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One shot: The Black and white picture
I lay on my bed, listening to the rain that slaps against the window.
The wind carries with it, the fresh scent of the earth kissed by the rain, as I push myself up, and sit leaning against the pillows that have been pulled up against the headboard.
The old black and white photograph in my hand looks as beautiful as ever, but the edges have been yellowing. He looked perfect in the picture though. It was one of the rare moments where he had been captured at the right moment when he was laughing.
I pass my fingers through the photo trying to recall how his laughter sounded. It still rung in my ears, the way he laughed. It was the most beautiful sound one could hear.
This picture was taken on Janmastami. That was when I had seen him for the first time. He stood there, watching the guys climb up on each other, forming a human pyramid.
As the soapy water was falling on then, amongst the cheer, he smiles and gets closer, climbing up on the boys, one at a time.
They shake, sometimes they slip, they fall. Yet, they don't give up. It's not only one person trying to get on the top always. As they fall and injure and their energy levels come down, they take turns sending someone else. The rest of the team, murmur words of encouragement as they stand together, cheering for the man climbing atop.
I along with my friends look at it in wonder. We see how some of the boys get creative in pouring soapy water all over the team that's trying for Matki Phod, by climbing atop the nearby building and throwing bucket full of water from the top.
The crowd formed in the small colony was chanting hymns and there were claps and hoots resounding. I realise it was the best decision of mine to have visited Bhoomi that day. She was right. Her colony celebrated Janmastami in the very best way.
But with festivities, came an unexpected intervention. There was a sudden splash of water, the feel of something sticky on my skin, the chill of water against the body, it was too late before I realised one of the guys, had the mind to throw a bucket full of water on the nearest girls group and I happen to be standing to the right, taking 90% of the hit.
I felt a sudden silence. The festivities didn't stop of course, but there was a sudden shock across. As shame and embarrassment stuck in, I tremble, my hands clutching the side of my dress. I already feel Bhoomi encircling my arm, and the uncle nearby creating a hue and cry about the indecent behaviour the random guy could do to me. Suddenly it was a joke gone wrong.
Before I could even make sense of it, I saw from the corner of my eyes, the person who humiliated me being pulled off by the collar of his neck and being punched on his nose, once and then twice.
"Apologize" I hear a voice thunder, and the attention had been shifted from Matki Phod already as i see a small crowd gather around me.
I raise my eyes at the violence and then see him. Shaking with anger, his fists clenched, he was very different from the one who was grinning at his group of guys earlier.
Maan.
"S..sorry" the guy who threw water at me stutters, and it was then he meets me eyes, with the anger still shimmering in them. His face was filled with colors, his hair disheveled, a cloth tied around his head. Even in that state, he looked murderous and at the apology, he just shook off the guy, pushing him away and when he faced me, there was something softening about him. It was silly, for I couldn't read that much of a detail from a countenance filled with dry colors, yet, i somehow felt it.
"Don't worry. This won't be repeated" he says, his deep rumble of a voice soothing, and when I look at him now, something in me breaks as a lone tear escapes my eyes. Suddenly it feels too much. Without a word, I turn back and Bhoomi doesn't waste a minute to take me back to her home
At her home, she apologizes several times for no mistake of hers, and calls her neighbourhood a million names. At least she was glad her parents weren't home that time, for there would have been questions neither of us would have been comfortable answering.
As I get into the shower and see the water wash away the Color off me, I still think about the incident, and I flinch everytime I recount how he was punched by that guy.
Once out of the bath, I get dressed in one of Bhoomi's dresses while she asks me to stay back for the night. I, however was craving to go back home after the disturbing incident.
With the hot chocolate she made for me, I sit silently, while Bhoomi keeps me busy by talking everything under the sun in order to distract me.
"Who's he?" I ask after sometime and as Bhoomi hesitates wondering whom I was asking for, I supply "the guy who punched"
"Oh him? Maan" she says.
Maan lives two blocks away and was two years our senior. As I reluctantly agreed to stay for the night, Bhoomi keeps telling me the tales about Maan, the heartthrob of the colony and now my savior. And I fall asleep with the shawl wrapped around me, my knees pulled closer, sitting in the couch as I wonder if I could recognise him without the Colors, if only to thank him.
The next day when Bhoomi took her bike out to drop me off to home, had I seen him. At first, I didn't quite recognise him. But then he slows down upon seeing us, his eyes softening, his voice taking the soft tone as he says "Hi"
Since I didn't know if it is directed to me or Bhoomi, and I suspect it it to Bhoomi for she knew him better, I let her respond to the greeting and see them chat, as I lean against the parked scooty, my arms crossed across my chest and wait.
I see his eyes drift to my face now and then, which might be a figment of my imagination. From this distance, he looked easy going and not like somebody who would punch the living daylights of someone. His stature relaxed, his eyes smiling, his hair ruffled and falling on his forehead, he looked boyish and handsome. After exchanging pleasantries, he bids her goodbye and tells her "Drop your friend home, safe"
That's the closest it comes to the conversation he has that includes me in a remote sense.
As I get on the bike, and Bhoomi starts the bike however, I turn around and see him turning back too. I see him smile and raise a hand in a half wave, and it surprises me so much, I turn around quickly.
I pass a hand on the photo now, as I feel my heart turning heavy, as a pain so strong but so customary engulf my heart.
Three years to that day, three years of getting to know him, see him, watch his laugh, experience his love, fall in love with him head over heels. Three years of love and laughter, happiness so strong, it made me wonder if I'm living in a dream sometimes. Three years of a romance that nobody but me, him and A couple of close friends like Bhoomi were aware of.
A story so special maybe because it is mine, but special and beautiful nevertheless. It had but remained just a story now.
Six months earlier, Maan met with an accident and passed away and six months to it, I sit here, alone in my room, looking at his picture and reminiscing the good old times, for I fear I would forget the distinct ring in his laughter if ever I stop thinking about him. How would I live with myself if I forget how his voice sounded.
As I look at the picture of his profile with him looking towards the sky and laughing, I feel my heart fill with love and I feel my heart break at the same time.
How can love hurt this much? But then I look at his face and i know. I could die a thousand deaths to be able to see him and love him just one more time.
If only...
Shiv Shakti
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