by Vikram Bhatt
‘So you’re into advertising now? Selling me a life without you?’ Veer scoffed.
‘Veer, please don’t do this!’
‘Mira, don’t leave me. I have no life without you!’ He had an urgency in his voice.
‘Veer, you have lived all your life without me. I am just someone who has been in your life for a few months. You will forget me.’ I began to walk away because had I stayed I would have fallen to the ground crying.
‘Mira, stop! Wait! Listen to me.’ Veer tried to compose both himself and me. ‘These are the most important two minutes of our lives. There are no external villains in love stories. Love fears lovers and their decisions more than any other thing in the world. We will become the consequence of our decisions for the rest of our lives. Choose love, Mira. Please.’
This was getting more difficult by the second. I looked over my shoulder to find Natasha walking towards me, wheeling a trolley with my bags on it. She was looking at me, very worried. Veer stood staring at me. A noisy kid decided to use a half-broken baggage trolley as a skateboard. It made a shrill grating noise. The universe was moving ahead nonchalantly, not giving a damn about insignificant me. I closed my eyes and saw Veer’s sunlit face as he said, ‘You are my handful of sunshine.’ Then there was Dad, lying in water, broken glass strewn around him.
My eyes flew open. ‘Veer, I am after all just a handful of sunshine. Not bountiful, not plentiful, not abundant, just a handful, and a handful doesn’t last long.’
Veer stood still. He offered no response. His eyes seemed to be searching for something on my face, like there was a Mira hidden somewhere inside me that he could not find. Eventually, he let a tear escape his eyes.
I wiped mine away. Then I looked at him one last time and walked away.
Natasha had stopped a little away from us, giving us some privacy. I walked to her and grabbed my baggage trolley. I could feel Veer’s eyes on my back.
‘Is it really over, Mira?’ Natasha asked in a whisper.
I nodded. ‘I think I have chosen to stop living even before I started,’ I said almost blankly.
I had no way of knowing then how prophetic my words would turn out to be.
VEER
Saturday night
Tragedies are like a stone carelessly thrown into a placid pond. A little disturbance where the stone hits the water becomes a wave by the time it laps on to the shore. All some ill-behaved drunken kids in a fast car had to do was to skip a red light, and the waves of that one act had washed over all my dreams and submerged them forever.
I had lived alone most of my adult life, but that night after Mira left, I was not just alone—I was lonely.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling fan spinning round and round like it was keeping time for me. 2,000 rotations and Mira must be on the flight, 3,000 rotations more and I was planning various ways in which to hurt her, 2,000 more and I was sobbing like a child, more rotations and I felt like I could not breathe. On and on it went, the cycle of the fan, in eerie synchronicity with my emotions.
The morning sun stole through the half-drawn curtains and the fan cast a shadow on the ceiling. The fan being one with its shadow was just too much for my devastated mind. I turned my face away.
The alarm on my cell phone went off, breaking through my disastrous thoughts: ‘Meeting with clients’—at ten sharp.
I did not even remember what I did for a living.
One look at me and Prady knew that disaster had struck. The usually nosy Prady was a picture of restraint that morning. He patted me on the back with all the affection that he could gather, ‘It’s okay, Veer. There is a girl who lives in Kolkata oblivious of my pain and now there is one who lives in Singapore oblivious of yours.’
That was the closest Prady had ever come to confiding in me about his broken heart.
‘Thanks, Prady.’
‘Do you know there is a problem with the concept of love?’ Prady was quickly himself again. We were in the waiting room a little early for our meeting with the marketing head of a company that had just begun to make toothpaste and wanted to brush the competition aside, quite literally.
‘What is it, Prady?’ I asked. He was going to explain to me in any case.
‘Love never lasts forever, but it creates in lovers a need for a forever. A conflict in the very mechanics of love,’ Prady said, looking smug. He did have a point, but a very simplistic one. In my case, I wanted a forever and Mira did not. Couldn’t really put the blame on love here.
Prady took over the meeting, while all I did was stare at the city outside. I remembered the song my father used to listen to all the time—‘Comfortably Numb’ by Pink Floyd. I was numb all right—just had to get comfortable.
Ronita at the office knew where to score some really good ‘Manali stuff’ as she called it. I asked her for it. She gave me some already rolled cigarettes, promised to get a stash the next day and told me to peace out. I promised her I would.
Drugs had never been my indulgence. I had nothing to escape from, no one to run from, but now it became clear to me why people did drugs. When you cannot live your life any more and when death is not an option, then the only way to go is figure a way to be the living dead. The ‘Manali stuff’ was a great aid in that direction.
I got back home and lit the joint.
Fifteen minutes later, I was comfortably numb. Half an hour later, I realized that the term ‘getting stoned’ had some very sincere etymology. I could now stare at anything I wanted, as long as I wanted, and no memory of Mira could bother me. Well past midnight, I grew ravenously hungry. I ate whatever I could find stacked in the refrigerator. Then finally, grudgingly, sleep came.
Oddly, with time, I became lethal at my work. I was the first one to get to the office and the last one to leave. I did my work and Prady’s work and anybody who I could persuade to give me their work.
In just one week since Mira had gone, I had landed the firm three major accounts in the form of the toothpaste company, a humongous food chain and a lingerie brand. I was the new advertising ninja for Pearl and Grey. Jim Jonas from the London office took notice of my talent and sent me a mail over the weekend with an open invitation to come and join the London office whenever I wanted—a rare gesture from the man himself.
I was also becoming an expert at escapism. Drug addiction, workaholic behaviour pattern, meditation, spiritualism, pornography—all were escapes from the pain of life, all painkillers, but for me work and drugs did just fine.
Another thing that failed love does is to rip through your self-esteem. Your love wants you to reach out to her, beg her to come back into your life, while your self-esteem hollers at you, asks you to stop being a doormat, to get a life, to stop being needy. But self-esteem doesn’t stand a chance against love. Love takes your self-esteem and tears it to shreds. I would go through this tussle every day and love would win.
I sent Mira a message on her cell number but she had evidently stopped using it since she went to Singapore. I wrote her emails every second day but got no response. She had deleted her account on Facebook. Mira had virtually disappeared on me. I craved to hear from her, to hear her ringing laughter, to touch her skin. I was being driven nuts. In the words of Prady, I was just ‘a mess’!
It was a Sunday night. I had spent the weekend stoned and staring. I have no idea what prompted me to put on a pair of jeans, grab my cell phone and drive to Natasha’s seafront apartment.
The concierge did not let me get to the elevator. I would not have let me get to the elevator if I were the concierge. He called Natasha on the intercom and informed her of my arrival. It was then that I noticed the time. It was well past midnight. I couldn’t care less, though. It did not matter what Natasha thought of me. The concierge was surprised to hear Natasha ask him to allow me in; his eyes grew wide with surprise. I found that funny and laughed out loud. It was hilarious to see the concierge of a wealthy apartment building more power-drunk than the powerful residents.
As I got out
of the elevator, I found Natasha standing outside her apartment. The door to her apartment was ajar behind her. It was clear that she did not want to invite me in, and wanted to see me off as soon as possible.
I must have looked a mess going by the way Natasha’s expression changed from being ready for an encounter with a drunken man to feeling sorry for the pathetic boy standing in front of her.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘I am really sorry, I did not notice the time, I did not want to bother you.’ I sounded genuine even to myself.
‘No bother.’ She offered a smile. Still would not move aside to let me in.
‘Natasha, I have been trying to get in touch with Mira, but she has changed her phone number and she is not on Facebook any more and the emails seem to bounce back. I know that you must have her contact details. Please give me something, anything! I just want to speak to her once.’ I felt my vision go blurry. It was probably the tears.
Natasha took a deep breath. I could see that she had the contact details but she also knew that Mira being Mira would skin her alive for giving them to me. The poor thing was between a rock and a hard place.
‘Natasha, please, I will tell her that that I forced you to give them to me. I won’t allow you to get into trouble over this. Please?’ I was clearly begging.
‘Veer, it’s very late in Singapore right now. Let me call her in the morning and then if she agrees I will call you and give you her number. Is that fair?’ I could sense that Natasha wanted to cross the forbidden line and give me a hug and I also believed that she would indeed do as she said.
I nodded. ‘Thank you. And I am sorry once again for barging in like this.’
‘That is okay, I understand,’ Natasha comforted me.
I smiled and turned around to call the elevator.
I heard Natasha close the door on me gently.
It was a manic Monday. Meetings, clients and deadlines had not been met, and all I could do was stare at my cell phone. All I could think was, ‘Now it would be quite late in the day in Singapore, now Natasha must have surely woken up, now it is way past lunchtime . . .’ It was like a constant monologue in my head.
The day had almost passed and I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked up the phone and called Natasha. She answered the phone in just one ring; she had been waiting for it I suppose.
‘Hey, Natasha!’ I did not have to ask the question, it was already there in the air between us.
‘Hey, Veer! So listen, I spoke with Mira. I am really sorry. She does not think giving you her cell number is a good idea. I really wish it wasn’t like this, but you know there is little I can do. Mira is a friend and I know how you feel, but . . .’
‘That is fine, Natasha, you don’t have to be sorry. Nice of you to try in any case.’ I had to put the poor girl out of her agony. I hung up after thanking her again. She seemed glad to be off the hook.
‘Have you heard of the Arcturians?’ I was a tad startled to hear Prady’s voice out of the blue. I had stolen into the empty conference room to make the call to Natasha and did not hear Prady sneak up behind me.
I shook my head.
‘They are a fifth-dimensional alien race, and a lot of people seem to have gotten answers from them. Do you know what their advantage is over us? There is no dimension of time in the fifth dimension. They can move back and forth like it was just a car ride in time. But we are stuck in time, my friend, and time moves forward. So unless you are an Arcturian, you’d better get on with the programme and know that Mira left almost two weeks ago. That time is not going to reverse, and even if you decide to be static in time, it is going to be what it is—Mira-less. The problem with Mira is that she is too lost in her own pain to feel your pain. That, my dear friend, is the harsh truth of the matter.’
I stared at Prady, an abysmal mix of emotions. I was angry, disappointed, deeply hurt and genuinely frustrated with my helplessness. Through it all, there was one thing that Prady had said that had hit home. Mira was too lost in her own pain to feel someone else’s pain. I could see the bitter truth in that one statement.
I nodded, unable to say anything, and walked out of the conference room. I saw Ronita walking towards me with a special smile. I smiled back.
‘Hey, Veer!’ she said sassily. ‘So, a few of us are hanging out together tomorrow night. It’s a week night so it will be an early one. Come if you want? Get stoned on some great house music?’
‘Sure, I would love to!’ I found myself saying.
MIRA
Monday morning
‘Veer came home last night,’ Natasha’s words sent a shiver down my spine. ‘He doesn’t look too good, Mira. I think you should call him,’ she added.
‘Why did he come to see you?’ I asked. I did not want to get into the merits or the demerits of calling him.
‘He wanted your number.’
‘Did you give it to him?’
‘No, I told him that I would ask you before I gave it to him.’
The question, without being asked, hung in the air between Natasha and me as we held on to the phone in silence. It was mid-morning in Singapore and I could see the skyline from the large ceiling-to-floor windows of the new office space that I had rented. In the two weeks that I had been in Singapore, I had learned that merely changing the skyline did not change the vista of the heart. You carried your world within you wherever you went.
My world was in tatters, and tatters was what I was carrying around.
‘Okay,’ I managed to say. Not really finding an adequate response.
‘Okay? You mean okay to give your number, or okay as in you get what I am saying?’ Natasha sought to clarify. I wished she had not.
‘Don’t give him my number, Natasha. It is very hard as it is. Please don’t make this harder. And before you lecture me, I am not a stony-hearted bitch. I am really miserable. I don’t sleep well. I keep seeing Veer’s face in front of me. I cry at every half-baked excuse I get so it doesn’t feel like I am crying for him.’
Natasha said nothing. I could hear the sea behind her. I could picture her standing on the terrace with her cell phone.
‘Natasha, please,’ I tried to fight her silent protest.
‘I don’t think you are a stony-hearted bitch, Mira, but had you been in my place and seen what Veer looks like, you would have surely shattered all over again. He has lost a lot of weight, looks like he has not shaved in days and not slept many nights. He smelled like he had just totalled a joint before he rode the elevator to see me. He is just . . .’
‘Can you not tell me all this, please?’ I screamed at Natasha. She seemed taken aback for she stopped mid-sentence
‘Don’t give him my number, please. And if you do I will just go and get myself another one,’ I said as plainly as I could.
Natasha took a moment to gather herself and then whispered, ‘I was wrong. You are a stony-hearted bitch!’ She hung up before I could respond.
I tried to think nothing of it for the rest of the day and busied myself in trying to sell Indian Foods to buyers from Kuala Lumpur.
When I got back to the loneliness of my apartment, Natasha’s description of Veer kicked in like a visual tsunami. I could see him unkempt and dishevelled standing in one corner of my bedroom looking at me with his doleful eyes. I could feel the pain. I let the tears flow once again. They had become my constant companions.
I hated Natasha for calling me. I hated Veer for going to her place. I hated Akshay for dying. I hated that I had to be Akshay. I just hated everyone and everything in my life.
I tried to find a solution. In the two weeks that followed, I got myself a membership at the local gym. An hour’s fitness routine at the end of the day would leave me too exhausted to even think about Veer. I was wrong. Veer’s unkempt, unshaved face had become a hologram in my head.
Dad would call every night to check on me. We would discuss work, I would ask him about Mom, the Mumbai office and other mundane stuff. We would also make it a point not to discuss Aks
hay. It was just too painful.
It was late on a Friday night, a month since I had started handling matters at the Singapore office. Dad called me later than usual. He and Mom had decided to watch a movie. I thought it was an encouraging sign that both of them were slowly beginning to embrace life. Dad sounded calmer, more together than he had done since Akshay had passed away, and it was perhaps his new-found composure that made me ask him the dreaded question.
‘Do you think I am doing as well as Akshay would have done?’
‘I don’t know what Akshay would have done, Mira,’ Dad said tenderly. ‘I don’t think you should live your life thinking what Akshay would have done had he been in your place. I have already lost Akshay and I don’t want to lose Mira in her attempts to be Akshay. Just be you, Mira. You are doing great.’
‘Thank you, Dad.’
‘I know the void Akshay has left in all our hearts can never be filled, but it’s okay to live with a void. Don’t spend your life being the substitute for Akshay in your mother’s life or mine. I would hate it if you did that. Life is for the living Mira. We cannot sacrifice everything that is alive for the one that is dead.’
I could hear the sorrow in Dad’s voice but the mourning was clearly over. I told him I loved him and hung up soon after that.
It happened the next morning. I was riding the elevator to work, and around me were Singaporeans talking a mix of Malay and Mandarin; it was all lost on me. Epiphanies in life don’t come at you like they come in movies with a lot of background score, thunder and lightning. In life, they just tiptoe into your mind and then expand like a hot-air balloon in a tearing hurry.
Dad was right. I did not have to be Akshay to take Akshay’s place. I had to be Mira and the rest would follow. I was left all alone in the elevator, my floor to disembark long gone. Would I have thought of leaving Veer had I been just Mira who was chasing her career? Surely not! I loved him too much! I would have juggled love and life like everyone did.
