Something of Myself
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Unfortunately for him and fortunately for Zara, DJ extended his hand, his thumbs at a perfect 60 degree angle, and slipped his fingers to shake hands with her. The girl was too small anyways, so there was no point blaming her for anything.
'I'll catch you later - you take care and give me a shout before the concert, you need some more practice', he mumbled, and walked down the narrow alley, taking a left turn onto the lane, and finally grasping for fresh air, arriving at the main road besides Shyam Bajar.
The Netaji statue was full of crow shit and it didn't really matter to DJ for his mind was going to burst anytime now.
The next day, he stayed in bed. He did not want to come out of his single bedroom flat. Suddenly, the flat became his very own Harlem. He started having imaginary conversations with Anusuya, Rebecca, Aroti and many others whom he had laid - the burden of which just began to inch deeper and deeper into his conscience.
His mobile was switched off. The landline had 35 new messages:
1. 'DJ, this is me. I know you must be angry and hurt, but I never wanted to lie to you. I am awfully sorry. Please give me a chance. Meet me at Caffeine. I'll wait for you at 5pm.'
2. 'Hey Bro, I thought we were going upto the night club tonight. Where the fuck are you dodo? Call me back!'
3. 'DJ, I waited for you until 9pm. Poor Zara was crying when I got back home. No, I am sorry. It doesn't matter. I didn't call to speak about her. I just called to say I am sorry. We need to speak. Please get in touch.'
The rest of the voicemails did not have any message. It was from the same number. The one that he knew by heart. The one that he dialled the first when he got up in the morning. The one that was set on his quick dialling list. And now, today, here in this moment, that number was the last thing he wanted to see. He wanted to do a Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
So he stayed in bed. For the next two weeks. Barely walking up to release waste materials and only once did he take a shower 'cause he had spoiled the sheets. Life had no meaning for him any longer. They were right, fate is a bastard.
He wanted to confront her. But his ever-increasing pride of being himself, and the over-sized ego did not permit him to reach out. To anyone.
His whereabouts are unknown today. Perhaps he is raking up millions of dollars at the Silicon Valley, perhaps he is working as a consultant at Ernst and Young, perhaps he is walking up the stage at the Albert Hall to collect the Booker for the year 2009. Nobody knows.
P.S. Zara saw his picture in the newspaper months after he vanished. The note beneath the picture did not make any sense to her: 'In Memoriam - You Will Be Remembered Forever.'
'I'll catch you later - you take care and give me a shout before the concert, you need some more practice', he mumbled, and walked down the narrow alley, taking a left turn onto the lane, and finally grasping for fresh air, arriving at the main road besides Shyam Bajar.
The Netaji statue was full of crow shit and it didn't really matter to DJ for his mind was going to burst anytime now.
The next day, he stayed in bed. He did not want to come out of his single bedroom flat. Suddenly, the flat became his very own Harlem. He started having imaginary conversations with Anusuya, Rebecca, Aroti and many others whom he had laid - the burden of which just began to inch deeper and deeper into his conscience.
His mobile was switched off. The landline had 35 new messages:
1. 'DJ, this is me. I know you must be angry and hurt, but I never wanted to lie to you. I am awfully sorry. Please give me a chance. Meet me at Caffeine. I'll wait for you at 5pm.'
2. 'Hey Bro, I thought we were going upto the night club tonight. Where the fuck are you dodo? Call me back!'
3. 'DJ, I waited for you until 9pm. Poor Zara was crying when I got back home. No, I am sorry. It doesn't matter. I didn't call to speak about her. I just called to say I am sorry. We need to speak. Please get in touch.'
The rest of the voicemails did not have any message. It was from the same number. The one that he knew by heart. The one that he dialled the first when he got up in the morning. The one that was set on his quick dialling list. And now, today, here in this moment, that number was the last thing he wanted to see. He wanted to do a Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
So he stayed in bed. For the next two weeks. Barely walking up to release waste materials and only once did he take a shower 'cause he had spoiled the sheets. Life had no meaning for him any longer. They were right, fate is a bastard.
He wanted to confront her. But his ever-increasing pride of being himself, and the over-sized ego did not permit him to reach out. To anyone.
His whereabouts are unknown today. Perhaps he is raking up millions of dollars at the Silicon Valley, perhaps he is working as a consultant at Ernst and Young, perhaps he is walking up the stage at the Albert Hall to collect the Booker for the year 2009. Nobody knows.
P.S. Zara saw his picture in the newspaper months after he vanished. The note beneath the picture did not make any sense to her: 'In Memoriam - You Will Be Remembered Forever.'
6 Comments:
Amazing, so simple, yet so moving...Reminds me of this guy, who adored me so much that when he came to know that I am committed, he became numb for a moment. Till date, I can’t forget his looks, his eyes, which were full of sorrow, and I felt a loss in them.
Thank you! Yes, unrequitted love is a beast. I think everyone's been there and experienced it in their own ways. Dunno why, but it ALWAYS hurts. To love and not receive it in return. To receive it and not make it last (as in this case). :) Thanks for sharing Misti.
I like the contrast with this, the juxtaposition of the modern (txt messages) and the timeless - the strength and power of love. You take something universal and make it fresh and new. That's very difficult to do. I'm constantly searching for new ways of touching on the issues, which affect us all.
In a way, everyone of us that put some words on paper are perhaps constantly looking (searching?) to bring a certain freshness to the table. I share your search in this. Thank you for dropping by - take care Molly xx
Sometimes the timeless nature of love and happiness draw us back into the words, just as we would draw back into the headwind. Even though the sand and dust is often in our eyes here, it can still be the place in which we see clearest. Lovely words, lovely emotions - they taint us and fill us with joy. The eternal dichotomy, don't you think, dear Pele? Hope you are happyxx
Or one could also say, sometimes the timeless nature of words draws us back to love and happiness? I love this delicious irreversibility. Indeed, as you rightly mention, an eternal dichotomy! :)
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