Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Thirty Three : In Between Sad Endings And New Beginnings

I got up and opened the drawer of her desk, finding some loose sheets of ruled paper and colourful pens. The least that I could do was leave a letter and let out all my pent up feelings for her to be read and jeered at if she ever came back. I slid on the chair by the desk and let the white paper stare back at me in nervous anticipation. My last hope. I began neatly,

Dear Lila

No, no. This was the 21st century. Lila would definitely make fun of me reading that. I cut it with a squiggly line and began again,

To Lila

The paper looked terrible with the earlier cancellation of dear Lila. So I crumpled it and stuffed it in my pocket, taking another loose sheet of paper. I promised myself that I wouldn't overthink and would be as honest as I could be with her. And most importantly, with myself. I was running around in circles, fooling myself that I had moved on, then thoughts of her betrayed me. I fought so hard with those thoughts, pushing them deeper and deeper into my mind only for them to bounce back harder the next time like springs of suppressed sorrow. By the end of the day, I was so exhausted that I lay countless nights sighing in bed and hearing the huffing and puffing of Pavitra as if she too was running a marathon in her dreams.

So here was my acceptance, of all that had happened and wouldn't happen from now on, acceptance of my loss.

Hey Lila,

The navy blue ink dotted on the last letter as I held my pen there, taking a shaky breath and continuing,

I'm in a baddy, bad place right now. You said that, remember? That day at our spot in the heart of the city when I shifted away from you on that embankment. I understand now why you acted so weird then because you were angry at me. You didn't like that I kept pushing you away even though I loved you.

Now I'm angry at you for leaving me alone to deal with whatever is going on with me. But you know that I can't be angry with you for long. So I become angry at the world. I want to kick that damn stone, pluck those blooming flowers and stomp on anyone who dares to be happy. I want to twist those condescending smiles of people. I hate living most days. Especially living like the me after loving you. The me after loving you is a nobody. I don't know what I am or what I want to be except being the one who loves you. How incredibly mad I sound . . . This is what happened after you went away. I became mad. I have no control over me. My thoughts are that of a mad woman's. I could end up in jail if anyone could hear how mad and obsessive I have become.

I choked out a little laugh, the brimming tears were spilling on the paper and making it wet. For a minute, I stayed like that, burying my face in my armpit and letting the sleeve of my t-shirt be soaked with my embarrassment. I was glad that nobody could see me like this. A weak fool.

I let out a long breath and my fingers trembled despite my illusion of being in control.

It's like you woke me up then you went to sleep, leaving my eyes wide open to this world. I can't begin with how this world looks without you. I hope you giggle in flattery at my words, I hope you read this. Because I love you and you loved me too with all my shame and anxieties. It's only with you I can show who I am. I haven't told anyone about us. I don't think I can, although most days I want to. Just for someone to understand me the way you understood me.

However I am right now, I still hope you're happy. I'm not lying. I honestly hope that you're happy. Because it's happiness that makes you, YOU. 

So what am I to do now? Should I close my eyes again and wait for you to wake me up?

I don't know how long I can be like this. For my parents. They're already worried about how my sister's life is crumbling. I can't worry them more. I need to go on with life as normally as I can and maybe one day, I'll meet you. I hope we aren't angry or bitter with each other when we meet next time. I hope we don't push each other away. I'm tired of all that and I know that you're too. I hope that we can be friends again because you were my friend first, then my love. I hope we don't let the world around change us, I like how we were. We were bloody, fucking amazing. Don't you think so too?

"Hey, I have finished cleaning the kitchen. Are you sure that you don't want anything to drink?" I heard Supriya ask behind me and I slightly turned around. "This room feels strange without her, doesn't it? Her parents said that she wouldn't be coming for the Christmas holidays. She likes it a lot there. America. I bet that she's having a lot of fun there. She's like that, isn't she? She can mingle with people easily and make friends in a second. Out of all the houses that I have worked, it's only here where someone chatted with me while I cleaned everything."

"Yeah, that's her. Exactly her." I turned my chair towards her fully and smiled. "Are you leaving now?"

"Yes, it'll take me two minutes. I need to hang some clothes up."

"I'm leaving now too," I said, getting up with less effort since I felt lighter than before.  "Happy Diwali once again."

When Supriya disappeared, I folded my letter in an unsuspecting square such that it resembled some unimportant receipt, walked towards the trophy and dropped it in the empty cup. It was a hard chance if Lila would open the lid and peer into this, but it was a safe chance. Nobody in her family would bother looking into this, into the shared, treasured feelings of their daughter. Nobody cared. If they had, she would be here with me. But it was over. There was no point in wistfully wishing about what could have been. What ifs could undo the years of what good had already happened till there was nothing other than bad memories and their opposite possibilities.

I took one last look of her pure room, straightened the creases on the sheets of her bed where I had sat and left no traces of coming into Lila's world except for my feelings. My bottled up feelings were now trapped in that golden vessel. Impulsively, I marched towards the window sill and opened the windows, letting sunlight and air for the poor tulsi plant which was withering behind the diaphanous curtains. It wouldn't survive here, the poor thing. I held it in my arms like a baby and carried it home. For new beginnings.

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