Remember how i once spoke about a safety net. We all have one. We just need to fall once to know that it is still there – to save us from crashing or hitting the ground.
I realized we all have a pillar too. Right behind us. We just need to know exactly how far and how strong it is. The pillar too supports you when you are about to fall – backwards (of course). But sometimes it ain’t a good idea to check how “strong” it actually is, in the wrong way.
You know, like ducking when life throws all those lemons at you. You smartly duck and let your pillar have it all. And sometimes you throw lemons yourself at the pillar just to show that you can do without it. Not to forget that life sometimes also throws bigger things – err...maybe big ripe full-grown watermelons!
And you duck again. You manage to save yourself. You turn only to see your pillar crashing in the most unexpected way.
And oh, how would I know, you ask. Err...experience talks honey, experience talks.
I thought I was tough. I thought I was strong enough to take care of myself – without the pillar. And i ducked every time I faced life’s lemons. Sometimes I threw rotten lemons (read: tantrums) at my pillar to evade all the feelings that up-roared.
I wanted to be cold and heartless. I wanted to be strong enough to control my emotions and my feelings and my thoughts and my fears. I ignored my pillar that supported me for so long. So much so, that I put it through troubled waters, quite a few times.
So when the pillar crashed – I still thought I could stand and brave the Northern Winds. Seems like I was just fooling my self. The first gust, full of lemons, got me. And got me bad. The “strong” mask, I wore for so long, fell off. It felt worse than a band-aid rip off. And all I was left was with, were tears.
I thought I was smart enough to never let anyone or anything hurt me. I didn’t care about the winds, the lemons, the feelings and the blows. I used them, lemons, for my vodka. But when the cold wind hit me and the blows got me down - I couldn’t even move. The lemon sprinkled vodka finally "hit" me.
I know I’m not making any sense. How can I?!??! Life doesn’t make sense to me either.
What I hailed as my support and my pillar is no longer there.
So finally what am I getting at?
I don’t know.
All I know is that you must never hurt your pillar. 'Coz once down – it’s not often that you get support instantly. So be mindful of your support. It might not be there when you need it the most. If your pillar gets too sour - it breaks. What do you do then?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Ex are Knots
Ever played the game – X and Knots, where you fill a matrix of 9 boxes with “x” and “o” to strike three in a line. And why? To win. Of course! The person choosing “x” gets to start, and if smart enough wins too!
So in real life – do you entice your “ex” to be on your side and play games with your “ex” just to win?
All wise people know that you can never be friends with your “ex”. I sadly realized it late. After having chosen a “knot”.
I thought there is just no harm in being “friends”.
Seems like life teaches you all your lessons – one by one. And sometimes not in the most docile manner.
Why do you need to be friends with your “ex”? Don’t you already have “other” friends?
Yeah, but maybe no one as close to you as your “ex” – who knows you in-&-out; who knows every little detail of your life; right from the time you open your eyes each morning till the time you shut them at night – in bed. Right from your favorite colors to your favorite food to each item in your closet. And who’d also love you truly in your “mood swings” and bad days and good days and average days; who’d care for you the most when even it’s just a thorn that scratched your arm; or a blade that almost ripped your finger apart. Who’d sometimes stay awake just to see you sleep peacefully. Who’d always hold you in his heart even when you decide to move on.
It could be a very selfish motive to still be friends with your ex. It might even feel like a game. Just because you like the “comfort zone”; just because you are habituated to that person’s existence; just because you can be in your skin around him. Just because you know each time you turn the familiar face would greet you with arms wide open. Just because having an “ex” sometimes makes you win.
Just because....
But its time you stop being selfish.
It’s time you let him off the hook.
It’s time you realize - You can never be friends with your ex.
“Ex”s are knots that you need to untangle soon. Ex-s are meant to be "let go".
Ex are Not friends.
I might not make much sense. But that’s okay. I make sense to me. And I’m happy not winning the game.
So in real life – do you entice your “ex” to be on your side and play games with your “ex” just to win?
All wise people know that you can never be friends with your “ex”. I sadly realized it late. After having chosen a “knot”.
I thought there is just no harm in being “friends”.
Seems like life teaches you all your lessons – one by one. And sometimes not in the most docile manner.
Why do you need to be friends with your “ex”? Don’t you already have “other” friends?
Yeah, but maybe no one as close to you as your “ex” – who knows you in-&-out; who knows every little detail of your life; right from the time you open your eyes each morning till the time you shut them at night – in bed. Right from your favorite colors to your favorite food to each item in your closet. And who’d also love you truly in your “mood swings” and bad days and good days and average days; who’d care for you the most when even it’s just a thorn that scratched your arm; or a blade that almost ripped your finger apart. Who’d sometimes stay awake just to see you sleep peacefully. Who’d always hold you in his heart even when you decide to move on.
It could be a very selfish motive to still be friends with your ex. It might even feel like a game. Just because you like the “comfort zone”; just because you are habituated to that person’s existence; just because you can be in your skin around him. Just because you know each time you turn the familiar face would greet you with arms wide open. Just because having an “ex” sometimes makes you win.
Just because....
But its time you stop being selfish.
It’s time you let him off the hook.
It’s time you realize - You can never be friends with your ex.
“Ex”s are knots that you need to untangle soon. Ex-s are meant to be "let go".
Ex are Not friends.
I might not make much sense. But that’s okay. I make sense to me. And I’m happy not winning the game.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Saala Bhaalu
Andy stormed into Vishal’s room, unannounced of course.
“Vishal? Dude man…where art thou?”
“In a minute…” yelled Vishal from the bathroom.
“I don’t really need you out here. You are no good. Just tell me where the maal is…”
The thing about a guys’ room is the informal atmosphere – welcoming anyone and everyone who has dope and/or moolah or easy access to them.
Andy made himself comfortable on Eppa’s bed - legs dangling, upper body supported by the left elbow and mind engrossed in solving the rubik's cube that was an essential part of Eppa’s property.
Vishal stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. Jat had just walked in. His perfect physique always attracted many a girls but the moment he opened his mouth they disappeared faster than the speed of light. Or the way Andy usually said – “faster than a fart in a fan factory”.
The trio looked at each other. Expressionless as usual.
“Koi mar gaya kya?” Andy asked Jat.
“Filhaal toh nahi. Kyu tera irada hai kya?” said Jat – trying to sound smart – and macho.
“Saala mera he room milta hai tumko har baar- no khoon kharaba here…” Vishal muttered as if talking to the air. He walked towards his cupboard and started fiddling with the items– and soon his casual search turned fanatic.
“What the fuck…!!!”
“Yeah tell me you misplaced it – loser. Saala ek kaam you can’t do properly” came Andy’s flying comment, who by the way was still engrossed in solving the cube.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck….”
“Eh you stop fucking and tell me what’s happening” interrupted Jat as usual in his thick Haryanvi accent.
“Don’t bother brother…aaand I’m done!” said Andy flinging the cube towards Jat. Jat managed to catch the cube before it hit his privates. “Aee…future khatre mein mat daal!!!”
“Jat ko ghaath nahi hota…” laughed Andy and winked at Jat.
“Yo loser – mila kya?” Andy said turning his lazy gaze towards Vishal.
“I rolled the last joint with the maal- 80% maal 20% tobacco - put the joint in a small packet – put the packet in my brown jacket’s left pocket and put the jacket in here. Saala – no Jacket now!”
“Lair. I’m sure you smoked up without us…stop making stories”
“Fucker I’m not lying. Jat ki kasam…”
“Meri maaro tum sab…” Jat looked at them as he stopped playing with the cube.
“Yaar woh jacket…? Is it on the bed? Or the door? Or the chair?”
The trio looked around the room and finally at each other.
“Shit! EPPA!!!” they screamed unanimously and darted out of the room like the first bullet out of an H&K - MP5 threatening its target with grave, imminent and lethal damage!
Running across the campus they bumped into Gosh.
“Oye did you see Eppa?”
“You know something’s happened in senior’s ka room…Rajan was freaking out majorly and literally stripping some of our classmates. Saala juniors ki bohot le raha hai” Gosh went on.
“We’ve been in our room. So no idea. No care. Did you see Eppa woh bol…” spurted Vishal.
“I guess I saw him walk towards the canteen or the amphitheatre…whaa…”
And before Gosh could ask or say anything more the trio charged towards the canteen. They rushed in and started looking for their “bear” figured Eppa. For a split second, everyone in there stared at them blankly before resuming their banter and eating.
They rushed out again to hunt the “bear” and found him sitting under a tree behind the canteen. Smoking, smiling and waving at them.
“Eppa…bhaalu…tell me u didn’t…” started Vishal.
“Tell you I didn’t….but what?” smiled Eppa stubbing the cigarette in his hand.
“Did you smoke the joint from this jacket?” questioned Andy, pretty sternly.
“Yep”
“Saala bhaalu..!!” cursed Andy.
The constant grinning and smirking of Eppa made the jokers ultimately smile too.
They sat beside him.
“My first time you see…hehehe…” Eppa grinned like a five year girl. “And you know what – I’m feeling very impatient..very jumpy..tingling sensations all over…kuch kuch ho raha haiiii”
“I feel like jumping…and running…or maybe run and jump..or,” he continued.
“You mean hurdles?” completed Jat, and got a dhaap from Andy.
“Yeah put more words in his mouth. Saala. Stop giving him ideas.”
“Hurdles it is!!!” jumped Eppa excitedly.
“Shit!” sighed Vishal.
And before they could say Jack Robinson Eppa was already running and jumping over imaginary hurdles.
“Catch him before a professor spots him,” screamed Andy and jumped up.
But Eppa was on a different trip now. He was like the uncontrollable grizzly bear on a rampage. But he made a rather disgustingly funny sight running in his dirty black trousers that hung pretty low revealing his brown Dixcye innerwear, the stinky red tee-shirt which hadn’t been washed for over a month now tugging out of his trousers and Vishal’s brown jacket that he zabardasti tried to fit in looking trapped on his big bulky frame. And he was sprinting with his hands in the air, jumping like a five year lass in open fields, full of glee on attaining her first Barbie doll (maybe).
It was an uphill task for the three musketeers to get a hold of Eppa and humor him all the way to the hostel room, but not before they stumbled, fell or tripped over the stones or simply entangled in each other’s legs trying to hold Eppa and walk him straight.
They were almost seriously injured by the time they reached the room and Jat tried putting Eppa on his bed. Eppa dropped with a plop on the bed crushing Jat’s right arm underneath him.
“Ahh…my head is spinning crazy…” cried Eppa.
“Ahh…my hand is hurting crazy…” cried Jat.
Andy and Vishal sat panting on Vishal’s bed facing the other two.
Jat managed to free his arm and got up heaving a sigh of relief.
“Dekho yaar…don’t spoil Eppa,” he preached.
“But we didn’t force him or ask him to smoke up. He found it. He did it. Bhaalu is not a minor anymore and I’m guessing he has a mind of his own,” Vishal replied, a bit angry.
“Jo bhi…you guys smoke in front of him…so maybe he’s trying to imitate you or fit in”, Jat went on.
“Yeah we smoke in front of you too. But you are still the same. Body builder jat,” the critic in Andy answered.
“Meri baat alag hai…”
“Bhaalu is not a kid. Or wait. Maybe he is. Did you see him run and jump and dance abhi…hahahaha…” cracked Andy.
Andy leaned on Vishal’s bed and happened to see a dirty filthy tee-shirt on the bed and Vishal followed his gaze. Their eyes met.
“When’s your birthday man?” asked Andy.
“That’s not mine…”
Andy picked up the tee carefully by the tip of his forefinger and thumb and threw it on Eppa’s face, who seemed to have passed out instantly after dropping on the bed.
“Fatte strong joint tha…look at bhaalu pass out” smirked Andy.
“Saala Bhaalu…”
Andy turned to where he’d picked up the shirt from and noticed a small white packet. He picked it up and opened it – to discover a joint.
Vishal stared blankly at Andy and Jat’s towering figure closed in on them.
“Fuck! Yeh… bhaalu ne kya maara!?!?” blurted a shocked Vishal.
“Yeh pooch – kiska maara!” exclaimed Andy.
No sooner had Andy completed his sentence Gosh came running in, “Vishal, Andy…Juniors called in Rajan’s room…major panga man! Someone flicked his expensive Manali ka maal!”
Andy and Vishal froze. They looked at Jat who was standing – expressionless (yes, as usual). Vishal looked at Eppa move. He was trying to get up. Maybe the stench from the tee-shirt disturbed his sweet slumber. He tried opening his eyes. “I’m hungry…” he said rubbing his eyes.
“Koi mar gaya kya…?” asked Eppa in a funny tone with his eyes still red.
“Haan…tu,” came Andy’s blank response.
“Vishal? Dude man…where art thou?”
“In a minute…” yelled Vishal from the bathroom.
“I don’t really need you out here. You are no good. Just tell me where the maal is…”
The thing about a guys’ room is the informal atmosphere – welcoming anyone and everyone who has dope and/or moolah or easy access to them.
Andy made himself comfortable on Eppa’s bed - legs dangling, upper body supported by the left elbow and mind engrossed in solving the rubik's cube that was an essential part of Eppa’s property.
Vishal stepped out of the bathroom and looked around. Jat had just walked in. His perfect physique always attracted many a girls but the moment he opened his mouth they disappeared faster than the speed of light. Or the way Andy usually said – “faster than a fart in a fan factory”.
The trio looked at each other. Expressionless as usual.
“Koi mar gaya kya?” Andy asked Jat.
“Filhaal toh nahi. Kyu tera irada hai kya?” said Jat – trying to sound smart – and macho.
“Saala mera he room milta hai tumko har baar- no khoon kharaba here…” Vishal muttered as if talking to the air. He walked towards his cupboard and started fiddling with the items– and soon his casual search turned fanatic.
“What the fuck…!!!”
“Yeah tell me you misplaced it – loser. Saala ek kaam you can’t do properly” came Andy’s flying comment, who by the way was still engrossed in solving the cube.
“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck….”
“Eh you stop fucking and tell me what’s happening” interrupted Jat as usual in his thick Haryanvi accent.
“Don’t bother brother…aaand I’m done!” said Andy flinging the cube towards Jat. Jat managed to catch the cube before it hit his privates. “Aee…future khatre mein mat daal!!!”
“Jat ko ghaath nahi hota…” laughed Andy and winked at Jat.
“Yo loser – mila kya?” Andy said turning his lazy gaze towards Vishal.
“I rolled the last joint with the maal- 80% maal 20% tobacco - put the joint in a small packet – put the packet in my brown jacket’s left pocket and put the jacket in here. Saala – no Jacket now!”
“Lair. I’m sure you smoked up without us…stop making stories”
“Fucker I’m not lying. Jat ki kasam…”
“Meri maaro tum sab…” Jat looked at them as he stopped playing with the cube.
“Yaar woh jacket…? Is it on the bed? Or the door? Or the chair?”
The trio looked around the room and finally at each other.
“Shit! EPPA!!!” they screamed unanimously and darted out of the room like the first bullet out of an H&K - MP5 threatening its target with grave, imminent and lethal damage!
Running across the campus they bumped into Gosh.
“Oye did you see Eppa?”
“You know something’s happened in senior’s ka room…Rajan was freaking out majorly and literally stripping some of our classmates. Saala juniors ki bohot le raha hai” Gosh went on.
“We’ve been in our room. So no idea. No care. Did you see Eppa woh bol…” spurted Vishal.
“I guess I saw him walk towards the canteen or the amphitheatre…whaa…”
And before Gosh could ask or say anything more the trio charged towards the canteen. They rushed in and started looking for their “bear” figured Eppa. For a split second, everyone in there stared at them blankly before resuming their banter and eating.
They rushed out again to hunt the “bear” and found him sitting under a tree behind the canteen. Smoking, smiling and waving at them.
“Eppa…bhaalu…tell me u didn’t…” started Vishal.
“Tell you I didn’t….but what?” smiled Eppa stubbing the cigarette in his hand.
“Did you smoke the joint from this jacket?” questioned Andy, pretty sternly.
“Yep”
“Saala bhaalu..!!” cursed Andy.
The constant grinning and smirking of Eppa made the jokers ultimately smile too.
They sat beside him.
“My first time you see…hehehe…” Eppa grinned like a five year girl. “And you know what – I’m feeling very impatient..very jumpy..tingling sensations all over…kuch kuch ho raha haiiii”
“I feel like jumping…and running…or maybe run and jump..or,” he continued.
“You mean hurdles?” completed Jat, and got a dhaap from Andy.
“Yeah put more words in his mouth. Saala. Stop giving him ideas.”
“Hurdles it is!!!” jumped Eppa excitedly.
“Shit!” sighed Vishal.
And before they could say Jack Robinson Eppa was already running and jumping over imaginary hurdles.
“Catch him before a professor spots him,” screamed Andy and jumped up.
But Eppa was on a different trip now. He was like the uncontrollable grizzly bear on a rampage. But he made a rather disgustingly funny sight running in his dirty black trousers that hung pretty low revealing his brown Dixcye innerwear, the stinky red tee-shirt which hadn’t been washed for over a month now tugging out of his trousers and Vishal’s brown jacket that he zabardasti tried to fit in looking trapped on his big bulky frame. And he was sprinting with his hands in the air, jumping like a five year lass in open fields, full of glee on attaining her first Barbie doll (maybe).
It was an uphill task for the three musketeers to get a hold of Eppa and humor him all the way to the hostel room, but not before they stumbled, fell or tripped over the stones or simply entangled in each other’s legs trying to hold Eppa and walk him straight.
They were almost seriously injured by the time they reached the room and Jat tried putting Eppa on his bed. Eppa dropped with a plop on the bed crushing Jat’s right arm underneath him.
“Ahh…my head is spinning crazy…” cried Eppa.
“Ahh…my hand is hurting crazy…” cried Jat.
Andy and Vishal sat panting on Vishal’s bed facing the other two.
Jat managed to free his arm and got up heaving a sigh of relief.
“Dekho yaar…don’t spoil Eppa,” he preached.
“But we didn’t force him or ask him to smoke up. He found it. He did it. Bhaalu is not a minor anymore and I’m guessing he has a mind of his own,” Vishal replied, a bit angry.
“Jo bhi…you guys smoke in front of him…so maybe he’s trying to imitate you or fit in”, Jat went on.
“Yeah we smoke in front of you too. But you are still the same. Body builder jat,” the critic in Andy answered.
“Meri baat alag hai…”
“Bhaalu is not a kid. Or wait. Maybe he is. Did you see him run and jump and dance abhi…hahahaha…” cracked Andy.
Andy leaned on Vishal’s bed and happened to see a dirty filthy tee-shirt on the bed and Vishal followed his gaze. Their eyes met.
“When’s your birthday man?” asked Andy.
“That’s not mine…”
Andy picked up the tee carefully by the tip of his forefinger and thumb and threw it on Eppa’s face, who seemed to have passed out instantly after dropping on the bed.
“Fatte strong joint tha…look at bhaalu pass out” smirked Andy.
“Saala Bhaalu…”
Andy turned to where he’d picked up the shirt from and noticed a small white packet. He picked it up and opened it – to discover a joint.
Vishal stared blankly at Andy and Jat’s towering figure closed in on them.
“Fuck! Yeh… bhaalu ne kya maara!?!?” blurted a shocked Vishal.
“Yeh pooch – kiska maara!” exclaimed Andy.
No sooner had Andy completed his sentence Gosh came running in, “Vishal, Andy…Juniors called in Rajan’s room…major panga man! Someone flicked his expensive Manali ka maal!”
Andy and Vishal froze. They looked at Jat who was standing – expressionless (yes, as usual). Vishal looked at Eppa move. He was trying to get up. Maybe the stench from the tee-shirt disturbed his sweet slumber. He tried opening his eyes. “I’m hungry…” he said rubbing his eyes.
“Koi mar gaya kya…?” asked Eppa in a funny tone with his eyes still red.
“Haan…tu,” came Andy’s blank response.
If Only...
X sat by the window staring into the vast nothingness that engulfed her, bit by bit. The blankness of her mind reflected on her face. She was lost. Without a trace.
Ever since she started working in this big city, this was all she wanted. Her dream house. A 2BHK in one of the most elite areas of the busy city of Calcutta. She ensured that it was designed by one of the top architects of Pune – her hometown. And what a commendable job had he done. Anyone and everyone visiting her place complimented her on her taste and selection. Little wonder she had the “nazar battu” hanging upside down on the door to keep the evil eye at bay.
The living room was spotless and clutter-free, with just a big blue sofa and the big screen LCD. The smart use of sea blue, yellow, beige and a bit of brown gave the living room a very contemporary feel. The open kitchen gave her ample of space to move around and definitely easy access to the living room, the bar area and the balcony. The balcony was amongst her favourite places to relax. The bean bags put out in the open, with a small coffee table to hold her coffee mugs, made it the perfect corner for her “me time” after work.
Being the PR head of a national level agency really was taxing. The clients sometimes chewed her brain inside-out over matters that were so trivial and silly that she needed more than her usual two coffee breaks in office. But honestly the coffee there wasn’t up to her taste. She preferred the rich black taste of the finely ground Davidoff Coffee she especially got from Singapore. And it wasn’t unusual for her to zoom home in her Honda Civic (her first car) just to enjoy her coffee sometimes in the middle of the day. Yes, she was fast and a bit rash – but never reckless.
Her room was her real abode. The glass door behind the wooden one was etched to maintain privacy. The light green walls weren’t her idea. But now they seemed to clam her the minute she walked in. The astute use of pink, blue and silver all over the study table, dressing table and her huge walk in closet fascinated everyone who peeped in to “check out” her place.
Her bed – a queen sized wooden structure with the softest Sleepwell mattresses embraced her the moment she dropped on it. Her bedside was never empty. Books, pen and a writing pad always adorned the lamp-stand on her left. She wouldn’t fall asleep without reading either a romantic- fiction or a spooky thriller. So she either had absolutely romantic dreams or terrifying nightmares, depending on her selection for the night. More often than not, she’d pen random thoughts which eventually made sense after a couple of drinks.
The dressing table was placed close to her study table; and the study table was right beside the big window. Come to think of it – her room had only three walls. Her “big” window made up for the fourth wall. Her laptop, a Zoo-Zoo pen holder, a calendar (from Channel V featuring her favourite Professor Sodhi) reading today’s date (Monday 13th Dec.), couple of files, and books and a very ornate picture frame with her picture in it, decked the study table.
Her most favourite part in the room (apart from her bed) was the sill of her big window that overlooked the swimming pool of the classic township- Rosewood Estate - which she was now a resident of. She had been very adamant on having this huge a window with an extended ledge where she could relax and sip her coffee and just “not think”. And that’s where she would sit and talk to her angels too. Yes, she believed in them. She believed they would keep her safe and sane in times of distress. The white-green-yellow curtains that hung smartly and usually sashayed with the first touch of the breeze today lay frighteningly still.
Her blankness was disturbed as the key turned in the lock outside.
“It must be Y”, she thought looking towards her bedroom door. Y always came to her room first before walking into hers.
But today she was taking awfully long. Almost ten minutes and no sign of Y.
“Y...I’m in here”, she called out.
But it was another ten minutes before Y walked in. Her short hair crop, fair skin and petite size often lead people to think she was a teenager. But Y was as old as X – 25 and a commercial pilot at that. This was her first year with the airline and after those gruesome training months she was now the First Officer.
X and Y had met through some common friends at a party and hit it off darn well in their first ever interaction. They shared almost the same taste in books, drinks, music, lifestyle and men. Naturally, it didn’t take them long to bond. Even their temperaments were similar and their thought processes of the same frequency and wave-length. And before one could say “Jack Robinson” Y had agreed to share a place with X. Her roster kept her busy flying and away from home for about three or four days a week but when she was home – it was usually spent resting, reading and waiting for X so that they could (occasionally) paint the town red, pink and florescent with their wild parties and shopping sprees and dining and catching up with other friends. And if they were low on energies, a whole Sunday at their favourite spa was enough to get them rejuvenated.
Y was wearing a “little black dress”, her glares resting on her head, and the dark circles around her sullen teary eyes hinted smudged mascara and kohl. She looked definitely pale walking lifeless with a folded newspaper in her right hand. It appeared as if she was hesitating to step into the room, and the moment she reached the threshold, she couldn’t hold back her tears. She sat on the bed and buried her face in her palms. The newspaper was now by her side.
X just looked at her. Somehow she couldn’t gather enough energy to even walk those five steps towards the bed to be by her side.
“What happened bebo?” X asked. Her tone expressed concern.
Y was still crying.
“Let me make some strong coffee for you...” said X as she now sat facing Y, almost about to get up.
“Why did you do it? Why? It was just an argument…” cried Y.
X couldn’t take it anymore. “What the hell is wrong with you? Well if you want me to apologise for last night – I’m sorry...I was outta my mind…” said X turning her gaze to the pool below the window ledge.
Without a word, Y removed a bright pink envelope that was hidden inside the newspaper and walked up to the study table. She wiped her tears, picked up the picture frame, and kissed it.
“If only....”
Y was too choked to complete her sentence. She put it back on the table and placed the pink envelope right next to it.
“Ab yeh kya...?” asked X turned and reached out for the pink unaddressed envelope.
She opened it. It was the wedding invitation card they both were waiting for.
“Is this ours? When and where did you get it?” asked X as she looked towards the quiet figure of Y who was now standing by the bed – with the newspaper in her hand.
X quickly opened the card to read its contents.
The invite read:
Because you have shared in our lives
your friendship and love, we
X and Y
invite you to share the beginning of our new life together
when we exchange our marriage vows
on
Saturday, 18th December
at
Eleven in the morning
at Roohi Villa, 10 WestSide Street, Calcutta.
X smiled with the wave of happiness that rose within her, as she read the golden inked words and she looked towards Y, who now looked absorbed in a newspaper article, with her tears still flowing uncontrollably. X placed the envelope back on the table and walked towards Y to halt right behind her. And before X could decipher anything she chanced to look at the dressing table mirror on her left.
All she could see was the reflection of Y, crying as she held the newspaper. She turned her gaze to the newspaper article Y was reading...
“Rosewood Estate resident dies as car spins out of control
In a tragic accident last night, X Kapoor of Rosewood Estate lost her life. It is believed that her car (Honda civic – 9119) spun out of control and collided with the divider on WestSide Street, and over-turned to hit the pavement killing Kapoor instantly. She was the PR head of a leading advertising agency of the city.”
Ever since she started working in this big city, this was all she wanted. Her dream house. A 2BHK in one of the most elite areas of the busy city of Calcutta. She ensured that it was designed by one of the top architects of Pune – her hometown. And what a commendable job had he done. Anyone and everyone visiting her place complimented her on her taste and selection. Little wonder she had the “nazar battu” hanging upside down on the door to keep the evil eye at bay.
The living room was spotless and clutter-free, with just a big blue sofa and the big screen LCD. The smart use of sea blue, yellow, beige and a bit of brown gave the living room a very contemporary feel. The open kitchen gave her ample of space to move around and definitely easy access to the living room, the bar area and the balcony. The balcony was amongst her favourite places to relax. The bean bags put out in the open, with a small coffee table to hold her coffee mugs, made it the perfect corner for her “me time” after work.
Being the PR head of a national level agency really was taxing. The clients sometimes chewed her brain inside-out over matters that were so trivial and silly that she needed more than her usual two coffee breaks in office. But honestly the coffee there wasn’t up to her taste. She preferred the rich black taste of the finely ground Davidoff Coffee she especially got from Singapore. And it wasn’t unusual for her to zoom home in her Honda Civic (her first car) just to enjoy her coffee sometimes in the middle of the day. Yes, she was fast and a bit rash – but never reckless.
Her room was her real abode. The glass door behind the wooden one was etched to maintain privacy. The light green walls weren’t her idea. But now they seemed to clam her the minute she walked in. The astute use of pink, blue and silver all over the study table, dressing table and her huge walk in closet fascinated everyone who peeped in to “check out” her place.
Her bed – a queen sized wooden structure with the softest Sleepwell mattresses embraced her the moment she dropped on it. Her bedside was never empty. Books, pen and a writing pad always adorned the lamp-stand on her left. She wouldn’t fall asleep without reading either a romantic- fiction or a spooky thriller. So she either had absolutely romantic dreams or terrifying nightmares, depending on her selection for the night. More often than not, she’d pen random thoughts which eventually made sense after a couple of drinks.
The dressing table was placed close to her study table; and the study table was right beside the big window. Come to think of it – her room had only three walls. Her “big” window made up for the fourth wall. Her laptop, a Zoo-Zoo pen holder, a calendar (from Channel V featuring her favourite Professor Sodhi) reading today’s date (Monday 13th Dec.), couple of files, and books and a very ornate picture frame with her picture in it, decked the study table.
Her most favourite part in the room (apart from her bed) was the sill of her big window that overlooked the swimming pool of the classic township- Rosewood Estate - which she was now a resident of. She had been very adamant on having this huge a window with an extended ledge where she could relax and sip her coffee and just “not think”. And that’s where she would sit and talk to her angels too. Yes, she believed in them. She believed they would keep her safe and sane in times of distress. The white-green-yellow curtains that hung smartly and usually sashayed with the first touch of the breeze today lay frighteningly still.
Her blankness was disturbed as the key turned in the lock outside.
“It must be Y”, she thought looking towards her bedroom door. Y always came to her room first before walking into hers.
But today she was taking awfully long. Almost ten minutes and no sign of Y.
“Y...I’m in here”, she called out.
But it was another ten minutes before Y walked in. Her short hair crop, fair skin and petite size often lead people to think she was a teenager. But Y was as old as X – 25 and a commercial pilot at that. This was her first year with the airline and after those gruesome training months she was now the First Officer.
X and Y had met through some common friends at a party and hit it off darn well in their first ever interaction. They shared almost the same taste in books, drinks, music, lifestyle and men. Naturally, it didn’t take them long to bond. Even their temperaments were similar and their thought processes of the same frequency and wave-length. And before one could say “Jack Robinson” Y had agreed to share a place with X. Her roster kept her busy flying and away from home for about three or four days a week but when she was home – it was usually spent resting, reading and waiting for X so that they could (occasionally) paint the town red, pink and florescent with their wild parties and shopping sprees and dining and catching up with other friends. And if they were low on energies, a whole Sunday at their favourite spa was enough to get them rejuvenated.
Y was wearing a “little black dress”, her glares resting on her head, and the dark circles around her sullen teary eyes hinted smudged mascara and kohl. She looked definitely pale walking lifeless with a folded newspaper in her right hand. It appeared as if she was hesitating to step into the room, and the moment she reached the threshold, she couldn’t hold back her tears. She sat on the bed and buried her face in her palms. The newspaper was now by her side.
X just looked at her. Somehow she couldn’t gather enough energy to even walk those five steps towards the bed to be by her side.
“What happened bebo?” X asked. Her tone expressed concern.
Y was still crying.
“Let me make some strong coffee for you...” said X as she now sat facing Y, almost about to get up.
“Why did you do it? Why? It was just an argument…” cried Y.
X couldn’t take it anymore. “What the hell is wrong with you? Well if you want me to apologise for last night – I’m sorry...I was outta my mind…” said X turning her gaze to the pool below the window ledge.
Without a word, Y removed a bright pink envelope that was hidden inside the newspaper and walked up to the study table. She wiped her tears, picked up the picture frame, and kissed it.
“If only....”
Y was too choked to complete her sentence. She put it back on the table and placed the pink envelope right next to it.
“Ab yeh kya...?” asked X turned and reached out for the pink unaddressed envelope.
She opened it. It was the wedding invitation card they both were waiting for.
“Is this ours? When and where did you get it?” asked X as she looked towards the quiet figure of Y who was now standing by the bed – with the newspaper in her hand.
X quickly opened the card to read its contents.
The invite read:
Because you have shared in our lives
your friendship and love, we
X and Y
invite you to share the beginning of our new life together
when we exchange our marriage vows
on
Saturday, 18th December
at
Eleven in the morning
at Roohi Villa, 10 WestSide Street, Calcutta.
X smiled with the wave of happiness that rose within her, as she read the golden inked words and she looked towards Y, who now looked absorbed in a newspaper article, with her tears still flowing uncontrollably. X placed the envelope back on the table and walked towards Y to halt right behind her. And before X could decipher anything she chanced to look at the dressing table mirror on her left.
All she could see was the reflection of Y, crying as she held the newspaper. She turned her gaze to the newspaper article Y was reading...
“Rosewood Estate resident dies as car spins out of control
In a tragic accident last night, X Kapoor of Rosewood Estate lost her life. It is believed that her car (Honda civic – 9119) spun out of control and collided with the divider on WestSide Street, and over-turned to hit the pavement killing Kapoor instantly. She was the PR head of a leading advertising agency of the city.”
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