In all my casual conversations with my friends I referred to him as 'Sagarparer premik' (literal translation stands for the lover across the ocean), true in every sense as he resided on the other side of Pacific. A couple of nights of endless conversation while the Bangalore sky drizzled made me believe this is the guy whom I had been a seeker of since I was born and learnt to understand love, though the statement be made right at this point that I more or less feel the same every time I carry the baggage of this age old heart to tread the path of love, the truest heart ache, seldom finding a reason to justify the effort I put in though. However the Pacific lover, whom I related to the song of "miner for a Heart of gold" enchanted me with the possibility of being a real-life hero. Reasons? Well, to start with, he is a poet, that too a mesmerizing one and that is reason enough in my opinion. Its easy to fall in love with those people, you see.... you want to trust them for the simple reason, they speak your mind. Your believe they shared the agony of your life when they vividly sketche the long lost beauty of a rikhshaw journey you took in early teens when the rest of the city was submerged in water (yes, Kolkata I mean, you get that right). The reason why it is distant is yet unknown... could be the time went by, far off or may be it was raining...rainy and windy the time was, so much so that the elated human mechanisms seemed to procure unique identity. So you know even if these pending projects at the university, the stress to pay back bank loans you took to complete the higher studies and the push to stay uptight in the rat-race and everything else, (ah..the petty worldly affairs...never mind) conspire to kill your inner soul, or at least suck up the essence of inner peace, somewhere somehow in this world an angel escaped from getting extinct. He whispers in your ears saying dreams you had as a child still holds true, and you will go back home hoping to recapture the glances in the alleys of the northern part of the city. That love, I longed for. That love, I am afraid of.
The pacific poet sang a couple of songs for me and wrote a couple of poems. But by that time I knew I had to run away with the scar face I had lest I gift him the same. You see, as and when every relationship ends you sort of die, and rot a little. So I ran till I had a palpitating heart, swam without taking a breath for hours, and looked back from a secure distance. There he stood with his melancholy, safe from me.
Days went by to constitute a couple of months. With economic fluctuations, intercontinental aviation companies brought down their operational prices (Jargon I love)! Seemingly hesitant the poet decides to revisit those cities, abodes for his friends and families. Conversing everyday with specific details of daily life happened to be our daily routine. It included discussing mostly about cats everytime we find them on the road. They mediate with a deep nonchalance towards the seemingly vast world of knowledge. A possible voice could have translated their mind saying whatever you do, you will die a fool. I assure you they have attained a part of it however what I appreciate the most is they dont brag about it. I hearby ensure to dedicate a section of this blog to share the joy of learnings I secured from observing these creatures. However, back to the point, my Pacific poet declares he is paying a visit to the city for ten days. It was one of those days of internship when your mentor is away for some work, you are gossiping with your besties, and watching youtube videos while zeroing down on a recipe to prepare over the weekend. Suddenly a realization hits your mind that you still can savour the glory of agony and ecstasy. So your eyes are full of tears; that's an easy way to put in the extremity of emotion as and when you experience them. And I thought I knew what it is feels like, to be numb, it occurs only during orgasm!
Our times collided, we were passing by the same road in different directions...literary! Leaving for different cities for the limited time span, you see. Rustic reality has taught me to refuse even the least of sacrifice in practice, foregoing a visit to home was out of question from every aspect, specially when I had my tender heart temped to rekindle the passion of friendship and unspoken heartily affairs; but that is a story which should await. So I call him, express my elated emotion as he has stepped into the city, plan to meet him, dress up, get confused, call him up again and cancel the meet. You see, such a sucker I am. I do believe that is the best I could do. I was afraid of getting hurt, once again; had to save myself. Often to safegurd ourselves, we hurt the people we appreciate the most.
Time flied and warned me with an impending busy schedule and said, "Enjoy to the heart's content before you go back to school!" I followed my mind and heart and the notion of time patiently and spent 14 hours of the day, religiously roaming around in the street of the city in the heatwave that could give Middlewestern weather a subtle competition.
Content and tanned, I come back home. By home I mean the small abode of this paying guest accommodation however the ruffle of this life will follow later in some other post. I start to get used to with daily rigour and start to believe this is it until the Pacific poet pings! You see, nowadays people converse with each other while pinging. So did he. He pinged. I had successfully ran and swam once again by that time and was standing far away from the island where he was standing. With curiosity I wondered what did he want even after a mess up. He was not well, he said. He had to visit the doctors. The doctor happened to stay near my place and he was visiting. It was time his smartphone became unsmart and the pinging stopped leaving us with the option to communicate only with human voice, once again. A lunch, yes a lunch was perfect idea since the doctor had kept him fasting since morning.
There stood a God; they call him Ayappa. His temple being a known one in the locality we made him the first witness of our meeting. You know those times when the day turns brighter, as if you have melted a little more hue in the sky? It happened to be one of those days.
He remembered my promise that I wrote him volumes.
I wish he remembers that I will turn out to be a Phoenix for him someday, some other life, some other place.
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