The wait for the end… Part 10

It is said that Time waits for no man. Yet, there are instances where people have said “Time just stopped right there, for me!” Time is one concept, so incomprehensible; and yet so real. There have been researches done on time; innumerable theses, philosophies, satires and even innuendos written. It has gained the status of the “Fourth dimension”. So to say, no stone has been left unturned to prove its existence. But then, why oh why, does one have to consciously think of it and only then realize its existence.

A 50 year old man never ceases to fall in love with a high power bike or a posh SUV. A woman never, and that means NEVER, feels she has grown old. I wonder how difficult it is for Time, this time personified, to prove himself/ herself again and again. Imagine the effort he/she has to put in! Then, there comes a small child that tries to light a cigarette and pretends to be an adult, and puts all the effort of Time, yet again, in the drains. But the concept is captivating. So much so, that even when Einstein had to explain relativity to the layman, he had to resort to Time as a tool. He said, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity.” Well, physicists have always romanticized Time, time and again.

Put aside all the jazz and the philosophy, what is time meant for a person who is waiting? What is its’ significance to him/ her? Isn’t the concept delusional sometimes? Especially when he does not know what he’s waiting for. And yet, the wait is very persistent and pertinent.

The New Year had just passed by. Neeti didn’t expect his call. He hadn’t called her for her birthday. She returned the favor by not calling him on his. But it wasn’t that easy for her. She had to put in great efforts to control herself; so much so that she had to leave the city and go to some place far away, like a self-imposed vacation.

The first week of January is always, and will always be, full of excitement. The city sparkled with all sorts of decorations. The malls spared nothing to bewitch their scapegoats. Some offices and bureaus unsparingly gave leaves to their employees. The fervor stays till the first weekend and sometimes even beyond among the pompous souls.

Neeti had spent the New Year at the Cowasjee’s. The lady of the house, Mrs. Cowasjee, had prepared a lot of dishes for dinner and Mr. Cowasjee, for a change, contributed by smiling. “It is probably self-abnegation”, she wondered. Neeti thoroughly enjoyed their company. But flashes of old memoirs kept teasing her mind on and off. She showed no signs on her face and when Mr.Cowasjee asked her about her Year’s Resolution, she politely replied, “Uncle this year I’m going to get back all that I lost.” The answer made the old man not blink for 3 complete seconds. The look on his face was then reassuring. He replied nothing and just patted her head.

The seasoned and elderly folks have different ways of doing things. This gesture of his was interpreted in two ways by our heroine. One, she thought may be the pat was like a blessing. Then two, she felt probably the pat was the gentleman’s way of saying “I have seen the world… Been there done that.”

The entire second week was very hectic for Neeti. O’deth wasn’t keeping well and Neeti took care of her. O’deth didn’t have any room-mates and stayed alone. One day, at O’deth’s place, while Neeti was preparing spinach soup, O’deth asked her “Any updates?”
Neeti said, “I have a feeling there is, but in reality, I guess, there isn’t. A baby of my delusions, does that fit in here?”
“And Kashif?” O’deth was careful and almost whispered.
“He calls and I don’t receive.” The answer was meticulously delivered.
“Really? And he is fine with that. I’m surprised you’re still alive!” O’deth laughed at the small joke she tried to make.
“Yeah! Very funny! Come on Ody, he is a bad person… He’s a gangster.”
“No further comments darling! You’re intelligent, eh? And about good or bad, only if one’s profession decided that…”
O’deth then went on in a whisper “I wish you see through the tinted glass…”

The conversation ended but the ends seemed still loose. Neither of the girls were satisfied with the dialogue.

Neeti reached her place by 10.30pm. She threw her stuff on the table and literally pounced on the sofa. Her head was aching and her back hurt badly. Within 3 minutes, her cell phone rang almost startling her to her feet. She saw the screen. “Kashif calling…”
“Hi Kashif!”
“Neeti… aap ne mera call uthaya… Shukriya”
“God! Aap ne kyun call kiya? Aap jaante ho na main nahin aap se baat karna chahti.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain?”
“Kashif yeh mumkin nahin hain. Sorry”
“Main force nahin karunga par main chahta hun aap milo”
“Force… hahahahaa… yeh tho aap ka favorite shabd hoga, angrezi ka. Aap ka tho kaam bhi wahi hain.”
“Neeti mujhe aap se milna hain.”
Neeti burst out into tears.
“Neeti, kya hua? Batao mujhe. Usne firse takleef di kya?”
“Usne takleef dene ki zarurath tho thi hi nahin na Kashif… Mere tho dost hi kaafi the.”
“Neeti main…”
“Kashif main rakhti hun. Mujhe sone jana hain. Please”

No byes were besought. The line went dead. Neeti rushed to her bedroom and dug her face into the pillow. She cried and cried and eventually slept off.

Around 2.00 pm her cell phone rang again. With eyes still closed, she searched with her hand in various directions to locate the piece of cacophony. By the fourth ring, she received the call and …
“Hi Neeti...” It was Aman and he was almost panting.
“Aman… itni raat ko kyun call kiya? What’s the time?”
“Time… does it matter now!”
Neeti sensed queasiness and sat up on her bed and leaned against the wall.
“Aman, are you drunk?”
“Neeti mera bacha… mera shona. This is my last call baby! If you would ever call again on this number, I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed. This number will no more be mine.”
“Kyun? Are you giving up the worldly pleasures and going to Dharamshala.” She barfed venom.
“No my love. I’m not. I have a request Neeti.”
“Request! Wow! I like the sound of that word. You never do that. What is it, Aman?”
“I want to sing a song for you. One last song. Do you have the patience and the courage to listen to this one last song?”
Now this was too much to handle. Call at 2 am, a request, “last”… she was sure something unusual was happening.

“Aman… why are you saying LAST again and again? What has happened?”
“Nothing my love. Nothing. I just want to sing this song for you. Please.”
“Aman, please, tell me what’s going on?”
Aman replied nothing. Just a sigh, loud enough for the other end to hear.
Ever noticed how people build the edifice of suspense gradually with a large helping of drama.

“Last time you called and said some stuff like this. I didn’t get the head or tail of it. What are you upto? Please tell me. Aman? ”
Aman was crying by now. Neeti listened to him weep patiently and tried to calm him.
“Aman, what’s the problem my love? Tell me. We’ll work it out. We can. You know it. Tell me baby. Please.”
Notice the change in theme. From sarcasm to sincere pleads.
“Neeti its just…”
“What baby? What is it? Are you disturbed? Do you want me to come there? Haan?”
A wallowing sound and then, “Neeti I’m getting married.”
Silence. The sound of someone swallowing hard. The effect of the other panting.
Neeti broke the lull after 10 seconds.
“When?”
“In 8 days.”
Aman was still weeping.
“Aman do you know what you’re saying? Are you saying this to hurt me haan? You’re drunk too.”
“Neeti I don’t have the courage to call and tell you all this, otherwise. I need to drink to call you.”
“Well… why have you called me now? Oh yeah, by the way, congratulations. May God…”
“Neeti I’m sorry. Please. My parents and my grand mom wanted this and I just abided.”
The tone was humble. “Hmmm… Who’s the girl?”
“Haven’t met her. They chose…”
“And you said “Yes”. When did all this happen?”
“I was incapacitated. I had no choice. It happened a few months back.”
“Why are you telling me, though?”
“Neeti I want you to know…”
“Wow! Aman. And here you call me so that you don’t have the guilt anymore about not telling me.” She almost stung back.
“Neeti what guilt? Come on. We had broken up a long time back. Remember?” Aman was defensive now. Neeti noticed the change in his tone. No crying this time.
“Yeah. That is why I waited for you for 2 years. And you knew it Aman. You very well knew it. That is why this call today. Because you are guilty. You are so guilty Aman. You are so ashamed and I hear the contempt.”
“Neeti I couldn’t help it. My grand mom is not well and she wants to see me married. My parents wanted that too. And I had to do things for my family.”
“And you didn’t resist. So you wanted that too.”
“I don’t know.”

Something just died within Neeti. She felt like her body was only a vestige.

“Yes, that’s the classic answer you’ve given me all these months whenever I asked you.”
“See Neeti I want you to be happy. Just be happy okay.”
“Aman do you even know what you’re saying? You goof-up with someone and then make the person wait for you for 2 years and then just marry off…”
“Neeti I didn’t goof up. I told you that I wasn’t prepared.”
“Hmmm and here you are more than prepared. Directly for marriage. Aman I’m sorry, I’m cutting the call now. I wish you all the luck.”
“Neeti, baby please listen to me.”
“There is no point Aman.”
“I still have 8 days. I can do something.”
“Aman when there was time, you didn’t. Now, the milk is spilt. And frankly, I don’t think you have guts anymore. You need to be man enough!”

Neeti cut the line. Aman kept calling her again and again. She realized he was drunk completely. She switched off her phone. But sleep betrayed her. She sat up, wallowing and watching out of her window.

3 am and still Mumbai was awake. Her tears never stopped. All her past came right in from of her. She saw the first time she met Aman. The lunches and dinners they had. The laughs and tears they shared. Everything.

The dawn never happened for Neeti. She was awake and for once, Time made no sense. Break of dawn was just like a God’s way of physics. Her eyes were red and swollen. In that one night, her life had turned topsy-turvy. She lost weight and her face was quick to show the signs.

Even at 7am in the morning, she was at the same window; watching the oblivion. Nothing made sense anymore. The empty feeling that crept in her was here to stay and that she knew.

At 10am she switched on her cell phone. She got a series of message alerts. All were from her boss Sushant, inquiring about her absence in office.

Not a single call, from the person she waited for.

She had a bath and again sat at the same window. This time, no tear flowed. The eyes blinked once in a while, which seemed to be the only sign of life in the puny little body, sitting by the window, watching something or may be nothing, on the busy lanes of Mumbai.

She heard a knock on the door and pretended as if she had not heard it. The knocks turn louder. Gritting her teeth, she unfolded her crossed legs and walked up to the door, took a deep breath and opened it…
“Neeti…”

The woman gave no reaction or response. Her eyes met the eyes of her guest for a split second. She turned back and began walking towards her bed-room. She laid her steps apathetically. Her head tilted to the left.

“Neeti yeh kya ho gaya? Ankhein dekhin apni?” Kashif pushed his way inside her apartment. He noticed her bag lying on the sofa. The windows were open. It was all so not-Neeti.

Neeti shrugged and walked into her bed-room, sat on her ruffled bed and again watched outside the window. Kashif followed her. He was hesitant to enter her room but then realized it wasn’t the time for awkwardness and formalities. Something had gone terribly wrong and he had to know.

He sat next to her and looked at the woman watching outside;no emotion in those pretty but tired eyes.

“Kya hua Neeti? Batao. Bolo bache.”
No answer.
“Kuch nahin bologe tho pata nahin chalega na. Kuch tho batao.” He hesitantly, kept his hand on her shoulder. Neeti pushed his hand off but the human touch, sent a vibe down her body and had her tears flowing again. There was no wallowing or even weeping for that matter. Just gushing tears. Unstoppable. No sobs heard, no eyes blinked.
“Bolo… please”

“Uski shaadi ho rahi hain Kashif.”
“Par woh tho keh raha tha ki…”
“8 din mein… Usne call kiya tha raat ko.”
“Neeti… aap please matt ro… Main use call karta hua… Uska dimag thikane lana padega.”
“Abh kya fayda. Uski marzi bhi tho shamil hain uss mein.”
“Par woh itne mahine aap se… Neeti aapne do saal intezaar kiya. Aise kaise jaane doge aap? Main usse tik karta hun.”
“Nahin.” A deep breath. “Abh bas. Bhagwan ne mera kaafi mazak bana liya. Abh aur nahin yaar. Thak gayi main. Do saalon se apne aap ko roz jhoot bolti thi ki woh aa jayega. Aa jayega. Par abh jo hua hain, acha hi hua. Sach tho saamne aa hi gaya. I at least know what the reality is. Unlike before where I only guessed and wondered and hoped and…”

“Koi aise kaise kar sakta hain yaar? Neeti hum usse call karenge. Woh piya hoga.”
“Nahin. Mujh mein baat karne hi himmath nahin bachi. Isse zyada nahin bardasht kar sakti yaar main. Please.”

Neeti kept talking about random things; her tears never stopped. Kashif listened and kept cursing himself for being so helpless. A few hours later, after making sure that Neeti had her lunch, Kashif left. On his way out, he turned back and said to her,
“Neeti… Irada pakka hain? Call Karen ek baar?”
“Nahi Kashif… pakka” Those eyes spoke copious things and were confident.
“Fir Neeti, shayad abh intezaar khatam hua. ”
Neeti shot him a wide-eyed look. Those words rang.
And after a sigh, she asked, “Sahi mein?”

Kashif looked at her quizzically and in a while, left. He kept wondering about that question Neeti had posed.

7 days passed by. Neeti had made efforts to put things behind. She joined back work. Ramu and O’deth knew, from her of course, about the latest. They tried cheering her up almost every day. Kashif met her almost 3 times in a day and took her out for dinners, whenever she was willing.

That morning, Neeti woke up and the first thought that rushed to her mind was that it was Aman’s wedding day. She decided to show no remorse and fool herself every second of that day.
She took Ramu along to the Marine drive and opened her bag to display cards, dried flowers, burst balloon pieces, gift wrappers. He watched her closely. She placed a paper on the pavement and put on the stuff on it and set the entire collection on fire.

No words exchanged.

They both went then for a coffee.

6 months had passed. The trees had gained new leaves. Café bistros were renovated. The government had changed and newer promises were made. But Mumbai refused to reacted, in any way different than usual. It still continued with the same pace. Not missing a single heart beat.

One day Neeti and Kashif decided to meet up for dinner. A small, yet chic, place in South Mumbai was the venue. Neeti looked, of course, gorgeous.
“Aap ache lag rahe ho” He smiled, warmly.
“Acha” She retorted, a perky tone.

Then there was silence. An uncomfortable one, for Kashif.

A sigh and “Aage kya plan hain?”
Neeti looked at him surprised and burst out laughing.
“Kashif aap tik ho na? Kya puch rahe ho?”

He laughed too in self-pity and spoke no further. The tempo was all right. They left the restaurant with nothing to look back to.

The following day was exptremely hectic for Neeti. Kashif insisted on meeting and they met again. He asked her if she would like to sit by the sea on Marine Drive for some time. And, as expected, she didn’t reject the offer.

They both sat watching the dark sea. Huge waves hit the shore and the breeze jumped around like a peppy child. The peace was broken by the sudden ring from her phone. The number was familiar.
“Hello?”
She heard a a very deep breath followed by “Neeti…”
“Aman…” Kashif watched her face change colours.
“I made a mistake. Honey, my baby. God! I was crazy.”

He kept jabbering.
“Aman, wait! I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“My love I am sorry. I can’t live with her. I want you. Only you.”
Neeti was flabbergasted. “Aman please hang up. I can’t…”
“Neeti I love you gosh!”

Those words killed her. She had waited for two years and they came only after they lost their meaning and essence.

She heard his cries and then finally said, “Sorry Aman. Take care and goodbye.”

She cut the line while he kept pleading her.

She looked at Kashif who seemed satisfied with the current development. They both didn’t discuss it, but smiled at each other, and kept looking at the sea.

“Neeti aap ko yaad hain maine aap se kaha tha ki aap mujhe ache lagte ho?” That was sudden and totally unexpected.
Neeti was a bit alarmed but showed no signs of it. The herald made her prepare mentally.
“Haanji”
“Aur main abhi bhi aap ko bohot zyada pasand karta hun.”
“Okay”
“Neeti… aap samajh nahin rahe ho.”
“Yes.”
He looked the other side, took a deep breath and turned back to look at her. She was still looking at him, waiting.
“Mujhse shaadi karoge?”
She looked into his eyes. “Nahin.” Softly.
“Itni jaldi jawab dene ki zarurath nahin. Thoda waqt lelo.”
She took his hands in hers. “Kashif, aap ko jawab pata tha.”
He looked down. “Haan”
“Fir kyun?”
“Kuch sawaalon ka jawab nahin hain mere paas.” He looked helpless. His eyes could cry, if granted permission.

The rest of the evening was silently spent.

They reached her place and she invited him. He reluctantly came in and sat down on the messy sofa. The hurt was seen all over his sunken face.

She quickly made them both some tea. She broke the calm.
“Sorry Kashif”

They looked at each other. Each wondering about the other's predicament.
“Tik hain. Kuch nahin kar sakte.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hum dost tho rahenge na?” He almost begged.
“Hamesha… Shayad.”
“Yeh kaisa jawab hua.”
She smiled.

Time goes by its’ own wish and will. She understood her wait had ended when Aman called her this time. That she had meant a lot to him. And she knew that this wouldn’t be his last SOS call. Whereas, Kashif knew part of his wait had concluded but the other part was in Time’s hands. He waited and watched in complete composure.

Doc1.docx

I just realized how difficult it is to write without having a topic or subject on your mind. In fact, I’ve begun writing this in an MS Word document and have saved it by the default name, Doc1.docx. I still don’t have a title and probably may not get one either, unless I spend substantial amount of time thinking. Thank you Microsoft.

Well, if so is the case, I should have chosen not to write. I would have been better off sleeping, on this lazing afternoon or may be watching any of my favorite movies. I have the option but I still choose to write. And if you have realized, I have completed one paragraph and am about to complete the second, but still nothing particular to write about.

Why does this happen? Why does one feel like writing but have no topic? Well, the way I look at it, I see the bombardment of subjects. This week almost everything under the Sun, has found some way to be associated with me. Not that I mean to give importance to myself. It’s just the dynamics! So many things to talk about, so much so that I don’t know where to begin.

Just to give a direction to this imbecile chain of thoughts, I would like to begin with my office. We’ve completed the Sprint, as they call it. Successfully! A small luncheon party to commemorate the occasion at a nearby restaurant, followed by a gust of meaningless laughs and gags, ensured that we were, after all, a Team, a good one. Notice how the mind finds everything and everyone, good in the ‘good times’. Just yesterday, I remember, having a tiff with a senior person, from this ‘good Team’ and cursing things away to glory. I showed my brave self in front of all the staring pairs of eyes. But once home, I cried my eyes out. You see, the mind is a funny laboratory. One reaction causes another one and the chain continues, like the organic chemistry.

Nothing gave me solace. No indulgence helped.

The next morning, when I stepped into the conference room, the aura had a charm about it. It was all fine and everyone took a big part in the leg-pulling, at every random person.

Anyways, I still haven’t been able to make up my mind about office. So I shall let that be.
I just read what I’ve written so far. Alas! Still, no title, suitable enough. May be, this one is destined to go unnamed. May be, this one may never be read. Would it matter if nobody ever read it? If yes, how? If no, why?

A small documentary named “Einstein’s biggest blunder” revealed to me that his relativity theory, E = mc2, is merely three-paged. I think of this again and again and still come to a conclusion about the ridicule this revelation brings. A bespectacled gentleman in the video said “Einstein gave us many answers but he left us, the scientists, with more problems.” Even the geniuses aren’t spared. But think about the three-paged theory. I’m tempted to call it a booklet, but it would be an understatement, for booklet, of course. He wrote the most admired axiom and explained it, in a way a kindergarten teacher would explain to a three year old, the meaning of education.

This was yesterday, unlike which, today is not at all eventful. One mind-rippling thing that happened is that my Papa sent me a gunny bag of mangoes, the non-hybrid, the authentic Goan Musraad. Papa knows the best. Let’s keep it at that so I can sign off for now.

It all belongs to thee

This is my land, where I was born,
Richness of wheat, rice and corn.
This is my land where I toddled around,
No worries, no limits to me bound.
This is my land where I played hide-and-seek,
A few missing teeth and a dimpled cheek.
This is the spot I was kissed my first.
Some new feelings, then felt not nursed.
This is the land I toiled with my father,
Being a lawyer, I preferred rather.
Drenching in the sun made no sense,
And money after all covered every expense.

I chose the green notes over the greener paddy,
Being modern I thought was good and faddy.
A new home made far away from ‘home’,
In a city that looks like a posh glass dome.
A place that paid so much in dollars,
This “Independence” really pulled up my collars.
Elated was I to know I was my boss,
This life seemed full and red like tomato sauce.

It was all happening like a dream come true,
Until I was ushered to see things, without a clue.
All that was “real” seemed then, like nonsense,
I wondered what made these houses have a fence.
Was it only me alone and isolated?
Probably something was ill-fated!
The fake brilliance this city had once shown,
I could see through as the veil had blown.

It was too late to go back I guess,
This is an excuse, nevertheless.
Its’ easier after all to “suffer” and stay,
But challenging to walk out and go astray.
And yet if I go that way, once forgotten,
My land where the water never went rotten.
I see that I have to prove my identity,
As if to show I’m sane, a harmless kitty.
This is the place where I now want to be
And yet couldn’t, without paying the fee.

In spite of the affair I had with the land for years,
Why would I have my eyes not welled with tears.
The land, the water, the air was all free,
Until you decided it belonged to ‘thee’.

The worse is that I played your game with open eyes,
So how would I blame you for my own vice!

As within so without...

Nothing stands alone,
Nothing can just be.
It's all a part of One,
Open your eyes and see.

Its the same everywhere,
And yet there is doubt.
They said it long ago,
As within so without.

The innocent cat closes her eyes,
And stealthily licks the milk.
She knows she's watched all along,
Yet she refuses to belong to the ilk.

The human is no different, yes!
Evading and putting on a pout.
He knows they said it long ago,
As within so without.

Someday the sleep will come to an end,
And he would have to rise on his feet.
But the reality would be too strong then,
A smack he may not be able to beat.

But does it mean it ends right there?
As if the emptiness was a bout.
It will still resonate again and again,
As within so without...
As within so without...

The wait for the end… Part 9

What would it mean to lose one’s identity? If there is no ‘I’ left, how would a person feel? Take for example, a rich person who is famous, good-looking and leads an extravagant life. If some day he had to wake up and look at him in the mirror and not be able to relate to the reflection. He has realized the riches, looks, cars parked under the porch, none make sense. His looks are just a way to help him differentiate from the rest and are not of any meaning beyond. The big sedan he travels with and flaunts about, is nothing more than a metal box that looks after his logistics. If he is capable of seeing this and beyond, he would unmistakably notice that he has been living an illusion all the while. He tried to entertain himself; avoided looking at the real picture and instead kept garnering more and more face value. So to say, he tried to build the “I” with a car, more money, his ego, his looks.

After all, one still remains naked within the best and best of clothes. And this truth can never be changed. But is it the ultimate?

Aman woke up with a heavy head and looked around his room. The white walls were still white. The satin grey curtains hung there with no trace of movement. The clothes lying on the adjacent dewaan, lay there, lifeless. Nothing had changed and yet something felt like otherwise. He struggled out of his bed and walked into the drawing room. The place was a mess, cluttered with empty liquor bottles, beer cans, empty shells of groundnuts scattered all over and jumbo packets of wafers on the sofa, still filled with the remnants of powdered wafers. His fat wallet, thrown on the floor, jutted out a small part of a golden colored credit card. He raised his eyes brows, swore under his breath and looked away.

He walked into the other bed room and saw his room-mate asleep on the bed like a lifeless walrus, waiting for the Almighty to shower him with fragrant flowers of Holland. Aman laughed to himself at that thought and said, loud enough, “Walrus”. His room-mate opened his eyes a bit and squinted for a split second. But then went off to sleep again, this time with a huge snore.

Aman walked back into the living room and once again glanced at the dingy. He picked up his wallet and went into his room. He couldn’t make up his mind about bathing first or cleaning the place. He threw the wallet on the bed and went in for the daily ablutions. After a quick bath, he wore a pair of short and a faded T-shirt. He ran his fingers quickly through his wet tresses and set them decent. A cup of hot tea and an omelet with toasted bread pacified his growling tummy.

An hour later after reading the newspaper and checking his mails on his laptop, he stretched his arms and legs and frowned. He knew, against his wish, he would have to clean the living room, all by himself. Well, he did just that.

It took him nearly two hours to tidy the house. But his room-mate had not even moved a finger as yet. He was still asleep in the same position. Aman thought probably the cleaning would make him feel better. Lessen his restlessness. But on the contrary, he felt irritated. He called up Meeth. Meeth and Aman had been friends since Grade One in school. And yet, understood very little of each other.

“Kya kar raha hain?”
“Mahabaleshwar! Colleagues ke saath yaar. Tu bol. Kay chalay?”
“Sara ghar saanf kiya. Ye walrus abhi bhi nahin utha.” Aman swore, so Meeth could hear him.
“Walrus? Kaun bhai?”
“Lokesh re. Ani kon. Kab se soo raha hain.”
“Chod na. Sunday ke din kya karega woh. Chill kar re. Shaam ko milte hain. Wahin. Aaj teri beer party.”
“Nahin re aaj mann nahin hain.”
“Kya? ” Meeth screamed. “Teri tabiyat tho tik hain? Tere walrus ne break up kiya kya tere saath?”
“Chup yaar. Mood nahin hain.”
“Ja. Ek laath maar walrus ko aur bol teko movie leke jaye. ”
“Hmmm”
“Uff… bata kya problem hain?”
“Hmmm meko subah se ajeeb lag raha hain. Yeh kya life hain dost? Pura hafta apun log kaam karta hain. Fir raat ko pee ke soo jate hain. Weekend pe talli ho jao. Meeth, is this all life has to offer?”
“Abey ooo! Subah subah pravachan shuru kiya tune. Ramdev baba ka channel dekha kya uththe hi?”
“Meeth yaar. I’m serious. Meri life mein yehi sab hain filhaal. I have friends. I have a family, far away. I have the latest clothes. My spanking PSP. I have a nice white Camry. Nothing is lacking. Then why am I not feeling like it?”
“Like what?”
“Like… may be just satisfied… complete… like I felt with…”
“Ufff Aman did she call you?”
“Hell no! That is the problem. She hasn’t even called me. Not even once. Not even a missed call. Not even an attempt for one. 3 months! ”

Aman continued after a long silence. “I cleaned the entire house. I washed some clothes. I read the newspaper. I saw the company’s reports, checked my mails; chatted a bit with some online folks. I did everything a normal guy does on a Sunday morning. Exhausted myself! All this, so that I can get rid of the empty feeling circulating within; just to chuck her thoughts and stop this mind-yapping.”
“Hmmm. Coming there.”
“No no Meeth. I know this won’t go even if you come here. There’s only one thing that can help me.”
“Shut up Aman! You’re not doing that. Understand? Pagal hai kya!”
“Meeth I can’t bear it yaar. This is too much. 3 months is max I can tolerate.” Aman swore louder and louder.
Meeth joined in and swore too. “Do what you want man! I hate you for this.” Meeth sounded disgusted.
“Right! Call you later.”

Aman looked at his Apple iPhone and scrolled in the contact list. He knew if he would type out the alphabets of the person he wanted to call, the name would appear faster. So he preferred scrolling one by one, because that, he felt, gave him more time. He saw that the person’s name was now highlighted. Not that he needed his iPhone to remember or remind him the number. He had the number engraved on his brain. Since 4 years now.

He suddenly threw the phone on the sofa and hurriedly paced about the drawing room. He saw around if he could find some work to do. Just to prevent himself from doing what he desired the most. He saw a heap of washed clothes on his room-mates’ study table and picked them quickly. He decided to pay a small visit to the laundry man.

He picked up his house keys and wallet and made sure to tell himself to forget carrying his mobile phone. “What a paradox!” He thought. Walked down the distance and took small, lazy steps. But to his dismay, the entire affair lasted only for 30 minutes.

Here he was back in his apartment, pacing the flat, room to room. He loudly uttered a cuss and walked to the sofa. Picked up his mobile phone and pressed a key to switch on the display. It read “Neeti”.

“Enough is enough!” He pressed the call button. The first call went unanswered. He called up the second time and after three rings he heard a familiar voice say “Hello”.

“Haan main bol raha hun.” Aman quickly grimaced and thought about the stupid way he began without greeting.
“Oh you changed your number.”
“Yes. A month back. That is why I called you.” Neeti’s heart broke. Number changed a month back! “So you know that now onwards, I’ll be reachable here. Well actually, I was scrolling through my cell phone and was deleting contacts that had changed numbers. So thought of calling you…”
“Make up your mind first. Why exactly did you call? First reason or second.”
“Doesn’t matter. So you still have this number, eh?”
“Yes Aman. Confirmed. ”
“Hmmm. Good.”
Silence. Just small disturbances due to the mobile signals.
“So you’re done I guess” said Neeti to break the queasy silence.
“Yeah. So how are you?” Aman sounded very unsure of what he was saying.
“Aman what has happened? What exactly do you want?”
“Well…”
“What Aman?”
Neeti held her breath to listen to what Aman had to say to her. She guessed he would again say things that would hurt her. She had already begun preparing herself for the brutal ordeal.

“Neeti it’s a nice Sunday. I just thought of calling you. Remember we had decided to take a Sunday trip once. Please do go for that trip whenever you can, in future of course. I won’t be able to accompany you. But you please don’t stop yourself.”
“Aman, what the hell are you saying? And why can’t you come?”
“Neeti just listen to what I say. I am cutting the call now. I have some work to do.”
“Are you sure you want to cut the line? Because I think otherwise.”
“Well since I don’t have anything more to say, I’ll cut. If you have some news, then do let me know.”
“Nothing here.” The tone was sad. The words said more that they should have.

Sometimes, words don’t seem enough. Neeti thought about Einstein’s description of the telephone. He said “It’s a technology like a cat. You pull the tail in London and the cat meows in America.” She wondered how she would know about the pulling of the cat. She had heard the mews but was interested in the circumstance that made the cat take such a long ride.

Silence had again prevailed and none had anything to say.
“OK” Aman said.
“OK” said Neeti.
Neeti understood the line would now go dead. And it did.

The wait for the end ... Part 8

How can Mumbai be described in a word? Will ‘pandemonium’ work? How about ‘dreamland’? Commotion? Extravagant? It would be a very difficult question to answer. Nonetheless, the answers that would pour in would be far too many for a normal 320 GB computer to store and still insatiable. This city has the same gift for all, that is, a dream.

It is said Mumbai has a place for everyone. Sea-facing villas, flats, shanties, streets, pavements, all are housed in Mumbai. There is not a vacant spot left in this bewitching city but still it never complains. It accepts one and all with open-arms. Thus, not surprisingly, the count of people, dwelling here, is not something to be given a thought to. The number is not worth remembering since every passing day will have yet another train, reaching the Mumbai railway station and delivering a new package of dreamers.

So is it possible to be alone in Mumbai? In fact, a better question would be “Is it possible that a person becomes a loner here?” The chances seem quite low, if one stands near the window overlooking the traffic on Peddar road, in Bandra, Worli, Dadar or any place which has a Mumbai pin code. This would be an optimistic thought. But, how about someone who has a sunken heart and watches outside the same window, looking at nothing? Does this city have something for such people?

Months passed by. Neeti counted days, followed by weeks and then months, since she last spoke to Aman. Aman did call her a few times. Once after 2 months, then after 3 months and then yet again after 3 more months. She had made a mental note of all these calls, the dates and always thought that every call she received would be the last someday. He was drunk whenever he called. He said that he loved her and would die without her. Each call of this kind made a nerve so sensitive within her, to the extent that she cried with pain and agony. She wondered if the man ever thought of what she went through when she heard all that stuff. Is this how she was supposed to be treated after a yearlong relation? Is this how a woman is treated? Do her tears have any value? Neeti had developed a very low esteem.

She tried to distract herself with various things around her. She had begun interacting with her Parsi neighbour, Mrs. Cowasjee, an elderly lady, living with her retired army-official, cricket maniac husband. Mr. Cowasjee loved his newspapers. He had himself delivered 3 newspapers every day. One in Parsi, the other in Marathi and one in English. Neeti found it funny, but dared not to question the short-tempered, white moustached ex-army man.

Neeti had made a few new friends through her colleague, O’deth. They met quite often and went clubbing on Saturdays. Neeti did not like clubs but went there only for the deafening music. O’deth made sure that Neeti was never left alone on Saturdays and Sundays. Especially since she had seen Neeti crying once in the office washroom and had eventually got to know about Aman from her. After listening to Neeti’s sad story, O’deth had managed to say just one line, “Neeti, he’s digging a grave for himself.” Neeti was too agitated then and ignored the comment considering it trivial.

It was the third Saturday of the month. 3 months had already passed by since Aman’s last call. Neeti was expecting a call anytime now. She woke up around 9 am and sat on her soft white bed looking at the heap of clothes on the chair. The clothes had over-piled up and a washing spree was long due. She thought to herself about the washing and imagined her hands soaked in white foam and wrinkled because of the over-exposure to water and alkalis. A world war awaited her today, at that thought she smiled and with a quick jump she stood up to get ready for office.

An hour later, while she was applying jam to the slice of bread, there was a knock on the door. She took a big bite, enough to suffice for the 5 steps from the table to the door.

“Good morning Aunty.” Neeti smiled. It was Mrs.Cowasjee in very pretty blue A-line dress.
“Good morning Dikra. Chaloo Ni. Come to my place right now. I have something for you.” Neeti smiled again noticing the polished English accent the lady had. Mrs. Cowasjee was always well dressed and had an enchanting, refined English accent that could make even a British conscious.
“Stop smiling. I know you like my English accent and that is why I flaunt it.” The lady put out a small teasing laughter.
“Aunty, my English is also good. You know yesterday Uncle was saying that I speak better than you.” Neeti laughed loudly and patted the lady on her shoulder.
“Really! Since when did you stop being afraid of my handsome Ronnie?” Mrs. Cowasjee had hit an ace this time and Neeti understood she had lost the case now. Neeti smirked and Mrs. Cowasjee winked.

Dumping her stuff in the bag, Neeti quickly locked the door and went along with Mrs. Cowasjee. On entering the Cowasjee residence, Neeti saw the table, set for three. Mr. Cowasjee stood up and greeted Neeti cordially. He quickly fetched two glasses of water for the ladies.

“Thank you Uncle.”
“Welcome Neeti. I hope you are doing well.” Mr. Cowasjee was a man of little words. He only passed statements and hardly questioned.
Neeti realised it was no question and hence only smiled back.

“Dikra, sit here. I have made Akuri. Ronnie darling read those newspapers later. Come for breakfast baba.”

Mr. Cowasjee dutifully put aside the newspapers and sat in his usual place at the breakfast table. Mrs. Cowasjee and Neeti were engrossed in their conversations. Mr. Cowasjee hardly looked up from his plate. When he was done, he stood up and excused himself.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s very silent. Manufacturing defect che. It doesn’t mean he does not like you. ” Mrs. Cowasjee could feel the discomfort Neeti had in the presence of Mr. Cowasjee.
Neeti smiled and said “Not at all Aunty.” She later added, “I must say he is very handsome and so stylish.”
“Hey! He’s mine.” Mrs. Cowasjee laughed loudly. Neeti blushed and laughed too.
“But Aunty, why 3 newspapers?”
“Parsi because of community related news. Marathi because he studied Marathi on his own and likes the language. English because he is a high-nosed army man. Pagal che!” Mrs. Cowasjee stood up and took her plate to the kitchen. Neeti offered to carry her own plate to the sink.

They had a good, huge mug of hot, brewing coffee. Suddenly, Mr. Cowasjee said to Neeti, “I’ll drop you to office today. I have to meet a person that side.”

Neeti gulped hard and before she could refuse the offer, Mrs. Cowasjee said “Neeti that is great! I’ll give you a list of vegetables. Please buy and give them to Ronnie. Ronnie never bargains. Thanks to him, I have even eaten potatoes worth dollars.”

Mr. Cowasjee drove his car from the parking lot to the main gate, where Neeti was waiting for him. Before Neeti could open the passenger seat door, he stepped out of the car, opened the door to the passenger seat and seated Neeti.

Was this how a man makes a woman feel like a lady? If yes, it is rightly said that it takes a man to treat a woman like a lady. Else a woman will never rise to be a lady, however big an achiever she may be. Neeti felt so special.


After purchasing the vegetables and giving them to Mr. Cowasjee, she was dropped to her office. Neeti did not attempt to open the door this time. She understood the protocol and waited until he opened the door for her and he did exactly that. Neeti smiled ear to ear.

“Thank you so much Uncle. Not for the lift, but for making me feel like a lady today. I haven’t been treated like this.” Without thinking, she pecked a small kiss on his cheek.
For the first time, Mr. Cowasjee smiled at her and placed a hand on her head, as if he understood she needed blessings.
“Bye Neeti. Have a good day.”

Neeti smiled even brighter and waved till his car was out of sight. What is it about Army men? What do they have different about them? Personality? Flawless English accent? Eye-to-eye contact while speaking? Manners and breeding? How would a woman not feel conscious in such a man’s presence? These questions kept bothering Neeti.

Office work was less since the weekend was approaching. By 3pm, after a small bite, Neeti left the office to click pictures for the weekend supplement. She thought of a theme and wondered what part of Mumbai would fetch her, the kind of scenes she imagined. O’deth offered her bike services since she was bored and had completed a write up for the weekend edition long time back.

The two girls roamed the city for effective pictures. Situational, natural, colourful. Within an hour Neeti had clicked more than 45 pictures but still wasn’t satisfied. The things she imagined were yet to be brought to light.

They reached Mahim and decided to take a break. O’deth pointed to a small, dingy restaurant and within no time the girls were inside having a nice cup of “Cutting chai”. Across the road there was a lot of commotion. Suddenly O’deth was pumped up and sprang from her seat.

“Lets’ go there. New scoop!” O’deth beamed and literally pulled Neeti by her hand. They crossed the road and stood at a safe distance to watch what was going on.
“What is going on there? Did you see anything?” O’deth asked a boy who had just passed by that commotion.
“I just saw three men shouting violently at someone.”

O’deth wasn’t getting any breaking news so she went closer and closer. Neeti followed her.

Seven men had circled a man, sitting on the road. There was another man in that circle too. But his role there couldn’t be judged from that distance. Neeti went two steps closer.
“Kashif!”
“Oh my God! You saw that don?
“Which don?”
“Kashif! Obviously! Lets click some pictures. Come on quick.”

Neeti stopped blinking and made no attempt to switch on the camera. O’deth looked at the girl quizzically and snatched the camera. She pulled Neeti behind a paan-stall. They hid there and O’deth unruly clicked pictures. When she turned behind to check on Neeti, she saw that Neeti was gone. O’deth looked around and frantically asked the paan-maker if he had seen Neeti move out of there. He pointed out in a direction. O’deth looked in the direction of the pointing finger. Neeti was moving towards the commotion.

The seven boys looked at Neeti walking in their direction. One of them snapped is fingers and yelled at Neeti. Neeti showed no reaction and kept moving towards them till she saw a bleeding man, sitting on the road and Kashif, bent over and slapping the man.

“Kashif!” she said. She did not yell, scream or shout. She said it loud enough for him to hear.
Kashif stood straight and looked at the woman who called out his name. His throat went dry. “Neeti aap idhar? Main yeh...”
Neeti showed her right palm signalling him to stop the explanation. “Forget it.”
Neeti turned back and walked away quickly. O’deth waited for her to cross the road and then followed her. She ran a little and caught pace with Neeti.
“Silly! Where do you think you are going?”
“I want to get out of here.”
“Scooty is parked near that shop. Lets’ get there quickly.”

Neeti appreciated O’deth's gesture to help and of not asking questions about what was going on. Two minutes and the girls were already on their way towards office.
“Ody drop me home. Take my camera and give all those pictures to Sushant. He’ll choose the one which will run on the weekend supplement. Keep my camera in your locker.” O’deth did as she was told.

Kashif kept calling Neeti. She placed her mobile for charging and let it ring incessantly. Not once did she receive Kashif’s calls. Sushant and O’deth called in between whenever they got the bandwidth. She received their calls and Kashif’s calls were then on hold.

Around 7pm, Neeti checked her phone and saw “86 missed calls” on the screen. She called up O’deth.
“What plans for today? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Honey, I thought you wanted some space. So...”
“I don’t want to be alone today. Please Ody. You understand me?”
“Get dressed. 20 minutes”
“OK.”

Neeti cut the line and quickly got dressed. For the first time in her life, she was over dressed. She had streaked out heavy Kohl lines around her eyes. Her hair was let loose. Her ears carried big danglers. Neeti saw herself in the mirror and immediately looked away. She was hell-bent on freaking out tonight. She put on a dark coloured nail-polish and wore a shiny blue dress. Everything was out of place. She thought over-doing could give her some solace.

In 10 minutes, there was a knock on the door. Neeti wore her high-heeled sandals, fetched her bag and rushed to open the door. On opening it, she saw Kashif standing there, fuming from head to toe, with red eyes and an inflated nose.

“Main bahar ja rahi hun.” Neeti said, looking away.
“Mujhe idhar tamasha nahin karna hain. Chup chap chalo mere saath.”
“Sorry. Main nahin aaungi.”
“Neeti... please. Mujhe baat karni hain. Abhi. Isi waqt.”
“Maine kaha main bahar ja rahi hun.” Neeti said very coolly.
“Yeh ghatiya kapde pehenke, kaha ja rahi ho aap? Aur yeh kya chehere pe lagaya hain. Apne aap ko dekho zara.”
“Hmmm. Baad mein baat karenge.”
“Neeti... jo hua...” Kashif spoke no more when he saw the coldness in Neeti’s eyes. He hit his fist hard on the wall and walked away.

Neeti closed the door.

The next morning, when she opened the door to pick the newspaper and daily packet of milk, she saw Kashif sitting on the steps watching the door with begging eyes.

“Andar aa jao.” She said. The same coldness in her voice.
“Kahan gayi thi aap raat ko?”
“Club. Coffee?”
“Ji.”

Neeti prepared some coffee and placed a mug in front of Kashif.
“Neeti kal aap ne jo bhi dekha woh sab...”
“Aap underworld mein ho?” She looked at him, eye-to-eye.
“Neeti aap jaisa soch rahe ho woh...”
“Yes or no?”
“Neeti meri baat tho suno... ”
“Kashif kya aap underworld mein ho?”
Kashif took a deep breath. He recognised the tone and said “Haan. Lekin aap agar...”
“Finish your coffee and get out!” Neeti was still cool. No wrinkle on her forehead. No raised eye brows. No alarming eyes.

The truth was out and she decided not to react or respond.

How does it feel when a trusted someone lies? Will any explanation give respite? Will the same trust be ever resurrected? These questions have no answers. At least, no verbally explicable answers. The answers are all too deep rooted and have direct connections to the heart. Breaking trust is like passing AC type current to a gadget which accepts only DC type. The circuitry is rendered irreparable.

Neeti watched Kashif leave her small apartment. He closed the door behind him, promising himself to find a right time and explain things to Neeti.

The wait for the end... Part 7

To see a Gulmohar tree is a very rare thing in Mumbai. And then, to see it bloom, despite the pollution, is rarer. But unfortunately, Mumbaikars are so immersed in their daily bedlam, that even a magical speaking tree won't elicit any response. On the contrary, the bullish or bearish share market has the potential to wake the dead from the graves and spellbind them to follow the market trend. Nobody can blame the Mumbaikars for the type of attitude they have. They are just a different breed, although very attractive, one must admit. And their I-don't-care orientation is the biggest plus point they have, which on rare occasions works against them.

Neeti was yet to get the hang of the typical Mumbaikar attitude. She was very professional at work. Ignorant of emotions, feelings. But when at home, in solitude, she turned very vulnerable. It was like living dual personalities in one day. The point noteworthy is that she played both roles really well.

Speaking to Kashif, once a day at least, had become a ritual now. Neeti mostly spoke about Aman, while Kashif only listened and gave his opinion only when asked for. He knew that when she spoke to him, in reality she was talking to herself. She was fighting a lost battle. Sometimes, Neeti went on for hours in English and Kashif understood nothing but got the gist. He noticed the gradual change in the conversations. Neeti had begun blaming herself for all that went wrong. For more than 2 months she went on like that. Then she was slowly opening up. She had started telling him about particular incidents. Some good and some bad. Now, she had slowly started blaming Aman. She pointed out to the small mistakes he made and she noticed but never told him.

On one such occasion, when Neeti and Kashif were in a deep conversation around late night, Neeti's phone suddenly beeped. She looked into the screen of her handset. What she saw made her stop her breathing. "Kashif, woh call kar raha hain.""Kaun?" Kashif didn't have clue.Neeti couldn’t even take Aman's name. Something within her made her nervous. "Wahi! Aur kaun!""Baat kar lo. Baad mein baat karte hain."

Before she could say anything further, Kashif's line went dead. The other line had become active. Her smart phone, which she adored the most, among all the gizmos she owned, had become a piece of abhorrence. It kept flashing "Aman calling...”. She took in a deep breath; to get rid of the empty feeling coupled with an icy sensation, and received the call.
"Aman!" She only whispered.
"Neeti".

Gosh, she had heard that voice after 3 months. She didn't know what to feel and what not to. She was too dumbstruck to respond. The kind of feeling one gets after having a huge blob of ice-cream in the mouth, like a greedy child. The same numbness. The brain-freeze. The dilemma of choosing between spitting out the ice-cream or gulping it down in one shot.

"I didn't call to bother you. Just wanted to talk to you and see if everything is okay. We didn't speak for a long time."
"Aman. How are you?"
"I'm good. Are you really bothered about how I am?" Sarcasm, she made a mental note.
"Yes, Aman. I'm not into formalities and you know that well." The tone wasn't firm but Neeti tried.
"Then what happened for three months? Why didn't you ask me then?"
"Aman you know why." Neeti realised she was still making herself believe she was talking to Aman, by saying his name before every response.
"No, I dont. Please tell me why."
"Aman you broke up with me. You didn't want to be with me anymore. The last time you came you gave me all the reasons as to why we're not meant to be together. And here you are asking me why I haven't called you." Neeti broke down.
"Oh baby! Please don't cry. I was a jerk. I'm sorry. But I can't just commit. I still love you. I really do."

Neeti's mind was spinning by now. She heard the words and was gasping for air.
"Aman..." She cried. Only her sobs could be heard. Her mouth went dry and she couldn't stop the tears. Her breath was deep. That 1BHK where she lived suddenly seemed too small making her claustrophobic. She ran to the refrigerator, pulled out a water bottle and drank huge sips of water.Aman was surprisingly patient; he heard her cry and said not a word.

"Aman I have died everyday without you. I have craved for these words. Aman! What do I say!"
"Well there is only one way you could reply to these words."
"Of course, you idiot. I love you more than anything. More than anyone."

They spoke till 6 a.m. She was still not sleepy and could go on for another couple of hours without a blink. But Aman had started dragging words and yawning loudly.
"You're sleepy. Should we sleep off now?"
"Thank God you asked. Yes, my bachu. We should sleep off. And I'll call you in the morning."
"Okay." Said Neeti, half-heartedly.
"Yeah. Goodnight."

The line went dead. Neeti kept looking at her cellphone. Suddenly that piece of embedded-technology seemed the world to her. She jumped on her bed and gave out a small scream in her pillow. Her happiness couldn't be contained. For a moment she thought she would call the Nokia guys and tell them their masterpiece, which she owned, had given her the biggest happiness of her life.

People say its' tough when you don't have people around to share sadness and sorrow. But the truth is deeper. Its' tougher when you have happiness and don't have anyone to talk to. Sorrow can come out as tears; or as a write-up in your diary; or a blog or sometimes even a poetry. But happiness gives you such a high that only talking can help dilute. May be because happiness brings along with it some kind of loneliness too with it.

Neeti tried to get some sleep. She dreamt of Aman and smiled in her sleep.

It was 10 a.m. The Gulmohar in the neighbouring compound looked brighter. The birds had become chirpy. Neeti felt even the soap she used every day, smelled better, lemony and tangy. She felt fresh as a peppermint. The lack of sleep didn't affect her in anyway. In fact, her face glowed. She quickly got dressed. For a change, to commemorate the special event, she wore her new Prussian blue satin top and paired it with a pair of fine blue Levi's jeans. She picked her bag and hopped down the stairs and then to the street. The dainty dressed woman caught attention where ever she went. She looked not beautiful but attractive.

"Wow! Pretty haan!" Sushant, the frosty boss managed to say to her. He peered her and noticed the change.
"You look so..." Ramaswamy was still thinking. He thought he’d just leave it at that; no word, however beautiful, could express what he felt.

Neeti had a certain bounce about her today. She jumped about the office like a small girl would, when gifted a complete Barbie set. She called Kashif sometime after noon and told him everything about the conversation. This time also, like all the previous times, Kashif only listened.
"Yeh bohot bohot achi baat hain. Chalo abh mujhe thoda kaam hain. Main thodi der mein call karta hun aap ko."
"Okay KA-FISH! Babyeeee!"

It was 3 p.m. No call yet from Aman. Neeti grew restless. She was wondering about his well-being. She decided she would call him around 6 p.m. He could have been caught up with some work after all.

It was 7 p.m. and still no call. Kashif had called her a while ago and asked her to meet him at a bistro near Linking road. She could wait no longer and dialled Aman’s number. She waited for Aman to receive but the call went unanswered. In another 15 minutes, she re-dialled his number. And still no response. She turned panicky and again dialled after 2 minutes.
"Yes!" Rude tone.
"Aman darling! Are you all right?"
"Yes yaar. Why on earth are you calling continuously?" Irritate.
"Aman I was worried. I thought..."
"I don't care about what you thought. Just tell me why you've called."
"Aman, why are you yelling like this? I was worried and that is why I called. And you could have..."
"Listen! I am not interested in your speech. Please get to the point. And quick!"
Neeti took a deep breath; her fears were rising. "Aman you said last night you would call and then you ..."
"Neeti I didn't remember."
"But Aman we spoke till 6 a.m! And you said..."
"Yes! 6 a.m and you still have things to talk about?"
"Aman, how are you talking to me? Look at your tone. Do you remember what you said last night?"
"Last night... Neeti... I was drunk... Some shots of tequila, I forgot the count after some time and ..."
Neeti felt like she heard a bat screech in her ear. Her heart pounded within her chest, like seeking an opportunity to tear and come out. Her eyes were too shocked to break into tears.
"Aman do you remember you said you loved me? Do you remember your commitment?"
"Neeti all I can say is that I was drunk. What do you expect? I won't say anything more."
"You don't have to Aman. You just don't have to."

Kashif was waiting in the bistro. The 3 ear-to-ear smiling waiters stood up; one with flowers, another with a cake and the third with a gift. Neeti walked in like zombie and stood next to Kashif. He noticed she looked good in her attire but walked strangely, as if she had just seen a ghost. Her face was drained out of colour. Work stress?

Kashif signalled the waiters and the young chaps placed the things one by one, very cordially on the table specially decorated.

"Neeti! Hello ji. Dekho maine pura cafe book kiya. Aaj ka din jashn ka hain. Meri party aap ki khushi ke liye. Aajo ji and cake cut karo."
No response.
"Neeti... Neeti... Kya hua?"
Neeti looked at the cake and read "Mubarak ho Neeti aur Aman. Khush raho."
"Woh piya hua tha Kashif." She looked into his eyes, stone-cold.

Her breathing was heavy and slowly her eyes watered. Kashif was too stunned and only kept staring at the familiar woman in front of him.

Birth and death are extreme situations when a person falls short of words. But this is one situation, which is neither of the two, and yet feels the same. Nothing said can make you feel good. Nothing done can lighten your shoulders. They are just burdensome. Sometimes loaded with happiness and sometimes with sadness. They have to be borne with. Whether alone or in company, the outcome and the emotions are the same.

Kashif felt she was going to faint that moment and hugged her. She hugged back and bore her mouth into his shoulder not to let her cries be heard.

"Usse kuch yaad nahin hain Kashif... usse kuch bhi yaad nahin." She cried and repeated the words over and over again.

Something was dying and nobody could help.