Chapter 1: The letter
It started with a picture; a yellowing one, torn at the ends. He didn't linger long at the snap and turned to read the letter for the umpteenth time.
Do you remember Siddarth's sister's wedding? Wish we had had more weddings to have her dressed like that. But again, I still have my doubts about having to go through a volley of arguments to get her to don a decent lehenga. Although he'd read the letter enough number times to repeat it in his deep sleep, it was the first time he noticed that Dev hadn't greeted him even as the letter remained their first communication in 11 years. That cheeky bas***d...he thought to himself.
If you are curious to know (which I'm certain, you are sure to deny), she still roams around in those batik, tie-dyed and bandini skirts. Borrows my vest a little too often and still drapes the same stinky stole around her. She refuses to tame her curls and Yes! her eyes are still that enviable greenish brown; She finally gave away the secret of her eye color to me; Her Greek descent (from her mother's side) has only gone against her faint Indian looks (father) and taken a firm hold on her appearance with age.
Thanks to Facebook it didn't take me long to find you. And No!...this letter is not about you. Its damn well not about me either. Its about her and its high time you and I have a few scores settled.
If its any consolation, I'm paying for my past dues. At least that is how I would like to think of my present state of being. Ha ha! And just to make you feel better, as I strain to get a grip over the pen to write this letter, leaning over a bed at the cancer ward of Tata Memorial, the needle pokes the inside of my vein, causing it to burst open (I hope time has made you to be a better person, who can sympathize with a dying friend - if I can call myself so. Just kidding! We both know it wasn't your fault that we fell out of touch). The nurse has already switched the IV needle twice and I can only hope I finish this letter in time, before she comes back for her hourly visit.
For quite obvious reasons, do not respond back to any of my email or Facebook account(s). She monitors everything for me now.
My life was never meant to take this route(I'm still in denial). Perhaps had you acknowledged what you two shared, but perpetually ignored for whatever personal reasons that you claimed, I wouldn't have to write this letter at all. For all intents and purposes I aim to recall a few incidents that must have been disclosed to you a long time ago.
The first page ended there and he moved to the next paper behind it, that was mottled and seemed to come from the days of yore itself. On it was a neatly penned poem that he long remembered from their English lit class, in a handwriting that he cannot refuse to recognize, even if he wanted to.
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more;
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow; I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I, may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain,
There is written her fair neck round about,
'Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.' The rest of the page was blank and he went on to read the next page that was again in Dev's writing.
I don't have to tell you who wrote that. But what you don't know is that, this is what she handed back in response to my love letter I passed to her during our Lit class. I don't have to give you a class on allegories at this age. You damn well know who the hind here is. Hell! we both know whose nick name Ceasar was during those days. And don't get me started on the failed hunter...only he was successful this time around in capturing and caging the hind that never was his.
I can't believe I'm finally putting this down pen to paper...it was always YOU for her. For all the hippie spirit in her, all that anchoring she lacked in life, she apparently had that inherent, inane desire to be desired - just as every other woman in the world. Had you not gone about your mad pursuit behind a career and status and all that bull crap about owing the roof above your head, I wouldn't have seized on the chance you passed up.
If you were so mad about us becoming a couple, that you refused any form of contact for this long a time, then why on earth did you not act at the opportune moment? To hell with you bas***d! (Well! I sense an almost feminine shrill as I voice that last word out hoarsely and I blame it on the drugs for emasculating me. Else you think I would only cuss once?)
Now that I have spilled my guts out about that long held back sentiment, I want you to pay attention. My time is coming to a close. And I want you to come get her. There are other complications too, which I want to go over with you in person. It would be nice to have a friend around to bounce off thoughts...especially when she is insistent on having herself impregnated, so as to let me leave behind a part of me in flesh and blood.
I'm content with all the damage that I have already done with my life and with those around me. I only crave to leave behind meaningful things now that wouldn't destroy lives...like this letter (I'm glad I'm writing after a long time. On another note, try getting a writing pad and pen. Its not the same as typing away on a plastic keyboard) and hopefully this will remain with you as a token out of my life.
Consider yourself warned. Don't expect her to welcome you back with a smile on her face, that is if you do decide to come to Mumbai - and I hope you do. She is going to hate you like you are her inner demons personified - lets face it, you are. And if she is going to have you beaten up to a pulp, then I say we are all set. That is one hell of an indication that things have hardly changed ever since you left. She needs tough love and all my time on earth cannot replace the one person who can give her that. You know what a bitch she can be...So just hang in there while she gives you hell (And remember that even after I'm long gone. You will always have to hold your ground firmly a minute longer than she does)
My clock is ticking my friend. And I hope you will make a decision soon.
- Dev
PS: NO I'm not turning her over to you, as my time is coming to and end. I cannot bear any longer this precious burden of yours.
PPS: I can't believe I wrote so much. I guess, slow death does that to you.There was enough emotional blackmail in that letter to fill him with guilt that would last all his seven life times. He folded the letter back and placed it inside the overnight Fedex envelope that was delivered almost two weeks ago. Like all other times, he'd put off going over mail in due time, only to receive the shortest call of his life that morning. It was Dev on the other side, wheezing his words out, speaking in broken sentences while ignoring the construct - which was uncharacteristic of him to do so for all the insistence on grammar Maan'd had to endure during their college days. "Maan...Come to Mumbai...Did you get letter?"
Before he could manage a response after recovering from the initial shock and concern from hearing his friend's voice that was indicative of his debilitated state, the line had gone blank. And now he was left with the words in the letter that had hardly given him any peace since he'd read it in the wee hours of the morning. Somewhere around the 3rd time he'd been reading the letter, he'd crushed the paper into a ball and cast it into the vast ocean of garbage that was his room. It wasn't long before he dug the letter out and gone back to scanning the pages with a weakened rage that was on its way to turning into compassion for his friend. He couldn't entertain thoughts about her yet; and exactly for that reason, he was still unable to cast a long glance at the attached photograph, that pictured her holding Dev's cheek.
His actions were not fully registering in his muddled head, while he picked up the phone and dialed his manager's number. "Tim..." He spoke, breaking the hours of silence he'd staggered through, "I will take that Mumbai hotel project. When do I start?"
Edited by 6thElement - 13 years ago
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