“Can I know which room Abhinav Thakur stays in?”
“Intro!”
“Oh... ok... I am Pavankumar...” Thus went my first moments at IIM Bangalore. People around seem to be bent upon trying to scare the shit out of us ‘fachchas’, but well, as they say, it’s all for a reason!
One thing that sets IIMB apart from IIT is the frantic pace of life. I slept through all the orientation programs of IIT B, but I don't think that’s going to work here. (Reminds me of the times when we were dragged out of our rooms in the first year, to participate in the crossy!). Some of the orientation programs were actually fun, like, bumping into your batch mates blindfolded, enacting role plays about the corporate world, running all over the campus in groups, et al. I want to believe that the next two years is going to be as much fun, as these initial days.
Soon I will be taking courses I don't know a shit about, and well, all I wish right now is that I get time to update my blog frequently, and to distance it as far as possible from my life at IIM B!
I stretched myself with exaggeration and took a deep breath. The beach was very calming, especially as the sun went away for the day. The need to seek comfort in the actions of other people was strangling me and I started looking restlessly all over the beach for comfort.
“Hey, are you alright? You want a cup of coffee?” Siri asked, genuinely.
“No, I am fine... really... I am” I said, staring at the pier, about hundred meters away from us.
It was a woman. She was facing the water, hands outstretched, with her summer dress wavering slightly in the wind. The whole thing felt like a beautiful painting of the sun and sadness.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, as she turned towards me. I looked at her surprisingly long arms that ended in amazingly lithe hands. Something in her hands gleamed in the sunlight.
‘Why is she carrying a knife? What is she trying to do?’ I asked myself, as I mulled over the possible answers. I was trembling.
With great difficulty, she forced herself towards the ocean, her hand raised above her head with the knife shining in the dying sunlight.
Siri raised her hands and cupped them to her mouth. I inhaled a yell, as I felt the blood rush through my veins with fanatic fervor.
She knelt down in the ankle-deep water, and picked up what looked like a vase, next to her. She brought down the knife gently, opened the vase and poured its contents into the water.
I stood confused, even slightly angry, as I watched her say something to the water.
Then, it struck me.
She was saying goodbye.
I felt cold and cruel. I loathed myself for the fact that I had to invade one of the most sensitive moments of another person to get over my grief. I knew it was unintentional, and that I meant no offence, but I had done it. Nothing could change that fact. I just wanted to run to her and comfort her but knew it was just not my place. I felt my hands folding into a fist as I fought back tears.
A flood of anger overcame me with a potent force; anger for continuing to watch her in her private moments.
How easy it was to mix myself mentally with her pain.
How easy it was to run away from my own.
I felt my whole body collapse into a tense knot. And still, I continued to watch her.
She had finished talking to the ocean and taking a deep breath, she turned towards the pier. Glistening strands of hair were all over her face, as she made no effort to brush them away. I looked at her features muted by the sadness.
I think it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life.
*
She had flowing hair, sometimes plaited tightly into a pony. She wasn’t particularly athletic, just graceful and elegant. She was your sell-your-first-born combined with your drop-dead kind of gorgeous; the kind that is illegal in most parts of the world.
She was the kind of girl everybody would love, if they could spend like five seconds with her. Unfortunately, no one ever did.
We were friends.
True... our public appearances were filled with fake laughs and I-don't-understand-what-you-are-saying-but-I-will-just-nod-my-head kind of gestures. But what we shared in private was much more meaningful than that.
We exchanged insightful little notes.
‘I can’t play outside because I get all sweaty and red in the heat.’
‘I ran the distance from your gate to ours in ten seconds.’
You get the picture.
And yeah, I was ten.
*
I was in mid-air; hands outstretched, eyes focused, and lips curled. I latched on to the ball with all my might and hit the ground with a loud thud. I lifted my hand, my fingers closed tight on the ball, and waved to the small crowd that had gathered to watch the event. I was elated.
“Wow! That was charming!” she said.
The world came to a stand still.
She was standing two centimeters away from me, firing successive rounds of her charming smiles, without mercy.
“Oh!!!!” I said.
“So how have you been?” she said, slanting her head to one side.
“Well... I have been good... and I must say you did a great job growing up!”
“Yeah... I tried my best,” she said, “But I have always missed you. You know, I still have the note you gave me when we vacated our old house. Those were good times... really!”
“You still have that note?” I said, in disbelief. “I thought I was just a forgotten memory”
“Oh, you are more than just a memory!”
And then she smiled, again.
God.
Help.
Me.
*
And so, certain things don’t end with a note and a void.
That’s kind of neat.
*
