When first love paid a second visit... (Part 4)

The authors would like to apologize for the inadvertently long wait. Scroll down to read the first 3 parts. Here's how Part 4 goes:

“One Irish coffee and one cappuccino please”, pat came the order from the ever so prompt Professor. “I know you like your coffees Irish”, she said in a mischievous tone, turning away from a slightly bemused waiter. “But I like my girls sober”, was my retort. She burst into laughter – Kodak moment number one of the morning was captured in my mind.

“So what’s up in your life? Your disheveled looks betray the fact you’re still single”, the Professor remarked as the waiter placed our mugs on the table. This girl knows me a little too well, I was thinking. But I was not “still” single, but “now” single – I laughed at the not-so-humorous inside joke. “My life is pretty much the bland dough it was 10 years ago. You tell what dishes you’ve been cooking?”, I said, trying to strike what had the makings of an intrusive conversation. “Hmm, too many things have happened since we met last. Where do I start?”, she said. “Start from the start”, I cried, filled with the anxiety and fear of hearing something that I did not want to hear.

She opened her purse, took out a photograph, and handed it over to me. “This is Sid.” “And who is Sid?”, I questioned, my voice approaching ultrasonic frequencies, as I cast a glance over what appeared to be a blur of brown and black dots. “Well, I met him last year while I was in Chicago for some work related meeting. We’ve been going out since then”. A small human being inside me burst into tears – Kodak moment number two of the morning.

“But I still haven’t told my parents. And I don’t know how to”, she exclaimed in a rather feeble voice. “Why not?”, I uttered, while trying to vent my anger by tearing apart the sugar sachet with both hands. “Since bhai’s death, they’ve become very possessive about me. They care about every little thing in my life. If they do not happen to like Sid, I just cannot go ahead with the relationship. Society would say – Had bhai been alive, he wouldn’t have led his sister gone astray. I can hear anything against myself, but I’ll gouge that person to death who shoos the slightest murmur against my family”. I looked up for a moment, saw the fire in her eyes, and went back to making whirlpools in my mug with the stirrer. “But I also like Sid a lot and don’t want to lose him. I don’t know what to do”, she lamented. “Neither do I”, was what I wished to say but found myself speaking words that did not seem my own,” You see, in life there are only 2 types of people in everyone’s life – Those who mind, do not matter and those who matter, do not mind. Your parents can never be happy in your unhappiness and never be unhappy in your happiness. Go ahead and tell them. They’ll understand.”

“But what about society”, she questioned, with her characteristic innocence. I reared up my head, looked into her eyes and said, “Yes, what about society? When did the evaluation of unconcerned, unrelated folk start determining the course of your life? When did your happiness become a subject of someone else’s discretion? When did you stop being you, Professor?” She was lost for words, perhaps for the first time when talking to me. Man, I had done a good job of professing. “We should consider naming me the Professor now”, I remarked in passing. She passed her characteristic trillion dollar smile – Kodak moment number three of the morning.

“It is not as simple as you think”, she remarked. “It is not as complex as you make it to be”, I replied, while drowning another sugar packet into the tornado of coffee beans. “Anyway, what’s up in your life?”, said the Professor in her ever-so-inquisitive tone. I did not know how to respond. Should I tell her the truth, about my so-in-love-and-then-heartbroken experience with Capri? Or should I stay mum and let myself remain as the perennial, and hence oh-so-desirable bachelor in her eyes? With the fuses of my wits blown off, I chose a third option.

“Well, I have a girl friend now. We are about to get engaged in 3 months”, I said, thinking through every word, as each syllable of it pierced a dagger into my throbbing wounds. “Oh great, why didn’t you say this earlier, you fool? Instead of the nonsense about bland dough and stuff. Congrats”, the Professor was excited as she heard the false news. I have never been able to believe how girls can be happy at other people’s happiness.

“Sir, anything else?”, a polished voice interrupted our conversation. It was the waiter, and this was a signal to leave as the coffee shop was operating at full capacity. “Lets go someplace else”, I suggested. As I was paying the bill, I saw the Professor scribbling something into her book. Or was she just checking to see if her pen was working? “How long before your flight”, I asked her. “Another 3 hours”, I heard the time frame of my now botched plan.

“The gift of good times it was to be” – I had so proudly decided. But the startling revelation at the beginning of what was supposed to be a happy reunion had punctured a giant hole in my entire plan. “She is committed. She will get married soon. I should be happy for her. Why am I not happy for her? Why can I not be like SRK when he cries those glycerin tears and reads dialogues written by someone else from a blank red diary? But what can I do? What should I do? Will I ever meet her again? Who knows it might be another 10 years. These 3 hours are all I have. I have to make the most of them. I have to end on a high, even if it is to be the end. Atleast, that’ll give me closure.”, the rapid train of thoughts ran through my mind and my legs couldn’t match pace as I slipped up on a passenger’s strolley and fell face down on the floor.

“Hahaha. You freak”, was all I heard as I lifted myself back. And there was no mistaking where the laughter was coming from. I turned my head, caught her smile, and deliberately entagled my foot in the strolley again for the second fall, this time face up. This time, I hurt myself, but the pain was worth it as I could see her laughing her heart out. Kodak moment number four.

She helped me get up on my feet. “Are you all right”, she seemed concerned now, seeing me having some difficulty in getting up. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Let’s go”, I said, taking her by the arm and stepping up the escalator. I suddenly realized I was holding her for the first time in my life. It was a strange feeling, and though I could not feel her skin beneath all the layers of fur, I found my heart skipping a beat. We got off the escalator and stepped into a gaming zone. “Game for air hockey?”, I said. “You bet, mister. You’ll lose like you always did back in school”, she proudly declared. “We’ll see”, I said with an air of confidence. We bought tokens and the table got rolling. Pat-pat-pat-pat- the noise was unmistakable. I took my eyes off the board for a moment to see the glitter in her eyes. “Score”, she screamed. 1-0, it read. Pat-pat-pat-pat again. I was back in the game now. With 3 years of air hockeying every weekend at the office plaza, even the Professor at the other end wasn’t distraction enough. I scored once, twice, thrice. 1-3. She had begun to throw her characteristic fist punches in the air. “Let me play with a handicap”, I announced, switching to my left hand. 3 shots later, the score read 1-6. It was going to be a near whitewash. As part of my pre-triumphant war cry, I looked up and saw the dejected look on the Professor’s face. I could not be responsible for such a catastrophe. 5 minutes later, the score read 7-6. The Professor was hugging some random girl as part of her victory dance as I could only feel a strange sense of happiness – the joy of losing. Kodak moment number five.

“I’m really hungry”, exclaimed the Professor as we were walking out of the gaming arcade. A Chinese restaurant was visible at a distance. I really hated Chinese food and as I was in the middle of my prayer, hoping her not to see the place serving obnoxious servings of ajinomoto and soya sauce, she cried,” Ooh Chinese. Awesome. Let’s go”, much to my dismay. I could’ve fainted with the Chinaman stench as we entered the place. A young man with squinted eyes brought us the menu. Even the water tasted funny. “What do you want?”, she asked. “A way to get out of here”, was what I wanted to say. “A Lung Fung soup would do”, was what I could barely utter. Lung Fung soup – Was I out of my wits? I had heard the strange name on television and had been repulsed by the very sound of it. How on earth was I ordering it? It was too late now, though. The pseudo-Chinese man had left with our orders. For the next 15 minutes, I was gulping unsavory portions of what tasted like rotten eggs dipped in dragon blood. But I found a way to withstand the agony. Every time I swallowed the filth, I looked into the glittering eyes of the beautiful girl facing me. And it no longer was difficult.

As the waiter server two servings of what resembled the quagmire during monsoons outside my old home, my phone rang for the second time this morning. As I opened the flap, nervous sweat ran down my back. “Capri calling”, the screen displayed.

“Excuse me”, I said in a hesitant tone and got up without waiting for the Professor’s approval. “Where are you?”, questioned the voice on the other side, in her ever so demanding and endearing tone. “I’m busy. Anything special?”, I whispered. “Yes, I want to meet you immediately”, bellowed Capri. “I can’t meet you right now. I’m with someone”. “Who are you with? Some girl?”, asked Capri, her voice now approaching ultrasonic frequencies. The moment of truth had come. I should no longer be afraid of sitting with a girl. I was not in a relationship with her anymore. Still, my voice trembled as I said,” Yes. I’m with Professor”. “Oh I see. Bye then”, she said and terminated the call. I realized what a folly I had committed. Telling your jealousy-prone ex-girlfriend about a date with your first crush is like flirting with a lighter sitting on a heap of gunpowder. “Call and convince her later. Your business right now is different”, called the voice inside my cranium.

I returned to my seat and found the Professor scribbling something on the now-mysterious paper again. “Come on. Let’s start. I’m really hungry”, she said as she saw me coming, while tucking the paper into the book. As I laboriously chewed on pieces of Chinese torture, my mind wandered back to Capri’s call. Why had I been afraid to tell her the truth? Why was I feeling uncomfortable now that she had put down the phone in such angry mood? Did I still have feelings for her, which made my instincts work against hurting her in the littlest way possible? Did I still secretly hope to get back together with the one girl who had understood me in entirety? And then I looked up and saw the Professor, relishing the next piece of Manchurian. And I felt a strange sense of calm inside me again. I could just watch her eat all day. “Why aren’t you eating”, she said, looking at my full plate. I picked up the least offensive piece from the netherworld objects on offer and started chewing, the Professor’s smile forming my anesthetic yet again. Kodak moment number six.

After forty five minutes of torture on the palate, we were finally out in the non-Chinese world again. Time was passing fast, I only had half an hour more. As I was looking at the airport clock, the Professor tugged my shirt, “Look”. As I turned my gaze, I saw a giant wall with horizontal protrusions interspersed along its height. As the entire scene came into focus, I saw some people, tied to a harness, climbing up the wall. A board proclaiming “Climb the wall. Win exciting prizes” was visible next to the wall. The professor started to walk towards the wall and I followed her, thinking, “Why on earth would someone do a thing as stupid as climbing such heights?” Seventeen years ago, I had been diagnosed with aerophobia –the morbid fear of heights.

“That gold watch is lovely”, I heard the Professor exclaiming as a shiny watch gleamed in the distance, with a “Beat the heights Prize” placard placed next to it. What is the perfect way to round up this meeting? Should I win the watch for her? I did not have enough time to go outside the airport and buy one. Moreover, it was not the watch in question, but what it signified. Aerophobia be damned, I decided to jump right into the pond of my fears. The prize was meant to be awarded to the person who could climb the entire length of the wall. I signed up and got the chance immediately. Foolhardy brave-hearts like me were always preferred for the tremendous entertainment value we provided.

As the harness was being tied around my waist, the Professor, who was hitherto busy admiring the watch, screamed, “Tanki ! Are you mad? You have a fear of heights”. “Not anymore”, I said, tightening the harness belt. “This is madness, why the hell are you doing it?” “Because life is not about running from your fears, it is about facing them”, I could’ve laughed at the Platonic philosophy flowing from my waggle-mouth. But then again, the challenge was worth it.

The Professor, throwing her characteristic anger puffs in the air, stood by the side as I began the journey of surmounting the wall of my fears, quite literally. I could see people gathering around the wall, getting ready to watch the foolhardy act. They didn’t need the popcorn and the cola. My stupefyingly stupid act was going to be entertainment enough. The first step was easy, and the next few were not quite difficult. It helped that I kept visualizing the joy that would have lit the Professor’s face when I would win the watch for her. In situations such as these, the wise men advice a man not to look down at what he has accomplished but to look up at what he still has to overcome. But what the magi don’t realize is that in stating this very mantra, they’ve put in the mind of the climber, an irresistible temptation to cast a glance at that which has passed. I fell a victim to the same practice. As I looked down at the tiny dots below, I froze. Kodak moment number seven.

My senses were paralyzed, all senses, but the sense of sound. I knew that because anxious sounds of “Get him down”, mixed with jeering comments like “What a wuss” were audible as an echo from the abyss below. But soon one voice drowned them all – “This is your one chance. Show how much you care for her”. I got the adrenalin booster I needed. I began to climb again, slower and steadier, with my gaze fixed on the top, as the sages had advised. Inch by inch, I raised my frame towards the fame and satisfaction awaiting me. And as I stepped my left foot onto the last protrusion, it slipped.

Moments later, I was hanging by the harness, in mid air. “Oh, he was so close”, was the requiem audible from below. “Oh, I was so close”, was the echo in my head as well. As the harness brought me down onto concrete ground, I saw the Professor, in tears. Girls cry easy – it seems they have a leaky water pump in their eyes that floods ever so often. “You fool, why did you do it?”, she cried, beating my chest with her fists. I had no answer to her question.

“Passengers of flight no. CX-675 are requested to kindly move for boarding” – the announcer announced in her sing song voice as I lifted up the hitherto carefully concealed gift bag and made a move to lift the Professor’s head, from my chest. The left part of my shirt was now soaking wet with salty water from her eyes. It was time for her to go.

A thousand emotions ran through my mind as every step we took towards the boardin gate felt like a ton of weight on each feet. Finally, we reached the gate. She had not stopped crying yet. And I had not started crying yet. And both of us were unlikely to move to the other state anytime soon. I lifted up the gift bag, opened it and took out the material objects I hoped were meaningful enough to convey the meaning. “These are to make up for the 10 birthdays I missed”, I said in a heavy voice, remembering that I had once promised her to give her a birthday gift every year. “Oh my God!”, she exclaimed, her voice choked with tears. “And this is for your upcoming happy married life. Congratulations”, I said, handing her the gold watch she had longingly eyed half an hour ago. “What? How?”, was all she managed to say in her wet voice. “Well, the organizers gave it to me while you were busy making a wet mess of my Van Heusen. They said I was the first person to have climbed this far and this was a token of thanks for all the crowd and popularity I generated for them”, I proudly declared while tying the gold timekeeping bracelet around her wrist, touching it for the first and perhaps, the last time in life. Kodak moment number eight.

“This is the last and final boarding call for passengers of flight no. CX-675”, the loudspeakers blared again. “I have to go now”, she said, finally stopping crying. “But I have to give something to you. Promise me you will not open it until my flight has departed”, she whispered, opening the book and handing me the mysterious and folded piece of paper. “What’s this?”, I queried. “Just promise me”, she cried. Well, you don’t argue with the Professor is what they say. I decided to abide by her instructions and nodded my head in agreement. “Thank you for everything. I will never forget this.”, she said, lifting her handbag and slinging it over her shoulder. “Nor will I”, was all I could say. It was time. She started walking towards the gate and her every step felt like a hammer on my heart. And then, she disappeared.

There were too many thoughts to cope with. I needed a swig. I walked into the coffee shop, sat down and masochistically ordered an Irish coffee I hated. As the announcement for her flight’s departure was being made, I suddenly realized I had a piece of paper to attend to. I took it out of my pocket and opened a soggy-from-tears paper. The first half of it was neat and dapper, proof that it had been written some days ago and hence the ink was dry. The other half, written in fresh ink, had ink smearing all over it, as salt water had fallen on it while it was being written. It read thus:

“Dear Tanki,

There were 2 reasons I wanted to meet you today. The first was to talk to you about my younger sister; the other was to talk about “us”.

You were my closest friend back in school. And though we were not in touch for the last 10 years, I never thought our friendship became any weaker. I never made friends as strongly with anybody as you. And I could never trust the judgment of someone as much. That is why, when my sister’s life was at stake, I needed your advice.

I never told you about the death of my parents, who died in an accident 6 years ago. Since then, I’m the one who takes care of her like a parent. The photograph I showed you was that of my sister’s boyfriend. She has been going out with him for a year and now wants to get married to him. But she has not told me about this. I learnt this when I overheard their phone conversation last week. They seem to be madly in love with each other. After my parents’ death, I have become extremely possessive about her. I always doubt what she is doing, question her every time she goes out and cannot eat or sleep till she comes back home. It has become like paranoia. As a natural corollary, I am hell bent against her getting married to someone whom I do not trust. But I trust no one, well no one except you. And I can’t ruin her life like this.

I want to know what I would have done had I been in her position. I know she is afraid of telling me because she thinks I’ll shoot her proposition down. And she does not think wrongly. I will do that, given my current disposition. But I might be wrong. I want your honest opinion on this. But I know how much you care for me. You’ll not say a word against my decision and thought process if you came to know how I feel about this issue. Therefore, I’ll pose myself to be in the position my sister is in. And then I’ll go by your word.

The second reason I wanted to meet you is to tell you something which I could not do for the last 10 years. Back in school, I had a major crush on you. I always wanted to tell you this but I felt you were the “anti-girl” guy who hated girls at the very outset. I was content just being your friend because that way, I at least got to spend time with you. I thought these feelings will subside with time. But 10 years have proved they haven’t. And now, I have to tell you.”

The soggy part of the letter now began:

“Thanks for the perspective on my sister. I now know what to do. Being the person in her life who matters, I should not mind. I’ll talk to her and let her go ahead with her choice now. Thanks for preventing me from ruining her life.

I am heartbroken now that you’ve told me that you are committed and about to get engaged. But I’ll overcome this. I have lived, loving you, without you, for 10 years now. I can do so for the remainder of my life as well. Moreover, my parents would not have wanted both their daughters to marry outside their caste. Now that my sister is going for a love marriage, I will take up one of the offers that my uncles have been flooding me with. At least, that way, they’ll get a lesser chance of raising fingers on my sister.

Please don’t try and contact me ever again. I don’t want to bear the pain that I’ve gone through today – trying to smile my way through 3 hours with the person I love most, knowing that he will never be mine. Best of luck with your life, and congratulations on the engagement, in advance.”

As I folded the joke of my life and pocketed it, my cell phone beeped. I opened the flap and saw an SMS. It was a long SMS from Capri. It read thus:

“I know how much you loved your professor. Just go with her, marry her. That’s the way your life is meant to be. Forget about me. But I have to tell you one last thing. I wanted to meet you today for a special reason. I have been thinking over the past few months now. And I realized that I made the biggest mistake of my life by breaking up with you. I still have not got over you and perhaps never will. I wanted to meet you today to tell you this and see if you wanted to get back together. But now I know that you’ve moved on in life. I don’t want to be the spoilsport. You deserve much better in life. But I can no longer live with being your friend, now that I have this realization. So, please never call me again or try to talk to me. Best of luck for your life.”

As I was closing the flap of my cellphone, the waiter placed the Irish coffee on the table. I picked up the stirrer and began to make whirlpools in the hot liquid. A beautiful girl came and descended on the table next to me. I picked up my coffee and turned to her. “Mind if I join you?”, I asked. “Certainly not, I’m alone anyway. Company is welcome.”, she replied in her charming voice.

“When you’ve had a childhood like Chandler and a love life like Ross, it’s hard not to be like a Joey”

The authors sincerely hope you liked the story. They would really appreciate if you can leave your comments/feedback/criticism/suggestions/hate mail etc on my blog. Please click on the "n Comments" link below to leave your comment.

Thank you !!!