It is a matter of time, everybody I know tells me. You will laugh at what you have made of yourself, they add. Hold on, don’t lose faith, believe and hope, chimes in Aakash. You need to hit rock bottom to clamber back to the top, there is no further going down, Ross adds. It is pointless ruminating, Navya suggests. They call me, check on me, listen to my litany, suggest to me, patiently repeat what they have been repeating over the past few days on my persistent repertoire of thoughts. I know I shall laugh at my present stance a given day, I know time shall heal it all, I know I shouldn’t be hard on myself, that I shouldn’t overanalyze, mustn’t ruminate, stop my pondering. But the mind, the heart refuse to accept. I seek a clarity, I wish for a wind to dissipate the fog that has occluded my thinking, I need to get my questions answered, which however, seem elusive every passing second. But with rationality hibernating, my stupid self refuses to accept, never stopping to question, to dissect, to remember, to lament. I wake up at strange hours of night, try to gather some sleep, getting up in the morning seems impossible; there is a hollow in my chest, a hollow that is your shape. I check my phone for a message and every single time my phone rings I think it could be you. I hate what I have made of myself, that you are not around, that you never called, the present, yet I cannot bring myself to stop ‘loving’ you. I pray, I hope, I wonder what must I do, if only I could turn back time. It has been seven days since.
Must I be writing? Must I be penning thoughts that will only incite sorrow and bitterness? Must I restrict them to the corners of mind, fake a smile, pretend that I am unaffected? To live through each day has morphed into a reptile coiled around my body, tightening its grip, suffocating me and I am too tired, numb to fight back. Reading, writing, work, conversations, the ability to react, any given chore that I indulged in seems blatantly impossible. There are bouts of smile, short-lived, I wake up angry on some days, angry at the world, angry at myself, there are days when I cannot gather myself to utter a word, I prefer being by myself, I shun company, I am unable to talk to my family, annoyed, angered, saddened, broken. But I need to write this, to preserve my sanity, to revisit these dark days, someday, when the valley of my life thrives in a warm sunshine of subtlety. How can a heartbreak be the harbinger, the cause, the effect of a life that seems wasted? How can a single person be the sole reason of unbounded happiness and infinite sorrow at the same time? How can the heart love someone endlessly despite the futile reality that is right there in front of my eyes?
It was a crisp November sky, the sky azure, a gentle breeze had been sailing over rooftops, leaves quivered in her trail, it was the onset of winter in Bangalore. We met after days of long winded conversations, after endless messages, after those beautiful voice notes, new to me, your voice ethereal, your charm intoxicating. You were in orange, waiting upon me. Scepticism had taken the better of me the night before. I was not sure if I must meet you, if I must pass. I wanted to and did not wish to either. Navya said I must, so did Aakash and I was the gladdest person on earth to have gathered myself to meet you. I shall never be able to forget that morning, conversations, cups of ginger tea that you made, your voice, your dimple, your understanding, your ability to draw out emotions from the deep recesses of my heart which I had stifled from the world, you were a mirror to my thoughts, you singing, your warmth filling the room, rolling through the air and crashing onto my heart, the sound of a chugging train, waxing and waning, the serenity of your house, warm sunlight through the glass panes and window blinds, the lulling music of ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ that reflected from every corner and multiplied in magnitude, accentuated by your presence, Angus and Julia Stone, you were the only person I had chanced upon who knew them, Harry Potter, you quoting from books, you smiling, talking, listening, you. I had a smile plastered on my face on my way back, a smile at nothing in particular, a smile that germinates from the soul and I felt alive, vivid, calm. They were amazed, Navya excited, Yamuna rather sceptical, Abhijit joked about.
I was happy. Happy to have chanced upon the wonderful person that you are, you understood all I had to say and I did not have to be explicit, I had been swimming in your aura, careful, careless, checking myself, letting go. We met again and again, it felt perfect, serene to be in your presence, swaying in your charm, sailing in a sky of merriment, buoyed by your mesmerizing voice. I do not know if it was love, if it was a fatal attraction, if it meant a permanence, a cursory excitement, but I cared not.
(Angus and Julia Stone, ‘Big Jet Plane’)