I look out the car window, trying to find you in the crowd. This is the town I loved, the town I have dreamed of returning to for the last twelve years. I look at the faces of the young people that characterise this town. The main street, there is still just one. Young boys sit in groups on shiny motorbikes, staring at girls zipping past on their scooteretts. The girls know they are being watched, but will not dignify the glances with acknowledgement. That puts a smug look on their face that makes them more attractive to their spectators. The car moves on slowly, weaving its way through youth that believes that it has the right of way. I look for you at your favourite adda. There is a bunch of strange fresh faces there, everything else is the same.
The car turns away from the main street into a quieter part of town. Here too two-wheelers are parked on both sides of the road. Some have couples sitting on them, holding hands, talking. This town is still too small to witness the brazenness of Bandstand or Bandra Reclamation. The boys cast furtive glances to see if someone they know is passing by; parents maybe, friends of the family, hostel mates who will rile them about it later, or another girlfriend. The girls stand with their backs to the street, thinking it makes them invisible, or at least unrecognisable. I remember how we would roam these very streets, on your motorcycle. The initial hesitation disappearing with shameless swiftness. We just knew, didn’t we, that this was it, we were together for good. Nothing was going to change the way we felt about each other. There, I think I see us. The boy is laughing, and the girl is hitting him with a book in mock anger. Or maybe that is us, sitting on the tree stump, in serious discussion, oblivious to the world. How happy we were. You were my world, as I knew I was yours. The declarations of love were frequent, heartfelt and never offered as an excuse. ‘I love you’ meant just that. It didn’t mean ‘sorry’ or ‘get off my back’. It didn’t mean ‘let’s pretend this never happened’. It didn’t mean ‘you know I would never do that’. You and me, we were special. We were different.
In the residential part of town now. The faces are less bright. Married couples on their way to and from the weekly subzi haat. Women riding pillion on motorcycles and scooters, clutching children and shopping bags, with their right hand placed firmly on their husbands waist, or thigh, depending on where the relationship was at that point. You would take me every week too. You always grumbled. You thought it was just too middle class, but you went along just to humour me. Is that you, waiting outside, smoking a cigarette? Checking out the other couples , telling yourself we are not like them. I would return, smiling, laden with vegetables that I had know clue how to cook. You would help me with the bags. I would place my hand on your waist, fingers doing things that made you smile and smack my hand. If we had fought a day before, I would hold the metal rods, sitting away from you. You would stop, pull my hand around your waist and everything would miraculously be well again.
The car moves on to the newer more upmarket part of town. I’ve never been here before. Twelve years ago this was just wildernes. My eyes are moist and my heart is pounding. As the car slows down, I turn. You are sitting next to me, immobile, looking out the other window. I try to scan your face, to see if you saw the same things that I did, but I can not make out your expressions in the dark. As the car comes to a halt, I am bursting with things to say. I want to reach out and hold your hand, sit in the dark and talk. Neither of us moves as the driver opens the boot to take the luggage out. I open my mouth and make a sound, you turn to me. My voice comes out different, calm, grownup, belying the internal turmoil. It surprises me. I say ‘Maybe we should invest in property in this town, the prices have been showing an upward trend ....’
Wait, that’s not what I wanted to say at all.... . You say something equally meaningless in return. The moment, along with a lot of other things, is lost forever.
Close
Khushnoor this is so well written.....Reminds me of a town where i lived long back and moved out with dreams in my eyes and promises to fullfill.
Its sad that at times we become so much bothered of the other person reactions that we stop communicating completely.I wish she(you) could tell him what you felt,i wish you could see his face in the dark and understood that his thoughts are no different.
The barriers in love must be broken at any cost.May be she(you) should ask him to take her(you) on the mobike again.See if things can be different.I am sure even today he would stop his bike and pull you closer
Reply | | Report Abuse
Amar, Thanks for your comment. The reason why this one probably seems a bit incoherent in places is because it is an emotional peice. Lucidity was not the top priority.
Any suggestion is always welcome! keep visiting!
Reply | | Report Abuse
Hi Kushnoor... Nice article... Well weaved and rocking back and forth between times... I have a small suggestion for you. When you convey a situation or meaning to the reader, you have to strive to make the reader more active and the story more passive.
You could have in some places described the scene with lesser words. You could try using shorter paragraphs too. Try convey more meaning with less words. Its a small suggestion from my end. Hope you would'nt mind it. What do you think ?
Reply | | Report Abuse
Seeingeye, Thank you. really.
Keeping pace with life gets difficult at times even for the best of us though, doesnt it?
Reply | | Report Abuse
Khushnoor, u know what u r???
U r Good!
That is an amazing tale of a 'normal' relationship! That is what happens to the unfortunates who let life take them over!
very sad, I wish she (you) had grabbed the opportunity like he used to grab your hand and put it round his waist!!!
Reply | | Report Abuse
Thanks SM for visiting and your compliment.
Reply | | Report Abuse
Nargis, cant thank you enough for your wonderful comment.
I guess you are right about speaking out, but the 'what ifs' just seem to get bigger with time. We are more politically correct with our partners than with total strangers. Is it because of a better understanding of your partners likes and dislikes or just a really wide communication gap? I wonder.
Reply | | Report Abuse
Thanks Avya!
Reply | | Report Abuse
Kushnoor
Beautifully written!
You have managed to put the ache of a romance that has just faded with time, the fleeting moments when one thinks that one can put right everything again only to see it slipping away too...all this and more into words beatifully well.
Hope to read more from you.
Regards
Reply | | Report Abuse
Hi Khushnoor....you have left me feeling a little 'lost' too. I guess this feeling usually germinates in the more creative minds who try to dissect a meaning in every situation possible. Or try to rummage for romance in every single passing moment. But the problem is conveying it to a more practical and rational world. More so, because the hesitation arises with a 'what if'.......maybe we should try to break these barriers and speak out what is in our mind. Who knows, the other persons reaction just might end up surprising us:-} You really write well!
Reply | | Report Abuse
- 1
- 2
Displaying 1 - 10 of 19 Blog Comments