the 'Fist' & the 'Pacifist'

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

They were lovers like that...

Ashmit had been waiting at the kerb, where the road running down from her college met the wideness of Park Street. She walked down the footpath, brisker than usual, her eyes searching him out - amongst the trundling buses, speeding cars and half open shops. And then as she was almost onto the kerb, she saw him.

They sat on the stairs of the music store, till it opened for business. They walked around aimlessly for the next few hours, circling the block without actually realizing it. They spoke off the months since they had last met. College, Exams and how she had missed him.

He walked by her side, looked at her as she spoke. She was wearing a turquoise-teal short kurta, not cut-to-fit, in the light confused breeze it flapped against her jeans. There was an unversed elegance about her, a diamond solitaire on a slim chain, rested below her neck. "How beautiful are you?" he asked himself.

The coffee shops opened by eleven, they sat at a table in the corner. The lights were lit, the sky was turning a light gray and there was a sudden nip in the air. The anticipation of rain floated over everything dead or alive.

As she sipped coffee he tentatively reached for her hand, she smiled and laid her fingers on his. They talked about how they had missed each other, and the solitude of living in different cities.

She re-collected how Ashmit had proposed, in the darkness of a Cinema Theatre.
They had gone to see X-Men 2 - he a fan of the comic heroes, she just liked Hugh Jackman. They were late, the movie had already started. By the door - her eyes blurred by the darkness, she searched for the usherer. He stood looking at the screen. At the far end of the hall, she saw the yellow beam of the usherer's torch, and held Ashmits arm "That way". In the darkness she had tugged at his arm, he held her back and whispered "Swastika ... I love you".

They laughed, and squeezed their hands together.

The moment bled into the next, she sipped coffee from a large white mug and looked at their fingers intervolved and clasped, resting on an ochre tablemat. The palms at once warm and clammy, the fingers tingly with touch.

It started raining and they stayed on in the shop for a while longer. She looked through the full size glass doors and saw the city scamper to find shelter from the rain. Pedestrians animatedly hailed speeding taxis. Vendors pressed their backs against walls of buildings, their wares covered with colored tarpaulin squares.

She felt happy and warm, Ashmit was here. But there was emptiness, a sense of loss, of what...? She didn't know.

A feeling of disquiet, even though she felt at peace.

Labels: Fiction

6 Comments:

Rimi said... On Wednesday, April 26, 2006 2:37:00 am

Sorry. Maante parlam na. I mean, turquoise-teal top, not cut-to-fit ? And you're telling me your imagination and scintillating powers of observation came up with that with no help from the visual faculties, as exercised on a certain specific young lady?

In that case, you're good. Very good. :-)

Rohan said... On Wednesday, April 26, 2006 3:02:00 am

Imagination sprung up Turquoise-Teal. Now that you mention it, pretty fancy stuff, huh?

Have a dumb smile pasted on the face, as I ...mentally work out Tangerine-Fuschia!

Ok fine, lets stick to Golaapi Rong & Boka Haashi :-)

Cheers!

Anonymous said... On Friday, August 11, 2006 3:10:00 pm

hi,
i jst stumbled on ur blog...read this post...and i have felt this way...my partner lives in mumbai...when he comes to meet me once i na few months...i feel i shud be happiest...i am happy, secure...but there's something missing....
have u been thru this?
maybe u cud answer wat is missin? or wat am i searching that i won't find!

Rohan said... On Tuesday, August 22, 2006 3:58:00 am

Hi Rima,

Thanx for dropping by. Saw your post only today. I think I know the feeling. Its wierd and funny. Yes I mean both...with their own...apparently similar...but actually very different meanings.

Take Care. Cheers!