Faint Memory

Disclaimer: well it can be called an introduction to the story as well...this story i write has a sole purpose-- to make readers think...it began forming in my mind long time ago...and its easy to write about rejection....and the best part of being an author is every time a girl hurts you...you just get something to write about....having said this i will say that this story is not based on my life or on anyone's life for that matter....but it has been loosely inspired from a friend's life...here i ask for forgiveness if i have not been successful to write down your thoughts....and yes once you read the story you will realize that the girl unknowingly became part of this story...originally i wanted to write Anahita's feelings as well but soon I realized that i was too naive to understand a girl and too intelligent to try and understand a girl....with that i commence the story...

“What is love?

Is it just a perception that we are conditioned to believe since childhood or is there really something that we can call love.”

These articles in newspapers drive you insane. Sometimes they pull out memories from your past that lay dormant in some corner of your head. So the article does the trick and I find myself face to face with the person who I was years ago. Today I will narrate to you a part of my life...a hidden part...that sometimes I ignore...this goes back when 16..a mediocre guy with mediocre life .

Hi! I am Praveen.

Yeah! I have a mediocre life. Unlike others who say that they don’t know how they grew up,I remember everything. I don’t know whether I liked the innocence of childhood that never came without unawareness of the world or the cynicism of adulthood which comes when one become aware of the harsh reality called life.

Like a lot others I have a facade. I use it to dodge the unimportant—people who will never understand me and vice versa. Once it was just an external cloak, but as the years rolled past it merged with my personality. It became so deeply rooted in my character that now sometimes I forget who I am in reality. Don’t get me wrong people like me despite the mask in fact the mask is like coloured petals of flowers whose primary function is is to protect the more vital parts inside but which unintentionally attract the insects. So people get attracted to me or is it really me? See I told you I confuse a lot.

What is reality? Something that has evaded me for long, maybe because I don’t want to understand it. Is this facade my reality or is it just an external prop to mask a pathetic looser that I am. See I am shameful enough to confess it as well. But it was always not so. I too had a spark, I too wanted to excel but that spark could not withstand the corruption of time. It was snuffed of by vicissitudes of fate and all I did was stare helplessly at the mutilated face of reality.

Now having given you a glimpse of my dark side, I will now proceed to add insult to injury. No I am yet to smoke marijuana; but I love a girl and that is more or less like smoking. You know that smoke and unfulfilled love both burn your insides but you can’t give up on either. Truly speaking I don’t know what love is; I just use it because it is easier to type on my keyboard and it makes me sound sober (Huh! I will never get past of my pretentions). You can call it lust, infatuation or any freaking word that comes to your mind, I don’t really care (that is the only lesson that I have learnt in my not so well lived life.)

I lose my focus again. I just strayed away from the description of girl who I love. Her name is Anahita. The first time I heard the name was in seventh grade when my parasitic, nourishment sucking friends wanted notes for English lectures. I ignored the name; thought she was another brick in the wall called life. I never saw her after that, not until 11^th grade. Now let me be very clear in her description. She is an average looking girl considering pimples on my face and some extra kilos around my waist; you didn’t expect her to be a cheerleader. Did you? Now a warning don’t just go by her looks. She has an excellent way of cerebration. From what I have gathered from the time I have spent with her, she loves analysing her thoughts. When I compare and do a list of rights and wrongs I think she has more wrongs than rights. But I guess it’s best to leave rights and wrongs to one’s perspective. See I digress again. Ok now let me tell you how I first realized that it was love. She always had an affinity for disobedience that acts as a precursor for the wrongs that one commits. So in the middle of our English lecture she was listening to her iPod when the teacher found out and confiscated it. After the class she was sitting alone in a dark corner sobbing silently. I just passed by her mentally simpering at the girl who was bearing consequences of her disobedience; but as soon as I stepped in light my heart skipped a beat. It felt as if someone had just sucked the air out my lungs. That transformation from darkness to light in the physical world could also be predicted as the herald of new dawn of my life. A new awareness that I cared for someone (and I was unaware of it). That the only lesson that I learnt from my not so well lived life did not apply for one person.

I have a short lived memory. The events that occur dissipate soon into the unknown and unsearched depths of my mind. But memories of Anahita are exceptions. Somehow I remember every incident related to her. The straw like memories seem to be bundled together by fibre of love into something that is difficult to forget or ignore. I clearly remember the first time we talked was on science project. I remember the cheerful voice and the empty eyes that betrayed the happy face. Perhaps the reason I bonded with her so well was that both of us needed a friend who could accept us with our insanities. I said that I bonded with her but I still don’t make a claim that I knew her completely. Till now some of her thoughts remain inexplicable for me. The above chain of thoughts links invariably to the memories of our first walk.

Those were the first few mornings of monsoon. Anahita and I were taking a walk alongside the railway tracks. The sun was yet to rise and the moon was fading; silently abdicating its power to sun. One could still see a few stars into the sky but they were no longer twinkling; the only celestial witness to this transfer of responsibility. In nearby fields a silent breeze was trying to gain voice by rustling the paddy. Anahita was walking few steps ahead when in a bid to start conversation I asked, “What do you think of life?”

The earthworms were digging the moist soil near the tracks.

“I don’t know.” She said.

“There must be something that you want to say about life.” I prodded.

The earthworms had started digging deeper in the fresh soil.

“In life people will always remain who they are. They will never be who you want them to be.”

It was then that I realized that this was the best way to understand people’s gratuitous actions. In the lonely corner of the sky the first rays of troglodyte sun had appeared bringing light into my life along with the realization that I was in love. I loved her because she made me a better man. You can skip “better” as without her I was hardly a man acceptable by social standards.

There is an innate craziness in love. Love sometimes defines the shift of perceptions and sometimes it makes us do things that otherwise would have been shunned by us. One such incident comes to my mind when I try to judge the cogency of the above claim in my life.

It was a few minutes into the last lecture of the day when I heard Anahita ask for notes of the last lecture for she had not attended it. None of her friends (including me) had it. We had physics quiz the next day and she had no hope of getting the notes. It was raining outside (winter rains in Dun are mundane).

On 25^th December a guy who thought himself to be too selfish to help anyone walked to one of his friend’s house, collected the notes, posted them in Anahita’s mailbox and then texted her,” Merry Christmas! Check your mailbox.”

When she texted back, “Thanks but you are madJ” , he got his Christmas present.

The worst nightmare of a person in love is hearing that the person you love is in love with someone else. It feels like your insides have crumpled and someone has knocked the air out of your lungs. The world suddenly loses meaning. Your inside melts and the vacuum it creates tries to swallow your core.

Yeh! You guessed it right. It happened with me. I remember the evening when she called me up. She wanted to take an evening walk with me; by now our evening walks had become a regular fashion.

The evening was quite unlike other times, when one could see people jogging around or practicing fancy laughter sessions or occasional couple making out. Crimson sunrays vivisected the sky giving it appearance of Hindu mythological gods. A group of parakeets was returning to its nests and a hoard of dogs was out on an evening stroll.

Anahita met me outside the park. An exchange of pleasantries; and she started talking. Today there was something unusual about her; she was extra chirpy. I don’t know if it’s unusual but every time she smiles and a small dimple appear on her cheeks I seem to fall in love with her. It’s impossible to describe what I feel, however I will try to bring you closest to the feelings. For me the world looses existence, the only thing that exists is her. The eyes entrance and the touch does wonders. It feels like of all things you want or ever wanted in your life, you want her the most. The air becomes less important for she becomes your breath—the only singularity that your soul is prepared to accept for survival.

Still I feel this description is not close to what I feel but I tried doing justice to it. So I was lost in her smiles when she asked,

“Are you even listening to what I say?”

“Err what? Oh yes of course I am”

“Ok.” She became quite.

“Hey! Sorry I was preoccupied with some thoughts, really sorry. Now c’mon forgive me.”

“Ok” and she started talking again.

I didn’t know that sometimes the evening could be so loaded with emotions that the entire happiness of your life finds it difficult to stand in face of those emotions. I was about to experience all this. Yes I remember the moment, her eyes that for once betrayed her loneliness; she was happy. And then as if in a slow motion she said that she was in love and of course it was not me; the fate doesn’t hold me this dear. There were tears but quickly wiped away—I couldn’t confess that I loved her and moreover she was happier. It seemed like someone had slapped to wake me up to harsh reality of life. That day I promised myself that I would never tell her about my love and I never did.

It’s been 45years since that incident. Anahita got married to the guy she loved.

What about me? Even I dated a few girls (my ego was hurt). I got married twice and divorced as well. Men like me; I guess are better off without marriage. But frankly speaking the divorce were my fault, I kept searching in them a part of Anahita that I could never find it. Two divorces and many dates later I realize I should have accepted them as they are or I should never have gotten closer to them. But I guess when you are 68 you have had enough time to bury the guilt. Today as I sit in the balcony sipping coffee, this 45 years old memory finds its way from the layers of dirt covered sub consciousness to the forefront of my mind. After such a long time one doesn’t expect(I didn’t say wish) the girl you once loved to be by your side but I find solace in the fact that in some place far away from here, untouched by despair that one faces due to unfulfilled love, she must be happy.

A Hot Summer Afternoon

A Hot Summer Afternoon
It was hot sultry summer. There was not even a hint of clouds in the sky. The scotching sunrays fell on the parched grounds. It was month of May and the Sun was yet to begin its descent southwards. The leaves and flowers had drooped down and once green grass was now yellow, thirsty for water. The springs had dried and there was not even a single soul that didn’t want rains to arrive.
I had come to my village to get relief from the unwelcomed heat of the city but the condition in the village was no better. Being situated in the foothills of Himalayas didn’t prevent the Sun from venting its wrath by destroying the crops. The fields had developed cracks as if mother Earth had opened its mouth begging skies for water. It was on one of these afternoons that I saw her the first time.
I was on my way back to the village after visiting some relatives in a nearby village. She was sitting on a stone in a paddy field. She had folded her legs, with her arms around them. In that light blue skirt and a white top and a strand of loose hair falling on the left side of her face she looked like a fairy out of the tales that my mother used to tell in childhood. Even before I could think I was strolling towards her.
I was now close enough to see her face. She was staring in emptiness. Her stoic black eyes looked like they were waiting for someone. I don’t know why but I think there was something sad about them. No, there were no tears but one could see pain in them.
I was now close to her and I had started walking, my breathing still a bit heavy from the stroll. Reaching her I said,
“Hi!”
“Oh! Hi!” she seemed to have been disturbed in a dream.
“Sorry to disturb but I saw you sitting alone in middle of nowhere in this hot afternoon, so I thought that you have lost your way.”I had invented the latter part the very moment.
“No I like sitting here sometimes”, she replied.
“On hot summer afternoons?” I tried to hide my sarcasm by appearing curious.
“Oh! actually it’s not a hobby, but sometimes I like being alone. By the way I am Aakriti”, she replied blandly trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Arun”, I said and then “Do you live here?”
“No not here; in a nearby village”, she replied.
I have no clue how this formal conversation went ahead. Perhaps it was her smile, her sweet amicable nature that got me talking. I seemed entranced by her smile, her voice and her tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear every time she talked. I was lost in world of smiles and pleasant beauties when she reminded me that night was falling and I needed to go home. She insisted on walking to her village alone and promised to meet the next day.
That night I did not sleep. I lay awake on the roof of my house staring at the stars, joining the dots trying to trace out various patterns. But I ended up tracing her face in every pattern. I tried to brush her thoughts away—I had just met her once. But every time I closed my eyes I saw her face. Finally I let memories of the day sweep me and once again I was lost in her thoughts.
I don’t know when I fell asleep but I woke up to the twittering of Ghugooti . The priests in the temple had commenced exordium to the Bhagvad Geeta. It was early morning and the valley was yet to see the first rays of the Sun, so the temperature was considerably low. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I started getting ready for my second meeting with the girl who had left me enchanted. I threw over a white t-shirt and blue basketball shorts and spent more time combing my hair than I ever had in my entire life.
When I reached the outskirts of the village, she was already waiting for me. She wore a white shalwar kmeez with embroidered borders. Her eyes looked more cheerful than yesterday anf with that smile playing on her lips she looked divine.
“You look beautiful”, I said as an understatement.
“Good morning!”, she said amused.
“Ah! err good morning”, I was till trying to get over her charms.
“So”.
“So?”
“So, let’s take a walk”, she said smiling again.
After walking for a mile down the stony path, we had reached a field. There was no sign of grass apart from small stubbles of grass that had sprouted out at some places giving it appearance of face of an old man weary with age. We sat on a small tussock of land.
She talked about various things—about life, about how the village was some time ago, about the river that had dried up, while I was lost in her hazel eyes, the animated gestures of her hand and that disarming smile that played on her lips when she realized that I was too lost to listen to her.
When I was with her, it was a different world altogether. The materialism of the world melted into something subtle, something more profound—maybe love?
“So what do you plan to be in life”. We were sitting under a banyan tree when she asked something that I didn’t have a clue about.
“Well, I haven’t thought about it”, I tried being honest. When you know the person you are talking to can read your thoughts better than you ever have, the best way is to be honest.
“You must have thought about something”, she coaxed and then added, “Ok then tell me what do you like the most”.
“You!”, now I was being insanely honest.
“Shut up! I mean like a hobby”.
“Ok! I like writing stories”, I conceded.
“So you can be a story writer”. The clouds had gathered in the sky planning the first rain of the year.
“Well that requires a lot of discipline and I am more of a lay back person besides I don’t have a clue what to write about.”
“That is easy”, she said snapping her fingers. “Close your eyes and write about the first thing you see”.
Now what she said was spontaneous but completely illogical, but I did what she said. She had that effect on me. With her I was ready to put logic aside and walk hand in hand into the world of unknown. So I closed my eyes and I knew what I was going to write about.
“Ok, tell me what did you see?” It had started to drizzle.
“I saw you” was what logical-me planned to say, but what I said changed my life forever.
“I love you”.
She started laughing and then our eyes met and everything fell silent. I don’t know how it happened but one moment I was enjoying the hiatus and the very next moment our lips met. It was then I realized that though I may travel across all the oceans of the world, I would never find a moment better than this. The rain had gathered force and we were lost in each others arms.
There was something about her, whenever I was very sad or very happy or indecisive, I remembered her. I didn’t make conscious efforts to do so but whenever eyes seemed to close I saw her standing at some distance her words, barely audible whisper, seemed to soothe by ears. There was something about her eyes that inspired poetry and though I am not very good at verses, I tended to pen some down. Seeing her in dream I realized that though this worldly desert stretched through miles but somewhere in this ocean of sand was oasis of her eyes through which I could drink joys of life.
I had rained a lot in past few days. Once cracked earth now smelled of fresh soil. The river was now full of water, bubbling with enthusiasm, enjoying the new life that heavens had breathed into it. The greenery of the valley seemed to caste spell on the lonely traveller strolling down its slope with stones following him at his heels like an infant following its father.
The rains had brought down the temperature of the city which meant that I had to leave. Aakriti didn’t seem to like the idea. But when I looked into her eyes, she knew that I would be back and then I had promised that I would be.
“I will be back soon. Why are you so worried?” We were meeting the day before I was supposed to leave. Aakriti had tears in her eyes.
“Because I love you and I have a feeling that I won’t be seeing you for a long time.”
I just laughed of her fears and well hugged each other and she said that she would come to see me off.
It rained all night and I lay on bed changing sides, thinking about the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me—love.
The next morning was stormy. I waited for Aakriti but she didn’t turn up. I missed my bus. I waited for the storm to settle but it did not. Angry winds uprooted the trees. Somehow nature had found a way to express the turmoil going on inside my head. Finally I decided to visit her village.
The storm growled threatening to knock me off the narrow path that I was walking on. The winds brought rains whipping across my face. But I didn’t give up; I couldn’t.
The night had stared to fall when I reached her village. I took shelter in verendah of a house. When the hostess brought the tea I enquired about Aakriti but she replied that she didn’t know anyone by that name. I remembered looking at her—confused and then I fell asleep.
The storm hadn’t stopped the next day. I continued the search, but with no result.
I searched for the next three days but there was not even a single trace of her. I these three days I looked in every corner of the three villages that inhabited the valley but there was still no sign of her. People told me anecdotes about the fairies that they had met on hot afternoons like the one when I saw Aakriti the first time and how fairies and humans can never live together. But these stories, hurled at me like battering shuttlecocks were heard and rubbished.
On the fourth day I came back home. The storm had rested and a peaceful pallor spread over the valley. I left the next day.
I am too naive to figure the riddles of reality and to explain others about her is the last thing on my mind. They may not believe in what I believe, but my belief doesn’t require them. For me she was real, perhaps as real as anything can ever be. Moreover love is not in getting whom you love, it is in cherishing the happy memories that would forever be part of your life.
Every summer I come to the village and wait till the monsoon is over, hoping that some afternoon I would see her again sitting on the stone staring in emptiness. And when on a cool monsoon morning a soft breeze whispers in my ears, I know she is with me.
---parishrut