by Tushar Mangl
“Tell me, does he seem over anxious?”
I licked my fingers before dabbing them with a paper napkin and thought it over.
“Yes. His hands are never still. He is forever doing something. When I drop by his place, he is always, cooking, washing, eating, something. Never still. Even while drinking keeps on passing the glass from one hand to other. But how is that important Eti?”
“Could he be autistic?” She asked.
The chicken was truly great, but I was not telling Eti that.
“No Eti, not autistic.”
She dipped into the serving plate for another piece of chicken.
“OCD? GAD?”
“Oh, now we are Psychiatry majors?” I scoffed.
“”””
Pushkar
We fought like any two people close to each other would. We had our share of arguments and all. But we bounced back stronger than before.
One day, I went down to meet her and she presented me this beautiful basket with goodies in it. She had received each item as a gift and painstakingly saved some for me. Be it a candle or a chocolate everything was beautifully preserved. There was a packet of loose tea leaves, a bar of expensive chocolate and even a decorative candle.
So, what did I do? Was I thankful and grateful as I should have been?
No, I wasn’t. I was irritated. Mad. It peeved me to no extent that she had deprived herself of these things to save it for me. These items were meant for her. Someone had gotten them for her as gifts. There were items which she had bought from her own meager pocket money. I said her so. I know, you are thinking that I was dumb and a fool to do so. She was damn angry and would have murdered me if she didn’t love me so much.
I later apologized and still cherish that gift hamper and its contents. But she always hated me for what she interpreted as being mean and rude. I never forget the times I hurt her. She thinks I did. So, she likes to remind me of them too often. How can one explain to her that if she is hurt, my heart bleeds too?
2/5/08
hEyYyZZz PUShKii....as I pROmiSEdD iN mAH last testimonial...dAT m gOnNAa rYt d wORlDZz Biggest TEsTimonial 2 yoU..yEH kAaM mAiNN aKElEy tO kAr nAi sAkTi tHi..sO tHoDA bHuT hElP LiYAa..sOo hErE i m..WiD SoMe oF tHe COmPiLeSs oF dA tEsTimonials rYtENn 2 yU..bY sUM oF yUR gR8eST fRnDZz....wELl..tRiED sUmTHnG nEWw..hOpEe sO yU lYKk iT..nD GiViN it 2 you..oN diS sPeCiAL dAtE.."5Th FeB 20o8"....pUrA eK sAaL hO gAyAa..SiNCe jABb v kAMe iN cOnTAcTt....nD hAaNn 2 oL dA rEaDeRZz..i tRiED mAh lEvEl bEsT 2 PiCk uP nYYc tHnGZZz..4Rm nYc.nD aGarR kiSsi kO bUrAa lAGa..sO i whOlEHrTdDlY apologize....nEwAYzZz..kUMiN bAk 2 Pushkar..aKa aPuN kA PUsHKi...
Pushkar
Stories like this do not end that easily. We did meet again. I shifted to Delhi for good, in hopes that we could do with reduced distances and I could take up a job to meet expenses. Sure, once we resolve distance and money issues, we would work something out?
I called her, not knowing what her reaction might be. I felt a tinge of relief to feel the happiness in her voice as she talked about her college and routine life. No, she did not ask the name of the company where I was working or how much was I to be paid. She was not curious et all about my sudden decision to move.
I asked her out for dinner, as one of my long-cherished guilt, was not treating her to a 5-star restaurant. I know, she never asked for it, but every woman deserves to be treated well. She skirted around and said, she would instead like fast food.
We have had so many ups and downs by now that I was optimistic that we could pick off from where we left. That what happened in Goa could be sorted out. We had known and loved each other for years, practically grew up together.
I felt the cold vibes right at looking at her. She looked so distant and off. I asked her if everything was okay. She said yes. We had a quick drink and she had to leave. From a Chinese restaurant, we quickly ate some noodles and chilli chicken, which she loved.
I tried to talk things to her. But won’t talk to me properly. I know her as well as I know myself. I know she is hiding something. Something which is eating her.
I talk to her about communicating. How we could salvage if not love at least our friendship, our bond which has now gone for years.
“Do you want me to leave you?” I asked her.
“It’s your wish.” She told me.
“No, Neelu, it is your wish. I can’t lose our bond. It’s sacred to me.”
All I got was silence. I knew there was something gnawing her from inside.
She won’t tell me. And it made me crazy in the head. What could be so significant, so vital, that she could not tell me? Had things really come to this point? Did she not believe me in anymore? Her Pushkie was now dead to her.
**
We were sitting at Mc Donald’s, sitting by a window staring at the open market outside. The sun gleamed bright and shine trying to break the cold winter spell.
“You won’t talk to me.”
She did not speak anything. I knew something I had said sometimes might have offended her.
“Look, if you tell me, I will apologize and correct it okay?”
Still silence. I took a swig from the Minute Maid she had in front of her.
By this time, I was broken. I had literally run to this place to talk to her and she won’t talk to me.
“I need you in my life. You know how much I need you. This is a tough phase of my life. I have a new job, I am new to this city and away from home. It is not easy for me and nothing is working out okay in life.”
“I know this sounds selfish, wrong as well, but your support, your friendship would mean a lot to me. Stand by me in this rough weather. I beg you.”
My words just bounced on a wall of stone silence.
As I moved out to go back home and catch a bus to office, I realized she had never even asked about my work. She did not inquire, where I worked, what was it about, whether I liked or hated it, whether my colleagues were okay nothing. I could be a perfect stranger to her. She did not know where I lived, where I worked and clearly had not intention to know anything about me either. But she still loved me. That I was sure of.
**
Neelima
I am a rapid six trained rafter. I have a top-class education. I have traveled extensively. I spend more money in a month then Pushkar can ever earn. I have dreams. I have ambitions of my own. Each time I spend with Pushkar reminds me of a class difference which should not exist but it lingers around like a ghost around us. Which does girl not dream of a rich guy who is not thrifty and can fulfill all your whims?
Each time I am around Pushkar, I am reminded of this huge gap that exists in between us. It is not that I have reservations about Pushkar being inferior to me. But I do fear of being superior to him. I often ask myself if we would ever be equal. Whether our paths will ever intersect at a common point.
Our paths might be so different. What if any one of us has to comprise for another? Would either of us be happy? I remember a dream Pushkar shared with me often. He loves beaches and often wishes that he retires one day by the beach. My dreams are more ambitious, more drives. What if we one day we begin to reconcile our dreams?
Pushkie likes to talk about the bond. Not that James Bond thing. Pushkie says we are bonded at hearts and that is all that matters. I know he is not jealous of my success, my life. Somewhere down the line, he could have had all this too. He certainly wishes so but he is never jealous of my life. If only, he is proud of my success and wants me to succeed for his sake. It’s like, even though he couldn’t get there, I should. But If I do, our equilibrium would all be disturbed. I do not want that for us. I know somewhere in heart, Pushkie does not want it either. But he does not realize it, how can I ever make him realize that?
I might not say it. I am not very expressive with my words. I am an optimist. I like silence. I love Pushkie in my own way and will always do. In silence, like deep river moves with the least sound and noise. For you don’t need words to state something which is beyond every
thing you always wanted to be.
**
In this struggle...
In this struggle of existing, being, surviving
I have lost my roots,
My desire, my wishes,
Myself, all are forgotten.
I turned around to trace back my path
But, alas, the winds of the time have blown away my footprints.
Sighing, I moved ahead...
Trying to recall who I was, but, to no avail.
My friends are not there
To remind me
Who I am.
I lost them somewhere along the way
And, now, I negotiate,
Alone,
Through the thick and thin,
Without purpose, without aim,
I struggle my way through...
In this struggle of existing, being, surviving
I have lost my roots,
My desire, my wishes,
Myself, all are forgotten.
I turned around to trace back my path
But, alas, the winds of the time have blown away my footprints.
Sighing, I moved ahead...
Trying to recall who I was, but, to no avail.
My friends are not there
To remind me
Who I am.
I lost them somewhere along the way
And, now, I negotiate,
Alone,
Through the thick and thin,
Without purpose, without aim,
I struggle my way through...
Anonymous
“Wanna smoke?” We were at Eti’s flat and she had put on some Cold Play’s songs on her phone. She had two cute little speakers attached to her phone. We were chilling in her living room. I was curious to know where the flatmate was but could not muster enough courage to ask Eti for fear for my life.
Eti inhaled a deep drag from her ciggy and blew the smoke in my face. Cold Play was singing Sky Full of Stars around us.
“You know I don’t.” Eti has this hobby to try different brands and types of cigarettes. She has even tried beedis too. Somehow a beedi in her mouth looked sexy. I don’t know why. I had presented her a hookah on her last birthday and she was delighted to the core.
“Wanna have sex?” She asked, raising one of her eyebrows.
“With your flatmate, maybe. With you no.” Another whiff of smoke hit me. By the smell, I think this was what they call the menthol ciggy.
“You are pissed off. Why are you pissed off?” She squinted her eyes at me, as she asked me the question.
“I am not pissed off,” I replied in a defensive stance.
“You are inhaling the smoke anyway, take a drag. Stop fussing about your health.” She held out the ciggy to me, knowing I won’t take it. The butt of the ciggy had the pinkness from her lipstick, which made it quite seductive.
“It is cheaper this way Eti,” I said pursing my lips. As if she would force one into my mouth.
“So, like a coy bride, you won’t say anything until I punch your crotch to let words flow out?” She closed one eye and stared me with another. Again.
Did I tell you that Eti can be quite direct at times? And scary?
“Should I talk to her?” I finally asked her.
“Who? My flatmate? No, you shouldn’t. She is having sex someplace.”
“Oh. Where?” I couldn’t help but ask. Although I knew were going off topic.
“Pig.” Which serves me right.
“Getting on the topic, I mean Neelima. After all, a good story teller should be unbiased and look at all perspectives.”
“Aw! My righteous story teller. Still stuck with the story, eh? When will you boys grow up?” She cooed to me.
I pondered over her question as I helped myself to a large measure of vodka. It was some fruit flavored thing, Eti had helped herself to from her flat mate’s room.
“You are not going to start at it again, would you?”
“Listen to sweetie pie, that woman is out there having some gala fun while you and your Pushkie Boy sit here brooding for her story, which is meaningless for her.”
“You are jealous.” I shot back, the truth as it always does, pinching deep.
“I am a female. We are born with a jealousy streak. That’s not the point. If only I could break this bottle on your head, maybe you would understand.”
“You won’t do that. Until it’s empty anyway. Don’t be so insecure. You know I love you more than Pushkie loves Neelima.”
“Pig.” She gave me a big smile which told me she was not angry.
I held her hand and massaged her fingers. “Help me here. Should I try to contact her?”
Stubbing her ciggy, she replied, “I don’t know. She would be too busy to care. If that guy really meant anything to her she would not have asked him to do it.”
“Explain. You are now sounding like a female magazine editor.” I took her other hand too. She pretended that she was not enjoying this.
“It is simple. Your chap would be hurting really bad now, reliving his expired relationship. Every time you speak to him; he is reminded of what he lost. Do you copy that?”
“Uh – huh,” I wanted to remind her that Pushkar was not my chap and was no longer Neelima’s chap or anyone’s as far as I knew but I did not want to interrupt her.
“If you really love someone, would you wish such a pain on that person?”
“If that person is you, Eti I might.”
“Pig,” she remarked throwing the potato chip which she was about to eat at me.
“So, to cut a long story short, you say, I shouldn’t approach her.”
“I know you want to believe that she loved her. At least for a brief time. I can concede that it might have been an innocent crush which Pushkar thought to be the real deal. The truth is she does not care. Do you even know how many guys would drop at her feet if she wanted a fresh beau? “
“I get all that Eti, I think she loved him. Pushkie is quite mature for his age. He would know the difference.” I told her, raiding her stash of chocolate wafers.
“You are turning into an alcoholic with two wives. Half time drinking with Pushkar and the other half you spend drinking with me.”
“I am a storyteller, Eti, we are allowed this. Drinking goes well with our storytelling vibe.”
“Pig. My cute drunk pig. No. Don’t go to Neelima. What if you never return to me? Promise me, you won’t contact her.”
“You are drunk.”
“No, I am not. You are not to make a fool of yourself, contacting that woman about her private affairs. She refused to have any picture taken with Pushkar. Do you know what that means? Either she is embarrassed or she deems his love to be quite insignificant. Even if she reads your story, I promise you, she won’t feel any nostalgia about it. Not a drop of the tear will fall from her eyes.”
I hugged her tight, “You are a darling Eti.”
“For that, I will allow you to sleep on my couch tonight.”
“Not on the bed?”
“But no touching okay?”
“That is cruelty Eti.”
A Child Lives Inside Me
Some deem me to be sweet,
Some feel that I am kind,
Others may feel that I am nobody,
Let me confess, I don’t know myself…
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who likes to play all day,
A child who wants to make your day.
A child who likes to run after butterflies,
A child who likes to buzz just like a bee.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who likes to sing to you,
A child who likes to look at you.
A child wants to be a part of your happiness,
&nb
sp; A child who wants to rip away your sadness.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who likes to dream all day long,
A child who likes to pray to God.
A child who wants to shine like a star,
As bright as the sunshine could ever be.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who wants nothing from you in return,
Except for a warm bridge of love and shelter.
A child who expects nothing from you,
Except for your words of guidance and support.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who wants to have a nice bath every day,
A child who just wants a cozy bed to lay.
A child who likes to look at the sky above,
A child who likes to make castles in the mud.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who wants to learn all the alphabets again,
A for apple, B for ball, C for cat and D for the doll.
A child who likes to stare at the sparrows,
A child who likes to play with the doves.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who likes to swing just like a daffodil,
A child who likes to collect white daisies and yellow buttercups.
A child who likes lying on the green grass,
A child who likes the smell of wetland.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child lives inside me?
A child who likes to think, think, and just think.
A child who likes to observe how the eyes blink.
A child who knows probably, nothing at all,
Except that life is much more beautiful than what we think.
Of all I know and what I feel
Is that a child REALLY lives inside me...?
- Anonymous