This is a story co-written by a friend of mine, Jigruksh Trivedi (Click here to visit his blog) and me.
First experiment that has come out better than predicted and a little short of making us millionaires. :-). So enjoy it and give in your feedback. Also, we need a title for this story. Give it a shot.
Here goes...
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“He was not a bad guy, just a bit skeptic in his views. He was not a pessimist either, just a bit burned by realities. And above all, he had a friend who with his qualities made them a statistically average duo…” So who was this guy? Even better question, who was his friend? Do questions really matter when one is not involved in it? These were his thoughts as he was reading first few lines of a new best seller. He was standing in a bookshop on one of the newly constructed airports, awaiting departure call to meet his friend. They had not met for more than a year, only twice in two and half years since they parted. A lot had happened in their lives, and each of them had successfully hidden the intricacies of the same from each other. They had confessed it in their last email exchange, another rarity. They decided to make an attempt to reconcile their lives as if they were books of account.
May be they actually were.His friend and he had spent a lot of time together in the past. And then life took its usual turns and cast them far apart. Where, once, they used to eat all their meals together, now, a telephone call every week was all that remained. And he thought to himself: Is this the permanency that would last for ever or just a short duration after which the old times, the better times, the times when friendship made each day a bit more brighter, would return. He used to feel lonely nowadays. Lack of companions was not the reason, but the lack of co-reasonable friends drove him mad. He had figured out patience, the unconditional type. But it kept bothering him that life is passing him by, and all he could and was expected to do was to stare at the passing crowd. And he wondered about his friend. Would he have changed since the last time they had met? Would the comfort still remain? Or would distance have crept in silently without them realizing it? And he laughed inside. Change is inevitable, they said, and now, he agreed. Life changes, people change and then we wonder as to why the world is not as beautiful as it once used to be. He had kind of figured that one out. He told himself that the world is as it ever was, it is just the skeptic in us that grew up, found a stronger voice, collected a few stories to corroborate its theories, and then, it turned us into skeptics. And then, life is never going to be as beautiful, as simple, as hopeful, as plain, yet as full of surprises as he remembered it to be when he was stepping into adulthood.
“Last call for flight number…” he heard the call for his flight. He turned and thought, “I am not going to let the skeptic come in between this dear friendship. Not now, not ever”, and he walked straighter and faster towards the boarding gate.
Of late, he had become very suspicious of life, or rather, a real skeptic. He was not sure what life had in store for him. He wanted everything to come to him right now, be it good or bad. “Cut out uncertainty from life, cut out choices from life, and life becomes better” - He spoke this sentence a bit too loud. The airhostess turned her face towards him for just a second, and went on to mind her own business.
So he decided to write down his story on his laptop. Just in case, he can not meet his friend at least his story should reach him. Luckily the airline had just launched the new service - “surf while we sail”. He opened his mail box, and started typing his story. But even before he could finish first line, the sweet killer was back. This time she didn’t mind intruding in his privacy, much rather felt compelled to do it. The fragrance of beer was too tempting, and it was his first time on board a flight. He took a sip of cold beer. As if the beer had some sort of venom of skeptics, he didn’t feel like typing any more. He was sure that he will land safely. He will not die so soon.
The apple-pie was back, waking him up for landing. He realized that he was too sleepy. Next he remembered getting out of the plane and hitting the wash room. His mind came back to senses. He stepped out of the baggage area. He saw something and his breath stopped.
He gasped as he saw his past, his beautiful past walk past him. He could remember her name as much as he could remember his own. How could he ever forget those beautiful big eyes gazing innocently at the world? Never for once judging the mess this world is in, never for once questioning the hope in the world, just believing in the ultimate good all around us. He wanted to call out to her but a flash from the past stopped him. He had been a little too demanding from one who never gave less, he remembered the past when she used to look at him as if he was the center of the universe, as if he meant something to this world, as if his existence was important. He turned as she passed him. She had changed a little. A bit more of a woman he guessed, a bit more poised, a bit more reassured. As she stopped at the baggage conveyor belt, he noticed his bag sliding past her. Should he use this as an opportunity to bump into her? But why? Why would she even want to look at him after what he had made her go through? He walked quickly to the other side of the conveyor and lifted his bag. He was guilty and ashamed and wanted to get out of there as soon as he could.
“Hey…” he turned around startled at her voice and realized that she was waving to him. She had changed a little. She looked at him in the same way, like he meant something in this world, but now it dint feel like they were part of the same world. She made him feel small, yet big at the same time. Small compared to her, but big being in her world of reference.He smiled back at her and realized that she had collected her bags and was moving towards him. She kept smiling and he returned them in as much measure. But his heart was pounding hard, he wanted to get out of this place and reach the comfort of the other world around the corner where his friend waited for him, where he could cower in the shade of the injustice the world had done to him, where he could feel better by feeling worse, where his misdeeds were washed away in the face of the bigger bad, where he could not go right now. And the beautiful smile moved towards him in sure steps.
He started to breathe harder, but he somehow maintained the calm exterior. He was panicking now, and suddenly the phone rang. He picked up the phone. His friend was apologetic to start with. He would need to go to the city on his own, on the given address by his friend. He put the phone down. She was waiting, as patiently as she had done in the past. As if they had never lost touch, just a silent sign was all it took for her to start walking towards the exit gate. She too had come for some work to the city, and she too needed to go to the city on her own. They got on to a cab, and started towards the city.
His ipod was playing her favorite Ghazal –
“Faasle Aise Bhi Honge Yeh Kabhi Socha Na Tha,
Saamne Beitha Tha Mere Aur Woh Mera Na Tha…”
(I knew about distances but not so much, She was sitting right in front of me, but nothing was left between us)
She accepted the headphones with a smile, and he sighed at the meaning of those immortal words.
He went few years back in the past. How inseparable they were. All their days would start together, a good morning message from her was actually asking him to come and pick her up for the morning jog. A couple of hours later, he would give a missed call when he would reach the traffic signal next to her place, so that she could come down for office. Lunch, tea break, and time to leave the office were all decided during chat. Dinner was cooked together at her place, and then a good night message from him meant that he had reached home safely, and was now ready for sleep.
And then there came the black Sunday. He was reached her place for breakfast, and found that she was in conversation with her mother, who had come to visit her a day ago. She was putting a picture down. He had walked in unannounced. Just a look from her mother was enough for him to walk out. Her parents had never accepted their relation. He thought at least she was not with them.Next day, for the first time after a year, she didn’t find him standing near her flat after the good morning message. Even the familiar missed call never came. Only during lunch, they met and he had asked her one question. “How was the guy?” And he walked off. She tried her best, but he would not budge. Finally, she resigned from the job and left the town.
She was humming another Ghulam Ali Ghazal oblivious to his thoughts,
“Jab Se Usne Shaher Ko Chhoda, Har Rasta Sumsan Hua…
Apna Kya He Sare Shaher Ka Ek Jaisa Nuksan Hua…”
(Ever Since She left, the roads are all but crowded, I will still manage; the city is at a great loss…)
He came out of the reverie as the taxi stopped. She asked for his number, so that she could make him meet someone. His heart stopped, again. But he quickly recovered and gave her the number. He took the taxi ahead to his friend’s house, and found him waiting on the gate.
They looked at each other and gave one another a heart felt embrace. Felt good, felt protected. Not much was said immediately. Guess the feeling of a long journey coming to a good end was sufficient. His friend showed him his room, gave him a towel, and went downstairs. He looked in the mirror and saw his face for the first time in more than a whole day. Actually, it was many years since he had looked at his face. He was getting old, there was no denying that. Life had happened in a slow, unnoticeable manner and now the wear showed enough to feel like Life was laughing back. Then he remembered her face. She was still so beautiful, so pleasant to look at, so satisfying to have as a co-passenger. He let out a deep sigh, a sigh of long felt and rarely accepted regret. He was too arrogant in his past, he knew that. But no one ever told him that his arrogance in youth will become his regret in his later life as he grows and matures.
He finished his bath and went downstairs and sat with his friend at the table as the wife got hot, steaming, fragrant food. He was hungry. He suddenly realized that he had so much going on in his head that he had not had time to feel hungry. He relished the food. Wow, the right company can do so much, he thought. And during the meal, he told his friend about her. He had met her today, and shared a few moments of deep regret and heart-felt remorse.
“What?”, his friend looked at him and asked, “seriously? So, how is she? Did she ask you some questions? Are you feeling OK?”
“I am doing great”, he replied with a smile, “It’s all just fine yaar. Just a little thought provoking incident, that’s all”
“Yeah, I know. But what did she say?”
“Nothing much, the usual. Her son is two years old this month. She is so happy with her life. All that.”
“And, you are sure you are feeling OK about all this?”
“Yes”, he said and thought how his friend had this ability of reading his mind without even having to try hard. How had he tried to cover his thoughts and feelings, but all in vain. His friend just knew. He smiled and turned to his friend, “Is there any other way?”
“Do you need another option?” his friend fired a question as they finished their meal and settled in the living room.
“I don’t know friend,” he said as he looked around the room at all the little things collected by his friend, his son’s awards, and his wife’s boutique, “what do you think?”
And they spoke for the sake of making hearts lighter for a couple of hours. Some nostalgic jokes and a few heart rendering recollections later, they felt tired. “Want a drink?” asked his friend.
“Sure, but have you started drinking again?” he asked as his last recollection was that of his friend having sworn off liquor.
“Nah, I am still off it. Got a couple left from our last reunion”, retorted his friend.
This is life and this is a friend, he thought to himself. And that is the woman I should have been with. And he slowly passed into his memories as he lay down on his bed. What an eventful day? When was the last time he had a day like this?
And that day came back in a jiffy. What a day that was…
They were in first year of MBA. It was the last day of the year, and they had organized a big farewell party for the outgoing batch. His friend and he were not involved in it, because of the politics and power games B-schools are known for. However, they were not supposed to stay away from it. Almost everyone in their batch knew them to be loners, but the creative and hilarious types. The sparks of their ability would be visible during presentations. It was seven in the morning, and his friend was banging on his door.
“Dude, get up. My room-mate, the MC, was telling me that the dance group has chickened out just 10 minutes ago, and now they have a thirty minute time with no back up plan. I think the time has come for us to latch on to this opportunity.
“What? Buzz off, dude. No one wakes me up like that, especially when I have just finished reading ‘The Fountainhead’ till 4.30 in the night. “I am giving you a chance to create Howard Roark on the stage today. Was it not your idea to describe the most romantic medley on stage, in this campus, where many claim to be in love, but miss out the joys of expression? “Well, you know why I say all those things. These are in a way my longings for my soul-mate. Do you think she would be watching this damn thing in the evening?
“Well, cut the crap. This is our only chance to do something memorable together.
“NO. I AM NOT DOING IT.”
“Sorry dude. This is our first chance to do something together.”
So the stage was illuminated with a big white square, where the first slide of a power-point presentation was being displayed. It was a blank slide. His friend was playing role of a guy, novice in wooing his girlfriend, theirs being his maiden affair and maiden fight. He was back stage, with key board in his hands. He clicked mouse once, and a Jin appeared on the screen. The Jin was a Bollywood music freak, and their play a musical medley.
It turned out to be a great hit, more so because people were amazed that how can these two guys make a power-point software talk to a living person without even a second’s slip-up. And when the two were not speaking, the story was going on with some of the most romantic songs from Bollywood. When his friend invited him to the stage at the end of the show, she was sitting in the fourth row, left aisle seat. She walked up to them later during dinner.
As he turned on his side in the bed, he could see their first meeting scene through his friend’s eyes, as he would narrate later. They were not in love at the first sight. They were just comfortable talking to each other. She told him that she was studying in a sister institute in first year MBA. She was going to the US for a student-exchange program for a year. She also spoke to his friend, and in process became more impressed by him, for his friend passed on all the credit to him. She left them on high note, by urging them to prepare something similar next time with immortal Ghazals.
Her last words from that meeting were still echoing in his ears, “Not all stories end on a happy note. But only a few appreciate the pain.” He realized that it was OK to have a sad end to his love-story. He decided to tell his friend in the morning that she didn’t have a kid yet. Or may be she did, but she didn’t tell him anything about him. She had just taken his number during the taxi ride, and had indicated that she would call him.
He still felt like reviewing what happened from that evening onwards till date, as if his recounting will change the course of life.
He started conversing with her through emails. They became good friends. As destiny had planned, they both got placed in the same company through the campus recruitment. In a month’s time, they both became best friends. Each one of them adjusted the daily routine based on likes and dislikes of the other one. Morning jog being his love, not interested riding bike being her choice. They didn’t even realize when “I Love You” should have been said. And he walked in her apartment on one Sunday morning…
His friend was waking him up in present tense. He smiled. May be it was their day again.
“She’s here”, his friend said gently.
He woke up with a start clearing his bleary eyes and looked at his friend in disbelief.
“What!!!” he was almost loud.
His friend got a confused look on his face and then suddenly realized what the confusion was and started laughing. A couple of minutes later when the laughter died, his friend said, “Not her dude, the lady we spoke about yesterday? Remember, the one I told you about? The lady who wanted to start a business and wanted to speak to someone from an investment banking background? THAT lady is here.”
His friend then left him still giggling under his breath.
He was alert by now. As he took his bath and got dressed in a hurry so as to not keep a guest waiting, he could not get his mind of the thousand things that rushed to his head, the hope that he felt in a split second and the desperation and panic that gripped his heart for those few moments when his friend had woken him up. And he smiled knowing that no matter what happens in life from now on, these moments and those moments that lead to these moments and those people who create and convey these moments are always going to remain special to him.
This holiday was already special in his heart. He had not felt like this, actually, he had not felt at all for a very long time. And all these adolescent feelings were so alien to him. But he knew that this was his inner self who was having a field day, not the calm composed business man everyone around him knew him to be.
“Hi Mrs. Shaima”, he welcomed the guest as he walked briskly down the stairs. He smiled and felt nice doing it, after a long time. How the sheer touch of another person can make you trust this world. He smiled wider. Mrs. Shaima must have noticed it and thought that her choice of clothes was perfect.
Actually, he thought, she was attractive and dressed very gracefully in a white salwar that was in between high fashion and low fashion. Just right. “How may I help you?” he continued as he shook her hand and they all sat down.
His friend started by introducing Mrs. Shaima as the widow of a friend they both had known. He had barely interacted with her husband but he recollected the smart dynamic man from the second row in college. Her husband had passed away in a freak accident a couple of years ago and had left a large sum of insurance money behind for his wife and son. The insurance had been locked as the insurance agency was not ready to release it till the other party accepted their mistake and paid up the damages. A couple of weeks ago, this case had been settled and Mrs. Shaima had been given a check of the insurance amount and also a check of 40% of the damages paid by the erring party.
Though she could not look at the money as any form of compensation, she was happy that she had them; otherwise she would have had to work with her 4 year old son around. She was happy that her husband was the way he was, but she missed him. A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks as his friend recollected all this. He felt sorry for her mishap but he understood the irony of life. And insurance. You get money to help you through your tough times when money is the one thing that can do nothing to alleviate the pain. But it was better than the options. He felt sorry that she had to wait almost 2 years and a number of court visits to get what should have come to her quietly without disturbing her mourning.
She wiped her face and looked at him and said, “I want to thank you for taking time out for me. I would like to make it clear that you will have to take your professional fees from me for whatever time you take to help us. Now, that the basics are out of the way, let me tell you what I am trying to get help from you on.”
“Go on”, he said calmly. He liked her assured self but could notice her pain of people thinking her to be weak and vulnerable behind the crisp exterior.
“I have a four year old son and I am trying to…” she was cut abruptly as the door bell began ringing incessantly. It was Mrs. Shaima’s driver. She had forgotten her cell phone in the car, and someone was calling her. As they listened to one side of the conversation, some things became clear to her. As soon as she put the phone down, all three of them rushed to the city hospital. Her son had met with an accident. Due to severe blood loss, he was in critical stage and they needed 4 bottles of O negative blood group.
On their way to the hospital, he clamed her by telling her that even his blood group was also O negative. This helped her regain her composure again. He couldn’t believe her mental calm. This was her only son, the only sign of her husband, her center of the universe, who was in danger. Her hands were clutching the pocket Qura’an, movement of her lips suggesting that she was reciting the verses out of memory.
May be God was with her this time. With timely availability of blood and diligent treatment by the doctors, her son was out of danger by the end of next day. His friend had gone back to his home alone the first night, for he had refused to move even an inch away from the boy. He had seen only a part of his face, rest covered in bandage. Even at a point in time when his existence was in danger, the smile on his face was innocent, unadulterated.
It was around 2 in the night, when Mrs. Shaima could not fight fatigue any more, and surrendered to sleep sitting besides the boy. He could not. His mind was racing. He could read his own thoughts. ‘Just a day ago, you were worried that she would have a two year old boy. Now do you understand what it means to have a kid? If she indeed has a kid, God bless him with a long life.’ He realized that he still was in love with her. However much he had argued with himself, with his friends, with destiny, it was crystal clear. He had been fooling himself for such a long time. Trying to hide his feelings under work, of which there was no dearth. Agreed, he had become a big shot in his own department, but without her it was all meaningless.
Next day, as the first light broke, he found himself sleepy for 10 minutes. But the doctor looking after the boy came for his morning inspection. After a brief check up, he woke Mrs. Shaima and told them the good news. The boy was out of danger. They would observe him for a few more days, and then relieve him.
As the doctor turned his back to them, Mrs. Shaima broke down. She was holding her hands towards the heaven. She could manage to utter only few words, “God, your messiah has given me my son back.” He reached for his handkerchief and wiped her tears. He promised to visit the boy next time he was in the city and left for his friend’s home.
He was making up his mind to stop by the place where he had dropped her. He wanted to apologize to her for once and all, never to return to her again. Move out of that city, which reminded him of his love every single moment. He decided to be available to life so that it can assign him some role which may help people like Mrs. Shaima again. And suddenly, the cab driver braked hard. With a screeching sound, the cab came to a halt. He realized that he didn’t need to go away anywhere for life to chose him again. As he peered out of the cab window, he saw a crowd gathering in front of the car. He was a bit tense as he thought of the possibility that the driver may have hit someone on the road. But there was no thud or any sign of any person being hit. He looked at the driver questioningly, but the driver was not there. He was in front of the cab trying to clear the crowd.
A couple of minutes later, it became clear that there was some one on the road, just sitting, not hurt, not in pain, just sitting in the middle of the road, oblivious to all the commotion around him. The person looked old and haggard. With barely a sly look of sanity the old man looked around through those glazing eyes. The old man had a long beard and unkempt hair. The man was homeless and very unfortunate, or so thought everyone else around. When anyone tried to move him, the old man resisted and fought. Not listening to reason and not worried about the public discomfort being caused.
He got out of the car and walked to the old man sitting on the road and caught his attention. “Sir, what is wrong? Why are you sitting in the middle of the road?”
The old man looked at him and did not respond.
“Hello!” he said a little loud, thinking the man could be hard of hearing, “Please get up, and move to the side so that we can go about with our lives.”
No response and the constant gaze followed.
And then, something hit him as the old man kept looking at him. Suddenly, he understood a few things. First, he understood that the old man was not looking at him, but trying to communicate with his gaze and that he being so focused in the sensory world was missing the point. He could see deep into the old man’s eyes now. There was a lot of pain there, a lot of unfulfilled promises that those eyes wanted to cry about. They kept looking at each other for what seemed like an eternity communicating in mere looks and telling each other the story of their lives. And then the old man smiled and someone pushed from behind. It all happened suddenly when he was not expecting it. He fell on the road, just close to where the old man was sitting.
And, just as it began, it ended. The old man got up and left. People shouted behind but the old man could not care less. Guess, the old man had completed what he had come for.
The driver called out to him, “Are you all right, sir?”
He nodded, looked towards the horizon as the old man’s silhouette vanished in the distance among oncoming traffic and the incessant flow of mankind. He turned and walked back to the cab. The driver was taking him to his friend’s house and then he was supposed to take him to the airport. But, he was not in the mood to go back to the barely interesting life of his yet.
“Go back to the hospital,” he told the driver.
At the hospital, he walked to Mrs. Shaima’s son’s room. She was sitting on the side of the bed with her head bent, as if in prayer. The son was sleeping. He knocked slowly at the door. Mrs. Shaima looked up and smiled. “The savior”, she had called him. He was proud, maybe in a long time.
He smiled back and walked in slowly and stood by her side. He knew where he was, but he was still hazy about why he was here. But he had a clue. He looked at Mrs. Shaima and sat in the chair next to hers. He patted her hand and kept smiling at her. She looked at him, knowing that he was person capable of thinking of the world with eyes not resigned to pain and sorrow. She could see that in his eyes. He was someone who wanted to mean something in life, to someone, to something, to be a successful being.
Somehow, there was a feeling of closeness in between them. She slowly relaxed, knowing for the first time in two years that she could, that someone else cared and would watch over. She closed her eyes as she rested her head on his shoulders and gently rocked into sleep, blissful sleep, sleep that she never thought would happen again, sleep that she knew couldn’t last for ever, sleep that she wanted to enjoy as long as it lasted, not caring if it would return. And she slept.
He looked at her head as it rested on his shoulders. He smiled and thought of the old man on the road. The old man had told him so many things. He had seen his reflection in the old man’s eyes. Had the old man also been in love sometime? Had the old man lost someone because of his folly? Had the old man also wanted to say sorry to his past? Had the old man been so trapped by his past and his mistakes in the past that he had forgotten to look ahead? Had the old man also forgotten how to fall in love again just because love failed?
He knew none of those answers, but he knew that it was his time to not commit those mistakes. Yes, he had been in love with the most wonderful person in the world. But now, could he fall in love again, hard, fast and just like the way it is meant to be? Can he dare to believe that life is still meaningful and would turn out OK? Could he still hold on to hope and jump? He wanted to turn to Shaima and tell her that he would love to know her better and see where it goes. He wanted to tell her how much he admired her and wanted to learn more from her. Should he? Could he?
Would she mind? And he drifted into a short stupor as all these thoughts tried to solve themselves in his head.
He woke up suddenly as Shaima removed her head from his shoulders. She had sensed some movement in her son’s legs. She got up and looked at her son. Ran to his pillow and started stroking his head. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe she had a dream. A few minutes later she relaxed.
She got up and moved towards him. She looked guilty. Should they have shared a intimate moment? He was guilty too. Did he take advantage of her? He wanted to talk openly, but he knew words can not describe what he wanted to. He looked at her as she walked past him and stood at the window. He followed her and saw the beautiful sun setting behind the hills on the outskirts of the city. He wanted to hold her, but he refrained. He knew that there are words and there are actions. No point of either when you are not sure. They both just stood there, by each other’s side and looking at the distance thinking their own private thoughts, but involving the other. Irony? Maybe a little irony, but a lot of fate too. The quiet was so soothing to him. He wanted to spend a lot of time like this. He was feeling peace after an untold length of time on the other side feeling anxious and lonely. He wanted this to last, but he did not want to ask for it. He just wanted to let it happen, if it happened. And enjoy it while it lasted.
And in a moment of this sharing, something happened. They both felt compelled by a deep feeling from within to look at each other, question by their eyes and answer the other person’s questions. They did.
Should they try this? Should they get to know each other? Should they believe in life again? Should they hope? So many questions from both sides, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming, no relief to the tormented minds, no way out, and no way in…
“Papa?” her son questioned softly from the bed. And they both knew…
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