Comptine d’Un Autre ete

It was the first thought that came to her as she woke up. He was gone. And, soon, this bedroom, the house in whose eastern corner it sat, and the tiny garden outside with its gnarled old red hibiscus and the half-grown mango tree they had planted together, all those would be gone as well. It was the strangest feeling ever. How is one supposed to feel when one’s life is no longer one’s own? 

I closed the book and took a long breath. I was never much of a reader. It intrigued me that out of all the books I could have picked up from that pavement, it had to be this one. I closed my eyes to take stack of the wafts of emotion bulldozing towards me. And then, she happened.

Her hair is the wind that the soul can’t fathom. Her laughter is a wind chime on a raggedy mountain. Her footsteps are the echoes of a long forgotten era. Her eyes are the portal to universes unimagined.

And her words are the swords that were destined to plunder me.

“You look positively stoned. Can I have some of what you’ve smoked?” she asked me, on a crowded metro. I never knew music could be spoken.

She inched close to where I was, leaning against the door, and whispered into my ears, “I know the most spectacular place to get high.” And like all the clichéd romances, I had no idea she would soon become the reason for my existence in the days to come. Or at least the reason why I decided to continue existing, anyway.

“Why?”

“Why you ask me? Why? Why does the sea crave the shore? Why does the fish fall for the bait? Why does the addict pine for the next hit? Because they can’t help it. It’s instinct.”

“So, your instinct tells you to walk up to random strangers and offer to get stoned with them?”

“My instinct tells me to come save you.”

“Who says I need saving?”

“Don’t you?”

The stars blinked down at us, nodding in approval. Venus was being her usual self, pretending to be something she’s not. And the city lights begged me to not go back home.

We were on the roof of a 20 storeyed building, trespassing our way to bliss. I lay there recounting the evening I had gone through. It’s not every day you realise that the person you were together with for half a decade turns out to be in love with someone else. It’s not every day the world you knew as a uni-dimensional harbour of ecstasy and joy crumbles into a non-existent pile of rubble and ice.

It’s not every day you meet your own demon moonlighting as an angel to rescue you, only to throw you off the edge at the perfect moment.

She knew this was coming. She should have prepared for this, she thought, like one prepares for a storm one hears vaguely about on the radio while doing their dishes or vacuuming the carpet. But she got too busy living in the now, enjoying the last bits of moments she got to spend with him, in their house, doing the things only they did, living their life, the only proper life she had had the fortune of living. She didn't know who to be apart from who she already was- a wife, a nurturer, a homemaker, a fixer-upper-a guardian keeping a close eye on the mindless little things that mattered most to them, to her. And soon, she’d just become a name, not even having the honour of retaining the last part of it. And despite the desperate sense of loss plaguing her entirety, she felt a peculiar sense of calmness descending upon her.

“There you go, rolled it, like a pro. Wait, I’ll boom it. I haven’t done this in a while.”

She lit the J and lay down. I put my book aside and follow suit. “Look at that star, burning like a fireball.”

“That’s not a star. It’s the planet Venus. On clear nights it’s usually mistaken to be a star. But look carefully, it’s not twinkling like the others.” I corrected her.

“Ah. There’s no fooling you, is there?” She took a drag and looked at me. The kohl smeared eyes burnt a hole into my consciousness. I had to look away. Why she had this effect on me, I wondered, failing to come up with any conclusive rationalisation for it.

“Learning it the hard way,” was all I could muster up as a reply. But she didn’t seem to be paying attention. It seemed like she was somewhere else.

“Don’t you think it’s sad when we assume that someone is putting up a charade, but in reality they’re just being themselves? It is in fact, we who aren’t paying enough attention to decipher the truth. How easy it is to blame someone to cover up our own defects?”

I said nothing to that. We kept smoking our joint. And she kept talking about things. Things that put the stars to shame. Things that made a dent on my shell. Things that have a way of staying with you, eons and eons from then on.

“When I was a little girl, I loved playing with dragonflies. There was this one specific place at the playground which had an abandoned slide. It used to be swarmed by dragonflies for some mystical reason, every spring. The best time of my day used to be sliding down that thing, imagining being carried by the dragon flies. And when I’d lie down on the ground, and the sun would glisten its way through the over protective branches of the trees, the wings of the dragonflies seemed to be lit up into a million glow lamps, fluttering incessantly. And at that moment I realised, magic is real.” She sat up and stared down at me, her eyes held me prisoner. “Do you believe in magic?”

I kept staring at her. Through my peripheral vision I could see the stars, and lights. I could feel the gentle wind making love to my body. I closed my eyes to soak it all in.

“No.” I lied. But I couldn’t tell her the truth, I felt vulnerable enough already. She made me feel so powerless under the hold of her gaze, like I was not the master of my own self. She had this incomprehensible power over me that felt suffocating and liberating at the same time. No man ever made me feel that way, let alone a woman.

She kept staring at me; I could feel her pretty eyes all over my face, even with mine closed.

“Well, that’s a pity.”

She stood up and walked towards the railing. I got up and followed her, like a moth to an enthralling glow of light. She took out a cigarette and lit it up. Dragging in the nicotine infested gust of air through her dark-red stained lips and letting out the smoke with a sigh mixed in, she casually let her body hang mid-way from the railing, her eyes taking in the distant hassles of the world below.

“If you wish to fall to death, please do it somewhere I am not around. I’ve witnessed too much death and blood and I don’t wish to elongate that list.” I casually murmured, leaning with my back against the railing.

“You haven’t witnessed enough.” Her body still mid-way suspended towards gravity.

“You don’t know that.”

“You haven’t witnessed enough.” She repeated.

“Do you want to change that?”

“It’s not for me to change things. That job is solely reserved for Time. And when Time arrives, us puppets must simply obey.”

“And that’s all that we are? Puppets obeying the whims of time?”

“No. Only the puppets are puppets. They have to. That’s their job. You don’t need to worry about that. You aren’t a puppet.”

“Then what am I?”

“I can’t tell you that. I haven’t been told to do so. If and when I am tasked with that particular job, nothing would bring me more pleasure than to fly to you to tell you all about it.”

“Okay. I see. Fine, I’ll humour you. You enjoy being a Puppet?”

“Sometimes. Most times actually. But I want to be something more. I want to be Time itself.”

“How can one become time?”

“Just like one becomes anything that there is to become: Perseverance. And a real gut wrenching proclivity that doesn’t begin to fade out. In essence we are all time. We measure our lives, not by years and months and days that have gone trailblazing into the mist. What we really analyse in retrospect on our deathbeds or deathrides if you will, are the people who came, went and stayed. The people who made things a struggle, the people who made things an aid in the struggle, the people who just were, and the people who weren’t. What is time if not just a point of reference into the foresight or hindsight rather the sight itself.”

“Then you are already time. What’s there to become?”

“Oh but there’s a difference between time and Time. A subtle one but the difference is so impactful that it holds the power to yield non-existent strings into tides which chart the highs and lows of the natal fluid that powers this existence, along with all the other existences that have blossomed to be.”

“Well, I guess I need another joint to process that.” And I started walking away from the railing.

“You say that as if you can process my words any less right now.”

I stopped and let out a deep breath. I asked myself why I had decided to follow my whims, rather follow this stranger’s whims, this night of all nights. May be pandering for those queries, in search of meaning and reasons, I turned back to look at her. And she had transformed.

The girl I was conversing with had black hair with silver streaks till her shoulders, wearing a short white dress till her knees with converse shoes, black eyes.

But the girl I was staring at right now made me question if that was a girl at all. She had long silver hair that ran past her waist, streaked with black, here and there. She had on a flimsy, shiny cloth around her body, the cloth not entirely shaped in the likeness of a dress. But the most striking feature about her was not the altered clothing and hair. The most striking feature about her were the eyes, which were distinctly red, as red as her mouth. Also the fact that she had an ethereal glow that made her resemble a ghost, probably the ones which flit through ones childhood in books, dreams and real life, made her both terrifying and enthralling at the same time.

“You were going to kill yourself today to escape life. Now you want to escape death by shunning life and slipping into the crevices of your impaired consciousness. What changed?”

“You.”

And by that I didn’t just mean her change of appearance. I sank to the ground, on my knees, and stared at the nothingness beneath me. The terrace floor was as grey as the night sky at a distance. I unfurled my fists and gazed at my palms. My palmist friend who takes a lot of pride in her clairvoyance once told me that I have a strong life line while pointing at the deep line that cut across my palm. I could see that mark getting fainter and fainter. I could feel myself getting lighter along with that mark, each second dwindling away life, my breaths slowing down with each passing second. The heaviness of the world upon me seemed to be lifted and I instinctively looked up at her.

We weren’t at the terrace anymore.

There was darkness all around and nothing else. She stood there looking like a Goddess and I bore my gaze on her wraith-like self, looking like I was going to break into a hymn of devotion any second.

“Sometimes we experience life in ways that are inexplicable through human words.”

And there was music. Right at that moment, a melody so divine yet so very human, singed across the darkness and started wafting through the air. Imagine if you pour together Einaudi’s Night and Tiersen’s Summer 78 and they make love to Saint-Saen’s Danse Macabre. Now top that up with Chet Baker’s Almost Blue and that is exactly what I was listening to. It doesn’t make sense if you think of them logically but logic took a backseat the moment I agreed to follow this girl/ghost/goddess, into her world leaving behind mine.

“And our eyes are more deceiving than any illusionary object ever conceived into being.”

At that exact moment I witnessed the birth of light from darkness, small floating bits of colour and light that manifested out of nowhere. They were like those feathery cottony flowers we blow into the wind but the difference was that they were aglow, and how!

“But the biggest problem lies in the fact we try to make sense out of everything that we set our senses upon. Experiencing a sensation and making sense out of it are two very different things and sometimes, we just need to detach ourselves from the cage of meaning and explanations. Sometimes we just need to let go.”

And she bent down with a grace I can never recreate. And she wrapped me up in a kiss that can never be replaced.

I was lost in a sea, the tides taking me to places I never thought I’d discover. I was afloat on a breeze that courted the night with an unrivalled passion. I didn’t know exactly what was happening to me but all I knew is this- I need to savour every moment with a resignation that comes un-demanded. And I did.

“You say that as if you can process my words any less right now.”

I opened my eyes after what seemed like a decade of being in hibernation. I was back at the terrace. The sky, the stars, the distant throttle of vehicles and human life, I could see it all. I looked up ahead and there she was. Exactly at the same place when we had started talking. I was still on my knees. She was in her short dress and short hair, her otherworldly glow absent, but devastatingly captivating nonetheless. But I couldn’t make sense out of any of it anymore.

“What?”

“You said you need a joint because I was talking to you about my understanding of time and Time. I say that you can understand me just fine but you choose to isolate yourself from it.”

“I think, I think I just hallucinated. Wow. This never happened before.”

“What did you see?” she walked to where I was sitting and squatted down.

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“I’m not supposed to. It’s called a hallucination for a reason. But you know what? Some experiences are meant to just be experienced and not made any sense out of. May be you should just savour it.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I never asked. Who, who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“But I asked first.”

“I didn’t think the order of the questions matter. If you want to know someone else, don’t you think it’s essential to know yourself first?”

I lay down and decided to try not to understand anything anymore. She lay down beside me and embraced me without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing to do in this world.

“Will you be here when I wake up tomorrow morning?”

“No.”

“Okay”

And I held her closer and felt myself slip into unconsciousness, falling into a sleep that was deeper, warmer and friendlier than I had had in a very long while.

***

The lights around her beckoned her to join in. She didn’t know how to stop anymore. When we have literally nothing to lose, there are few strings holding us back. She seemed to finally understand what people meant when they said something like that. And it didn’t frighten her even one bit. She felt ready for the leap. And so she did. She leaped into the crowd of ecstatic movement, merging herself within the folds of skin and cloth, losing her sense of control in the familiar rhythm of a half forgotten tune. She glanced at that finger, and she only saw the shadow of a life that whizzed past her eyes like a shiny convertible that passes you on the road, the roof rolled down, its occupants shooting you an all knowing, gorgeous smile- but she no longer felt the desire to wave back. And the car seemed to get the message, and it started to move on.

I downed my coffee like a shot of whiskey and distanced myself from that book and its bizarrely familiar pages.

I was sitting at the local café which had been the location for all the drama in my life- first dates, breakups, bitchy friends, ultimate showdowns. What can I say? The coffee is exceptionally good, but not so good that it distracts you from the going-ons around you.

It had been a couple of weeks since that night and I couldn’t go back to normal ever since. She wasn’t there when I woke up, and I couldn’t do anything about it- she did tell me she’d be gone. Everyday I’d been taking the train at the same time and from the same station where I’d met her. Everyday I’d been visiting that terrace and spending the night there, hoping that she might turn up. In my head I knew she wouldn’t, in my head I even questioned if she ever was. In my heart, I couldn’t do away with the emotions she’d inflicted me with and one of them was hope.

But that morning I was sitting at the café because all of a sudden, I’d received a text from him. He wanted to meet me and I couldn’t say no. I never really gave him a chance to speak. All I stuck around to hear from him when we were breaking it off was that he had fallen in love again. And it wasn’t me. But now that I had experienced love, all over again, in ways I’d never experienced before, I thought it seemed only fair that I should give him a chance to speak.

He walked in just as the clock struck 5. He was never late- always appeared at the right time, not a minute early not a minute late. I never understood how he did it but all I did understand was I could never master that sorcery. He smiled at me, that all knowing, generous smile that I’d gotten used to waking up to. He sat down with a “You look gorgeous as ever,” and swiftly placed his order for a black coffee and asked for a refill of my frappe. He was so very efficient, even when we were living together. We never really fought. I mean, yes there were the occasional tiffs and bouts of anger but it never really escalated into anything. He understood me, I understood him, and we’d end up making up much before we had the chance of going to bed angry with each other. In ways, ours was the perfect love. Until he started coming home real late and seemed more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him before. I assumed he was going through something but I didn’t want to broach the matter until he was comfortable to say it to me on his own. And he did. A week later he confessed that he was in love. And I didn’t wait for him to finish his side of the story.

“How have you been?” he began.

“Lately? You wouldn’t want to know.”

“I see. Don’t you want to know how I’ve been?”

“If you want to tell me, why not?”

“Hey, don’t be like that. I, these two months have been a nightmare. I can’t begin to tell you how good it feels to see your face.”

“Really? What about her? The woman who stole your heart?” It was like driving a knife through my core, saying those words and meaning someone else. But now it had become bearable. Everything is bearable when you’ve been through heaven in a night and hell in the subsequent days to follow.

“You never wanted to hear about her. You wouldn’t even let me explain what happened. And now you want me to? What changed?”

A different questioner but the same question to which there was but the same answer: Her.

“I guess. I’m ready for it. I guess I can bear it. No, I’m definitely sure I can bear it. Give it to me.”

The waitress came with our orders and placed them in front of us without delay. He took a sip of his coffee, and I could see a strange sort of a passion in his eyes as he was preparing to rattle off his story. Two weeks ago I would have killed myself to see that for someone else. Now, I can only empathise with him. I’d probably look the same way thinking of her. He started his story. And Time and time, both took a backseat.

“It was, exactly two months ago. I was coming back home, you’d wanted me back early because you cooked that special dish of yours and I remember not being able to wait even a second to get back to you. I got you some flowers and boarded the train because it would be faster than a cab. And, then I saw her. Rather, she saw me. Short black hair, silver streaks, dress with converse. This girl with the most enigmatic presence I’ve ever endured comes up to me and offers to get stoned with me. And, and I don’t know how or why, but I just couldn’t say no. She, she had this gravitational pull that’d be stupid to try resisting. And I followed her to wherever she was taking me, only to find myself on the roof of some multi storeyed building. She, she talked about things that you’d read in a surrealist novel or in the diary of a fascinating artist. At one point of time, I hallucinated that she wasn’t she anymore, she’d transformed into this…”

“Stop. Just, stop.”

My head hurt. My comprehension of what is and what was and what came to be, collided into nothingness and I found myself gasping for air. I ran out of the café and started running down the sidewalk. I could hear him running behind me, yelling at me to stop. Soon, before I hit the curb he caught up to me and stopped me from running further. Panting and sweating, both of us sat down on the side walk.

“What is wrong with you? I thought you said you were ready to hear the story. I know how it all sounds, I know I make you feel horrible when I say such things about another girl.”

“No, that’s not it. Baby you don’t get it. That’s not it at all!”

“Then what is it? Tell me. I want to know. I know you haven’t been well. But I stayed away because I knew you’d want some space. That’s why when you sent me a message asking me to meet you at the café I was so relieved! I wanted to see you so bad.”

And that was another arrow right through my perception of reality.

“I did not text you. I came here because I received a text from you asking me to meet you.”

“What utter nonsense.”

We both pulled out our phones. If you ask the telephone companies they’ll tell you that there has been no communication between his connection and mine for the past two months, because our inboxes had nothing to each other in them.

“I don’t understand this. I swear I got your message and I was reading at that point of time and I re checked the message several times all day…”

“That’s not the only thing beyond comprehension.” I interrupted.

“Did you hallucinate that she had transformed into a ghostly, goddess-like being clad in shiny white, her hair silver with black strewn around here and there? That she made music come to life, and colourful lights amongst darkness engulfed you both? That she kissed you in a manner you’re afraid no will ever kiss you again?”

“How?” he asked, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

“Two weeks ago. I ran into her too. The same routine. Train. Terrace. Her voice. Those things she said. The hallucination. Back to terrace. Easing into the best sleep one can have in her arms and then waking up to emptiness.”

We both looked out into the street. A girl on her bicycle whizzed past, with bread and flowers in her basket. A mother with two kids, a boy and a girl, were walking down the opposite sidewalk, the kids pestering her for ice cream. She finally gave in and stopped at the ice cream shop where a smiling old lady topped off their cones with sprinkles and Choco-chips for free.

Two people falling in love with the same person is the oldest plot destiny had played out, ages after ages. But the way destiny did it this time, was inherently ingenious, a job well done. We didn’t know what to say to each other. We had both experienced something that we can’t really go and tell anybody because part of what makes it great is what would make the world brand us crazy. Or inebriated. We had both had the fortune to encounter her in the most beautifully unattainable way possible. And we had both been infected with a yearning that is unquenchable, undeniable and most probably, unobtainable.

“You don’t know her name either, do you?”

“You think she’d tell?”

“No, she wouldn’t. How have you been coping?”

“I haven’t.”

We looked at each other and could feel the bliss laced sorrow invested within us. There wasn’t much that we could discuss. There wasn’t much that we could say. We were both stuck at a road from where there wasn’t any where to go to, nor a place to return back to. But having each other instead of being stuck there alone, helped. It made us feel safe and assured us that we weren’t crazy. It made us feel sane.

We realised that we had unfinished business. So we made our way to the café to pay our bills. As we saw the waitress who was serving us, we called for her.

“We’re so sorry, we had to rush out without paying. How much is it?”

“It’s okay, the lady took care of it. She said it was on her.”

“Which lady?”

“The one who was sitting at the other end of the room. Black hair. Silver streaks. She actually paid and left right after you two went out running.”

We both looked at one another. I glanced at my table and I saw that my book was gone.

We could have gone out searching. I could have taken one route, he another. After all it hadn’t been that long since we ran out of here. But we knew it would be pointless. We knew whoever or whatever she is, we won’t catch her unless she wants us to catch her. Will she ever want us to? I think both of us were pondering over the same exact thought while walking out of the café when he suddenly stopped and pointed at something.

It was the small black board that cafés normally have, to write down their discounts or specials. Today, however, it had a quote: Our biggest flaw is trying to make sense of every sensation that crosses our path to the point where we forget that magic, is not meant to be caged in logic.

He took me into his arms and locked me in a kiss that took us to places only we knew how to get to, only we had had the privilege to unearth, and only we knew existed.

x---x