Owing to a sudden upsurge in the strength of his grasp, her eyes shot open. He looked into her eyes, as though penetrating her soul and, only to arouse her passion some more, he almost chewed her pulpy lips, imparting a burning swelter to their sultry smooch. He abandoned her bottom and now desperately scurried his right hand uphill and slid it under her innerwear.Visible through the gaps of his bony fingers were her tightly held breasts. Even at that distance, I heard her breath coarsening.Her body trembled.And as he raced for a more complete hold of her voluptuous breasts, she discharged that loud maiden squeak. She seemed to lose total control over herself, as he grabbed her by the waist, pulled her even closer and passionately laid a wholesome devouring kiss on the nape of her neck. And with a quick, aggressive, lewd love-bite below the chin, he propelled her to lie on the bed.
He straddled her now supine body and lowered his head probably to slobber all over her and to advance further—but I drew myself away from the window.
I couldn’t bear to see anymore. I tottered to the door and pounded three knocks on it, before I moved back into the lift.
Chapter 9.0
I reached the ground floor and open to me was a world of oddity. Vehicles rushed up and down, horns blazed across the lofty towers, but I walked without caring into the public road, amid screeching tires and the fine, wayward dust on the road which was now settling itself on the windshields of cars.The sound of their engines roared, but they didn’t reach my ears. They didn’t cause me any alarm. It was as though I was blending into all of it. I didn’t fear the trucks anymore, the lights anymore, death anymore. My mind was too thick with numbness to recognize any emotion. In the noise of the bustling congestion, I was capsuled in a bubble of silence.
I knew I must get away. I was aware I must go somewhere, but I didn’t know where.
Moving incessantly, I tried to use the smallest of the gaps in the bullying traffic. A few people even yelled at me because my reckless jaywalking inconvenienced their driving. I somehow managed to cross the road, thanks to my legs and my eyes that were still coordinating.
The sun had begun to set, as I walked downhill on the footpath aimlessly. I looked at things—at pillars, poles and stones and it felt as though they were totally apathetic toward me, and that, for the moment didn’t seem to hurt. But people—they looked at me.
Every instant my eyes switched glances from one passerby to another, I could catch them looking at me, all of them, altogether, in unison.At first, I wondered if my clothes were funny or if my hair wasn’t in place or perhaps, I was walking at an atypically slow pace for such crowded places. But a few more steps down the lane, and I realized it was different.
It wasn’t about my clothes, hair, or my pace—they were all right. It was rather about the entirety of me. Every time they looked at me, I felt as though I was vulnerable, totally exposed to them.Their keen gazes made me feel as if they could all see through me—as though I were naked, and I didn’t know it, and they laughed at me for my ignorance. I began to imagine that they knew me, each one of them. Perhaps they knew what was terribly wrong with me; perhaps they knew where I was coming from and what I wanted/needed/craved for; perhaps they even knew what a reject I was. They’d look at me from the corners of their eyes as they’d talk to one another, males and females, and exchange sly smiles. It was may be their way of telling me they knew I was such a lowlife, such a worm. They knew it and they derided me, mocked me, loathed me, ridiculed me… they all laughed at me, all those fucking people.They all knew about me, and they all fucking laughed at me.
The movie poster on the billboard, featured a trendy actor posing with two actresses, whom he’d gotten by the waists and who stuck to him, bending their lusty thighs against his. The stand in the multi-brand retail outlet that I passed by advertised a deodorant whose efficacy was demonstrated by a neat picture of a half-naked guy surrounded by a bunch of girls: the after-effect of spraying the exotic substance upon himself.The poster they’d pasted on the glass of their branded-jeans’ outlet had a girl wearing only a Mexican pink shirt attempting to seduce a man wearing only a pair of jeans of that brand.The couples, who passed by, walked with arms-around-waists. Everything that I found myself surrounded by in those moments seemed to beckon to me to be part of them.They implied insidiously that if I couldn’t have girls clinging on to me from both sides; that if I couldn’t make them want to seduce me and let me touch them in any and all the ways that I want; that if I couldn’t be man enough to be able to do all that, I was meant to be their laughing stock, only deserving to be pitied. I found myself wondering whether I should use that exact deodorant; buy a pair of jeans from that outlet.
I didn’t know where to go and what to do. I stumbled to the place where I lived. My room in that PG, I don’t know why, was the only thing that made me feel like it was mine, only mine. I felt like eating, hoping it would comfort me but I didn’t. I went straight into bed, pulled the blanket over my head, and closed my eyes.
I wanted to sleep, but there was not enough calm in the world to let me. I wanted to feel bad, but in want of emotions, I couldn’t. I wanted to weep, but no tears emerged. I wanted answers, but I didn’t know what the questions were. My head and my palms were on fire, but the rest of my body shivered with cold.All I could do now was hold tight to the blanket and pray for warmth. I do not remember when or how I finally fell asleep.
By the time I woke up, I had a bad feeling inside me, but still no questions. Or may be there were, but I did not want to ask them. Perhaps, I had already started accepting the facts:
That I was not someone who she loved.That I was not meant to be loved. Clearly, she was cheating on me. She was a bitch, who used me to get academic favours. I could only wonder when and why I became disposable and yet, I did not want to ask her about it. I was calm on the surface and I wanted to ascertain if it was the calm before the storm or after it.
***
It was a quarter past eight in the morning. I went out on the terrace of my PG and sat there. I was choked inside, unable to explain to myself that it was happening.Thoughts rambled recklessly in my mind, but I sat idle. I was enraged, with eyes ready to weep in anger. My heart pounded at an abnormal pace and lungs cried for air.There was one thing I wanted now and that was a cigarette.
So many times had I tried to reason with people who smoked. I would wonder why those idiots didn’t get the point that a cigarette can shorten your life.And here I was, desperate, to become one of them. As far as cigarettes were concerned, I realized that people do not smoke because they are unaware of the danger.They smoke because they know that smoking is dangerous. It must be giving them the most addictive substance with which the universe can curse a poor soul—pain. Now, I wanted to feel that myself. I wanted to torture myself, just to know that I was alive. I wanted to punish someone, Geetika perhaps. But that, of course, was not possible.The collected powers of the cosmos wanted me to torture myself; why else would my body make me want a cigarette.
So I went to the local tea-snacks shop and asked for a Gold Flake Kings and a lighter. Despite knowing the barrage of questions that would assail me from now on as to why I was smoking, I carried the packet back home.
I entered my room. I remember I hadn’t bothered to open the window for the past few days. Though darkness seemed wishful of keeping the entire room to itself, the sunlight somehow penetrated the room through the window’s glass panels. I could see the dust particles colliding with one another. I wondered if I could still hit them with my fingers just like my childhood days. I wondered if they’d still dance to my beats. After all, if I was wimp enough, unable to hurt a person, may be hitting the dust would suffice? This arrangement was the most comfortable I could come up with.A closed room, all dark but for that beam of sunlight, and the dust. It was as though I was seeing on the outside what was on my insides.
I advanced toward my bed that was pushed into one corner, opposite to which stood two steel almirahs. I slipped off my sandals, clambered into bed, and res
ted the only pillow against the wall. Here, I sought support for my back, my legs laid straight out.
I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sucked up the first fumes. It made me cough. I immediately felt like throwing the white cancer stick, but I liked something about it. Perhaps it was the taste, or the knowledge that it could kill me. Better than entertaining false hopes of love. I promised myself that I was not going to stop smoking. I was angry with myself for having failed at getting someone to love me.Was love really so difficult or was it just me who it was difficult for?
It was then that the real questions came.They were not feelings, but questions of solid logic, and I wanted answers. The questions started with, ‘Was I a fool to have fallen in love?’ and went on with ‘Was she a whore? Why was she using me? Why all this drama of love? Am I so bad that no one would love me? And if there was one person who would, why would she cheat on me? Since how long has she been fucking that boy? Why did she not just dump me?’ and so on.And there was a constant ‘Why me?’ at the background of it all.
In time, I had immersed myself in a pool of smoke.All sounds of traffic and chitchat had withdrawn. My ears were arrested by a giant beep... I remembered the strange, scary look in her eyes, when I’d touched her hand in the movie. I remembered how she’d suggested obliquely that we didn’t have to kiss again because we were not married. Then I remembered the trip to Mumbai, the visits I’d paid to her place, the coffee she’d made for me, and walking with her under the moonlight.Where had I gone wrong? I was left to wonder – where had I been inadequate?
For three days, I didn’t leave my room, except to eat. I didn’t talk to anyone and fortunately nobody came to talk to me. And I did nothing, exactly nothing, in that limited space of the room except for sitting in total isolation and smoking cigarettes.Yes, my room had obtained an aura such that,every time I entered it, the smoke appeared to welcome me. It was no more a threat; I knew it wouldn’t kill me now. It would shield me, insulate me from all the bad—and the good—in the world outside the room. It gave me the opportunity to be exactly who I was or wanted to be. It didn’t offend me at all anymore.
That was all until the morning of the fourth day.Around 10 am, I received a text. It said, ‘Please meet me at the coffee parlour near my place tomorrow at 3 pm, Geetika.’
I don’t know why, but when I read that text message, I sensed a nip of curiosity. ‘What does she have to say now?’ I was dying to hear her explain, to see that sorry look on her face, the look when she’d try to defend herself, when she’d beg for forgiveness.
Chapter 10.0
Within moments, I got up, picked up my neglected towel and shaving-kit and walked to the bathroom. Who knew—her apology and contrition could remove the hard and angry stone between us. May be she’d restore my bleeding self-esteem, even compel me to forget everything, look ahead, and let her come back into my life.
***
I reached the place almost twenty minutes before time, afraid to miss a moment.There were not many people there. Out of the thirteen tables, only four were occupied. I went to the table we’d usually take when we’d visit the place, that is, before I’d seen her smooch and fuck another guy.
Anyway, post a meek attempt at shooing away all thoughts and memories from that evening, I decided to pay a quick visit to the washroom. It was still about fifteen minutes to three.
I checked myself in the mirror. I had on a clean and starched blue-and-white checked shirt, sleeves folded to the elbows, paired with ivory-coloured trousers. I’d also put on the only watch I had, one with a black strap. I was definitely not looking my worst.
‘It’s always wise to run a second check on the way you appear when you are to meet a lady,’ I said to myself. Though I knew too well that it wasn’t my first impression I was about to lay on her. I recalled she had already made me feel like a loser, when she’d let whoever that guy was touch her in all the ways only I was supposed to.
With this not-so-encouraging thought in my mind, I moved out of that gloomy washroom and padded my way back to my seat. Having found nothing else to do, I picked up the menu-card and began to browse. I hadn’t finished going through the first page, when I heard the glass door creaking open. I looked up and saw Geetika.
As always, she was dressed immaculately in a dark-red kurta laced with a black border over a black churidaar that flattered her curvaceous body. She wore moderate heels and owing to the cold, she’d wrapped a white woollen muffler around her throat and had put on a black woollen cardigan. Mine or not, she was a vixen.
She saw me as soon as she entered. She came up, pulled up the chair for herself, and sat down, with her hands folded and legs crossed.
‘Hi,’ I said, trying not to mix emotions with words.
‘Hi,’ she said, as she first looked at the sugar-pot that was kept on the table and then at me, beaming a smile that lasted only a second.
I didn’t know what to say, however I tried. ‘It’s cold outside. I’m glad they’ve put the heat up in here,’ I said, lamely.
‘Yes, I hadn’t realized I couldn’t go out without a cardigan, until I stepped out of my apartment,’ she said, trying to smile again. I was glad she’d managed a complete sentence. ‘Why didn’t you put on a jacket?’ I was happy. She still cared!
‘I only have two, and both required cleaning. I’m wearing a body warmer though,’ I replied.
It was evident that both of us were only trying to fill the stillness with irrelevancies, just to keep the so-called conversation flowing.
‘Would you like to have something?’ I asked, gentlemanly as ever.
‘I’m all right, but thank you,’ she said, just as formally.
‘I’ve ordered two coffees, though,’ I said.
I just stared at her. She stared at the china on the table.
‘I’m sorry,’ she suddenly said. ‘I know that you’d come to see me. I heard your knocks on the door of my apartment. I’m sorry that you had to see it.’
Frankly, I was taken aback. I was expecting to hear her apologize, but not so quickly. ‘I’d come to tell you that I had cleared the railway exam I’d told you about earlier,’ I said.
‘Oh... congrats,’ she said and smiled briefly.
‘Who was he?’ I asked, finally getting to the point.
She lifted her head to look directly at me.
‘His name is Prabhat. We met about two months ago,’ she said, not seeming too cheery about it.
‘What does he do?’ I asked.
‘He’s into business, I guess, of some sports merchandise or something,’ she revealed.
Her words had nails.They scratched at my heart. She’d met him only two months ago and he had found his way to her undergarments, to the intimate places of her body? That guy was able to gain access to her bedroom and fuck her in two months’ time. Either something was terribly wrong with me or that guy was a clandestine heir to Tom Cruise. But I’d seen him. He didn’t carry any extraordinary charm or aura of sophistication. Honestly, if he stood a chance, I stood a chance.Yet, the odd nature of truth was: I didn’t and He. Fucking. Did. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked.
‘I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to.’
‘But... I mean... in the last two months we talked, like, so many times. I didn’t notice a single thing out of place. I was supposed to know, wasn’t I?’ Certainly, our conversation was taking on some heat now.
‘I don’t know, I mean I guess I was waiting for the right time,’ she said, without faltering.
I wanted to ask, and when would be that right time? But I couldn’t. I guess I didn’t have the guts. Her words were surprising and disappointing at the same time.
But I couldn’t resist asking the one most important question. ‘Why?’ I asked tersely. I fathomed she couldn’t understand, for her eyebrows rose with a queer expression on her face. So I decided to pull the question out of the envelope. ‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.
This one finally got a reaction out of her. She unfolded he
r hands, bent forward and placed her palms along the edge of the table.The furrows of her eyebrows curled even more and her face adopted that look, which signalled she was trying to look for an answer. I gathered she was a little unprepared for the question—but how could she be? It was she who’d asked me to meet her. Didn’t she expect me to ask?
‘Why?’ she wailed. ‘I don’t know,’ she quavered.
‘What?’ I reacted, a little strongly this time. ‘We were supposed to marry. Remember what you’d said on the evening we’d kissed?’
‘Yes,’ she counter-attacked with vigour. ‘At first, I’d thought you were different, but...’ her unflinching stance had begun to shake.
‘But what?’ I pressed.
‘I learned I was wrong,’ she said simply. ‘You were so different in the beginning, at least so you appeared. You were different from the other guys, I’d thought, and I really enjoyed your company. That was every reason why whatever happened between us, did.Then things changed. In time, I began to realize you were all the same.’ She took a brief pause and then continued, ‘Please don’t mind, but I think you’re even weird, in so many ways.’
My speech was paralyzed; I found I couldn’t speak. How was I supposed to ‘not mind’? Only my face still bore the look that begged for answers, which she took cognizance of.
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