One fine night, while attending a friend’s birthday party at a nightclub, she chanced upon him. As she introduced herself, Kaash took notice. Neither knew when their discourse took a flirtatious turn. It excited her down-on-slight-alcohol self. Mobile numbers were exchanged, messages happened next, and now he was responsible for her life’s first orgasm.
With a halo of curiosity, she got up and perused Cyanide. She went to the modular kitchen at the far left. It was cleaner than hers. She touched the shelf, the sink, the coffee maker, the microwave, the oven…trying to leave an impression. In the middle of the kitchen was a neat and tidy dining table. There was a heap of red shining apples arranged at its centre. She picked up one. The bachelor had so far impressed her with the way he maintained his pad. What about his women? On the right corner, she noticed a small bathroom cabinet. She caressed its translucent door, sighing, as if in the empty bathroom she could see certain arousing images. Then her eyes fell on a slightly ajar wardrobe. She felt tempted to open it. She did. Inside were clothes, shoes, travel bags, and other usual stuff. A half open first-aid box peeped out from behind a pile of tees. She thought it was a strange place to keep a thing like that. As she picked it up, intrigued, she could already see its contents: a few sheets of paper. She held one of them. The heading read: Dear Nish. The rest of the papers too started with the same two words. Love letters? Should I read them? She threw a furtive glance at Kaash. He was sound asleep. Now that she had seen the letters, Aravali knew she wouldn’t rest in peace without knowing their content. She sat down on the furry mat right in front of the wardrobe making herself comfortable, took a bite from the apple, and opened the first letter.
February 6
Dear Nish,
It’s important to notice things around you. And what is more important is nobody should notice you noticing things. But like me, if everyone starts noticing while nobody is noticing, won’t everyone end up noticing everyone’s eagerness to notice while no one’s noticing?
Forget it.
God helps those who help themselves. That’s what is written on the scenic poster above my roommate’s bed. It’s funny because every night he masturbates right under it. As I’m writing this, my roommate here is actually masturbating under his blanket. Why else would his blanket rock right at the point of his groin? He is also using a torch inside to see a nude picture of Pamela Anderson. I saw him slip it in. But he didn’t notice me noticing it. I hope. Though this is not the first time this ‘noticing’ lesson has worked for me. You must be thinking where did your Balloo vanish suddenly? No, not yours. Just Balloo. But then why not yours? Yours Balloo. Yeah! Whenever I try to be honest, with you or anybody else, with you especially, I end up thinking what will you think of me if I’m really honest? The thing is everybody wants honesty, but nobody can take it. Perhaps this was one reason why I used to be a lonely soul in St. Jones as well. It has been just over twenty days in this boarding school. Twenty one, I just now counted.
It all happened a month after our annual sports event at St. Jones. Mom told me I’ll have to study in a boarding school till my graduation. She gave me a Cadbury’s which was a signal for me to not ask questions. Did I ever tell you whenever my parents are in distress and want me to keep my queries to myself they give me Cadbury’s instead of a clear answer? And they think I don’t notice. What they never notice is that I notice them as well as the fact that they don’t notice.
I’m sorry I couldn’t even tell you that I was going away. If you are angry, please accept my sincere apologies. At first, even I didn’t like the idea. Why this boarding school and why not St. Jones? ‘Why’: that’s the word I guess features in every person’s monologues with God. Anyway, after mom gave me the Cadbury’s, I didn’t ask her or dad about anything. I never ask dad anything anyway; Cadbury’s or no Cadbury’s.
Hence I’m here: The Shimla School for Boys. It sucks. I read in one of the books you recommended me that school is interesting only if it has someone you look up to in a special way. And for me that’s you. You know it, right? Even if you don’t, that’s besides the point. I know you are special to me; that’s the point. After watching a few movies and reading a few love stories, I thought I was in love with you. But then I thought the boys and girls in movies have a few hours to meet, express, and copulate, while in books there are a finite number of pages to do so. But life’s finiteness can’t be judged. So why should I hurry? If I feel something for you, let that boil inside me, let it toss the lid of my heart out only then I would let you know. I mean, I don’t have to get you within the next two or three hours like in a movie or by one hundred and fifty page of a book. We don’t necessarily have to date lest the readers think nothing is happening in this book. This is our life. So who gives a damn if our excitement is someone else’s boredom? Thus I have decided even if I love you, in the truest sense of the word, I shall not tell you I do. So when you read this don’t think I love you just as yet. Though, I like you. I admire you. I can’t resist you either.
My roommate just ran into the bathroom. This time, I am sure he noticed me noticing him scampering to the bathroom holding his crotch.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Nish.
August 7
Dear Nish,
If I love you and entertain this love, I shall continue to love you. Obviously. But what if I consciously choose to push myself away from you, mow all the grass of feelings that I have grown for you within me? Will the love I have for you still exist? If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I too shall hang onto the excuse that there are other needs too a human has to fulfill; social, physical, psychological, psychosexual, psychosocial, and all that behavioral crap. But if… if my love for you still does exist, even after I consciously pull myself out of you, then don’t you think in that case no power howsoever powerful will be able to separate the two of us from the core of the other? And that, don’t you think, is what love is? I don’t think anybody tries it. I mean it’s so easy to keep loving someone when you do nothing to not love the person, isn’t it?
I don’t know how much of it made sense, but this is what was disturbing me since the last few months and I don’t have anyone here to talk to. I try to, but they call me an emotional chutiya, and so I curb myself.
I know you have not read the first letter I wrote around six months back. I never posted it. I had written your address, pasted all the necessary stamps on it, and had then gone to the post office to post it as well. There was a surprisingly long queue and standing in it I thought what is more important: my thoughts actually reaching you, or my thoughts surfacing within me with a zealous hunger to reach you? I wasn’t sure and so I decided not to post the letter. And now I think I did the right thing. The best way to not complicate a relationship is not letting the other person know that you are already in one with her. Indulge, but never claim. Engage, but never claim. Even involve yourself, but never claim. If I had posted the letter, either you would have replied or you wouldn’t have. If you had replied, I would have felt happy, but if you had not, then my ego wouldn’t have allowed me to write another letter. And if you had never replied, then this particular letter that I’m writing now wouldn’t have happened. Nor the thoughts associated with it. Maybe. Again, if we had indeed exchanged letters, it would have slowly exposed us to each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And we would have adjusted our thought process accordingly in lieu of not hurting the other knowingly. As a result of which our honesty towards the other would have corroded with time. And I wouldn’t have written this letter, or the subsequent, with the same honesty that I am writing with now. Of course, the taking-for-granted and the expectation factor which I have not taken into consideration also would have played their part. It’s not easy to keep them aside if it’s a close relationship which ours would have been if I had posted the first letter. Now I thank the devil I didn’t!
Instead, I have decided to write a letter to you whenever I’ll feel only you would understand the essence of it. As I write this one, it struck me why t
he sun doesn’t come an inch closer to earth? Since it knows, one step forward and it will burn the earth beyond repair and recognition. So sometimes distance is what is necessary to keep a relationship, a relationship.
The rest in life is as usual. And as promised, I won’t write to you anything about any as-usual things. But in short, I have settled well in this school simply because I don’t give a damn about what would have happened if I hadn’t settled. I don’t give a damn about the boys who are my batchmates and hence, I’m used to the loneliness here. I think I am happier here than I was in Mumbai. It’s an irony, I agree, but then I think irony is the nest where the bird of your heart lays the egg of joy.
By the way, mom and dad have changed. I don’t know how exactly, but they have. This time, they were a day late in wishing me on my birthday. I’m feeling too sad to write anymore.
Happy Friendship Day, Nish.
March 13
Dear Nish,
I am not a fear for my fear. For if I was a fear for my fear, than my fear would not be my fear.
Mom was here yesterday. After mom and dad left me in this boarding school last year, this was the first time they came. They called me every weekend alright, but is it too much for a son to ask his parents to visit him regularly? I asked the same thing to mom and she broke down. She was crying like I used to in my junior classes. I remember you had once seen me do so and had called me cute. But mom wasn’t looking cute at all. In fact, I loathe thinking about it. Their health has deteriorated a bit. Especially dad. Mom said he has diabetes, so he has lost a bit of weight. I didn’t know about this disease or else I would have tried to acquire it for my own weight issues. Dad wasn’t looking nice though. It seemed to me they were hiding something from me. They didn’t even bring any chocolates.
Anyway, let me come to the point why I (decided to write this letter. Something unusual happened. And it reminded me of you. And our first kiss. Remember? I still can taste it in my heart. I wasn’t prepared for it. I think the best and the worst things of life happen when you are least prepared. I also remember you said how innocent I am. I was actually. A year in this hostel has changed me. Tell me something, whenever we meet next, if you come to know the one thing you liked about me the most isn’t there anymore, will you start hating me? It’s such a scary thought. I wish I could hold onto my innocence forever. Why is it that whatever we want to hold onto, flaps its wings the most? I think it’s for the best that I’m no longer in touch with you. I can accept my loss of innocence, but I can’t tolerate your realization of my loss.
What happened was last weekend my roommate decided to meet his girlfriend in another school here. He bribed the warden with money and me with temptation. He said there will be another girl as well and it could take care of my fledgling love life. He doesn’t know about you. Nobody does except me, my pen, and the letters. So, I gave in to the temptation and we went to meet the girls bunking our horse riding class. I don’t know what he did with his girlfriend, but I squeezed the other girl’s small breasts. She said I could do that and I did. I was happy, but when she tried to kiss me on the lips, I lost my cool. My lips belong only to you, Nish. I slapped her. She called me a dog. I called her a bitch and ran away from there. My roommate thought there was a police raid or something since we were meeting in a park. So he too ran away. Then we had a fight in our room because his girl and he were up to something and he thought I disrupted it. As I write this, I realize why I couldn’t allow the other girl to kiss me. If she’d kissed my lips, I felt, she would have snatched you from me. Though pressing her breasts didn’t feel much wrong comparatively, I’m still upset about it. What is wrong, Nish? I hear this word ‘wrong’ a lot among my love-struck classmates. The moment you have someone in your heart, they say everything in life becomes black and white. One tends to categorize things into something specific like ‘I should’ and ‘I shouldn’t’. And the ones who don’t do so are called ditchers. Did I ditch my feelings for you today, Nish? I thought the deal was I shouldn’t allow anybody to creep into the space where you are. But then I think if that’s really the deal in love, then it’s a kind of cowardice, isn’t it? I’m a coward, Nish, because I don’t have the guts to test my love for you by allowing a chance to someone else. I think sometimes we are too scared to disappoint ourselves of our own choices. I probably slapped the other girl because I feared if she kissed me, it would taint something I referred to as pure—our first kiss. And why did I assume our kiss was the purest without even caring to kiss all the girls all over world? Love! Thus I believe love really makes you categorize things into black and white.
I know I’m funny. But my feelings for you are funnier.
Happy Holi, Nish.
December 21
Dear Nish,
The usual things are going the usual way. The unusual thing is I now know what I need to do all my life. Act! Yes, I have joined the drama wing of my school. I did it on a whim. But playing one of the three witches in Shakespeare’s Macbeth, I realized this is the coolest thing one can do in life: to be someone else! I enjoy it like as much I hate being myself. Do you like to be yourself? I know so much about myself that I get bored to death being myself. I have started reading books on drama and cinema. I remember how you used to tell me about world cinema, underground theatres, and all. Though I understood nothing then—I confess—but I used to listen to you as if my life depended on it. I’m also sure you knew it but you never taunted me. I never even yawned at your face like others did when you talked about things which people ten years older to you should have been talking about. It was so cool, wasn’t it? Me not understanding a word and still listening to you; you knowing I am not getting shit and still you continuing. I wanted to listen, you wanted to talk. The perfect couple! Sometimes I crave to look at you. I don’t have any photograph of yours except for a sports day group photograph which I look at through a magnifying glass that I stole from the Physics lab.
So why am I writing this letter? To tell you about my dramatics class! But also to tell you something is wrong. The principal has summoned my parents twice since the fee was not paid in time. The fee is paid here at six months interval. But I have learnt that I have been a defaulter for two terms now. It’s very unlike my parents. Anyway, mom and dad are coming this Friday. I’m a little scared. What if they rusticate me? It was very difficult for me to adjust here to begin with and now that I somewhat have, there’s this danger of another shift. Can you tell me, Nish, why we have to keep changing space and coordinates in life? It often happens the moment we start feeling confident and comfortable in the present coordinate.
Finally, there is this girl who likes me. She is in the drama class with me. She is a year senior to me. I like her too. But I don’t like her the way I like you. I imagine her naked and all. I think I shouldn’t have written this. But now that I have written it, I have realized honesty is difficult to stick to. But I can lie to myself, not to you. I get a hard on seeing that girl. I jerk too. I’m no longer the Balloo you liked. I have realized this. It’s good I came over here. Physical distance from the one you love is a good way to escape one’s rottenness. Is this normal, Nish? Does everyone rot after a point of time or is it me alone? I can’t see you rot ever. So it has to be me. You can slap me when we meet next. No, I’ll never meet you again. What will I do meeting you when I’m not the person I thought I would be all my life for your sake? What will you do meeting me when you’ll know the very thing that made me appeal to you is no longer there? And we are not even married! I say that because I think only in a marriage can two individuals feel obligated to find something in their spouse which appeals to them after knowing what they liked the most about the person is gone. Not in our relationship. And if what I just said is true, than I would never like to get married to you. Marriage puts us in a risk of getting used to a person. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to take this risk. It makes me wonder if incompleteness is the best way to keep something alive. Sometimes I have a feeling whoever desig
ned this earth and its innate laws had a thing for paradoxes.
I am under suspension for two days. My roommate read one of the letters I wrote to you and mocked me. According to him, I’m a freak, because if I don’t post the letters, then what the hell am I doing writing them. I beat him up pretty badly.
Merry Christmas, Nish.
January 2
Dear Nish,
Life is about doing what you never wanted to do. Love is about doing what you never thought you could do.
I dropped out of school. I am in Mumbai now. My life has changed, Nish. The last one year has been unbelievably bad. Or should I say educative. If I’d written to you before, I would have only cribbed, abused others, and fetched your sympathy. I’m happy I am writing now because now I’m somewhat used to this new life.
Remember I told you about my fees not being paid in time? It was true. I never knew my dad had a jewellery shop in Zaveri Bazaar here. Dad had three employees under him who steadily cheated him. By the time he realized it, he was under a debt of one and half crore. The shop was on lease so when he couldn’t pay the rent, it too was taken away. Now we are living in a chawl. Dad has now set up a small catering business with a friend of his. Our income has come down substantially. Mom wanted to work as a teacher in a school, but I asked her not to. Instead, I work. It’s a small hotel, Hotel Sundar, near Mumbai Central where I work as a receptionist. I get four thousand five hundred a month. The owner said when I’ll turn eighteen, he will increase it to six. Though I’m underage, the owner, Shubash Sir, was impressed by my English and charm. Oh, I didn’t tell you, during all this shit, I lost a lot weight and now weigh only sixty-nine kilos. Funny number, I know.
How About a Sin Tonight? Page 18