“It's okay,” I finally told him after he repeated it for the fourth time “Don't worry so much. I know your intentions are not dishonourable.”
“Phew, thanks for trusting,” he said.
The night sky looked magnificent with an explosion of a thousand stars. The moonlight was giving everything a silver glow. It was adding to the magic and I was actually beginning to enjoy the ride. We still had about thirty kilometres of the journey left. Abhi kept checking if I was comfortable. He was driving smoothly too. I was perfectly relaxed and very comfortable by now.
The highway to Cochin passed through a small village. It was desolate as all the shops were shut and the doors to the small tile roofed houses were also shut. There were brass oil lamps with a single flame burning, flickering like they were dancing, left at the doorways of most homes. The brass lamps were floor lamps, which stood either on the floor, or on a small wooden raised platform. It was a custom in Kerala that there should be a welcoming lamp at the doorway, to usher the Goddess of wealth and good fortune in. Most villages still followed it. I wished I had a camera to capture the beauty of the scene—the glow of the brass lamp and the beauty of the tiled house against the darkness of the night in the background. I took a snapshot in my head.
After the village, on the outskirts of it, there were a few push-carts selling hot dosas and steaming idlis and appams. It was the equivalent of dhabhas in Northern India. Truck drivers usually frequented these joints.
“Shall we stop?” asked Abhi “The food is really delicious here. These pushcarts are called Thatu kadas. Have you ever eaten in a thatu kada?”
“No, but I have eaten in a dhabha. Stop if you want to.”
“Well, you don't get dosas and appams in a dhabha. You must try it. You won't regret, I promise” he said, as he stopped. We got off the bike and walked towards the thatu kada.
There was a wooden bench and we both sat on it as Abhi asked for a plate of Dosa and Appam. The guy at the shop was looking at us strangely. So were the few truck drivers whose trucks were parked nearby and they were eating there. Obviously a young couple on a bike, late at night, in conservative Kerala, could imply only one thing in their books.
Abhi sensed my discomfort and said “Ignore them. Just look at me and concentrate on the food.”
“A re you sure this is safe?” I asked moving a little closer to him instinctively.
“Relax—you are in my land. This is ende Keralam. And nothing will go wrong if you're with me. ” He smiled confidently.
The Appams and dosas we had were the most delicious that I had tasted so far in my life. We topped it with a cup of steaming hot tea. The feeling of a full stomach with completely satiated taste buds, a nice atmosphere and good company under a night sky is one of the most pleasant things that one can experience. I was content and I was happy. Abhi cut into this feeling almost immediately
“Hey, I have to tell you something,” he said and his tone was one that I instantly recognised. It put me on high alert. I had heard the same tone in Vaibhav's voice.
God, please let him not spoil this lovely time we have had by confessing his love for me, I thought.
“Ankita, I really love you,” he said.
I didn't know what to say. I looked away. Then I turned back.
I was speechless.
“You've known me for what, three days?” I said finally.
“I am not kidding, Ankita. I fell in love with you, the moment I saw you. I have never felt like this about anyone before, trust me. I am crazy about you. Honestly. And I have never done anything like this before in my life. This confessing feelings and all, is just not me, but with you I really cannot hold back anymore,” he said looking straight into my eyes. His eyes shone with a sincerity and kind of desperate manic glint that was hard to comprehend.
I was completely taken aback. I did not expect a ‘bare-it-all’ even though I had half anticipated it when he said he had something to say. But I did not think he would be so forthright and so open about it.
There was only one thing to do. To tell him about Vaibhav.
So I did.
“I do have a boy friend.”
“And who is this person, may I ask? Is it someone I know?”
“No, you don't know him. He's a classmate of mine. We went to school together. He is in Delhi now. ”
The relief on his face was almost instant.
“So, he is not even here.”
A moment later he added, “And why don't I believe you?” he asked searchingly, looking at me with a glazed look.
“Ummm—Maybe because you cannot see him?”
“Ha ha ha” he laughed “That's because you just made him up and he does not exist!” He said triumphantly.
“Oh no, he does. I did not mean it that way,” I hastily clarified.
“I'm sure you just made it up to fob me off. But I don't give up so easily.”
“Look,” I said “I cannot do anything to convince you. It is the truth.”
“Priya told me you don't have a boy friend.”
“You asked Priya about me?! What does she know about me? You should have asked Suvi. She is one of my closest friends.”
“I mean what I said, Ankita. Please don't say anything. Please think about it. That's all I ask of you.”
“Look, we've had a great time. Let's forget all this. You drop me back.” I said as I walked towards his bike.
We completed the rest of the journey in silence.
The next day was a holiday due to some festival and I was glad as it gave me some time to rest and think about things. The shrill ring of the phone woke me up the next morning when my parents had gone for their walk. It was Suvi. She said Abhi was at the college gate a little while ago, asking for her. He had lied to the hostel warden that he was her cousin. Suvi had presumed that it had something to do with me and had met him. He had given her my brown leather diary which I had forgotten in the Auditorium. He had found the lyrics of the song “Nothing's gonna stop us” which I had scribbled on a piece of paper. He was convinced that I had written the lyrics for him and was now playing hard to get. He had said all this to Suvi and had also given her a sealed envelope which she was to deliver to me. Suvi said that he would just not believe her when she tried to tell him the truth about Vaibhav.
What an idiot Abhi was. How could he presume that I wrote the song for him? Why didn't he just believe Suvi or me?
I just couldn't wait to reach college that day. Suvi and I bunked the first class and went to the college library. The library was huge and there were many corners where we could talk undisturbed. She handed me the letter as well as my diary that Abhi had given her. It was a sealed yellow envelope with the address in small neat writing.
“Go on,” smiled Suvi “Open it,” she urged, oblivious to my inner turmoil and confusion. I did not want to open the letter. I dreaded it. I felt it was wrong. I felt I was betraying Vaibhav.
“I don't feel like,” I whispered.
“Don't be an idiot. Here, let me open it,” she said grabbing it.
“Noooo!” I said, snatching it back from her and keeping it in my diary. I'll open it at home.
“I want to see what he has written. Open it, open it,” she urged.
“Yes, you shall read it fully, but only after I am ready,” I said with an air of finality as I closed the diary and stood up.
I opened it later, at home after I had bolted my door. He had used expensive handmade paper. His writing was small, precise and very neat.
Dearest Ankita, he had begun and I cringed. I was not his dearest.
Pa rdon my addressing you as dearest, but right now that is how I feel towards you.
I almost jumped—Good Lord, could he read my mind?!
You have given my life a new direction and nothing has mattered so much to me till now. Swami Vivekananda had said “We are what our thoughts have made us. So take care what you think. Thoughts live. They travel far.” Right now Ankita, my thoughts are centred only on
you. I cannot think of anything else but you. I have stayed up the whole night thinking and re-thinking and I am swept away by the depth of my own emotions. I have tried not to act like this. I hate it, but cannot help it.
God, you are lovely and really very beautiful. But that is not why I feel like this towards you. I love the way you speak, the way you smile and the way you are so easily shocked. I love the enthusiasm you have and how you think that you have to do it all. I love the way you come up with repartees and you work so hard to make things happen. I loved the way you warned me on the bike to behave myself (Trust me, even if you hadn't I would have treated you with utmost regard. You deserve of so much). I love your spirit and the way you spoke on Mandal Commission that day at Symphony, even though you knew nothing about it. I admired your courage to go up on stage. You may not have won a prize that day but in my mind you were clearly a winner.
I love the way your eyes sparkle when you speak. They seem to dance to the rhythm of your words. You are so full of zest. You inspire me and make me want to be like you. I love the way that wisp of hair falls across your forehead and the way you keep tucking it behind your ears. Oh yes—I loved your white high heels too. I loved the black top you wore and the slits that it had at the side and the way you kept tugging it down so that your skin wouldn' t show. I loved the silver bangle you wore on the first day and the thick white one with little polka dots you wore on the second day. I loved the silver
ear-rings and the mismatched gold chain. Yes, I noticed! I noticed every little thing about you.
I couldn't help smiling at his words. He really seemed to have noticed every minor detail about me. The first page ended here and he had written “P.T.O” at the bottom. I smiled as the last time I had used it was in school, in our assignments when I wanted the teacher to turn the page, just in case she missed it.
I was more than ready to turn over. “Oh God. Abhi writes so much better than Vaibhav.” The thought crept up surreptitiously into my head and I guiltily and hastily pushed it aside and admonished myself for comparing them both. When I turned over I recoiled, nearly jumped out of my bed and hit the roof, as though I had settled down on a hot scalding iron instead of my comfortable pillows. Written in blood in letters about two inches high, in capitals were the words
“I LOVE YOU”
The first few letters were darkest and the O and U were very light. And beneath them he had written in pen, yes, it is blood and I do love you, but I think I don' t even have enough blood in my body to prove my love to you.
On the next page at the bottom left hand side, he had stuck a photo of himself which he had cut out in shape (I presumed from a larger photo which perhaps had other people). Beneath it, he had written
I may not be a pro-Mandal Commission activist or a reservationist but I surely want to reserve you for myself.
I want to talk to you for a little while. Please don't say no. I'll be waiting.
All my love and then some more,
Abhi
And below this he had written his phone number, address and drawn a map to his house. It was a route I was familiar with, as I knew that part of the town and he had indicated all the landmarks and important places. I could make out where his home was easily. The directions were clear and well emphasised.
My heart seemed to be beating at the rate of million times a minute now. I did not know what to do. Curiously I sniffed the letter, the part which he had written in blood. It smelled like rust. I found myself wondering whether he had cut himself and if so what finger he had cut. Had he cut his thumb? Had he cut his forefinger? This guy seemed to be crazy. Yet it was a manic, intense kind of craze.
I waited for a chance to call Suvi. When my mother stepped out in the evening to visit a neighbour, I grabbed my chance and dialled her hostel number. The common phone was very close to her hostel room and she came on the line almost immediately.
“Did you read it? What has he said? Tell me, tell me!” she demanded, without even a cursory hello. We were beyond that.
“He has said he wants to meet me for just a little while,” I answered, feeling weird, confused and not knowing what to do, all at the same time.
“Ah-ha! What has he written?”
“What do you think? He has also drawn a map giving directions to his home and says he will be waiting for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Idiot, why do you think I called you?”
“Meet him,” she said giggling wickedly.
“Shut up. Stop making fun of me!”
“No, I actually meant it. The guy seems obsessed. He has written to you sincerely. I think you should at least meet him and explain.”
“I thought of it too. But I don't know Suvi, it seems absolutely wrong.”
“Gosh Anks! Stop pretending you're married to Vaibhav. And you are not in the Victorian era. How proper and idealistic can you be? Get a hold on yourself, girl. Sometimes you're such a people pleaser, no actually that should be Vaibhav-pleaser.”
“I am NOT,” I defended myself. But I knew she had a point. I did tend to be idealistic and most of the time my behaviour was governed by what Vaibhav would say, how he would react and what he would think.
“You don't have to say anything to Vaibhav. You're only meeting Abhi, not sleeping with him for God's sake. At least I presume you won't, the first time,” she teased.
“Shut up!” I smiled. “See you tomorrow at college.”
“Yeah, bye and don't forget to bring the letter,” she reminded me before hanging up.
I thought about what Suvi said. I owed Abhi an explanation. I had to make him understand how I felt about Vaibhav. I had to tell him that I did mean what I had told him earlier. At least that is what I convinced myself.
I looked at my watch quickly. Mum would not be back for at least half an hour. I dialled his number. He answered even before the first ring had ended. It looked as though he had been waiting for it.
“Hello, Abhi?” I asked hesitatingly.
“I knew you would call!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “When are you coming?”
“Did I tell you I would be coming?” I retorted, a little shocked at how well he seemed to have gauged me.
“Of course you will!” he answered with certainty. “Tell me when, what time?”
“Ummm, let me think about it. If you're really nice and plead with me I might consider it,” I smiled, enjoying prolonging his eagerness and anticipation.
“Oh, I can beg, I can play the violin, I can bring loudspeakers outside your house right now or flowers if you prefer.”
I was sure he was capable of it.
“No need for all that, I'll meet you on Saturday afternoon at 3?”
“Waiting, waiting, waiting” he said and then we said polite byes and hung up.
When Vaibhav called I did not mention a word about Abhi or agreeing to meet him even though it was topmost on my mind at that point of time. If guilt was a stone tied to my ankles, I would have sunk easily to the bottom of the sea. But I wore it easily on my sleeve, by pushing it aside and spoke to Vaibhav as though everything was normal.
When I reached college the next day, Suvi pounced on me, grabbed my bag, rummaged expertly through the contents and found the letter.
“You would make a good thief. You go through the contents of my bag so quickly and deftly,” I commented watching her.
“Only if all the bags had interesting love letters,” she retorted, as she began reading.
She too reacted exactly as I had when I had first read it and I waited, watching for the effect when she would turn the page and see the writing in blood. I had purposely not mentioned it over the phone. I wanted to see her reaction, in person. She did not disappoint.
“Holy Cow, Sweet Jesus, Holy Spirit and Mother Mary!” she exclaimed.
Then when she recovered I asked her if she thought Abhi was crazy or a bit unbalanced after reading the letter.
“He is not a lunatic or unbalanced, but he is so ma
dly in love with you. You're blind not to be able to see it.”
I took a long time on Saturday morning deciding what to wear. I had already told my mother that I had a special office bearers meeting. It was really not a lie as I was meeting another office bearer, wasn't I? I chuckled at my own silly joke, but it was mostly to hide the nervousness I felt. I knew Abhi would notice what I wore. I didn't want it to seem like I had made a huge effort in dressing up to look pretty just for him. Yet, I wanted to look nice. Finally, after very long I ended up wearing a white shirt, jeans and casual brown sandals tying up my hair in a pony tail, taking care to make it seem as though no effort had gone into choosing the outfit or hairstyle or accessories.
Then (finally) when I was satisfied, I left for Abhi's house.
5
Life is what you make it
Abhi's back was turned to me and he seemed to be watching cricket on television eagerly when I arrived. I had caught a glimpse of him through the window which had a curtain that was drawn back. I was nervous and excited and suddenly unsure of myself. What was I doing, turning up at his house just because he had asked me to? After all I hadn't even known him for long. How could I get carried away like this, just because he had written me a nice letter? For a moment I considered turning back and going home. I could always call him and say that something had turned up and I couldn't come, he would never know. But then I rang the bell.
Abhi jumped up almost immediately and switched off the TV. He saw me through the window and his face broke into a wide grin.
“Welcome, welcome,” he boomed as he opened the door and held out his hand.
“Hi,” I smiled as we shook hands, as though we were meeting formally for a business meeting. He led me to the drawing room which was tastefully done up and motioned to me to sit down. I sank into a plush coffee brown three seater sofa and he took a seat on the arm chair, beside me. The whole place had an understated elegance. The stream of light flowing in through the window made the atmosphere very cheerful. I forgot my initial hesitation and immediately felt at home.
“God, I was waiting and waiting. I was so scared you had changed your mind,” he said.
Life Is What You Make It A Story Of Love, Hope And How Determination Can Overcome Even Destiny Page 4
