O Re Piya
It was a distinct dimension of conspiracy. The rain, the night - everything seemed to be in his favor. Every fleck of me, every picture that my eye captured spoke volumes. I was shaken. It never slowed down, it was new but I was getting used to it, obsessed with it. Never before, had I enjoyed the majestic kiss of support, of trust, of faith and that of an unsaid promise.
It had gotten a schedule post a few meetings. I failed to understand what he was to me, after all. Try as I may, the one thing I ever concluded at was that he was important. I believed and I trusted. I was changing, for the good?
I wanted to fly, I was. I wanted to fall in love, I was. I wanted to know myself, I was? Maybe, I just hovered myself with an image I had of myself in mind. The feasible and inevitable change that I was to undergo, I avoided. A self induced problem I bought, in the name of change. I was never me. My angst had eventually turned into a desperate urge to escape from the cage, ignore who I really was and I was buying wrong. I knew.
I couldn't comprehend the tactics being applied on me. I could decipher just one thing out of the atmosphere - I was weird. And I wasn't ready to be that. I tried hard to carve a mushy girl out of a rebellious and nerdy tomboy. I tried harder to transform a cynic into a dreamer. I tried the hardest to be somebody I never was, never will be.
And he saw me that way, the way I never was. But strangely, I was incoherent to own mistake and led him on. And not my surprise, I readily continued to see myself through his eyes.
Udne laga kyon man baawla . . .
Aaya kahan se yeh hosla . . .
I am an intelligent kid, regardless. I knew I wasn't just getting carried away by my hormones. There was more to it, probably a feeling. Sinisterly understanding, he was. Right from the beginning, I feared I would get used to all the concern and become a downright case of dependence. And that was one of the rare moments when my real-cynic self would pop out but never to the light, very much stayed back and out of the scene.
The scene, why I consider it a scene? Because it was like a Hindi movie I was watching, I was the heroine - that's probably the only new thing about it. Typically, it struck me for the first time when I told him I had a crush on him. It did not take much time, a night before I realized and there I was the very next night - confronting him.
He was not in love with me. Not that I could guarantee my feeling to be that strong, the punch is - he happened to be a taken guy. Now, what happens is a little unlike the movies - I already knew that. Ironically, I helped them come along. Does it get funnier?
I knew what I was getting into. I was taking up on something I wasn't meant to. I was giving up on those who were important, and things that mattered at that point in my life. Even though I knew I was going to gain pretty much a zero out of it, he had actually inculcated in me a most incredulous instinct. He had made me selfless, momentarily. It was out and shining him, my best friend who mattered and everybody else could just go to hell, I really did not mind!
The salty raindrops fell upon the whole of me. Those rather fat and icy water droplets were mild and soothing against my skin. The rain and I made great friends, since childhood already. When it rained, I hardly knew who I was, let alone people around me. It was my feet that danced a most ridiculous dance and me, unintentionally burning some dangerous calories. However, today was different ' I had registered in my mind, the rain and him.
Circumstances were such that entirely class-eight Physics happened! I turned a magnet, he already was. Static electricity had me clinging onto him and it wasn't gravity any longer that helped me not get lifted in the air and fly spirally, it was him as a matter of fact! Conspiracy, I call it!
Tanabana tanabana bunti hawaa . . .
Boondein bhi to aaye nahi baaz yahan . . .
Sagish mein shaamil sara jahan hai . . .
Har zare zare ki yeh iltija hai . . .
We never discussed it. But somewhere down the line, we always knew we couldn't stay the same, stay together for long. We were two individuals, owned by irrational souls. Sinking souls! We were getting drowned in the depths of our respective lives, both of us - nonchalant yet knowing, what precisely was to happen to us.
There were serious issues with my eyes, though. It was easy reading through them. I was agonized. I wasn't so urgent ever in my life. It happened for the first time, I longed for him. I felt cut and bleeding, I saw him every day yet longed for just one glimpse, and I wanted him, badly. That was when I realized I had gotten crazy, or maybe I was a new sort of a masochist! And to get crazier, there were no brains, already - it all drained out, never to come back!
I was growing up. Experiencing everyday a new thing, I gradually came to knowing myself, well - I tried, at least. Just for once, I thought maybe I never wanted this, never wanted him. But I was certain of having no way out. I was caged, and also - 'us' had started mattering a great deal now.
Nazrein bolen duniya bole . . .
dil ki zaban . . .
Ishq maange ishq chahe koi toofan . . .
Chalna aahiste ishq naya hai . . .
Pehla yeh vada humne kiya hai . . .
Everything simply racked out of my life. I was abandoned and guess what? It was officially only him that I had. When my father was drunk and he scared the hell out of me, it was him I could share my fear with. When my mother tried hard to conceal her anguish with a mask of anger and her grown up daughter sensed it, it was only him I could tell how utterly helpless I felt. All my wrong interpretations regarding my family, all the hypothetical calculations of my dad's character, my mother's life - he entertained with a most patient ear. I was glad. Because only I mattered to him at that moment, and I just knew it.
I hurt myself conspicuously. I ran a knife up and down my arm as if it were a feather. I let the blood flow down. I hid the marks. But somewhat, they were entirely to show - to see if he cared, to witness some of the panic. To see if he gets to taste some of his own dish - panic, to feel like smacking their head of off their sheer stupidity! Yes, he was panicked and concerned, seamlessly and deeply. And I unconsciously knew that the physical pain bought me comfort in the end, in every way.
In times of trouble, he would be the first person I'd seek help of rather think of. Where ever I was, I always knew to myself that somebody cared and was always there to the rescue, to protect me if not of the worldly harms then at least help me not get madder any further. I miss the feeling of being kept an eye on, I really do. Sometimes it feels nobody gives a shit. I miss being his princess, even though I can guarantee calling me a princess is a princess's deadliest insult. And mine too, in many ways!
Nange pairo pe angaro . . .
chalti rahi . . .
Lagta hai ke gairo main . . .
Palti rahi . . .
Le chal wahan jo . . .
Mulk tera hai . . .
Jahil zamana . . .
dushman mera hai . . .
Lately, I had been in a state of panic, pain and pointlessness. The three
P's! Did I make sense? Okay, I am reaching the end and I have never quite known
how to voice it. Because really, this hasn't ended as yet! His lady love died
due to a road accident. Soon, I lost him. He was a helpless man, there. He
loved both of us, and his love for us was beyond all norms of sanity. He
couldn't explain it. Can I, I shall rather not!
We behaved like stupid and similar best friends for as long as we were together. And the end also came, likewise. He always told me he hadn't ever loved anybody more than her, and after a point of time, after it reached my saturation point - it would hurt me like spears. And as he experienced the grief of the loss of his beloved in his last four months, I also experienced just the same in one phase of my life for what felt like a saga, figuratively.
Here comes the end.
I love you, babe. He said. And two months later, his heart gave up on his life, on me.
O re piya . . .
Can i ask you a question? Are you really 14? Because this peice has more depth than my 20 year old brain can process. How do you write with such maturity and depth?
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