you

Watching the rain in the morning, I sit on the unmade bed and think about you. You always said rain in Mumbai looks pretty. So I watch. The silver streaks on the glass wall of my room making patterns of abstract fantasy. The horizon stretching grey sheet that hijacked the blue sky. Weekday morning rush of multi coloured umbrellas on the road far below.

But all I think about is you.

I missed you on the empty seat next to me on the plane. I missed your blissful sleepy face on the pillow next to mine in bed. I missed you cuddling up with me under the sheets while still half asleep. I missed your open-capped shampoo bottle in the shower cubicle. I missed nuzzling my face in your towel that always smells of you. I missed having my clothes next to yours in the wardrobe. I missed our slippers getting all mixed up under the bed. I missed sharing a cigarette with you after making love. I missed the roughness of your stubble and the softness of your kiss. I missed you lying naked next to me and talking about your favourite author. I missed our long calls on silly childhood whims and ghost stories. I missed sharing your ipod ear piece and listening to our favourite songs together. I missed you teasing me till I burst in frustration, that seems to always amuse you. But most of all I miss your smiling eyes that say, I love you.

I am reading Murakami’s ‘Kafka on the Shore’. I am reading it despite the popular reviews agreeing that this is not Murakami’s best. In fact some go on to say it is disappointing (while searching for the image in Google today, I read a few reviews). But as with the rest of the books that I read, I never read a review/research a book before reading it. Usually I am led by instinct. Obviously not a very rational way of going about buying books. But then I am not very rational even otherwise. For most of my life I have been led by instinct. I am still reading the book and I am not disappointed. Probably because I started it with zero expectations. But any way the running theme of the book is Fate and how we are led by it and there is nothing called free will with dark shades of a Greek tragedy loom large. The book begins interestingly enough. A mysterious WWII incident, talking cats who adore Puccini, a curse that ties the fate of all the characters, an alter ego dressed as a whiskey brand, a ‘spirited’ pimp who is the KFC guy, a painting that inspired a song track and of course women who are all nubile and pretty. Yes, it is dragging a little towards the middle albeit ‘metaphorically’. But there is a kooky sense of unrealism that draws me to it which makes me wish I could read the original Japanese. (Cheesy translations like ‘Jeez Louise!’ is as un-Japanese as it can get’).

How can you not love a man who is willing to bear your heavy cross without even a question?

How can you not love a man who finds you beautiful when you know you are at your worst?

How can you not love a man who has made your happiness his mission?

How can you not love a man who inconspicuously slips in a wad of money in your hand when you are out shopping with his family, at once indulgent and protecting your pride?

How can you not love a man who reaches out and holds your hand gently every time you cross a road together knowing you are capable of crossing it alone anyhow?

Finally, how can you not love a man who finds your noisy snoring cute? Yeah he said so.

no answers

Is it wrong to choose your life over others? Even if the others are whom you owe your life to? Does it make you a pathetic self seeking pervert? Is it wrong therefore to take control of your own destiny without being at the mercy of time and circumstance? Is it so hateful an act to seek what is forbidden to you? Is it wicked to take a chance at happiness? Is it treachery to try to change the course of your life through grit and hope instead of fate? Is it audacious to demand more that what is destined? Who sets the boundaries and who makes the rules?

What she must do:
Focus on her work. God knows she needs the money.
Pay more attention to her responsibility.
Get her finances in order.
Have a plan to cope.
Build that wall.
What she wanted to do:
Retire.
Build a home.
Love unconditionally.
Belong.
Learn how to paint.
What she does:
Gets misty eyed during an office meeting.
Prays for strength.
Blames herself.
Promises to never tempt fate again.
Tells herself to keep faith.

All she ever wanted was that little place in someone's heart where she belonged.

She was drowning. The swirl of sparkling green salty sea water was all around her. And the silence. Deafening and final. A moment ago, her father was holding her and nudging her to jump with the oncoming wave. She was with her family, visiting Puri for their summer holiday. A moment later she was underwater. Her father wasn’t holding her anymore. At seven, one doesn’t really get scared of dying. But she felt lonely, for the first time. Suddenly all alone. The water around her was filled with froth and bubbles whispering eka eka eka.

The protagonist from her favourite author says, ‘You don’t know which way to turn to climb out of loneliness. So you turn which ever way you can.’