Monsoon Evenings, Summer Nights.

By Anurag Surya Vasana

He looked back on those evenings quite often. Of the early monsoon, when it would rain through the last period of school, and stop by the time they left for home. Then, he would walk across the parking lot as the cold evening winds would kiss his skin. And at the same time and against the clouds that were tinted with a tinge of pink & orange, as a result of the setting sun, that were stretched throughout the sky as far as his eye could see, she stood at the end of the lane. Her hair wouldn’t be as perfect as it was in the morning, he would notice that but he would not mind as her curly hair strands would gently rustle covering her face, also due to the same cold wind. Her dress wouldn’t be as groomed as in the morning either. He couldn’t care less. When he would get to the end of the lane, her eyes would meet his gaze with a smile. A smile that would make him fall in love with her all over again, even though he did not know what that was. Every single time, every damn time he would meet her and she smiled with such warmth. His heart would melt and at that moment, nothing else would matter. Not even the fact that she was already with someone, or had been with many perhaps. Boys whom he believed to be better looking than him, but doubted if they understood or really appreciated her essence. All of that wouldn’t matter at that moment which would be followed by severe heartache, as he would pull himself together.

There was no doubt that he had a thing for her. No one would make him feel that way, not even after these 10 years during the last few of which he would stumble across a handful of women with whom he would initially mistake to have a connection. A connection like the one he could not forget from the brief encounters he had with her. Particularly, when both of them would walk to their apartments together from school, i.e., when she was on a break or when her boyfriend wouldn’t show up. They were the happiest of times in his life, those brief walks, when they discussed random topics, but mostly cinema & books. They were yet to understand the nature, scope & the peculiar abilities of their favourite media, though. She always had a thing for films. Though she only watched a couple of Tarantino & Scorsese pictures, she would quote Tarkovsky time to time, and was a self-proclaimed cinephile starting to explore cinema. He would listen to her in awe, he couldn’t care less about the credibility of her cinematic wisdom, and when it was his turn he would talk of how the novel ‘The Godfather’ was better than the film, how he found the ending in the book to be perfect, but would admit that Kay Adams was written “weak” in the book. She would be listening, at least for the most part of it, but her mind would waver away, and by the time he would finish she would be there again. He always pondered if she listened out of courtesy, that she was being kind, or if she was genuinely interested. It mattered to him. It mattered to him as he never spoke of those things with his so called friends, or anyone, for that matter. No one would “get” him like her, certain specifics that were incidentally agreed upon by both of them more often than not. He had to wait 10 and half more years to find that out, reminiscing it frequently for the first 5 years of them or so.

Eventually, as high school was over, her family moved to Mumbai. He found that out from his mother, when she casually quoted that over dinner right on the same day the girl’s family had left. There was a plunge of profound heaviness over his chest as he felt helpless. It was too late by then, and there was nothing he thought he could practically do. What tormented him more was the fact that she never spoke a word about it. Not even during the accidental meetings they had over the terrace their flats shared before and during their final exams. When he would stroll randomly, lost in thought under the stars, and to his absolute delight would find her there doing the same thing, as if she was waiting for him. Like magic.

And when he would later visit his school, the heartache he experienced was of an unprecedented magnitude. He missed everything. His childhood, his friends, especially her. All the time he spent there was suddenly of great value. All the time he had but he couldn’t dare to make a move. He feared too much, probably more than he liked her. He would play alternate scenarios, all gratifying, where it was her who would miraculously make the first move and he would just have to follow the lead. The reality though, always came back harder. Harder than the pleasure those daydreams induced. Even though he knew the futility of such thoughts, he couldn’t stop indulging. It would take a couple of years for him to be forced to get over her, as he would find her picture on a social media, with another woman. With another woman who would be kissing her neck, with the caption: ‘Love is Love.’

****************

All the while, when he couldn’t feel in place at his college, with it’s people and their ideologies which were polar contrasts of his, those that would never question the conventions, he would recall those times he had at school. He was a sucker for the gratifying pain nostalgia brought and was obsessed about that idea more than ever. It was then the pain of losing her would resurface into his conscious thought process again. She was somehow a connection to his childhood which he knew would never return. Those times the innocence of his ignorance did not hurt him much. Despite the awareness about the nature of time, he thought and perhaps believed at a subconscious level, it would be fine if she was around. Life would feel a lot better as she was by him to share it. But meeting her again took long enough that even such strong feelings tampered down. Not that he ever got over her, but the need for a companion outgrew this feeling after a while. And needless to mention, he always searched for her in everyone. That would be the reason all those relationships would miserably fail. And this feeling was so subconscious that he almost believed that he got over her. Though, in actuality he is incapable of such a feat. It was possible that even he knew but tried to suppress it, or may be the notion was too vague & subtle that all he knew was that he knew what he did not want.

Amidst the melancholy that would later metamorphose into a deeply existentialist and almost nihilist point of view; when he was nearly convinced that he would never find someone and that it wouldn’t matter anyway, which was fuelled by the discovery of Dostoevsky, Sartre & Kafka; he was always aware of the romanticism he had for the essence of time, especially longing & love. Maybe that was the reason, a few women would admire him. From time to time, they would show their interest, which would be met either by his rude resistance or a cautiously courteous & cliched reply. Sometimes the former would follow the latter. It all depended on how deep he overanalysed himself as a failure & an unpoetic, useless lump of living matter that day. Then he would think about her, if her answers were backed by similar intentions, may be she was a much decent person than he is. She was never rude, she would always listen even though he got repetitive or sounded like a maniac. And this added to the melancholic flame that burnt relentlessly in his heart. Though this was the scenario that repeated itself more frequently that he accepted it to be the norm, there were days. Days he would interact with other people. Random people. When he would be touched by their kindness, or when he would be the giver. Times when he met his friends, even the ones whom he fundamentally disagreed with. Such days were when his admirers would be rewarded with the kind reply. Not that many wanted to talk to him again, but certain people still had an inexplicable affinity to him even in the face of such toxicity. His last girlfriend was one such person.

Ending up liking someone after an interaction, or a series of such interactions is a matter of probability. That’s all it is. One that is a function of someone’s traits one is initially exposed to. She met him on one of those rare days. By chance. Purely, by chance. At that point, that was what he believed. What he also believed was that one can not confirm that it was love, until they have looked deep into the hearts of people and not let their biases or opinions question their feelings. She did not believe in either of those. She was not as much a thinker as he is, as he would later judge her. Despite what he thought about her, he knew even though he never admitted or expressed it in any form that she was a happier person than he ever was. Probably that was why he eventually chose not to guard himself from her even though at some level deep within, he despised her for the same capability he liked her out of fatigue that resulted out of his own will & blind quest for several things in life. Hence, “it was meant to be” doomed, even though he never liked that phrase. But miraculously, that relationship lasted. Lasted longer than the algorithm of the world would allow it to exist, only to consume her entirely. And the hollowness inside her would be filled with the traits of his that were unintentionally masked at their initial interactions.

And after all the while together, she would do something that she wouldn’t even understand a few years back. On one of the days of summer, out of a mental state fuelled by complete exhaustion, she would cheat on him. And then she would do it again. And again, which was the time she got caught. Strangely enough, it mattered to him and hurt him when he found this out. And that would also be the last time she was in his apartment. Not that she felt guilty or anything. She felt free. He couldn’t gather enough motivation or strength to stop her, neither did they say anything to one another. It was the first time he thought: “This was meant to happen”, and just allowed events to unfold passively. But, to his surprise it traumatised him more than he would ever expect. It paved way for all his insecurities to creep back in and coalesce, that he sensed a craving for a good old cry. And so, he recounted all his shortcomings & things he believed to be specifically upsetting consciously. All of that, for three drops of tears. A numbness took over and the feeling of sinking was on hold, indefinitely. He did not know how or why. Nothing that he could do about it at that point of time except painfully wait for it to pass.

****************

It was monsoon again in Mumbai, where he was living for the last three years or so struggling to sell his manuscripts that were labelled to be banal, and when he finally managed to get a book of his published to a mixed reception where the critics unanimously pointed out “his inability to resolve interesting confrontations germinating out of promising premises”. He was supposed to be working on a new one that was interrupted by a sudden shortage of inspiration, when he was forced by his friends from childhood to join them at a pub. Believing that this was a way to distract himself from the looming failures of his life, out of fear of having another harrowing evening to himself again, but most importantly to procrastinate his work he now struggled to finish, he agreed to meet with them. Little did he know how much he would thank himself for going. As he was indulging in the bittersweet heartache that nostalgia stimulated while he was with his mates, he saw her. His heart sank, and his chest was suddenly heavy while his head was already filled with profound feelings, an amalgamation of sorrow & joy, even before he would consciously recall who she was. She was standing right there, in the crowd. After almost 10 years. Almost 10. Long. Years.

Confined to a body that refused to move, he froze as she stood there looking right at him or through him, rather. He could not stop picturing the last time he saw her: after their last test in high school, the time he must’ve said his goodbye or rather confessed his feelings. It did not take him long to realise that even after all these years, even after such a bad goodbye, even after mentally sinking & falling so low, there was nothing in the world that would stop him from feeling what he felt for her. What he felt now. It took him a while to get up and walk towards her, though. Then he noticed another woman holding her hand, who eventually disappeared into the crowd, as he continued to move towards her almost like an innate reflex. As the pink lights from behind separated her from the mob behind and the crowd cleared way between them, his numbness started to give way to all sorts of sensations & feelings. And as he almost reached her, to his pleasant surprise it was her eyes that were teary as she could not stop smiling.

By Anurag Surya Vasana