Elysium…

“Excuse Me, ‘scuse me!”, she muttered, as she brushed past more people. It was a beautiful winter day and the chill breeze made her shiver a little, a slight drizzle beginning to wet her shoulders. She tugged at her shawl, his shawl which she had kept, and felt the warm fabric against her skin. Dawn was just breaking and fireworks were lighting up the early morning sky on this Republic Day, as the cadets marched proudly in precision past her and the other spectators toward the podium where she knew the guest-of-honour would be waiting patiently. He always did.

Her mind wandered back to 7 years ago, to a day not very different, to a day in her first semester of college. In her mind’s eye, she could still see him, a fellow student with dreams she had first seen in class all those years ago. He was wearing khaki trousers and shirt, the lab uniform, the shirt with the top button open to reveal a black tee inside, a ready smile playing across his cheerful face as he walked into class with his friends.

A week later. It was the India-Pakistan World Cup match day. And India had just won. Professor Vasudevan had dismissed class early. Everyone in class was shouting. The group of boys who had bunked class to watch the match had just come in, and they added to the pandemonium. She was carefully trying to print a tattoo sticker of Dravid, her beloved Dravid, onto her wrist. She had just applied water and was carefully peeling away the paper when someone bumped her elbow, leaving Dravid without patches of his face. It was him. All she could do was glare as he waved his hand in apology, his lips still curled in a half grin, as the noisy group moved on.

It was the lunch break and she was taking her lunch in a corner. He came into the classroom and looked around, searching. And he seemed to find only one vacant seat among the many – the seat beside her. She had her bag on it, and he walked up to her and asked her if he could sit.
“No, its taken” she said.
“By whom?”
“My bag”, she replied with a withering look.
He moved the bag and sat.
“So do you always take your lunch here?”, he asked.
“Are you always this miserable, or is it just in front of me”.
“It must be you, for not having met you for 17 years of my life”.
She was getting irritated at this guy, who after spoiling her tattoo, was now acting smart.
“Please leave before I give you a piece of my mind”, she told him with barely controlled anger.
“Well, a piece would do for starters”
She didn’t remember the rest.
After some time, he got up, replaced her bag onto the seat with a smile, winked and left. She was so irritated she got up too, pushed off her lunch box, picked up the lid to close it – and found a single Dravid tattoo sticker.

Everyday he would come over, and sit right there, beside her. They seemed to get on much better as time passed. She found him to be a person of many facets. Her young, innocent heart found him enchanting as she got to know him more. Without speaking, he made her smile. Without moving, he made her wince. Without breathing, he made her pant.

She used to sing for the college orchestra and he used to drum his fingers on the desk as she sat by him practising her humming. She still remembered how his face shone when he tried to teach her to whistle. How restless he used to be, while she did the graphs for his record work. How smart he had looked in the white shirt she had forced him to wear. How mischievously his eyes glinted and how his face always seemed so full of life.

She couldn’t recall the exact moment when they decided to intertwine their lives. Neither proposed. They just knew. Destiny, she called it. He called it love. And both laughed at the way she had started on giving him a piece of her mind and ended up giving him her heart, she taking him in with those big eyes of hers.

It was a beautiful winter day and the chill breeze made her shiver a little, a slight drizzle beginning to wet her shoulders. She tugged at her shawl, his shawl which she had kept, and felt the warm fabric against her skin. Dawn was just breaking and fireworks were lighting up the early morning sky on this Republic Day, as the cadets finished their march and stood at attention facing the podium, the spectators standing up as one.

There he was, the impish half grin playing across his cheerful face, the entire college saluting him.
She couldn’t help thinking, “just like old times“!
She walked across to the podium and knelt down, the shawl dropping onto the grass, off one shoulder.
She didn’t cry.
She brought her hands together.
Time stood still.

There he was, in a framed photograph.

ps: inspired by an old post of Shravan’s

Let’s play Tintoretto

Read this first.

HE: Hi!
SHE:Mmm
HE: How’s my coochie poochie today?
SHE: Mmm
HE: Is something wrong? You look quiet.
SHE: No.
HE: Sure?
SHE: Mmm
HE: Ok then. – Did Prem call-
SHE: I’m upset with you.
HE: Why?
SHE: You know why.
HE: No! I don’t.
SHE: You know it very well.
HE: No! I don’t. Really!

Now, a quick question for all the HEs (who interact with SHEs) who read this blog. How many among you haven’t ever tasted some flavor of this conversation? I can bet my blog the answer will be zilch. Everyone talks of emotional wars and such – but the above mentioned technique is something SHEs have used masterfully over the years. And boy, does it work like a charm! Coz never in the history of the sexes has a conversation like this taken place:

HE: What happened?
SHE: You know.
HE: Yeah! I do. It is because I forgot that today is the 4th anniversary of the day I bought you the 27th Dairy Milk since we proposed.
SHE: Yes. But I forgive you!

No way. The fairer sex don’t play fair. It’s always like a trailer to a terrifying movie that’s likely to follow, but never will SHE tell HE anything about when the movie is actually gonna release. So what does HE do? HE starts guessing.

HE: What is it? Is it because I called your dumb friend, dumb?
SHE: No. You know what it is.
HE: Is it because I looked at that girl on the road?
SHE: No. You know what it is.
HE: Is it because I gave you only 47 missed calls today?
SHE: No. You know what it is.

And so in quick succession HE accepts everything – from being a stone-hearted, insightless boor to being the reason why India lost the cricket match. And still SHE sits and nods her head. (Point to be noted here is whatever HE’s just told is going to come up right back from SHE a few months down the line. Not now. No Sir! Right now the object of concentration is solely what’s on SHE’s mind).

Now, let’s say HE is in the same situation. What’s the probability that HE would be able to control himself or the situation? The above scene if reversed is likely to be like this :

SHE: You look quiet. What’s wrong?
HE: Nothing.
SHE: Cool. I had a hectic day at work.

That’s it. The tiger that he is, HE jumps up to pour his heart out. “You did this. You kept me waiting 40 mins today. You did that … blah blah blah.” To all this SHE will but utter one silent reply “I just told you I had a terrible day and still … you … never mind.”

Saying this, SHE chews her lips and keeps quiet.
HE stops shouting.
HE looks at her.
HE wonders what to say.
HE innocently asks, “What happened now?”

“You know what happened,” SHE answers. “You know it!”