Memories

"You know that you are weird, right?" Ayan had asked as he was slipping on his pants.

"Why?" Jeetu had questioned back, still sleepy after last night's endeavors.

"You get so many gifts from your students, yet you refuse to use them," he had shot back.

"You know, you are the weird one. You talk about such weird stuff right after we have sex, and I never understand why I am with you!"

"Because you have a fetish for men in uniform!" Ayan had winked, and Jeetu had tossed a pillow at his back.

Jeetu sighed as he straightened that pillow against the headrest and breathed deeply again, trying to brush away the memories, but it was hard, it was so damn hard. Even being in the hotel room that he usually shared with Ayan when he came down from Kota to Mumbai hurt him. Knowing that Ayan won't enter through that door ever again hurt him.

He walked into the posh house of the Ranjans' for the first time in his life. Aditi approached him and hugged him. She took his hand and gently led him to the front chairs, which made Ayan's father raise an eyebrow at him and, he nodded at Jeetu after Aditi introduced him as Ayan's friend. Despite gloomy circumstances, Jeetu snorted and covered it with a cough. Sure, friends!

He looked at daises that sat near Ayan's photo and couldn't help but roll his eyes. Did everyone around him forget that Ayan was allergic to daisies? Or was it just him? Was it just him who couldn't let go of even the slightest and most insignificant memories of Ayan in such times?

The CM of the state was the first to give a eulogy, speaking of how brave Ayan was to risk his life for the two civilians in the recent terror attack in Mumbai, and Jeetu couldn't care less. A part of him started to wonder why he was here, looking at the CM talk about the bravery of the soldiers and the policemen of the state. Surely he didn't understand the loss like Jeetu was feeling right now or like Aditi was feeling right now.

"When I die," Ayan had begun.

"Don't you fu*king complete that sentence, else I'll kill you myself,"

"I'll appreciate it if you kiss me instead," Jeetu had rolled his eyes.

"When I die, I want you at my funeral," Ayan had said, a glazed look in his eyes that had made Jeetu's heart drop to his stomach. Jeetu had shaken his head and promised to be there for Ayan in life and death, which made Ayan yell, "Man! Why are you so cheesy!". Jeetu had placed sloppy kisses on his face just to annoy him more, but the fear of losing Ayan had found it's way in Jeetu's mind.

Jeetu looked at Aditi, who was wiping his tears as Ayan's father walked to the podium, and he wished that even he could cry like that. But he couldn't. All his tears had dried off behind his eyes after he had cried three weeks ago, in Kota, when Aditi had called him to tell him about the terror attack.

Aditi, pretty Aditi, who everyone hoped Ayan would marry. People had hoped that they would have two cute kids. Ayan would find it funny as he would recount his Daadi asking for a great-grandson which always had made Jeetu's heart skip a beat because he could never give Ayan a perfect family.

"But we will be a perfect family!" Ayan had said.

"We will adopt a cute little girl and name her Adhira. She will call me Papa and you Daddy,"

"Why will she call me Daddy?"

"Because you call me Daddy." He had smirked and had run his tongue on his lips.

Ayan believed in happy endings; he believed in everything would be perfect one day. Ayan, who was from America and had witnessed that country's acceptance of homosexuality, had chosen to turn a blind eye to India's rejection of anything that was not 'normal'.

The condolence meet went on and on, and Jeetu lost track of time. He smirked when Mayank recounted how Ayan would yell "What the fu*k" every time he would fail to understand India's caste system because that was Ayan; he had failed to understand few things and overlooked a few others.

When the meet ended, he was the last to leave. Aditi had patted his hand and had left the room with Ayan's father. But Jeetu wished she hadn't.  He picked up the daisies that seemed to have lost their beauty and left the room, tears trickling down his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~

So remember in my Author's note I said that I might have messed up the characterization, here's my excuse for it.

Ayan, at the end of Article 15, understood the caste system in India and how to fight it, but in my story, he chose to ignore the prejudice the law and the people hold for LGBTQAI+ community in India.

Jeetu Bhaiya is supposed to the epitome of optimism, but he is cautious too. In my story, I wanted him to be a bit of a pessimist about the regressive ideas that plague India. 

In short, they are the yin to the other's yang.