment. And gleefully eager about the buzz that is probably brewing right then.

Oooh it was going to be so good!

Chapter 5

Note : This post is a part of the “Tagged” Contest by writer Kaarthika and The Chennai Bloggers Club. Kaarthika’s book is being released on May 29.

P.S: Now I tag Mary to take this forward :)

He Said Yes - (Final) Part 3

The Third Yes

( Here are the links to Part 1 & Part 2 )

It had been a month. An amazingly perfect month. She could have sworn that she heard the click in her head, indicating perfect harmony in life again.

After he had replied, they had got talking. He, for very understandable reasons, had been very angry at her. Her e-mail a long time ago had left him speechless. He had taken a long time to even digest that she didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Out of the blue. It had been so enraging even as a thought, that he had decided to stay quiet just to spite her – certain that she would get back and say the idea was stupid, and they should just be friends again.

He had been waiting for her to come back, so he could go “HA”. The timing of him being able to get back to her was lost. He had slipped into sadness, and back to anger.

But she hadn’t gotten back …days, weeks and months.

Till that day, three years later.

He had seen the message and had to check thrice to ensure that the name displayed was indeed her, and not google messing with him.

After the initial excitement of actually being connected to her, he quickly remembered that he was supposed to be furious at her. So they had spent almost a day arguing and fighting. But millions of miles away they were, the words exchanged were heated and apologetic, but the smiles stuck on each of their faces was as true and bright as day!

She had apologized, he had accepted and they had gone right back to being friends.

It had been two whole years, which all but gently faded away.

He was now working at Malaysia. She hadn’t moved.

The internet and reduced time difference made being in touch very simple and easy. And that they were. One would think two full time professionals would have a lot less time to talk to each other, but no, not them. They were comfortable multitasking, well keeping in touch never felt like a task anyway.

Soon to be twenty six, and having seen and rejected numerous photos of “eligible bachelors” she was well aware of how perfect he had been for her. She knew that he was still single. She didn’t know two things. One: Becoming friends again, even after that huge hurdle is one thing, but would they be able to do so for something beyond friendship? And two: will either of them find it in them to let go of the ego and ask the question?

Her birthday came and went. The questions had never surfaced. Hints had been given, vague remarks made, but that’s as fas as either of them got.

Things were just chugging alone, both for the most part content to have their best friends back. The only drawback was that the distance and the countries between them made meeting pretty much impossible. One fine day, she asked him – no not one of those two questions!

You know… we’re planning a vacation at Indonesia right?

He, being well aware of it, thanks to her having spazzed about it for quite a while, “Mm Hmm”

"You know how close Indonesia is to Malaysia?" she remarked

"Pretty close yeah"

"Very close!"

"True" he confirmed

"But…well, I’m coming with friends, and I don’t think they’re going to accept adding another country to the agenda"

"You could extend a day…" 

"But I don’t think they would be comfortable with me going to a different country alone. That would be mean."

"Agreed"

"Right. Anyway … what’s for lunch?"

"I don’t know, I think I have to skip lunch."

"Why? Dude don’t be skipping meals! You know being healthy is important, especially when staying alone in a foreign country! If you want to skip a meal, skip dinner."

"I know I know. I’ll probably pick something up when returning from the Visa Office." he remarked

She (Trying her best to contain her excitement) : "Oh please please tell me you’re going to be applying for an Indonesian Visa! Please! Otherwise this will be very sad."

"I’m going to pick up my Indonesian Tourist Visa, it’s been approved."

I leave it to you to imagine her reaction. They spent the month planning the one day that she would be spending with him. She was almost embarrassed to admit that she was more excited about the one day, than the 4 others in the trip. Luckily, she hid her excitement well!

On the day they were meeting, with whatsapp as the only means of communications, as both were on international roaming – it was irony that she was delayed by almost an hour.

They had planned the exact spot that they were going to meet at. Her friend’s flights were delayed, and with the craziness of vacating 2 rooms she was delayed completely. She tried texting him and calling him, but his phone was out of reach. By the time she left the place, she was completely certain that he would have left and she would have to wander alone on the last day of what had been a fabulous and relaxing vacation.

After finally packing them off, she hailed the next cab and rushed. Her heart beat like a V12 engine, equal parts anticipation and fear. Fear that he won’t be there, and fear that he might have waited for an hour right there.

She crossed the road, and went to the point where they were to meet. He wasn’t there. It felt like the clutch was slowly being engaged… her heart rate slowed down gradually. She was part relieved that he didn’t wait for an hour out there in the heat, and disappointed that he hadn’t.

She found a wall to lean on, to get water out of her bag to gurgle it down – with her head slightly tilted, she saw it. It was a miracle that the water did not choke her. He was standing on a nearby walkway bridge, overlooking the road, facing away to the opposite direction. He must’ve have missed her crossing. Her heart that had all but stopped and shut down, revved into full speed again.

She deliberately forced herself to drink some more water, then walked over slowly. Since he was still facing the road, he didn’t notice her walking up behind him. She imagined fumes coming out of his nostril like an angry dragon, or a lion – a leo that he prided himself for being.

One tap on the shoulder was all it took. He turned to look slowly. Their eyes met.

Apology, unsure smile, anger irritation – all conveyed effectively without a word spoken.

In the month leading up to this day, she had wondered how this moment would go. Hugging like long lost friends was always the most prominent scenario.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN WAITING HERE? HOW HOT IT IS? HOW I STOOD HERE DESPITE HOW THIRSTY I WAS, SO YOU WOULDN’T MISS ME HERE?”

She wanted to go “Aaaaawwww” , but good sense prevailed.

“So sorry…I’m so sorry … I called you….”

“CHECK YOUR PHONE! See how many times I called you back.!”

In all the hurry, she had completely forgotten about that device since she’s gotten in that cab about 45 minutes ago!

“I’m so sorry” , she repeated “I’ll get you water…juice…please come”

He went along seething. Well given their history, anything less dramatic would have felt wrong she supposed.

As they made their way through the busy street to KFC in the far end (only recognizable place for a quick cold drink) she remembered the day long ago when they had first met. It was near a library, he had arrived first then too, and her first words then had been “I’m so sorry I’m late”. Tradition she supposed.

She bought him the cold drink, got herself one too, and walked quietly beside him. She knew he would calm down, he always did. Just needed a bit of time. He eventually did, and she knew that when he held out his hand to offer to throw out her cup in the dustbin as well. A cheeky smile she gave him. He frowned, but she could tell that he was forcing it – and all was right in the world again.

They immediately fell into the old rhythm where they could both talk a mile a minute on completely different topics – keep track of each other’s conversation, respond appropriately and have something to add. They’ve had as much as three to four threads of conversation happening at the same time without losing track of any of it.

They walked a while in the busy bazaar, and then walked more than a mile to a museum nearby. It had been her idea – so they could see more of the city, and witness a bit of the local culture! But they just ended up walking a lot in the heat, and he made her carry his much heavier bag for a bit of it. All was fun however.

As the evening drew near, they were both aware that their day in the sun was coming to an end. It had been an amazing day, but nothing special had been said. There had been moments when both had caught the other staring at them … like when they were walking, or at the museum, but the meaning behind those looks were left open to interpretation, and one did NOT want to misread in these situations, and take the wrong premature step forward.

Eventually they ended up at the station, and he insisted that he would come with her till her stop  - which was farther away, before heading back to his hotel. She wondered if the moment had finally come, it definitely felt like it … the climate was cooler, the sun was setting gorgeously. They reached her point, both got off – and they both stood facing each other. Moment of truth. The heartbeat race had restarted apparently. She smiled sweetly. He looked unsure. Then … he held out his hand – for a handshake. “Okay then! Bye.” He said. “Bye. Get back safe!” an alien replied through her mouth. The sweet smile was now more plastic, but plastered on her face. He turned and left. She walked him walk away.

She ended up losing her way back to the hotel, but the roads were empty and no one need see the angry tears. The walk helped. She got a lot of thoughts straightened out … and finally, alone in her room with an hour or so before she had to leave, she texted him.

“Hey, back safe?”

“Yeah. Just checked in. I’ve got this fancy room all to myself. Pity”

“Pity? Because you’re alone ;)?” she ventured

“Huh? No … because I’m here only for the night, and am too tired, so will be falling asleep”

“Right … anyway, today was a good day!”

“It really was wasn’t it!! I’m so glad I made it. I’m awesome!”

“Well since you did come all the way for me, you are”

“I know”

“Sheesh”

“What?! True story!”

“Fine! Umm… Did you feel like… didn’t everything felt just right today?”

“Yeah, the one hour wait in the sun was perfect!”

“I’m sorry about that! For the hundredth time! I meant between us”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean us … US”

“No… I get what you mean. But no. Isn’t it almost time you started to the airport?”

“Oh yeah …I got carried away. I’m off now. Bye!”

“Bye”

She left. He left a day after. She would have given a million dollars to have known if he was sad when he said those final words, or relieved or was it plain indifference.

-

They did stay in touch, and pretended that conversation never happened. As beautiful a tryst that it had been, at many levels it felt like a delicate bubble that they might burst if they spoke about it to each other.

For the first few weeks after the return, their conversation was very polite. Formal even. Eventually they did fall back into the old rhythm. And then the fights happened. There was one… just one that mattered. Where they had been talking about joint families versus nuclear families, and he had said he would always prefer joint families and she had said the idea of a nuclear family made more sense to her. Simple discussion on individual preferences it must have been right? No. He claimed he felt offended by her choice. She tried arguing that her preference had no bearing on his, and when the argument got dirty, she even mentioned that it was him who ensured that their preference on this needn’t matter. This logic didn’t seem to affect it. At least that’s what she thought then.

What she realized much after the fight had led to a cold war was that her preference had probably mattered to him. Not in the present argument, not this particular preference, but in general. His answer that evening in Indonesia hadn’t been given with sadness or indifference or relief – it had been given with anger. Anger for her having left him alone years ago. Anger that he had had to get over her.

One might argue how she could know that. But him, she knew – enough to know that this was right. She understood where he was coming from. Understood the rationale behind his reactions, because at one point she had understood him all too well.

They tried to patch things up, but this time they both sadly accepted that they had moved on for the people they used to be. And there was too much hurt in the river separating them, that crossing it was probably not an option. She knew that even he understood her motives behind some of her decisions she had taken now and earlier – like she understood his. But understanding it didn’t make it okay for one person to make the decisions without involving the other, and leaving them alone in it.

Eventually, they just softly stopped talking to each other. It had been beautiful… but it was now over. Just the gentle wind after the storm.

Neither of them had deleted each other’s number. It was childish, but they both sometimes had complementary status messages on whatsapp – a form of expressing their solidarity from where they stood.

-

She was twenty seven, he was thirty one.

Almost a year had passed since all that.

One day, out of the blue, a classmate of his whom she had helped out once a long time ago reached out to her on facebook. She gave him the information asked for, and consciously avoided any mention of him. But that doesn’t stop people from sharing things now, does it? “Hey! Did you know that he is hitched now?” the classmate asked cheerily. “Oh really…”

Can a mended heart crack just a bit for a memory of the past?

Apparently it could.

She tried for a week, and could hold it in no more. She needed to know if it’s true, and needed to hear it from him.

She texted him:

“Hey! Are you engaged?”

-Message seen. No response.-

One day later:

“Yes”

She responded with heartfelt congratulations. Consoling herself that it hadn’t been easy for him to answer. And relieved that her expressions don’t get revealed over text.

-

Yours truly

Someday's Dreamer

He Said Yes - Part 2

The Second Yes

(Part 1)

She was twenty-five, he was twenty-nine.

It had been five years since their official break up. Two since they had actually stopped talking.

The relationship had lasted a glorious few months. She was always smiling, and was certain that he was too. She hadn’t known if it was fair to be that happy and ridiculously content with life. The days were brighter, the birds sung sweeter, food tasted better and everything was just right.

They broke up one morning. It wasn’t that fine. The morning.

It had been so sudden. One minute they had a silly disagreement on where they would like to settle in the world, and suddenly it was about the future.

“I’m thinking somewhere in the UK … maybe Scotland…or Ireland” she’d remarked dreamily

“You don’t want to come to Japan with me?”

“Erm…Japan…Ah” Well, she’d always known he wanted to go to Japan, but they had never spoken about the future. And suddenly putting it that way… She was just 19!

“Nothing. I was just kidding” he did NOT at all sound like he was kidding.

“You know actually Japan sounds interesting. We should talk about this sometime.” She said, trying to appease his obvious irritation.

“You know what, you’re right. We want different things. And yeah … my mother wouldn’t be happy about a girl from a different religion” he had said. “Let’s stop this when it’s still going good, and we don’t get too attached to each other or the idea of us” he had continued.

Words had buzzed around her. It was so sudden and too abrupt that she had numbly agreed. Too young and too hurt to shout and scream at him, ask him why he didn’t want to fight for them.

Maybe if he had, they wouldn’t have broken up.

Maybe if she had, they wouldn’t have broken up.

But they did. Just like that.

And they weren’t going to let a small thing like a break up come in-between their friendship. They were best friends after all.

She left to a different city to go to university to do her masters. They continued on, updated on each others’ lives 24/7. They sometimes laughed about the relationship that was. Sometimes pretended it never happened. Never spoke about the other men/ women in each others’ lives.

Both secretly wistfully wished what-if to themselves.

Yet, eventually, they moved on as best as they could. Or at least she did. They had felt so much closer after the relationship, than during, maybe because they knew they could overcome anything.

She was twenty, he was twenty-four.

She got done with university, came back home. With news that she had to move to a different city for her job. That’s when he had brought it up.

“Let's talk to our parents”

“About what?”

“About us”

“What about us…?” she had this sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Don’t you….aren’t we….?”

“You said we should end it…” she stammered

“You held on” – “Or so I thought”

She was speechless. Never in all those lonely nights at her hostel had she ever imagined this day might come. But it was during those lonely nights that she had slowly but definitely moved on from all the hurt, and learnt to accept him as a friend again.

“So you’ve moved on. And I was the only one stuck here, believing there is still hope like an idiot”

“It wasn’t like that….Oh God…”

She wept. He obviously hurt. But she hurt that she had really moved on, despite that, she loved him. She would always love him. But he had broken a part of her, that young gullible part of her that had believed that he was the rock that would always be there for her, one she could always rely on.

He was her best friend; that would never change.

Could he be more now?

Had it been so always… Just never spoken?

She couldn’t tell for sure. She lived with that doubt for a long while.

Much later, too much time later, she would realize that in retrospect, when she had gone off to university, apart from the once that he had seemed to express a tad bit of jealousy at the sudden inflow of men in her life – when he’d told her not to tell him about any of them, none of his otherwise behavior had ever indicated of anything more than rock solid friendship. There had never been a single “I love you” uttered or any romantic gestures. Yes, he had been there for her, but hadn’t he even before they had fallen in love?

Anyway, he didn’t give her the opportunity to even explore the possibility of more at this point. He immediately went into grieving, and she repaid her debt of being the sounding board.

It was in a way heartbreaking to watch him so, but yet again, he hadn’t fought for what could have been – he had waited so long apparently, and yet didn’t fight – so she let it go.

She moved to a different city on work. Just once did he lose his calm and tell her how difficult it was for him to be there alone, when he had thought it would just be 2 years of her being away. She quit and came back home not long after.  They were both again in the same city, and both working this time. They met often, spoke all the time, and were as close as ever. Closer than ever.

Time calmly went by for a while.

-

She had been twenty-two and him twenty-six

He had just got news that he was to work out of Netherlands for a couple of years. She cried. He consoled. They vowed that everything will be alright.

He went, and it was alright for quite a while. Almost.

It started off as small things. Having quit her fancy job for one that didn’t pay quite as much, she couldn’t afford frequent calls abroad. He still wanted to talk almost every day, and she didn’t feel right with him spending so much on calls to her. He didn’t want her compromising her sleep to accommodate to his time zone.

It was any small thing. Or just the unspoken pressure that her parents gave her to get married, one he was well aware of.

Things had changed between them now. Their conversations were as friends. But their fights were as ignored or jealous lovers. She knew at some level they both still wanted the same thing. She hinted at it many a time, and he replied cryptically all the time. And they were both too proud to admit it.

In the end, the pride won over their friendship… or more.

She told herself she couldn’t take the push and pull anymore. She told him the truth finally. She told him that she couldn’t be confused over him anymore. That she needed…probably they both needed to stop whatever it is that they were playing at. Both their families wanted them to get married soon, so they should just let it go.

She didn’t fight for him either.

And he didn’t reply to that email.

-

She was twenty-five, he was twenty-nine.

It had been five years since their official break up. Two since they had actually stopped talking.

During those two years, she had thought about him quite a bit. Sometimes it was often. Sometimes she went weeks without thinking of him. Sometimes even months. Sometimes everyday or every other day. She had long since deleted his number, so she could never check for his profile picture or any such thing. He had deleted his facebook account. Which was sad but she decided it was good for her.

He was her happiest memory of ever being in any relationship, and she had let him go too. And that was not good for her.

But a decision had been made. Communicated. Implemented. By both parties. Quite frustrating in one way, but such is the ways of men and women.

There were times when she missed him real bad. Hoped he missed her too. Wished she didn’t so much.

Things had been going in this way.

She didn’t like any of the boys her parents introduced. None of them felt right. Like it had with him, from the very beginning.

Those very thoughts (inspired by a vivid dream of him) had her itching to reach out to him. Someway, anyway possible!

It was his number which he used when back home that she tried first. Some lady picked up. Failed attempt. Undeterred, she e-mailed him. No response for almost a day. Her last and only option was to unblock him on the SNS and ping him there. Unblocking, she found that he was online.

5:02 pm :       Her         :“Hey…. There?”

5:03 pm :       Him        : (typing…)

                                     :Yes

( Part 3 )