Broken But Beautiful

1. Coming Back

Manik

Coming back to India was never my decision. I did it for Mukti.

I mean, of course she had to come back. It was her little sister's wedding after all, and she had designed all her outfits sitting back in New York. But how I managed to convince myself to accompany her is a million dollar question to my own immune system. You cannot go back to a place where your breath was vigorously taken from you once. However hard you try, you have to suffocate. It's not the biological respiration that keeps your system going on. It's that kind of breath that makes you feel alive deep inside.

I used to feel that. Once upon a time, 10 years ago.

I dropped the backpack off my shoulder on the trolley, the full moon midnight blue sky and damp wet air welcoming me to the city that once was my 'that' breathing system. As I looked around in the blue darkness, silence interrupted by shallow breaths of human, leaves and the heaviness of the air. My lips curled; Monsoon Mumbai, it was.

As I stood there outside the airport with both Mukti's and my luggages, I saw her trying her family on phone. The New York Times best selling author Manik Malhotra back to his homeland after 10 long years for girlfriend's sister's wedding- what a headline for tomorrow morning entertainment media center. Except for the fact that I'm not traveling with my girlfriend. Mukti Vardhan is my high school best friend, who ran away from home 10 years ago with her crazy ass just to accompany me to find my respiration system back, at least.

I sighed. Maybe this is what got me back to this place.

Mukti Vardan is not only a fashion designer for Vogue New York, but also the assistant designer of Manik Malhotra's life of last 10 years. She has been in my life as a foe since I could write alphabet, my partner in crime back bencher friend till I was in 10th grade. Then suddenly we were giving 12th year board exam and suddenly so she was my best friend. And now she's the only family that I consider left in my life.

Even if there is something in my life remarked as 'family'.

Mukti's family, although, never considered me less than their non existent son. When their daughter ran away with me to New York even when I refused to take her- they didn't curse my soul at all. Instead, they taught both of our young inexperienced asses how to take care of ourselves. Alya, Mukti's younger sister and the bride of honor never forgot to tie rakhi to me, flying in New York every damn year.

In return, I did nothing for them.I had nothing left in me to give anyone, I guess. The less I could do was to tell my insides to behave while I came back to Mumbai to attend Alya's wedding in proper manner.

I knew Alya had understood when the first time I told her I couldn't come. She immediately told me it was okay. But Mukti Vardhan- a different case, she vowed not to come either herself. If any other girl had said that I wouldn't believe her- but hey, I know this bitch of a best friend. What she says, she seriously, very seriously does.

So instead of fighting the living tornado I was here, fighting with my breath. Call it gratitude to these people who stood up for me or call it being fucked up- I was still standing here in Mumbai airport after 10 years, staring out at the moon less night, lighting a cigarette and watching my best friend scream on her phone. Two minutes later she cut the call and stood beside me, lighting her own cigarette.

"Can you believe this? Cabir forgot he had to pick us up!" She growled at the universe, "Now god knows how long we've to stand here and wait for rain to come drench us up," she furiously blew the toxic in the air.

"Chill, Mukti, you're house isn't far from the airport as much as I remember," I blew my own cigarette. She carefully eyed me for some silent seconds.

"You're still mad at me, Manik," she sighed, air blew out of her mouth. It wasn't a question. It was an assessment.

I raised my eyebrows, "Oh, you know it already? I didn't know!"

She ignored the sarcasm, "You can't just run away from a place forever, Manik,"

"I wasn't running away, Mukti. We both know this is just not my place of the world," I blew smoke after smoke, trying to keep my posture calm for the night.

That's it, Manik. We can survive the night.

"Then don't be so upset, douchebag!" she hissed, "It's just two weeks! We enjoy the wedding and then we go back!"

"Exactly!" I finally turned at her, "Two weeks and I go back where I belong, Mukti. I'm not upset with you. Just give me this night.. it's been 10 fucking years. Let me adjust. I'll be fine,"

Her eyes softened a little, "You'll see. You're not gonna be fine. You're gonna be amazing! I'll make sure of that,"

"So that I think about not going back?" I laughed. She rolled her eyes, "Of course we both are going back, Manik. I've got a place on Vogue and you gotta publish your 2nd book of the trilogy. But that's not even the point-"

"The point is- Cabir's currently running towards you," I motioned behind her. She turned around to see her mad cousin running towards her, who soon jumped over her.

"What the- Cabir!" She wriggled under his arm as he held her tight, "Oh my God. I can't believe this bro, Mukti you're back!"

"Fuck yes," she pushed him away, glaring at him, "And you didn't seem to remember that 10 minutes ago,"

"Mukti, I was joking, idiot! Of course I remembered! I was on the car only!" He turned at me, "Hey, Manik Malhotra! What's up!"

He embraced me the same way he did to Mukti, too happy and excited. I smiled back, breaking the hug, silently praying to portrait the same level of enthusiasm, "Hey, man!"

Cabir is Mukti's almost twin cousin- in a quite dramatic fashion both Mukti's mum and her Chachi gave born to them the same day almost same time. He owns some well- going fast food chain in India. Cabir and I were no longer best friends like we used to be when I lived in here- but the pull we feel towards each other, was never really gone. Even though we hardly met, or talked anymore. 

Other than that, no one could deny Cabir Vardhan as a good friend. He's just- that kind of a guy. 

It took some time for them to settle their cat fight, while I stood there laughing as an audience. Soon our luggages were thrown to the back of his car and we hopped in. As Cabir speed the car up, I stared outside the open glasses of the car. Blank, blue and dark.

There's nothing to loose this time, I told myself inside; the pieces are already and still broken in a way they can't be broken any more. So, why bother myself doubting the wall of steel glue I've built around it?

Either way, they're still broken.

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