Posted:
This one is for you Apu!
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ShraMan OS: My Best Friend III
When I first hear the news of him coming back to India, I literally freeze, unable to believe it to be true, thinking it to be another piece of my wild imagination. The cup of tea I am currently holding in my hands stills and I am breathless for a second as I try to act nonchalant and pretend to focus on the task on hand but my attention has never been more captivated by someone's words and the smile I try so hard to stifle makes an appearance nonetheless.
Standing by the side of the door, I listen minutely and try to catch snippets of the conversation taking place between the two elders, incapable to constrain the overwhelming mix of joy, excitement and absolute disbelief that takes over every inch of my being and expands through my chest and find its rightful place in my heart.
He is coming back, Shravan Malhotra is coming back. He is returning to India, to his home, among his people. After a prolonged absence that lasted ten long years for him and his acquaintances but never felt less than a century to me. I have spent long days and even longer and lonelier nights, looking at his pictures and noticing with astonishment and a childlike amazement the changes time brought along.
And the more I look, I find myself growing curious with each new post and drawn towards this person I have claimed to know for the better part of my life but who in reality is a stranger and I, a mere spectator who secretly wishes to be part of his life, to be the center of his universe.
He may strive to dissimulate himself behind the faade of immense masculinity and flares of cynicism. He may succeed in deceiving the whole world with the veil of clouded intimidation he has draped around himself and his tongue of steel that never wavers from threading harsh truths and blunt realities but neither am I blind, deaf or blinded by blinkers.
Reading his silence is a language I have learnt by heart.
He may be invisible to everyone else but I recognize the bespectacled sweet boy who always wore his heart on his sleeve. I see him through his discreet smiles and sad, heartbroken eyes.
I have never harboured great love for books I can't remember the last time I finished one in its entirety, they made me feel sleepy more than anything else.
Years later, as I read to Dabboo bed time stories of adventures and happily ever after, I realize that the only books I have completed were the ones, he read to me when sleep refused to cocoon me in its abyss of tranquillity.
Back then, it weren't the heavy words that made me dizzy with lethargy but his voice soft as a whisper lulling me into a peaceful slumber. Unknown to me, as my eyelids became heavy and dropped, he would let me use his shoulder as my pillow and drape his arm around me as my blanket of safety, only for the time of a night. For me to wrest away my exhaustion and for him to ebb away his worries.
If there is one thing that will never change about Shravan, one thing I am absolutely sure of, it's his love for books. He has always loved to breathe in that perfume of paper and magic - like the scent of the mud after it rains, books' perfume reminded him of the home he never had.
To be honest, I have never really felt beautiful or pretty in my own skin. I find myself to be quite average looking years of insecurities plagued me and like a spider entangled in its web, I fall prey to my own prejudices and to the worldly notions of beauty.
But, it doesn't matter to me. I don't aspire to look like everyone's definition of pretty, I only want to be his definition of pretty.
Sometimes, in reality, most of the times, I feel like an old soul trapped in the body of a young woman who is meant to embody delicate femininity and soft innocence but only exudes rare strength and clumsy wisdom.
Femininity that has been buried under piles of heavy responsibilities and ponderous obligations, but still find its way to peak beneath the surface and announce its arrival in form of the butterflies dancing in my stomach at the mere thought of him.
Tonight, as I stand in front of the mirror, I don't hesitate to colour my lips in the shade of love and heighten the brown of my eyes with dark brilliance I want his gaze to perpetually stay on me.
Brushing away the non-existent creases in my gown, I look at myself in the mirror and for the first time, in a very long time, I like what I see, I see a woman staring back at me.
Shravan Malhotra makes me want to enhance my femininity and wear it like crown. He makes me feel beautiful inside out. He makes the little girl with eyes full of brillant dreams inside me emerge from the depths of her broken silences. He makes me feel like a woman.
I have been thinking about this particular moment, for the last ten years. I have planned our reunion in a million ways and one, my mind has conjured the best and the worst of scenarios. I have prepared myself for the most perfect and disastrous outcomes and still my hands are clammy, my heartbeat is going haywire and my steps are uncertain as I walk down the path of his home.
Hiding in his bathroom as he unbuttons his shirt, one thing is crystal clear to me, no pictures could do justice to Shravan Malhotra's perfection. Pure masculinity oozes from every pore of his being, making me feel small. His muscles move in such a breathtaking way, forming a lump of desire in my throat that I cannot seem to swallow. My fingers itch to touch his bronzed skin warmed by sun and exercice, to feel his heartbeat underneath the palm of my hand.
"Kaun Sumo?"
One question. Two words. A broken heart.
This heartbreak was unexpected, but then if they announced their arrival, wouldn't the world be a happier and safer place?
Only love can wound so deep, cut to the very core. Only love can shatter a heart, so quickly, so efficiently and without a sound. Only love can make you feel at the top of the world for the time of a second and make you question your own existence, the very next moment.
I'd like to think of myself as an 'optimist', I am not one to lose hope easily, I am not one to shed tears at the drop of a hat. Years of unwarranted taunts and little sacrifices have become my shield from life's daily crisis, nothing and no one can break me easily.
Unfortunately, every rule book comes with an exception. Every individual has someone from whom they would bend their morals, for whom they would not hesitate to shed tears at the drop of a hat. Everyone has a person for whom they allow themselves to fall weak, to break a little, to feel some more.
Holding the steering wheel with knuckles gone white, I take a moment to dwell in pain and pessimism and envelop myself in tears and heartbreak. When I am done, I take the road back to being the person I am supposed to be - strong and unstoppable.
Shravan Malhotra is the exception to my rule book.
He is standing in front of the door of my home and I am rendered speechless and petrified by his mere presence.The thumping of my heart only increases as I close the door on his face, I still can't believe, he is here. It's one thing to grow up while watching his pictures and reading his thoughts, it's another to breathe the same air as him, to share similar surroundings, to be so close yet so far.
"Itni baari baat bhi nahi thi." I regret my words, the moment they dare to come out of my mouth, In front of his nonchalance, I let my ego take the reigns and dictate my actions, not knowing the price I'll have to bear for this arrogance of mine.
I am not really keen on going out to parties. In fact, I limit myself to few gatherings of close friends, Mamiji prefers me coming back home at time. Despite the initial mishap that occured with my dress, I am filled with only positive vibes and I do intend to enjoy myself, tonight. And who knows? This night may prove to be the beginning of a new chapter for our friendship.
I feel him stand behind me as he taps my shoulder and his hand lingers against my skin for a few seconds. I turn to look at him with a smile and he takes hold of my hand in his, leading me to the dance floor, nothing has felt more right than this very moment.
Slowly, he guides my hand and places it on his shoulder and very gently pulls me closer. I am clay in his hands and he is the sculptor of my fate. Whatever form he wants me to take, I shall transform myself into, whoever he wants me to become, I shall be.
I feel like a lovestruck teengager as he twirls me round and round, living a beautiful dream. I wish to never have to leave the safe abode of his arms. I don't remember the last time, I felt this light and happy. I don't remember the last time my smile was this wide that my cheeks started hurting.
I almost want to drop my gaze away from his, afraid that he will see the truth of my feelings shining , but I cannot make myself look away from him - he is the crux of my exitence. Even when we switch partners, my eyes search for him and only him, my heart craves for his proximity.
And when I feel the front of his body against the back of mine, I nearly cease to breathe for a second. As I slid down his body, his face leans into mine and his breath brushes against my mouth in a whisper of my name while our fingers stay interlocked together and in that moment I am incapable to say whose heart was hammering away.
"Mujhe chod ke mat jaana, mujhe aur kisi ke saath dance nahi karna." Suddenly, I am not scared or insecure to let him into the darkest desires of my heart, I am not anxious to let him know the extent of my longing for him.
But then, he disappears admist the crowd as though it was all a mere dream, leaving me all alone on the dance floor, longing for him, his presence and scent all around me, his gaze and his touch.
Unfortunately, dreams last only for a few moments and we have no choice but to wake up to our bitter and harsh reality. A gold digger. An opportunist. This is what I am reduced to in his eyes. I have never been more ashamed in my entire life than in this very moment.
I have never felt so naked under people's scrutiny and I wish for the earth to swallow me whole because I do not have the strenght in me to respond to the mocking stares or the sharp tongues. In reality, I do not have the heart to look at him, to face his hatred and indifference that are now so apparent to me.
Gathering the last shreds of my dignity, I look up at him, searching for my chashmish, the sweet boy who had always my back but I am met with a heartless man who has nothing to offer apart from vicious words and sad, heartbroken eyes.
And I run, to never look back.
We haven't talked since that incident, we do our best not to cross each other's path, it's like it has become an unsaid rule, we religiously follow, even though he is a frequent visitor at my home. I don't know what sparked the guilt in him but I do not tolerate anyone trying to buy my self-respect with a wad of banknotes.
It might elevate my position in my family's eyes but it will not lessen the damage caused to the state of my heart and my peace of mind. I refuse to let anyone put a price to my self-respect. Even him. Especially him.
Holi is supposed to be a day filled with laughter and colors. It's a day where every grudge is forgotten, every mistake is forgiven. A day, where families are reunited and friendships are rekindled. I'll remember this year's Holi with a bittersweet feeling.
I have given away my most prized possession, my mother's jewellery to the only man I had shared their secret existence with. I never thought that such a day would come, where I'd be forced to give up on my mother's last memory, but the burden of debt is too much to bear for my shoulders and I refuse to be indebted to Shravan Malhotra even for the time of a day. Without any retaliation, without a word, he takes them.
I'll never say it out loud, I'll never admit it to him, but somewhere I am relieved that he is the one keeping the jewels I hold dearer than life itself. Because, a part of me knows that the only person who can truly appreciate their value and worth, the only person who will see them as a treasure and not just mere ornaments is him.
"Bas Sumo! Aaj, kuch mat bolna." For the first time, in a very long time, I give in to him without any retaliation, without any argument. I let him take care of everything as I stand as a mere spectator, I let him slap that man with evil intentions, I let him take my and my Nanu's hand and whisk us away from all the chaos. I let him be the strong and mighty wall between the world and me.
My eyes well up with tears as I pass the threshold of my childhood home, memories surround every nook and crook of the house. It's funny, how after years of being closed, every room has still its own story to tell and for a moment, it's like my parents never left and I never grew up. My eyes marvel in awe as my fingertips linger over the walls and the furniture trying to imprint everything in a locked room of my heart.
During the whole day, he stands right by my side, like my shadow and listens patiently. He does not rush me, he lets me set the pace as I rediscover the happiest phase of my life, albeit with moist eyes. He follows me as we wander from one room to another, sometimes he smiles at my anecdotes, sometimes he just looks at me like it's the first time we met and in the end, he holds me, he just holds me.
We might have grown up, we might be the most responsible adults for our families and the people who know us, but when it's only the two of us, we are like kids who love to mess around each other. I guess, it's easy to fall back into old habits with some people. It's almost as through our past and present have merged.
He is running around the living room, phone in hand, trying to dodge me as I chase him down. His height is a blessing and he takes full advantage of it as he holds the phone at the top of his head, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I jump up and down and stretch my hand to reach the phone but fail miserably, my resort of calling him names when things don't go my way is still very much part of my interaction with him.
In my impulsiveness, I pull him down by the collar and unconsciously bring his face dangerously close to mine. But, my attention doesn't waver from my target and in an excess of madness, I try to bite his hand when we both look up at each other, reminiscing the same memories. We have reached uncharted territories and the underlying tension between us couldn't be more obvious.
I had a blast, pretending to flirt with Goglu, I should consider an acting career in the future but it seems like Shravan is not too pleased with my achievements. If I didn't know him better, I would almost think that he was jealous but the thought sounds ridiculous to my own ears. He has no reason to be.
My heart resides in Tiwari Villa. It's the only place I can call home, I can't imagine it to be gone. But, I refuse to be selfish, I refuse to be the reason of the rift between him and his people. I can't tear apart the family of the man who is so good to me, who is toiling day and night to maintain the roof over my family's head.
We have won the case and while everyone is busy praising him, I stand afar staring at him with a soft smile on my face. I am so eternally grateful for the man he has grown up to be. Our eyes meet and his smile mirrors mine. After today, my respect and admiration for this man, have only increased tenfolds.
It all started as harmless banter till the moment he takes a step ahead, invading my personal space and on instinct, I back away. My eyes grow wide with stupor as my back hits the cabinet behind me. We stand so close to each other that I can feel the heat emanating from him as his musky scent ravage my senses. He slightly leans in only for my attention to stray from the words to the soft, supple lips forming them.
Never in my wildest dreams, I would have thought his fees to be such a beautiful request and at the same time, I am not surprised at all, that's just who Shravan is as a person. And even though, I crave more for us, for our relationshi
He has made a permanent comeback into my life as my friend and even though, I craved more for us, for our relationship, I feel lighter and happier than I have felt in years. Every time I remember the way he cornered me against the counter, my heart stops for a millisecond, his proximity was too much too bear.
Every time, I remember how his eyes flickered down to my lips and how his beard grazed my cheek and his breath hit my ear and neck, I feel the pit of my stomach clenching, just like it had when he cornered me in his closet - I want him.
He is going back to London and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop his imminent departure. I could shed tears, I could confess all those words I have written on letters in his memory but that would be breaking the pact of silence that has been hailed between us, for so long now.
"Is this love?" Recognition. The desire to be loved, to be wanted and to be accepted as a whole is a cursing and a blessing, both at the same time. It gives you a sense of belonging and suddenly, home is a pair of arms and brown eyes. But, when the desire becomes a necessity, it makes you do stupid things.
Stupid things, like shattered hearts and unsaid goodbyes. That one question is like a dagger to my heart, I can only twist further. A boy who wore his heart on his sleeve is now a man who protects it as if it was made of glass. I have made him incapable of loving without losing his sanity, only because I couldn't see past my own self.
Shravan Malhotra's silence has always spoken louder than his words. Him, swinging the swing for me is another promise I know he will honor for life. With that one action, he made me see how love and cherished I was, he made me understand that solitude can be shared between two people. Shravan Malhotra is my family.
His world shatters into pieces and the epitome of devastation I face, has turned my heart numb. He has lost the only parent who loved him unconditionally and I am afraid that he will soon succumb to the darkness of grief but I refuse to let him drown, I will bring him back to the light.
It's unsettling to see him like this. So broken, so small. I am so accustomed to the man who towers over everyone and the sharp lawyer who always leaves everyone tongue-tied that I often forget that behind all this grandeur, resides a broken child whose childhood was stolen on the name of pride and in the gamble of egos.
It's only when he sees his father safe and sound, that both of us are finally able to breathe. As I watch him sleep from the couch, with a small smile on my face and just before drifting away to sleep, I make a promise to myself - I am never leaving him.
Today, I have come to his office, not to have lunch like last time but to apologize for hinding the truth behind the daal. I want and need him to know that all the secrets and the lies, all of it, were only to protect him.
Initially, he was angry but eventually came around. With a mischievous glint in the eyes, he asks me what I would do if he decided to stay mad at me and refused to talk to me. I sit across him and ponder for a moment, before I come up with an answer.
I bring my chair closer to him and lean in towards him, he seems to be following my movements. I tell him in all honesty that I would try and find him and wait for him if he left, like I have waited for ten long years.
"Tum itni special jo ho." Shravan's eyes are sparkling, it's the happiest I have seen him since he came back home. And I, Suman Tiwari, who has always a retort ready on the tip of her tongue is incapable of forming coherent sentences in his presence.
Something has shifted in our interaction. One moment, we are as close and connected as two individuals can be and the next moment, he refuses to even throw a glance towards me. No matter how much he tries to suppress his feelings and fears, I won't let him throw away years of friendship, I won't let his insecurities carve a ditch between us.
We are like two sides of the same coin, poles apart and yet so essential to each other's existence and worth.
He tells me that he will never be able to trust anyone. He tells me that he will never trust me and that ignites something inside me. He will have to trust me because I do, I trust him with my life, my heart and my soul. I want him to rely on me, exactly like I rely on him. I want our relationship to be founded on the basis of equality.
I want Shravan Malhotra to find it in him to forgive, to trust and to love again. I want him to bid goodbye to the darkess and embrace light and life.
And for that to happen, for him to find true happiness, I'll do anything. I'll put my heart on his palm, I'll jump off the highest building, I'll give up on life itself.
His fear of losing me is so immense, I feel it in the way he holds, in the way he clings to me, in the way he hides his face in the crook of my neck. I see his fear in the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, I hear it in the broken whispers of his voice.
I am in love with Shravan Malhotra - deeply, madly, wholly and irrevocably.
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ShraMan OS: My Best Friend III
When I first hear the news of him coming back to India, I literally freeze, unable to believe it to be true, thinking it to be another piece of my wild imagination. The cup of tea I am currently holding in my hands stills and I am breathless for a second as I try to act nonchalant and pretend to focus on the task on hand but my attention has never been more captivated by someone's words and the smile I try so hard to stifle makes an appearance nonetheless.
Standing by the side of the door, I listen minutely and try to catch snippets of the conversation taking place between the two elders, incapable to constrain the overwhelming mix of joy, excitement and absolute disbelief that takes over every inch of my being and expands through my chest and find its rightful place in my heart.
He is coming back, Shravan Malhotra is coming back. He is returning to India, to his home, among his people. After a prolonged absence that lasted ten long years for him and his acquaintances but never felt less than a century to me. I have spent long days and even longer and lonelier nights, looking at his pictures and noticing with astonishment and a childlike amazement the changes time brought along.
And the more I look, I find myself growing curious with each new post and drawn towards this person I have claimed to know for the better part of my life but who in reality is a stranger and I, a mere spectator who secretly wishes to be part of his life, to be the center of his universe.
He may strive to dissimulate himself behind the faade of immense masculinity and flares of cynicism. He may succeed in deceiving the whole world with the veil of clouded intimidation he has draped around himself and his tongue of steel that never wavers from threading harsh truths and blunt realities but neither am I blind, deaf or blinded by blinkers.
Reading his silence is a language I have learnt by heart.
He may be invisible to everyone else but I recognize the bespectacled sweet boy who always wore his heart on his sleeve. I see him through his discreet smiles and sad, heartbroken eyes.
I have never harboured great love for books I can't remember the last time I finished one in its entirety, they made me feel sleepy more than anything else.
Years later, as I read to Dabboo bed time stories of adventures and happily ever after, I realize that the only books I have completed were the ones, he read to me when sleep refused to cocoon me in its abyss of tranquillity.
Back then, it weren't the heavy words that made me dizzy with lethargy but his voice soft as a whisper lulling me into a peaceful slumber. Unknown to me, as my eyelids became heavy and dropped, he would let me use his shoulder as my pillow and drape his arm around me as my blanket of safety, only for the time of a night. For me to wrest away my exhaustion and for him to ebb away his worries.
If there is one thing that will never change about Shravan, one thing I am absolutely sure of, it's his love for books. He has always loved to breathe in that perfume of paper and magic - like the scent of the mud after it rains, books' perfume reminded him of the home he never had.
To be honest, I have never really felt beautiful or pretty in my own skin. I find myself to be quite average looking years of insecurities plagued me and like a spider entangled in its web, I fall prey to my own prejudices and to the worldly notions of beauty.
But, it doesn't matter to me. I don't aspire to look like everyone's definition of pretty, I only want to be his definition of pretty.
Sometimes, in reality, most of the times, I feel like an old soul trapped in the body of a young woman who is meant to embody delicate femininity and soft innocence but only exudes rare strength and clumsy wisdom.
Femininity that has been buried under piles of heavy responsibilities and ponderous obligations, but still find its way to peak beneath the surface and announce its arrival in form of the butterflies dancing in my stomach at the mere thought of him.
Tonight, as I stand in front of the mirror, I don't hesitate to colour my lips in the shade of love and heighten the brown of my eyes with dark brilliance I want his gaze to perpetually stay on me.
Brushing away the non-existent creases in my gown, I look at myself in the mirror and for the first time, in a very long time, I like what I see, I see a woman staring back at me.
Shravan Malhotra makes me want to enhance my femininity and wear it like crown. He makes me feel beautiful inside out. He makes the little girl with eyes full of brillant dreams inside me emerge from the depths of her broken silences. He makes me feel like a woman.
I have been thinking about this particular moment, for the last ten years. I have planned our reunion in a million ways and one, my mind has conjured the best and the worst of scenarios. I have prepared myself for the most perfect and disastrous outcomes and still my hands are clammy, my heartbeat is going haywire and my steps are uncertain as I walk down the path of his home.
Hiding in his bathroom as he unbuttons his shirt, one thing is crystal clear to me, no pictures could do justice to Shravan Malhotra's perfection. Pure masculinity oozes from every pore of his being, making me feel small. His muscles move in such a breathtaking way, forming a lump of desire in my throat that I cannot seem to swallow. My fingers itch to touch his bronzed skin warmed by sun and exercice, to feel his heartbeat underneath the palm of my hand.
"Kaun Sumo?"
One question. Two words. A broken heart.
This heartbreak was unexpected, but then if they announced their arrival, wouldn't the world be a happier and safer place?
Only love can wound so deep, cut to the very core. Only love can shatter a heart, so quickly, so efficiently and without a sound. Only love can make you feel at the top of the world for the time of a second and make you question your own existence, the very next moment.
I'd like to think of myself as an 'optimist', I am not one to lose hope easily, I am not one to shed tears at the drop of a hat. Years of unwarranted taunts and little sacrifices have become my shield from life's daily crisis, nothing and no one can break me easily.
Unfortunately, every rule book comes with an exception. Every individual has someone from whom they would bend their morals, for whom they would not hesitate to shed tears at the drop of a hat. Everyone has a person for whom they allow themselves to fall weak, to break a little, to feel some more.
Holding the steering wheel with knuckles gone white, I take a moment to dwell in pain and pessimism and envelop myself in tears and heartbreak. When I am done, I take the road back to being the person I am supposed to be - strong and unstoppable.
Shravan Malhotra is the exception to my rule book.
He is standing in front of the door of my home and I am rendered speechless and petrified by his mere presence.The thumping of my heart only increases as I close the door on his face, I still can't believe, he is here. It's one thing to grow up while watching his pictures and reading his thoughts, it's another to breathe the same air as him, to share similar surroundings, to be so close yet so far.
"Itni baari baat bhi nahi thi." I regret my words, the moment they dare to come out of my mouth, In front of his nonchalance, I let my ego take the reigns and dictate my actions, not knowing the price I'll have to bear for this arrogance of mine.
I am not really keen on going out to parties. In fact, I limit myself to few gatherings of close friends, Mamiji prefers me coming back home at time. Despite the initial mishap that occured with my dress, I am filled with only positive vibes and I do intend to enjoy myself, tonight. And who knows? This night may prove to be the beginning of a new chapter for our friendship.
I feel him stand behind me as he taps my shoulder and his hand lingers against my skin for a few seconds. I turn to look at him with a smile and he takes hold of my hand in his, leading me to the dance floor, nothing has felt more right than this very moment.
Slowly, he guides my hand and places it on his shoulder and very gently pulls me closer. I am clay in his hands and he is the sculptor of my fate. Whatever form he wants me to take, I shall transform myself into, whoever he wants me to become, I shall be.
I feel like a lovestruck teengager as he twirls me round and round, living a beautiful dream. I wish to never have to leave the safe abode of his arms. I don't remember the last time, I felt this light and happy. I don't remember the last time my smile was this wide that my cheeks started hurting.
I almost want to drop my gaze away from his, afraid that he will see the truth of my feelings shining , but I cannot make myself look away from him - he is the crux of my exitence. Even when we switch partners, my eyes search for him and only him, my heart craves for his proximity.
And when I feel the front of his body against the back of mine, I nearly cease to breathe for a second. As I slid down his body, his face leans into mine and his breath brushes against my mouth in a whisper of my name while our fingers stay interlocked together and in that moment I am incapable to say whose heart was hammering away.
"Mujhe chod ke mat jaana, mujhe aur kisi ke saath dance nahi karna." Suddenly, I am not scared or insecure to let him into the darkest desires of my heart, I am not anxious to let him know the extent of my longing for him.
But then, he disappears admist the crowd as though it was all a mere dream, leaving me all alone on the dance floor, longing for him, his presence and scent all around me, his gaze and his touch.
Unfortunately, dreams last only for a few moments and we have no choice but to wake up to our bitter and harsh reality. A gold digger. An opportunist. This is what I am reduced to in his eyes. I have never been more ashamed in my entire life than in this very moment.
I have never felt so naked under people's scrutiny and I wish for the earth to swallow me whole because I do not have the strenght in me to respond to the mocking stares or the sharp tongues. In reality, I do not have the heart to look at him, to face his hatred and indifference that are now so apparent to me.
Gathering the last shreds of my dignity, I look up at him, searching for my chashmish, the sweet boy who had always my back but I am met with a heartless man who has nothing to offer apart from vicious words and sad, heartbroken eyes.
And I run, to never look back.
We haven't talked since that incident, we do our best not to cross each other's path, it's like it has become an unsaid rule, we religiously follow, even though he is a frequent visitor at my home. I don't know what sparked the guilt in him but I do not tolerate anyone trying to buy my self-respect with a wad of banknotes.
It might elevate my position in my family's eyes but it will not lessen the damage caused to the state of my heart and my peace of mind. I refuse to let anyone put a price to my self-respect. Even him. Especially him.
Holi is supposed to be a day filled with laughter and colors. It's a day where every grudge is forgotten, every mistake is forgiven. A day, where families are reunited and friendships are rekindled. I'll remember this year's Holi with a bittersweet feeling.
I have given away my most prized possession, my mother's jewellery to the only man I had shared their secret existence with. I never thought that such a day would come, where I'd be forced to give up on my mother's last memory, but the burden of debt is too much to bear for my shoulders and I refuse to be indebted to Shravan Malhotra even for the time of a day. Without any retaliation, without a word, he takes them.
I'll never say it out loud, I'll never admit it to him, but somewhere I am relieved that he is the one keeping the jewels I hold dearer than life itself. Because, a part of me knows that the only person who can truly appreciate their value and worth, the only person who will see them as a treasure and not just mere ornaments is him.
"Bas Sumo! Aaj, kuch mat bolna." For the first time, in a very long time, I give in to him without any retaliation, without any argument. I let him take care of everything as I stand as a mere spectator, I let him slap that man with evil intentions, I let him take my and my Nanu's hand and whisk us away from all the chaos. I let him be the strong and mighty wall between the world and me.
My eyes well up with tears as I pass the threshold of my childhood home, memories surround every nook and crook of the house. It's funny, how after years of being closed, every room has still its own story to tell and for a moment, it's like my parents never left and I never grew up. My eyes marvel in awe as my fingertips linger over the walls and the furniture trying to imprint everything in a locked room of my heart.
During the whole day, he stands right by my side, like my shadow and listens patiently. He does not rush me, he lets me set the pace as I rediscover the happiest phase of my life, albeit with moist eyes. He follows me as we wander from one room to another, sometimes he smiles at my anecdotes, sometimes he just looks at me like it's the first time we met and in the end, he holds me, he just holds me.
We might have grown up, we might be the most responsible adults for our families and the people who know us, but when it's only the two of us, we are like kids who love to mess around each other. I guess, it's easy to fall back into old habits with some people. It's almost as through our past and present have merged.
He is running around the living room, phone in hand, trying to dodge me as I chase him down. His height is a blessing and he takes full advantage of it as he holds the phone at the top of his head, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I jump up and down and stretch my hand to reach the phone but fail miserably, my resort of calling him names when things don't go my way is still very much part of my interaction with him.
In my impulsiveness, I pull him down by the collar and unconsciously bring his face dangerously close to mine. But, my attention doesn't waver from my target and in an excess of madness, I try to bite his hand when we both look up at each other, reminiscing the same memories. We have reached uncharted territories and the underlying tension between us couldn't be more obvious.
I had a blast, pretending to flirt with Goglu, I should consider an acting career in the future but it seems like Shravan is not too pleased with my achievements. If I didn't know him better, I would almost think that he was jealous but the thought sounds ridiculous to my own ears. He has no reason to be.
My heart resides in Tiwari Villa. It's the only place I can call home, I can't imagine it to be gone. But, I refuse to be selfish, I refuse to be the reason of the rift between him and his people. I can't tear apart the family of the man who is so good to me, who is toiling day and night to maintain the roof over my family's head.
We have won the case and while everyone is busy praising him, I stand afar staring at him with a soft smile on my face. I am so eternally grateful for the man he has grown up to be. Our eyes meet and his smile mirrors mine. After today, my respect and admiration for this man, have only increased tenfolds.
It all started as harmless banter till the moment he takes a step ahead, invading my personal space and on instinct, I back away. My eyes grow wide with stupor as my back hits the cabinet behind me. We stand so close to each other that I can feel the heat emanating from him as his musky scent ravage my senses. He slightly leans in only for my attention to stray from the words to the soft, supple lips forming them.
Never in my wildest dreams, I would have thought his fees to be such a beautiful request and at the same time, I am not surprised at all, that's just who Shravan is as a person. And even though, I crave more for us, for our relationshi
He has made a permanent comeback into my life as my friend and even though, I craved more for us, for our relationship, I feel lighter and happier than I have felt in years. Every time I remember the way he cornered me against the counter, my heart stops for a millisecond, his proximity was too much too bear.
Every time, I remember how his eyes flickered down to my lips and how his beard grazed my cheek and his breath hit my ear and neck, I feel the pit of my stomach clenching, just like it had when he cornered me in his closet - I want him.
He is going back to London and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop his imminent departure. I could shed tears, I could confess all those words I have written on letters in his memory but that would be breaking the pact of silence that has been hailed between us, for so long now.
"Is this love?" Recognition. The desire to be loved, to be wanted and to be accepted as a whole is a cursing and a blessing, both at the same time. It gives you a sense of belonging and suddenly, home is a pair of arms and brown eyes. But, when the desire becomes a necessity, it makes you do stupid things.
Stupid things, like shattered hearts and unsaid goodbyes. That one question is like a dagger to my heart, I can only twist further. A boy who wore his heart on his sleeve is now a man who protects it as if it was made of glass. I have made him incapable of loving without losing his sanity, only because I couldn't see past my own self.
Shravan Malhotra's silence has always spoken louder than his words. Him, swinging the swing for me is another promise I know he will honor for life. With that one action, he made me see how love and cherished I was, he made me understand that solitude can be shared between two people. Shravan Malhotra is my family.
His world shatters into pieces and the epitome of devastation I face, has turned my heart numb. He has lost the only parent who loved him unconditionally and I am afraid that he will soon succumb to the darkness of grief but I refuse to let him drown, I will bring him back to the light.
It's unsettling to see him like this. So broken, so small. I am so accustomed to the man who towers over everyone and the sharp lawyer who always leaves everyone tongue-tied that I often forget that behind all this grandeur, resides a broken child whose childhood was stolen on the name of pride and in the gamble of egos.
It's only when he sees his father safe and sound, that both of us are finally able to breathe. As I watch him sleep from the couch, with a small smile on my face and just before drifting away to sleep, I make a promise to myself - I am never leaving him.
Today, I have come to his office, not to have lunch like last time but to apologize for hinding the truth behind the daal. I want and need him to know that all the secrets and the lies, all of it, were only to protect him.
Initially, he was angry but eventually came around. With a mischievous glint in the eyes, he asks me what I would do if he decided to stay mad at me and refused to talk to me. I sit across him and ponder for a moment, before I come up with an answer.
I bring my chair closer to him and lean in towards him, he seems to be following my movements. I tell him in all honesty that I would try and find him and wait for him if he left, like I have waited for ten long years.
"Tum itni special jo ho." Shravan's eyes are sparkling, it's the happiest I have seen him since he came back home. And I, Suman Tiwari, who has always a retort ready on the tip of her tongue is incapable of forming coherent sentences in his presence.
Something has shifted in our interaction. One moment, we are as close and connected as two individuals can be and the next moment, he refuses to even throw a glance towards me. No matter how much he tries to suppress his feelings and fears, I won't let him throw away years of friendship, I won't let his insecurities carve a ditch between us.
We are like two sides of the same coin, poles apart and yet so essential to each other's existence and worth.
He tells me that he will never be able to trust anyone. He tells me that he will never trust me and that ignites something inside me. He will have to trust me because I do, I trust him with my life, my heart and my soul. I want him to rely on me, exactly like I rely on him. I want our relationship to be founded on the basis of equality.
I want Shravan Malhotra to find it in him to forgive, to trust and to love again. I want him to bid goodbye to the darkess and embrace light and life.
And for that to happen, for him to find true happiness, I'll do anything. I'll put my heart on his palm, I'll jump off the highest building, I'll give up on life itself.
His fear of losing me is so immense, I feel it in the way he holds, in the way he clings to me, in the way he hides his face in the crook of my neck. I see his fear in the tears forming at the corners of his eyes, I hear it in the broken whispers of his voice.
I am in love with Shravan Malhotra - deeply, madly, wholly and irrevocably.
Cricket
