by Tushar Mangl
I remember the times when she decided to take Arts in school. She felt that her family and friends would prefer her to study medicine or engineering. But her heart was set towards Arts. She had very high scores, which could get her any stream of her choice.
When she told me, her dilemma, I asked her why did she want to take Arts? She said she had an interest in psychology. But her parents won’t like this at all. It is a strange thing, but yes, parental approval matters a lot.
I told her, “Go for it.”
“But my parents will say, take commerce if not med or non-med.”
“Talk to them. I know they will understand.”
“I think I should take non-medical perhaps. I know they won’t agree.”
“Unless you talk to them, how ca you be so sure.”
“But wouldn’t it be easy to just take on – medical and make them happy?”
“No. You will not do it because you don’t want to do it. You want to study psychology. Go for it.”
And she went for it. She always used to say it was I who encouraged her, but then, that was something in her heart already.
I look at the card again and think of the times when we supported each other to take such decisions of life.
Yet, she would go on and say that I had undermined her confidence, her self – esteem. And to think that I was her strength. Someone she could count on. Someone she could rely on.
I stare at the card for a long time, soaking in her words, taking in the beauty of her handwriting.
Then I get up, to do something that was obvious. I don’t want to tear the card to pieces. I take a pair of scissors and chop it up. I keep cutting it until it is all confetti each piece left now is as small as a piece of a chopped bean. I try to hold the mess in my hands but the little pieces of paper are everywhere. I can’t hold them all at the same time. Every time I pour some on my palms, they would slip away.
Perhaps that was the truth I was looking for. But love and a bond of friendship still clouded my eyes. I still had belief in my heart.
We were eating Chinese chicken and noodles when he brought out an envelope, obviously mauled by rats. It was brown in color and seemed to contain a lot of papers. I waited eagerly for the goodies that were surely meant for me. More envelopes come out. Rats have done some damage to the papers but they are readable. I want to hold them all and go through them, but I wait for him to make a move.
He pulled out a red color greeting card. I thought that the rituals of exchanging cards had been extinct long ago, but here I had one right in front of my eyes. I was going to read a love card which was not even ancient. How many of us actually get to see such a sight?
There were pretty flowers made on the cover of the card which read ‘To a special someone’.
“Did you get this on a valentine day or something?”
“No.”
“You sure you want me to read this.” I was hoping he would say yes, that he won’t change my mind.
“Well, you don’t believe me that she loved me.”
“You don’t need to prove me anything Pushkie Boy. What I think or understand does not matter.”
“But if you don’t believe in her love for me, how will you write Honey Bunch?”
“You are crazy Pushkie. Absolutely crazy.”
I flipped open the card, wondering how expensive it looked. It was addressed to Dearest Pushkie and a smiley accompanied it.
“This was the last time she every addressed me as Pushkie,” he commented.
I noticed that this was a card which was designed to act as a love letter holder. You open it and there were folds which when opened spread out to be a large A3 size plus sheet. The writer then can keep writing all he or she wants on it. Even though it felt exciting, I felt hesitant to open it.
“Was this the last card she ever sent you?”
“Yes. But this is not a farewell card.”
“What really happened then, if this was not meant to be a goodbye; she intended to stay on, right?”
“People don’t change as often as their environments change them.”
“Oh! So, the environment changed. Eh?”
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“I am debating whether to read or not.”
“You want to ask Eti about it. Don’t you?”
“She is not my wife or a lover.” I snorted back, cursing myself not to have thought about this sooner. Eti could rescue me from the guilt of poring over someone’s love letters.
Dearest Pushkie
I think the card got a little too cheesy in the end, so let me mellow it down with some harsh words now :P
But on a serious note, when I first chose this card, one of the reasons which particularly attracted me was the huge space provided to express my feelings and like a pro, I thought that I am going to write so much, and make this card the world’s best card. But now that I think of it, it’s really very very difficult for me to write something about you, about me or about us despite know you since a very long time.
You are someone with whom I share a very special bond, there is no denying. But at times I do agree that I am not able to provide you space or limelight as what probably I am able to give my other friends. And there are various reasons for that. So at times, even if I want to tell others about you, or give you the importance you deserve, I am reluctant because I don’t know if people will be able to understand that we feel for each other from our perspectives rather than just looking at this story as yet another desperate measure to find love.
Given my outspokenness, it will literally take me a second to make a public announcement but the question is that whether it’s worth it.
There is literally no doubt that we have had our ups and downs, in fact, few major ones, where we were doubtful that we would even get back together. But look how funny life can be, and back we are at the same place from where it all started.
But the good times were also followed by really dark and gloomy days. But now that I think of everything in retrospection, I think we both have grown like anything, not only physically but emotionally and psychologically. We ourselves have been struggling with our identities, our career and life goals, relationships and family issues that at times, all this frustration and irritation is taken out of the other person. But it’s really commendable that even after being through so much, we still maintained the commitment and loyalty to one another and will hopefully continue to do so in the future as well
You also at times feel that I am really rude and that your brute like leftovers have entered my soul and I have become arrogant, busy and what not. In my defense, I just want to say that DUDE WHO ON EARTH WOULD GIVE YOU SUCH ROMANTIC CARDS.
So, Chill and stop complaining ;)
Love,
Neelz
Neelima
After I joined the college for Masters, Goa was the first trip I took with my new friends. It had all the thrills of an adventure. None of us had informed our families and not even our professors knew we were out to Goa. Just four of us packed our bags for an all-girls trip to Goa. I have been to Goa many times, but this trip had a special memory attached to it.
We were partying at Tito’s when a bunch of men, started misbehaving with us. One of them pinched my friend’s ass. We were terrified. After all, we were in a strange place, tourists and knew little about the area. We moved on to another corner and then waited to see if they were following us and were relieved that they weren’t.
I called Pushkar many times that night, but his phone was switched off. I knew he would eventually call me back, but I was miserable. I decided then and there that I had to end it off with Pushkar. He couldn’t be with me forever. He couldn’t protect me tonight. It was not the first time that I had wondered that I had to move beyond him.
It was a hard call to take, but I had to take it. None of my friends liked Pushkar and they would never approve me being with him. As a goodbye, I sent him a song I recorded over WhatsApp.
I knew he would love to hear me sing, but I had never sung a song for him.
So, I recorded, the song ‘Teri Galliyan’ from a popular Hindi movie and sent him. I don’t know why I did that? What if he found it horrible? Why was I even doing this?
He tried to call me next day but I didn’t pick up the call. I was emotionally overwhelmed by last night’s event and the decision was a little hard on me. I really liked Pushkie.
There was some special sale going on at a local mall and I had some discounts for the food court. I decided to take Pushkar along to use those coupons and check out the crowd.
“One question, Eti asked me to ask you.”
“Shoot.” We were admiring a tall brown girl, wearing knickers which could be mistaken for a G-String. It seemed she had just come here straight from the swimming pool.
“Have you thought of a name for this writing project?” Actually, Eti never asked me to ask Pushkar. We were just talking and the question came up. So, I passed it on to Pushkar.
“Honey Bunch.” He replied as we moved on strolling into a showroom, selling products so expensive that even with discounts they were overpriced.
“Sounds like a kid’s story book,” I remarked.
He removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and looked directly at me. The first time he ever did that perhaps.
“She promised me. Honey Bunch would be mine. It is mine.”
“Oh okay, as usual, I don’t follow.” And I didn’t, seriously.
“Honey Bunch is her diary’s name.” He appeared to be walking quite fast now. We went to a small bar in the food court offering happy hours. We sat down and I ordered Heinekens for both of us.
“Mate, first have this beer, then continue,” I said seeing him shivering with emotions, how much was held up in the wiry frame of his, I wondered.
He chugged the beer in one go and continued,
“She often said, she could express herself honestly to two people only. One was me and the other was Honey Bunch. It meant the world to her.”
“I asked her once if I could look at Honey Bunch. I knew she wouldn’t refuse me, do you know what she said?”
I nodded in negative and he continued.
“Honey Bunch is yours, Pushkie, it is a part of me, you can always keep with you. I promise I will give it to you one day.”
“Think about it well,” I told her. “I will never let you forget the promise. “I know, and don’t worry about it, I will never forget this. Honey Bunch would be yours. Just in case, I leave you, you know I will be close by.”
“You won’t go anywhere. Whatever happens to us, we may grow old and drift apart, we might fight with swords and tanks, our friendship, our bond won’t ever die. I will always keep our bond alive. I promise you Neelu.”
“Awww… you are so sweet Pushkie. But anyway, you can’t look at Honey Bunch until I give it to you.”
“That is so wrong on so many levels.” I had told her.
“But you will get it as a gift, one day, so don’t get angry or anything.”
Now Pushkar looks at me, again, his eyes red moist and enraged,
“She promised me, you see, she promised me.”
My eyes melted as I looked away to find the cap of the beer bottle, knowing well, where it was. I just needed someplace to escape to.
“Honey Bunch is mine. It’s mine.” He spoke more to himself than me.
I looked away, deep in thought, knowing no words can form a response to his outburst.
**
“I am going to ask a question”. This was the next time I visited him.
“Shoot.”
“One thing that Neelima hated about you.”
“My rudeness.” He did not even pause or think about it.
“You are not a rude fellow Pushkie Boy,” I said but in an unsure way. I did not know this guy.
“I act like a psychopath at times.” He nodded vigorously as he said that.
“We all do,” I replied.
“I might have been loud to her a few times.” Guilt was written all over his face.
“She hates me and my voice.”
“I don’t believe this. She hates your voice, not you.”
It was true. Pushkar always exhibited a more than normal nervous energy. He was very edgy and had a shrill voice that came very hard to your ears. You really had to get used to the assertiveness in his voice.
Once he told me,
“Why are you not finishing this pasta?”
It came out as if he was scolding me. I was scared shitless. Then I saw his hands shaking, his eyes wavering.
“I am sorry,” I said
“It’s okay dude. Chill. Love this pasta.” I tried to assure him but he was still not looking at me.
Now, I turned back to him.
“What else did she hate about you. Except for your voice.” I was still in disbelief, that she would not have seen his obvious quirks.
“She never said anything but yes, my being constantly broke.”
“You can’t blame any woman for that.”
“Right.”
I discussed this issue with Eti that night. She had asked me to visit her apartment (more like ordered me to) as her flat mate’s lover was using the flat as his drug den. She was going to do an intervention and needed me for the moral support.
But by the time, I reached her flat with all the items she wanted me to bring (2 bottles of Vodka – check, 5 packets of Chips – check, Salted Peanuts – Check, Tandoori Momos – check, Barbequed Chicken – Check)
The intervention was over. The flatmate and the druggie lover had a huge tiff and she had thrown him out before Eti could say anything. Her moment was gone, poof. I was tired and wanted to escape, but Eti made me stay for the night. We were sitting in her room, the door ajar and she was telling me about her day when her flatmate came from her room to probably visit the kitchen. Dressed in tiny underwear shorts and a vest like a tee, she looked nakedly beautiful. And those legs.
Now I was caught between stealing glances and keeping a tab on Eti. If she saw me doing what I was doing, I would have been killed on the spot. But those legs.
“Stop undressing my flatmate with your eyes, bastard.” Eti snapped at me, as if on a cue.
Oops, I was caught.
“She is already undressed Eti, look at her. Does she go out with only druggie people?”
“Nops. You are a pig. Men can be such pigs. But for your information, you won’t be able to afford her drug habits.”
“Oh Okay.” By now I could see her shamelessly, knowing I had received my punishment from Eti.
“Did I tell you, about Pushkie Boy’s meeting today?” I said, my eyes fixed on the bare legs.
“Your boyfriend? This is what the world has come to? I refuse to sleep with you and you go around dating men?”
“Shut up and listen. Gosh, you need to be spanked.” So, I told her about Pushkar’s nervous habits, how it makes him sound irritated and gruff many a times and his general quirks.
She nodded her head in way, I knew she was thinking. She rummaged the shopping bag for something and took out a packet of chocolate cream biscuits.
“This is for me,” I was already defensive.
“What are you? 5 years old?” She opened the packet and munched the biscuits.
“You are such a bitch. Tell me about Pushkie Boy.” I snatched a piece of biscuit from her.
“Your Pushkie Boy sounds screwed. He should have screwed that girl’s brains out and moved on.”
“He loves her,” I said, licking the cream side of the biscuit, and washing it away with vodka.
“He is a moron.” She said, giving me a dirty look.
“We agree on that. Cheers.” I clinked her glass.
“And a greater moron is you, who is encouraging his stupid love fetish.”
“To write a story for someone you love is romantic.” I reasoned with her.
“I wish someone would write one for me.” Her voice was sudde
nly low.
This coming from Eti, surprised me. Maybe it was the vodka talking.
“You would pour cheap whiskey on that guy and burn him.”
“Coming back on your Pushkie Boy, well he is deranged for sure. Let me hear some of the recordings. You have them, here right?”
“Yups.” I took out my phone and played the recordings for her. We listened to the records for about five minutes, when she asked me to stop.
“You are right. He has a psycho thing. Autism, Aspie could be GAD or something. His voice is screaming for help. In a crowded place, like in a party, he would be hunting for a corner first and then say the host hello.”
Eti is good at observations. We both like to do that. Hop on a metro and discuss what that couple was thinking or bet if a couple just had sex. Weird things, I know. Eti also has the advantage of having worked as a counselor for an NGO for rape victims. She was so good at her that they promoted her as in charge of fundraising. Mostly because the director had a huge crush on her he wanted her close to his office. That idiot also thought that her looks would get generous support from the money bags. Maybe he was right on that front. Eti had that disarming charm and a worldly grace.
“If you could meet him and talk to him perhaps,” I said, pleadingly.
“I am not interested in your charity work.” She swallowed the liquid in her glass and readied it for another shot of vodka.
“It’s not for charity. It’s for love. Remember darling, when you were twelve and felt love?”
“He was a moron. He is in the Army now, I think or the Navy.” She poured some more Vodka in my glass.
“Is that it? He left you and you feel allergic to love.”
“Shut up or I will kill you.” She gave me a stare but her eyes were getting soft with all the drinking.
“Help me with Pushkie Boy.”
“Not interested. You all hopeless romantics are what is ailing our society today. You guys raise the expectations of an entire set of nerdy, geeky guys whereas the girl wants a well-chiseled body with deep pockets to knock over. Pure love is just needed as a show piece on the shelf, not for bed and romance.”
“My My, someone is bitter today.” I said, reflecting on what she had said. Eti was too close to reality.
“Yeah. You have that effect on me.”
“You really think I should not do this?” I asked.
“You should not. It’s wrong at so many levels.”
Eti poured a generous amount of vodka in my glass and more generous in her. I added ice to our glasses, each of us knowing the exact measure the other needed.