Monday, August 29, 2011

To the girl with the lizard tattoo, from the boy in fishermen pants.

Often when I lie down and stare at the ceiling, or sit near the window in the cab while coming back from work, I wish I could tell you all that is untold. Certain things in life are best shared with none but the self; certain things in life can’t just be expressed or rather they are way too difficult to be put into words. Once in my life I had lied to you, yes I had lied to you that night when you had hurled upon me a thousand questions which I never thought would come from you, at least not at that point of time. Babai was absconding and Mesho was in the nursing home that night, I was confused and helpless. You being the closest one trying to talk to me about my problems were very normal for you, but I got extremely scared of you that moment. Before you get to know it from someone else; I want to let you know, that YES you guessed it right!

Mesho passed away the next morning and I left my job after a week. You know I had never seen death so closely before that. I was never very close to Mesho but somehow his death changed the life of three of us in this house. I felt I grew up overnight. May be sometimes the aftermath of death and memory of a person touch so much more than what life had. Now often when I look at Masimoni; I catch myself thinking of her happy face with Mesho around. I can’t look at her anymore; the loneliness springing from her life reflects in her endeavours to smile vacantly all the time. It’s catastrophic. She has shifted to her new Behala-flat but alone; her sylvan retreat to be shared with none but herself. Life indeed is too short to let go, to make enough mistakes, to make up and to break up!

Babai retired, two weeks after I left the stupid export-house job. Babai being ever busy I have never got a fair chance to spend much time with him. I thought his retirement would be an excuse for us to hold him back at home; but no he made himself busier with works after his retirement. Mum-mum stays in her own world of daily soaps and news papers. I really don’t know much how it feels to spend time with family. I often ask myself what a family means; Is it just an identity? Is it just an address? Or is it just a house? We literally stay like three islands in this house; silent and isolated. I feel very rootless and detached at times. My parents have never left a chance for me to complain. They have tried their level best; sent me to the best schools and colleges of the city, and gave me all that they thought I needed. But these are things that I had never asked for. All I needed was some understanding. Sharing the same roof does not always equate to sharing the same heart; its dangerous and not at all easy when you are loved so much but understood so little.

When I was a kid, every summer Babai used to take us to his “desher-bari” (village). I faintly remember those days. One of those few cherished memories is how every morning Babai and Mum-mum used to take me for a walk to the local railway station through the narrow pathway flanked by the paddy fields and buy me omelettes and tea from a roadside joint near the station. There was no electricity in the village; kerosene lamps, hand fans and fishing lines were things that I could spot only there in my summer breaks to the village. I also remember how Mum-mum and I used to get amused and exchange secret glances hearing the local dialect, half of which we could never comprehend that Babai spoke to the relatives in the village. Why I am telling you all these; is because this is only when I got Babai close to us. Rest I have always seen Babai and Mum-mum fighting most of the times. Or maybe it’s only the fight that I have seen and not the love behind it. Life is really weird, painted in strange colours.... makes you remember strange things at strange moments. If I have ten memories of the village, I have ten thousand memories with you. And I am sure those memories are not illusion; cause they say reality itself is illusory! One of my friends says that it’s all about perceptions. The line between reality and illusion is very thin. We see only what we want to see, hear what we want to hear, believe what we want to believe and speak what we do not want to speak. What we see is our world, what we believe is our truth! I am not judging any truth, neither I am interested in any calculation.... I just wonder if emotional values, faith, trust and sentiments also depreciate with changing times! I time and again question why anyone doesn’t comprehend that sensitive people are just folks with special needs. Why is it so wrong to be emotional and to want some understanding once in every while? Why is it so conveniently scripted that being non pragmatic is akin to having a communicable disease? - you get avoided, or worse you have to conform or get out, or much worse, you have to pretend to conform and live with it. This is quintessentially damaging to the human spirit.

I am standing at such a cross road of life, where paths travel in all directions. I myself don’t know which nowhere I am leading to. The hollow sound of my own footsteps often scares me when I walk on the terrace every night. The silence that has been standing in between both of us like some unwanted stranger disturbs me every moment. I did not want to disturb you, but I had to tell you this because I know you will be more hurt when you come to know about it from someone else. May be we have hurt each other enough not to hurt anymore. I always wanted to tell you the truth but I was scared if you start loving me less after that. If you take back all that love you had given me. I couldn’t afford to loose your love. I was too selfish to let go of you. After we stopped talking, I often told myself the worst is over. But now I feel the worst has just started.

Life might take us to two different cities, but we have always been a heartbeat away or at least preferred to think so. It’s the thinking that’s make all the difference, that’s what makes you you and me me. I am at a real loss of words to explain how my thoughts are all so jumbled up and entangled. The images are all shaken in my head, each time I see it’s not the same, a bit of that image gets shattered; each time trust is betrayed! Shocking it is. The seed that was planted has grown into a mammoth tree, not to give me shade but to entangle me more in the disastrous roots. Reasons lost in time; the internal conflict continues, change and acceptance are after all not same! I know how difficult it is to lead a life bereft of trust, I know how difficult it is to live with that humiliation of being cheated and fooled around. We have always been friends, or may be a little more than friends, shared all the little secrets, screamed and screeched at each other, scolded each other, fought, loved, drank, doped.... you have always been my partner in the crimes.... the shoulder I could cry on, the smile I could look up to.... you have always told me about how vulnerable and emotionally insecure you are when it comes to your closed ones. I could never open up, but yeah I had been very insecure about you. Your madness, your cravings for freedom, your restlessness all that which attracted me towards you, actually somewhere deep down made me insecure about you.

I had been extremely insecure about everything, be it my parents, be it my friends and be it my relationships. Now when I look back I feel it was because I was never very secure and comfortable about myself; I could not accept myself. I have learnt my lesson, I have made myself distant from friends like you, and I am still paying the price.I am NOT writing you this letter because I want to get your sympathy, but yeah I feel this much honesty you deserve from me. I guess distance always has kept us better.... let’s not mess it up once more.

I owed you an apology for denying your right to truth.
And so here it goes my bravest post ever,
Love as always,
Your boy in fishermen pants.