If It’s Not Forever: It’s Not Love

by Datta, Durjoy

  ‘Umm …’ he tries to say something.

  ‘Yes?’ Avantika asks.

  ‘I have to leave … to meet Nivedita …’ he says, still a little disoriented.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tiya asks.

  ‘I am fine,’ he says and looks at his feet. ‘I need to go now … I have a flight in an hour …’

  ‘Do you want us to stay? Or come with you?’ Avantika asks.

  ‘I am okay,’ he says and looks at his watch. He gets up from the couch and we follow suit. He looks at us and smiles. ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  We just look back at him, not knowing what to say.

  ‘How long are you in Mumbai?’ he asks, his voice quivering.

  ‘Not for long,’ Avantika says.

  ‘Maybe we will meet in Delhi some day.’ He hands over his card to us. Avantika and I give him our cards. There is silence again.

  ‘I think we’ll go now,’ Avantika says. He nods.

  He comes to the door with us, hugs all of us, and bids us goodbye. He closes the door behind us. We stand there and wait. We don’t hear any sounds from inside. Tiya asks us to move. We get into the elevator. My face is flushed red. What just happened was so surreal and incredibly saddening. No one says a word. The atmosphere is tense and we don’t know how to react.

  As soon as we leave the building, Shrey says, ‘He won’t kill himself, will he?’

  His tone is serious and solemn. We all look at each other and suddenly, we are concerned.

  ‘Let’s just wait here,’ Tiya says. ‘If he has a flight, he needs to go soon, no?’

  We nod. It’s silly, but we are concerned about him. He looked so broken when he got to know about Ragini. And if we were as shocked as we were, it must’ve killed him. So, we walk a little distance from the building, find a pavement to sit on and wait. No one talks much. We have our eyes stuck on the main gate of the apartment building.

  ‘Should we check?’ Tiya asks, scared.

  I nod. Shrey says no. Avantika nods.

  With every minute that passes by, the situation becomes scarier. What if he decides to end his life? I guess I would have. I am just not that strong to endure what Ritam has to right now.

  ‘Now?’ Tiya says five minutes later. This time, all of us nod. We are scared now. Just as we get up from the pavement, we see Ritam walk towards the gate with a trolley bag trailing behind him. A sigh of relief. We see him call out to a taxi and leave. We look at each other. I feel strange. After all that we’ve been through over the last few days, this can’t be a suitable end, can it? But then again, life doesn’t play according to your rules, does it?

  ‘This is it?’ Tiya asks.

  ‘Seems like,’ I say.

  ‘This is like the worst love story ever,’ Shrey says and looks at me. And you’re to blame.’

  ‘Who knew it would end like this,’ Avantika says.

  ‘It feels so strange now,’ I say. ‘All this time we had been telling people that Ritam was dead.’

  We look at Avantika and she knows what she has to do. Call up everyone and tell them that it was a mistake. It would be pretty embarrassing. First, we intrude into everyone’s lives, tell them a gruesome story, then call them and say it’s a mistake and tell them another gruesome story instead.

  ‘Taxi then?’ Shrey asks.

  I nod. It’s time for us to leave. It’s a strange feeling. It’s odd not to clutch at that diary and think about what’s coming next. It’s feels out of place not to think about which place we will now head to. Suddenly, we are out of a life which was exciting and exhilarating and our everyday life stares at us. No more tears. Or old stories. No more nostalgia. No more feeling sorry for the dead guy.

  There is no dead guy now. I had gotten used to all that. We sit in the taxi and my mind rewinds to the first day when everything started. And whatever followed—Dehradun, Piyush, Nivedita, Sumi, Nigel and finally Ritam. I am lost in my thoughts and no one talks much. Maybe everyone is thinking what I am.

  ‘Stop thinking so much,’ Avantika finally says as we board the plane.

  ‘Can’t help it,’ I say. ‘I feel so sorry for Ritam.’

  ‘So do I,’ Avantika says sympathetically.

  ‘It couldn’t have been more unfortunate,’ I say and clutch Avantika’s hand as we sit in our seats.

  Fear grips me—a fear of losing Avantika—just like Ritam lost Ragini. I try to tell Avantika that I love her but I can hardly say anything. She senses it and kisses my forehead.

  ‘I am not going anywhere,’ she whispers.

  ‘You’d better not,’ I meet her eye and say. She clutches my hand tighter. hand tighter.

  We both smile, and tell each other that we will always be around. The plane lifts off the ground and we leave Mumbai behind. I look outside the window and think about Ritam. I say a little prayer in my heart for Ragini. No one should suffer the fate that Ritam has. It’s unfortunate and unfair. I close my eyes and wish the best for Ritam … and Ragini, wherever she is.

  May her soul rest in peace.

  Soon, our plane lands in Delhi. I don’t have the diary in my hands any more, but I know every word of it by heart. The story of Ritam and his last attempt to get back the girl he loved the most, cruelly cut short by the bomb blast. As we take our bags out, my mind wanders to the last note that Ritam wrote in the diary—the one where he said he would fight back, the one that never materialized, the one written ten days before that fateful blast which took Ragini away—and my eyes are clouded with tears.

  Everyday Life

  Slowly and steadily, life has crawled back to normal. No more long drives on dusty roads without a destination in mind. No chasing around clues and asking people about dead people. No sleeping in cheap motels and living on dhaba food. No more spending every moment with Avantika—in her aviators, hot pants and vests—and no more getting irritated by Shrey and Tiya’s insanity. I miss all that. So does Shrey It’s been three months. And the exhilarating feeling of the road trip still hasn’t gone.

  ‘We should plan something,’ Shrey says as he looks away from his desktop screen. He has been pretending to work, but I’m sure he is reading or watching porn. It’s been days since I’ve heard anything about Tiya. Ever since we landed in Delhi, I haven’t seen him talk about her. Shrey and Tiya had briefly posted an album with all the beautiful pictures that Tiya had clicked on the trip, but both of them had removed it soon after.

  I have tried asking Shrey about what’s going on between him and Tiya, but he never really gives a straight answer. He hints that he is back to his old ways but he has not had a meeting with anyone ‘from the Times’ in about three months. There is something really wrong, but I don’t want to intrude.

  ‘Avantika is a little busy these days. We’ll plan as soon as she’s free,’ I say.

  ‘How’s the book coming along?’ he asks.

  Yes, I have been writing that book. The story of Ritam and Ragini. Ever since I got back to Delhi, I’ve been struggling with it. It’s not coming out too well. It’s very hard to capture death in a book. The emotions are just too hard to understand for anybody.

  ‘Umm … it’s going pretty slow,’ I say.

  ‘Did you talk to Ritam?’

  ‘Yes, I did. He doesn’t want to read it. It’s understandable. But I have his full support.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Shrey says.

  ‘Fuck nice. It’s just extra pressure. I just can’t do justice to their story. It’s so moving and whatever I’m writing is pure crap. I feel so screwed,’ I say.

  ‘Then I guess some things are just meant to be left like that. Maybe that story should only be confined to that diary,’ he says.

  Maybe he has a point. But I haven’t really taken Shrey’s advice. It has never done me any good. I look at my screen and get back to my book. Ritam and Ragini’s story. A lot of things have changed since that road trip. Not that I didn’t love Avantika before, but now I make an effort to make her feel what I do. Life’s rude and it does things that
are uncalled for and beyond our control. Ragini was a young, pretty girl with many years ahead of her. Why did she die? Why did she have to go? I am sure Ritam must have asked these questions a zillion times. I can’t even begin to think what Ritam must be going through. There are a lot of days when I stare into the void and try to imagine his state of mind. The pain is almost unbearable.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ Shrey asks.

  ‘Yes, Avantika and I sort of have a plan today. She is cooking after a really long time. I think she just got tired of what I give her to eat every day.’

  ‘Nice,’ he says.

  ‘It’s been long since I have seen you with Tiya. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing, really. We just grew apart.’

  ‘Just grew apart? I thought she was special, wasn’t she? I hadn’t seen you so close to anybody.’

  ‘She was special and she will be. But, you know, she’s a little strange.’

  ‘Strange? Coming from you, that’s odd.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says, wistfully. Something is wrong.

  ‘What’s wrong, Shrey?’

  ‘I have no idea. Ever since we came back to Delhi, she started saying that she didn’t want it to go on, there was no future and that what we had shared was meaningless. She stopped picking up my calls and started avoiding me. So, I just let it be. If she doesn’t want me around, why should I be bothered?’

  ‘Okay. And, when was the last time you went out on a date?’ I ask matter-of-factly.

  ‘Not been out since we came back.’

  ‘That’s three months, Shrey. And you say you’re not bothered? Obviously, she is still special to you. You’ve got to tell her that.’

  ‘But she doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t even pick up my calls. So just leave it,’ he says, exasperated.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it, but you have to go and tell her that it’s bothering you that she doesn’t talk to you any more.’

  ‘That’s so gay.’

  ‘Either you do it or I will,’ I threaten.

  ‘Fine, I will tell her.’

  I can’t wait to see Avantika. Lately, she has been busy with her office projects and I haven’t seen much of her. Ever since we came to know what happened to Ragini, I am constantly scared. I want her to be around. We spend a lot of time just talking to each other. Sometimes, we go out and have very cheesy romantic dinners—as if it’s an anniversary or a birthday—and celebrate our love. After all, who knows what tomorrow has in store? I knock on my house’s door and put on my best smile like I always do. Avantika takes more than the usual time to open the door.

  ‘Hey,’ I say and hug her. She is cold.

  ‘Hey,’ she says.

  ‘What happened?’ I hold her close and ask her. Her eyes are vacant and they aren’t encouraging. I wonder what’s wrong.

  ‘Something came in the mail today.’

  ‘Mail? What?’

  ‘Ritam sent you something,’ she says and hands over a torn envelope to me.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Read it yourself,’ she says and sits on the sofa.

  She has tears in her eyes. Oh shit. What now? I stop thinking and frantically open the envelope and hold the paper inside it before me. I prepare myself for the worst. It’s a crumpled piece of paper. It’s a familiar handwriting—almost like a girl’s, but it degenerates as the note reaches its end—and it brings images flashing back to my head. I have read a whole diary in that handwriting. It’s Ritam’s.

  I read the title of the note and my blood curdles. It’s titled ‘The Last Note’.

  3 January 2012

  ‘Life doesn’t make sense any more.’

  Nivedita died exactly sixteen nights ago. Multiple organ failure, the doctors say. I spent three hours with the lifeless, pale body of Nivedita. She didn’t smile even once. Not even when I told her stories about Ragini and me. Maybe she knows Ragini is dead. I can’t take Nivedita’s silence any more. I want her to talk and she will talk to me. I know a place where that will happen. Not only will she smile, but she will talk and laugh with me.

  If there is one thing that Nigel did right, it was to demonstrate how to nearly kill yourself. I am not taking any chances. Ragini and Nigel had been taken to the hospital for they had overdosed on heroin. It didn’t kill them, but I had overheard the doctors talking about speedball’: an injection of both cocaine and heroin, if taken in more than mild quantities means certain death. A certain death—that is all that separates me from Nivedita … and Ragini. Just a few moments more of my pitiable existence. I have pierced the sharp needle of the first injection through the vein on my upper arm. I already feel a little light-headed. I am already on my way. I can feel her around. Ragini.

  I have a habit of taking this name before I do anything. People must think I am crazy, but people don’t mater to me. She was all that mattered to me. I woke up this morning and the path was clear to me. I stood in front of the mirror and saw a soul devoid of meaning. The alcohol from last night was ruining my mind but I was thinking clearly. I took a few sips of the bitter-tasting whisky and it became even clearer. I had to die. I had to put to an end to my life. I stare at the other injection as it invites me into a different world.

  Ever since the day Deb and Avantika came to my doorstep with the news of her death, days have become unbearably long. Her name no longer brings fond memories. Her violent death haunts me every day. The thought of her skin burning to charcoal, the images of her being torn apart and bruised by metal shrapnel … it kills me. I am dying a slow death—every moment, every day—and I can’t take it anymore. For the last three months, all I have done is taken medicines and visited therapists and doctors, just to stop myself from imagining and reconstructing images of Ragini’s body being carried in a bloodied stretcher to the hospital. The doctor pronouncing her dead. Images of the funeral of her mortal remains, her charred body, the hand I held, the face I loved to look at, mangled and burnt.

  That’s all I think about. The doctors, the hospitals, the funeral setting, the clothes her parents wear, everything changes in those scenes in my head but the end is always the same—Ragini dies. She leaves everyone behind. I can feel the pain that she went through and I feel it every day. The medicines don’t help. I sit locked in my bedroom for days on end, and sedate myself with pills and alcohol. I wake up after days, only to find myself in pools of my own blood and bile. Nothing disgusts me more than my life itself. Every day, I drown myself further into alcohol and multiple doses of anti-depressant pills. I wait to pass out and go to a world where there is no sorrow, where I can live a new life. One in which Ragini doesn’t die an ungracious, painful death and Nivedita gets to walk, smile and talk like there is no tomorrow I wish to be there. Forever. And the injection in my hand will take me there. Far from here. Far from this diary which she held before dying, far from the heart-wrenching memories. I want to run away from all of it. Shut them out myself before they consume me. I have no reason to live now. Nivedita was the only person that kept me together all these years. She knew she was my only family. Couldn’t she have waited till I weathered this storm …? waited till I weathered this storm …?

  It’s the only option I have. I don’t want to be embarrassed about my existence. If I don’t kill myself now, the alcohol will, or I would go crazy. It would be a lonely and painful death. I don’t want to curse Ragini’s or Nivedita’s death for my woeful existence. I will do everyone a favour if I kill myself. Soon, I will be asleep and never wake up. I am already a little drowsy. I already feel I am closer to her. The pain is dying out. It’s time for the second injection.

  I don’t know what lies on the other side of death, but if there is a chance that I would meet her, then I am ready to take it. I know it’s stupid but this is the only way out. My life has no meaning left. I should be dead.

  I wish I could see her now.

  The Shock

  I put the piece of paper down and look at it, scared. I look at Avantika … my mind throws up noth
ing. There is darkness in front of my eyes. This didn’t just happen, did it?

  ‘But …’

  Avantika says, ‘This came in the courier minutes before you came. I have been calling on his number. It’s switched off. I have tried his landline too. No one’s answering that phone either.’

  I’m not crying, but I’m close. Did I lead a man to his death? He wouldn’t have known had I not been stupid and followed the clues from the diary. He would’ve lived. At least for a few days more.

  ‘But who sent you this?’ I say. ‘If he committed …?’

  I frantically grab the envelope from the table and see the person it’s from.

  Ritam Dey

  56/A, Karkol Apartments

  Santa Cruz, Mumbai

  +91-9826784334

  It’s his name, address and number. How did he send the letter then, if he was dying when he wrote the last note? Horrifying images of Ritam lying dead in his own vomit and blood engulf my head. Questions flood my brain and I find no answers to them. There has to be a reason behind this. I hope this is not a prank by Ritam. But Ritam is not a person who would do such a thing. Why would he say that his sister died? But …

  ‘Who couriered us then?’ I ask, still horrified at what I just read.

  ‘I have no idea,’ she says.

  ‘But even the handwriting is his!’ I exclaim as I try his number on the side. My head is spinning.

  Avantika looks at me and says nothing. I keep trying his phone but the phone is switched off. I have started to panic now. Finally I call up Shrey.

  ‘Shrey? Where are you?’

  ‘Office. Why?’ he asks.

  ‘Can you come home? It’s urgent.’

  ‘Now? What happened?’ he asks.

  ‘Can you just be here? And call Tiya too.’

  ‘I called her. She didn’t pickup my call.’

  ‘Fine, I will call her. Just fucking reach as fast as possible.’

  ‘But what happened? Tell me,’ he asks.

  ‘Ritam is dead,’ I say and disconnect the call.

  He sends me a text saying he will be there in twenty. Avantika is equally scared. I ask her to call Tiya and she does so.