Author's note:
(Please read. This note is not going to be lengthy.)
This chapter does have a silver lining in the end, like I promised last year when I made the update, but it's a convoluted one... For this chapter encompasses various time gaps and intervals...And it is of 9000 words...which might be extremely lengthy for a single read, so you might please break it into your convenient modules. Dunno if it has grammar errors but if it does, I will rectify them soon... And an apology for all those who read my previous Author's Note, where I promised to make an update long ago... But some things came up and I was in no mood for an update even though it was already penned. :| This is the first official update of 2k21.
Happy reading you all, hope you enjoy this chapter. :)
*****
Dedicated to xxBluexxflyxx
(Partly because I realised I never dedicated a chapter to you, despite you being my first known reader 😅, dunno why I did that though. Must have slipped out of my mind. I realised it late, and it's been in my mind to do this from a long time...but mostly because this girl here, is one of the most sweetest and amazing person I have ever known. 💓)
Six months after,
Sahil
A trickle of blood flowed from the fresh bruise on my lip, and one nurse attempted to stop it with a cotton ball. A ghastly looking wound was etched on my elbow, which the doctor was nursing and a gruesomely raw injury on my knee, which another nurse was attending to.
An action sequence, which was supposed to have been shot a week after, was hurriedly shot today, on my insistence. One of the stuntmen had done his role wrong, which resulted in an erroneous indication, and that had, in turn, led to my action sequence go horribly wrong, props and a few elements of the set collapsing, and thus all the brutal injuries.
After the fall, I couldn't move my limbs, for all of them felt frozen. And then I had numbly sensed something thick, watery, spread across and damping my trousers, and no sooner, some fresh injuries on my face had already started trickling down blood. I felt incapable of moving, as my legs felt paralysed, shocked because of the sudden, unexpected tumble or even wipe the fresh trails that were flowing down unstoppably. Blood was steadily accumulating in my mouth, and I felt inept even to spit it out.
After what seemed like hours, I could numbly register numerous hands across my shoulder, trying to lift me and make me sit on a chair. After a few minutes of sitting on the chair, I felt okay. It was just a simple fall and shouldn't be that hurtful, I told myself.
I gestured for water, and instantly Rajesh thrust a glass of water into my hands, urging me to drink it. The Action choreographer maintained his look of 'I-told-you-no' towards me as he did my first aid. And in a corner, the remaining stuntmen chastised the poor fellow, who had caused this mishap.
"Sahil, sir, I am sorry, I don't know what happened... I am so sorry, I-" the poor fellow who had hastened to my side implored.
"It's okay, sir; it happens... " I said kindly, glancing at the hideous looking wound in my elbow.
Under Rajesh's protestation, we called for a premature wrap and drove to the nearest hospital. And that's how I ended here in a place which I wholly despised.
It came not big a surprise when the doctor announced, scanning the X-ray, that I had fractured a bone in my hand. And it was thankfully a minor one, which could be rehabilitated if taken proper care of. There was a slight ligament tear in my leg, but the doctor said I could move around. It wasn't that serious. But the wounds... They hell were.
"Do you guys shoot, keeping your eyes to the sky?" The doctor asked crossly, dabbing the area around the wound with cotton.
Rajesh, the director of my upcoming film, mumbled an apprehensive response. The doctor further posed some more questions, and Rajesh awkwardly nodded.
I felt a flicker of annoyance as the conversation proceeded, which readily multiplied.
"It's not his fault, doctor." I said shortly, "I insisted on doing the action sequence today itself. So that we can wrap up sooner."
"But that doesn't mean you'll compromise your health!" The doctor growled, "Health before anything! Why doesn't anyone get that fact?"
I bit my lip, ignoring the urge to say something sarcastic and gazed idly at the plastered wound on my elbow. I tried to incline my hand, but a wave of pain slashed across. My eyes shut in frustration.
"It'll take time to heal, Mr Malhotra." The doctor said, glimpsing my irritation.
"How long?" I inquired irately.
"A month minimum." The doctor said generously.
"A month?" I asked incredulously, looking at my bandaged hand and back to the doctor,
"Minimum." The doctor said courteously.
"Rubbish!" I said, standing up. My knees quivered, for I experienced a fleeting pain, but I bravely tried to ignore it.
"I have got three concerts to perform, three schedules to wrap, and a brand endorsement to make by this month-end, and you tell me it'll take a month!"
"Health first, Mr Malhotra." The doctor said sternly, dismissing my voice elevation, "You'll have to keep that plaster and take complete rest for a month else; that'll worsen your fracture." He levelled a grim face, and I had no alternative than to agree.
I muttered a curse and nodded before I stalked out of the room, limping slightly.
"Don't mind his temper," I heard Rajesh murmur anxiously to the doctor, "He's been like this for months now... Don't know what's up with him."
I heard the doctor reply wisely, "Well...Sometimes, the heart needs more time to accept what the mind already knows."
I stilled near the door. I had heard the same line somewhere...from someone... An old memory flashed in my head, and it was gone, leaving behind a murky mess of unstoppable anger, blurred with undeterminable pain and sorrow. I snapped my eyes shut and then proceeded towards the exit.
"I didn't get your point, Dr Mathew," Rajesh said timidly.
"Time will heal whatever is troubling him, " Dr Mathew said, walking towards his chair. He wished he could say the same thing to a certain girl who was about to embrace death at any moment.
*****
Eight Days after, I was sitting on the guest room's dusty bed, staring at the cloth filled wardrobe of Ayesha, the ones I had brought from Andheri long ago because Ayesha had agreed to stay with me in Juhu.
Each cloth of hers held a pristine memory...
I reached out to a red Kurta; this was when she had driven one of my BMW on one fair Saturday...
My hands next came to a cute nightshirt; this was when Ayesha had voluntarily ended up getting drunk after a hectic day of work and sleeping soundly in my arms...
I reached out next to a pale pink dupatta; this was when I had first dropped Ayesha to L&MC, and she, for the very first time, had kissed my cheek...
And then my hands found a simple black long skirt, which she had worn when we were jointly cleaning my room...
Abruptly, blazing anger ensued within me, like a volcano, unable to cease, unable to discontinue. A fiery rage gashed through me, and a wave of indestructible hatred spattered through my body, and in a fleeting second, my hands, unthinkingly, yanked all the neatly folded clothes and threw it on the floor, until not a single cloth remained on the shelves.
My left hand twitched in brute physical pain, and my eyes travelled to my wound, and my eyes shut, experiencing a pain, which was fused with all sorts of agony.
I opened my eyes slowly and then looked around. All the clothes of Ayesha lay on the floor, scattered, crumbled and strewn across the room.
I sat on the bed, feeling the impulse to collapse, and stared at the disorganised clothes around. Furious Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I was determined not to let them fall. Nevertheless, a single tear streamed down, and I made no attempts to wipe it.
I slowly slid down from the bed to the floor, with my knees hugged to my chest, and buried my head, feeling the odd wish to cry, cry my heart out, cry till my heart mercifully stops beating, and then escape into a world of no pain.
But a sob did not escape my mouth... It shouldn't... I ascertained. I couldn't break... Not like this, at least, my mind taunted. Fluctuating anger again imprisoned me, but then, I was next engulfed in a soul-shattering sorrow that differed from stopping...
After minutes of agonising silence, I pulled a crumbled kurta towards me and silently folded it back neatly and kept it aside, pulling another cloth to fold, dealing with a heartache that had maimed me to irreparable smidgens.
*****
Ayesha
The filbert brush flickered for one last time over the now polychromatic canvas, and I smiled satisfactorily. This was done. Another blissful day of painting was done.
I smiled at the near accurate black eyes in the canvas and closed my eyes, instantly the exact picture of the original eyes formed in my head. Precisely those which I was accustomed to seeing every day... Precisely of those who brimmed with an unbiased, equitable love... Precisely those of Sahil's.
I pushed the canvas a little bit to be inclined to the wall, and dry, as I meanwhile clear the mess, I had created near me. I arranged the paint boxes, washed all the brushes, and neatly wiped out the little splashes that tainted the floor. As the wet canvas dried, I opened my windows and sat down by the railing, my legs outstretched.
A notification ringed up, and my eyes travelled to the screen; it was a news message from NewsNow, an app for all news. My eyes scanned through the unopened notification and sparkled as soon as I saw Sahil's name.
Communing the information, my eyes instantaneously scanned the article, and my lips curved into a wide smile. It was a simple article that stated that Sahil's The Apocalypse was a super hit. A blockbuster, in fact. And was on its way to broaden its captivated-ness to the broader audience across the globe, and it was going to be translated into various languages.
Placing the mobile aside, I rested my head on the wall and closed my eyes.
I hadn't seen the movie once, even though it released six and a half months ago. The film was intriguing enough to enthral the audience and still run in the theatres, but I didn't dare to see it. There were three times I contemplated buying a ticket, but I stopped hearing just one line, repeatedly ringing in my ears;
"I want to see my film with you alone and no one else."
I heard a knock.
I instantly darted towards the now dry canvas and hurriedly positioned it into an unnoticed side, and then rushed to the door.
It was Ahalya. My neighbour in the PG. She was an NGO worker by the day, collecting funds for underprivileged children; by evening, she was a news writer in one of the local weekly, in the entertainment section.
I welcomed her in and followed her as she sat on my bed, and I sat beside her, cross-legged.
"I can't believe I have been praising The Apocalypse for eight weeks continuously, without even watching it." She exclaimed. She was referring to her contribution to the local weekly as the entertainment blogger.
"Then you must go and watch it, Ahalya, " I chuckled.
"But I have no time!" She whined. "My NGO is hosting a very famous event."
"What sort of event is this?" I asked, interested. I notice an unfolded garment in the corner of my bed, and reached out for it.
"It's an event for all the orphaned and impoverished children across India held in Varanasi, and I am making efforts for it..." She explained.
"But this is silly," I laughed, folding the garment. "If the impoverished children could come to Varanasi, then why would they be impoverished? And how will the information even reach them?"
"No, no! We will arrange Their travel, food and stay expenses. And regarding the information, I have been publishing in the news for the past three weeks... We have put advertisements in the national dailies... And our volunteers have already been deployed across the nation to spread the word and gather registrations. It's a massive event." She elucidated.
"Oh! That's nice." I exclaimed, impressed. "But What's the benefit? I mean, Why are you calling them?"
"It's precisely an effort to make them happy..." She explained, "We'll host competitions and promote a healthy pursuit. And travelling to Varanasi will even uplift their moods... God knows if they have even stepped out of the little homes they have been given..." She sighed.
"And then we will even invite eminent personalities... Since it's going to be a grand event. Which attract the public, and that's precisely what we want. A large audience, more awareness...
And these teens will also get some exposure. And the under-recognised orphanages will also get some divulgence. Right? It's a win-win situation."
"Oh! It's specifically for under-recognised orphanages, is it?" I asked, standing up to reach for my wardrobe.
"Kind of yes. We will also be giving a considerable amount of money to each orphanage. "
"But this sounds very expensive! The event...travel, stay expenses... And now, donations...I mean, how is your NGO even affording so much money?" I inquired, opening the doors ajar.
"A businesswoman financially sponsors this event... Like she donated a large sum of money anonymously." Ahalya revealed. "And begged that her name not be disclosed since it'll merely attract the media, which she doesn't want. Her donation is so significant that it'll satisfy all the considerable contributions we plan to give to these orphanages. " Ahalya completed in amazement.
"Wow..." I raised my eyebrows. "She must be very generous."
"I know, right? And the remaining expenses, our NGO will arrange. We have also sought for donations from other people, and in total, the amount we get will be distributed entirely. Our NGO shall not eat even a single rupee." She said proudly.
"That's amazing, Ahalya," I said warmly. I notice that some contents of my wardrobe are disorganised. I try to make them neat.
She beamed in response.
"Well... Who is the eminent personality you wish to invite?" I inquired.
"I honestly don't know..." She meandered.
An idea suddenly striking my head, I asked,
"Well, do you have any additional pamphlets for your event? I mean, you know I visit orphanages for small donations, right? So maybe I can help you spread the word?"
"Of course!" Ahalya clamoured. "Why didn't I think of this before? I'll get you a couple of pamphlets tomorrow. Thanks, Ayesha." She beamed.
"Anytime." I smiled.
"Yeah, coming back to my main reason for coming here..." She began, "Are you free this week? I want to see The Apocalypse once, and I don't want to go alone... Are you free tomorrow?"
"No, Ahalya... I am going to an orphanage visit. You know I can't skip them." I said. It was true, but I didn't want to go see Apocalypse at any cost.
"Of course, of course..." She chanted, "Next Wednesday?"
"I don't think so... I am going to Allahabad for searching for more underprivileged orphanages. " I lied convincingly, rearranging the clothes to their places. "I have already booked the tickets. "
"What about next Saturday, then?" Ahalya pursued, pouting, "Please?"
I looked at her pleading face; it would be too harsh to evade her now. So I came up with a smooth yarn and answered, "Let's see Ahalya. If I don't have any plans, we'd definitely go! But I think you'd be busy, with this mega event approaching?"
"You're right!" She sighed, "The more closer the date of the event would approach...it would be impossible... Anyway, let's see... Gauging the audience response trends, I think this movie should run in the theatres for another month minimum. We'll plan sometime then. Else, Netflix is always there." she grinned. "And I guess I'll try to gather something more than Sahil's movie for this wee-Ayesha are you okay?"
I froze, while arranging the clothes.
I had gone entirely still by the sudden mention of his name. Hearing his name all of a sudden had blinded my senses. It always happened... And no matter how many times the name was uttered, I managed to freeze. My senses stiffened, my heart froze, pausing its beating for a twinkling instant... The name that my heart chanted all day, all night, but never left my lips...the name that was literally my verve... The simple, casual utterance from someone else's mouth had brought instant warm tears to my eyes.
"Ayesha?" Ahalya had walked up to me. She shook me lightly.
"Yeah..." I responded weakly, glancing at her through the moisture layer in my eyes. This wasn't the place for a breakdown.
"What happened?"
"Nothing..." I mumbled, averting my eyes, to a distant corner. "So, when will you give me the pamphlets?" I directed the conversation.
"Oh, yeah... Is it possible for you to meet me near the vegetable market tomorrow before you leave for orphanage hunting? I'll give you the pamphlets there..."
"Yeah, I'll do that..." I ascertained. "I'll be there at 10.
****
After meeting Ahalya the next day as planned, I stuffed her given pamphlets in my handbag and searched for an empty auto. Luckily I found one and asked him to drive me to the post office.
After a smooth 20 minutes drive, I thanked the driver and proceeded towards the speed post corner and brought an envelope from a counter.
Walking to a desk, I extracted a couple of pamphlets from the bunch, smoothly placed it inside, and gummed the ends. I wrote the address and handed it over to one man behind the counter. He took it in his hands and scanned the scribbled address...
"#4, 15th main..." He mumbled, reading the address, "...Kurla, Mumbai, done. It'll reach in a day or two. " he informed me, and I gave a small smile in gratitude.
*****
A few days after,
Waddling back from the orphanage I had so recently found, I scuttled to the side of the streetlights, giving way to a swiftly moving car. Sighing relief, I continued to clutch the handbag close to my shoulders and resumed walking. It was barely 7:45 in the evening, but the darkness had already been attained.
After five minutes, I stopped on coming across one of the most affluent theatres in the city. My eyes automatically roamed to the boards where the poster of Sahil and Rhea was struck in the most prominent location. My stomach churned on looking at the photo of him smiling so cheerfully, looking so carefree...so calm...so composed...
Without realising, I had walked to the theatre counter, and only when the person responsible for ticket distribution asked me what I wanted to be done, I realised I had toiled to the queue. There were people behind me waiting to buy tickets.
"The Apocalypse?" I asked without wanting to.
"There is a show in ten minutes, Mam; it's the last ticket... Shall I?" He asked. I nodded.
I placed the money on the counter, and took my ticket numbly, and hastened to the side on the pretext of wanting to keep back the change in my purse.
I eyed the white ticket in my palm and wondered how I would even watch the movie... What was I even thinking? I didn't dare to look at the posters across the city, but did I have them the vitality to look at him for straight three and a half hours? Absolutely not! And that too without Sahil? No, certainly not... This was insane... I was insane...My head began to spin as a familiar effect of cancer, but at the very same time, my heart began to beat faster, each time bringing a new sort of pain... Thick tears formed in my eyes and began to trickle down. My breathing became ragged. My torso started paining intensely...An unbearable clench vigorously was felt in my heart. Like wanting to choke it but not having enough power to do so...I brought my palm to my mouth to muffle the sobs that would have else escaped my mouth. I hadn't had a painful breakdown like this in days, but now all the pain, both the physical pain of cancer and mental pain of unbearable torture, melted together to form single vehement anguish that refused to cease.
"I am sorry, sir, I gave the last ticket to a madam who was here just a few minutes ago."
"Ek tho hogi?" The man implored. "Please? I really want a ticket for The Apocalypse! Please check once!"
"Sorry, sir... We are sold out." The attendant said apologetically.
The man, head hung down in disappointment, shifted out of the queue and began walking towards the theatre's exit. I wiped the tears and quickened my steps towards him. I patted his shoulder, and when he turned around inquiringly, I held out my ticket for him. His face lightened with glee, but he asked, hesitantly, "Are you sure you don't want it?"
I shook my head firmly.
"Thank you so much!" He took the ticket for my hand. He put his hand in his pockets to extract the money for the access. "Please wait, I'll just give you the mo-excuse me? Hello?"
He gaped dumbfounded and baffled, struck in the action of extracting the money, as I had already run away from him, out of the theatre.
****
Reaching my PG room straight, I bolted the door to my room securely and tossed my handbag on the bed. Throwing my dupatta to another corner, I went directly to the bathroom and bolted the door. I stood right below the shower, and my hand twisted the knob in the direction of the coldest temperature.
At once, icy, cold, water-drenched my torso, and I inhaled a sharp breath, snapping my eyes shut. My toes coiled, feeling the chilliness rush through, my braided hairs drenched vastly. The doused cotton attire hugged my body further as more cold water fell, like a continuous bombardment, on my face, on my hands, on my torso. Unstoppable warm tears began to flood down my cheeks, burning through their track, mixing with the cold water and finally trickling down...relentless and continuous.
*****
I was laying on my bed, flat, rereading my diary, which consisted of the entry of many ashram visits that I had done for the past six months. The last six months had taught me a lot, I ascertained.
People weren't that privileged all across the globe, but we are. A rooftop that'll facilitate us to dwell within and a meal that'll enable us to live is the most priceless blessings, and we don't even appreciate it.
At times, we ourselves extinguish our candle and complain about the darkness that transpires later... And then, somebody else's night would make us realise how brilliant our candle was... And how foolish we were to squelch it.
The scribbled pages that consisted of the names of the numerous ashrams visited each had a tiny fraction of my soul, discarded from me and enmeshed into the donation I gave.
My father always told me that we all had the spark to change someone's life... We all had the vivacity to light an undamped, burnished flame for someone else... We all had the strength to rewrite the stars for somebody else... It didn't have to be a romantic involvement or any other relationship, but a small contribution from our side could make someone else smile. And if that happens, no one in this world is more fortunate than us.
'Giving' is the most prospering, blessed gesture. By giving something, you have in plentiful, to someone who doesn't make you the most beautiful being. Chains of selfishness and egocentricity bind us all... Perhaps we all can't be completely free from it, but one can endeavour their best to try to extricate by doing something that can bring a smile to someone else's face.
I twirl a strand of my hair and lay on the other side, staring at the ceiling.
I had been staying in Lucknow for a month and a half now. Kolkata to Ranchi, to Patna and finally to Lucknow, I found Lucknow convenient to travel across UP, for UP was a vast region and consisted of a lot of unrecognised orphanages. And by good fortune, I even got a fantastic PG to dwell.
I had travelled to the neighbouring cities around Lucknow a lot of times in the past six weeks and had visited many orphanages in a short duration. But I felt as if I was restricting myself to a small region... There might be many other underprivileged orphanages across India, near the south and east, and might need immediate financial aid. But again... There might be more yearned orphanages here that might not have been explored...
As more valid reasons came over to leave Lucknow, justifiable validations came too, and it was difficult to choose between either option.
My mobile gave a message beep, and my eyes darted towards the bright screen. It was a text message from Ahalya.
'Hey, I am damn hungry, and I really want to have a fabulous dinner! Can we check out the new restaurant near to that vegetable market? Reply ASAP!'
'Yeah, sure! I'll leave now; I'll be there in 20.' I typed back.
'Perfect, I am leaving too. I'll meet you there. ' she instantly replied.
I got up from the bed, and kept my diary on the table, and put over a warm black sweater over my pale white kurta, and proceeded downstairs. I took an auto to the restaurant.
Ahalya came five minutes after, slightly out of breath, and together we went inside. We sat at a table for two, and the waiter hurriedly passed the menu cards to us.
"Work stress, huh?" I asked, scanning the menu.
"Yes, Ayesha. " she said, scanning the menu too, "The registrations for the event is growing massively; we are getting twice the amount of enrollments now. And so are our donation campaigns." She added as an afterthought. "And-and the chief guest has been finalised too."
"Woah... Who is the chief guest you have invited?" I asked, flipping the pages of the menu card.
"It's a three-day event, right? So, we have three special guests." Ahalya revealed, "The first day is some minister. The second day is some distinguished person who has contributed a lot to social services, and the third-day guest is another famous minister."
"Wow. That's impressing."
"I know... My work is getting hectic day by day; in the NGO. Conceivably, I'd take additional shifts in the NGO to help more... I have no idea what I'll write for this week in the newspaper though, " she mumbled, "I have to mail the draft for this week by day after tomorrow and leave writing, I haven't even thought of what I am going to write. What am I even going to do?"
"Maybe I can help!" I said suddenly.
"Really?" Ahalya looked up, her eyes shining in gratitude, "Can you write? Are you good?"
"I am average, I guess..." I said meekly, "I'll write a rough copy by tomorrow afternoon, and then maybe you can edit it and send it?"
"That's awesome!" Ahalya said gratefully, "Thank you so much, Ayesha! Thank you!"
*****
'...Meaning, there will be clouds that'll drench you even if there was no mistake on your part, but then, you'd have to adjoin fragile threads to knit something comforting, and that can be done by finding happiness in the most trivial things. Everyone has a garden of substantial sorrows, but the real trick lies in growing abundant flowers in them. '
I finished typing the article that I had promised for Ahalya and ran my eyes through the typed words. Ahalya had informed me yesterday that anything would do... A simple essay on random content would do.
I stopped on reaching the last paragraph and slowly scrolled down, my eyes running through the sentences... Those were the modified words of Sahil... He had told me during that nutty game we had played on my birthday.
As far as I remembered, Sahil never read newspapers. This was a weekly newspaper restricted to mostly UP and surroundings, and even if the newspaper was sold in Mumbai, the probability of it reaching Sahil was too flimsy. And of him reading this article in the entertainment section was even less.
Leaving all my qualms, I decided to send the article to Ahalya bravely with the last paragraph. I sent a PDF form of the same, and Ahalya instantly came online and sent a thumbs-up emoji. Around five minutes later, I got a message from Ahalya.
'Ayeshaaaaaaaa! I love you so much! It's perfect. I sent it directly without editing. The last paragraph just stole my heart... Thank you so much.'
'Erm...' I type back, putting a grinning face emoji.
'I know how to thank you!' She sent a message, and then instantly another one, 'I'll tell you when I reach home.'
******
Sahil
We pray, we sing, closing our eyes because the most beautiful things cannot be seen but felt...Maybe the immeasurable euphoria that voice brimmed with or the unfathomable pain the voice concealed.
A Heartbreak makes you fall in love with the two most beautiful things in the world; words and music. And the best creations from the pair of them are found when the heart bleeds an ink of its own.
Music gave words to millions of unnamed emotions that reside within us, waiting to conquer or destroy us. They had the lambency to scorch a heartbroken voice... It had the power to soothe a screaming soul; Music was simply magic.
A heartbreak people say makes music gain sheen... And without that, there isn't any radiance that can equate to music and people. It's pain in a musician's voice that could connect to all hearts, and establish a rule over them.
My eyes scan the crowd gathered, excitedly screaming my name and waiting for me to begin my song. My eyes roam to the frontiers first and then hurriedly check every nook and corner, looking for an invisible figure which I knew wouldn't be here, but still, my heart searched, my eyes didn't.
My manager stood backstage, and he looked at me nervously, afraid that I'd blast out at him like a few minutes ago.
A coldness had taken birth before me, with such solemnity from the past three months that refused to fade away so soon. And anger, my worst enemy, had turned as a conquerer to join bits of insignificant things to something unconquerable... Something undefeatable... Something invincible...
I strummed my guitar once, with rage, and in the following twinkle, the band members behind me played their respective parts: drums, piano, and other backstage guitarists.
I adjusted the headset mic, ready to sing, and gestured to the other band members. They nodded in approval; they were prepared when I was.
An array of colours flashed from the giant arena's corners, hot pink, neon green, and a distinctive yellow, and the audience cheered. The natural darkness enhanced the array of colours, and I could sense the cameras placed in corners, tilt so that they captured my face and projected them in the four screens housed across the stadium.
I strummed my guitar, and the audience grew silent at once as the voice from my guitar emerged through the mic placed directly in front of it, and the music boomed across.
I strummed the guitar again, but this time I was accompanied by other band members, who played their respective instruments; the music emerged, completely synchronising with my beats.
A ray of colour hit my face, and I felt the flashing light of a brilliant white, apparently the mobile cameras of numerous fans, and a blinding white light of the paparazzi.
Another blinding flash of white came over my face, and I brought my forearms over my countenance, covering my eyes.
'Sahil! Sahil! Sahil!'
I slowly brought my hands down, squinting the crowd, looking through the group of enthusiastic fans who had appeared. Though a thousand different, diverse voices had uttered my name, I had heard only one single, feminine, delicate voice.
A ripple of an unnamed emotion swarmed through me.
And that's when I closed my eyes, focusing on each of my shattered pieces of heart, each of them encompassing a different memory of Ayesha.
Her kohled eyes...her black shoulder-length curly tresses...her velvety pink cheeks...her tender, fragile soft lips...her beautiful, soul replenishing smile... The mole below her left ear...every single detail of her, joint splendidly to create a blazing, surreal portrayal of her...
My chapped lips opened.
'Apne Karam ki kar adaayein'
The crowd cheered even more wildly.
'Yaara, Yaaraa... yaara!'
'Mujhko iraade de
Kasamein de, waade de
Meri duaaon ke de.'
'Dil ko thikaane de
Naye bahaane de
Khaabon ki baarishon ko
Mausam ke paimane de.'
'Apne Karam ki kar adaayein
Kar de idhar bhi tu nigaahein.'
The introductory cords of my song escaped my brims, and I could feel the music vibrating across. The song had to be sung at the beginning with a deep, resonant voice.
The crowd cheered enthusiastically as I decided to stand up and walk across the stage, continuing my singing. I walked across the stage to each band member, continuing to hold on to my guitar and sing, my lips numbly reciting the song I had practised numerous times.
'Sun raha hai naa tu
Ro raha hun main
Sun Raha hai naa tu
Kyun ro raha hun main.'
And then the hard shell that had encompassed a well-protected lie cracked and then emerged, a thoroughly battered soul, stained with an unholy, gruesome heartbreak...
Manzilian ruswa hain
Khoya hai rasta
Aaye le jaaye
Itni si iltejaa
I gripped the guitar so hard that it hurt and turned to a side so that my one half was well covered with acquainted darkness, well compared to a half-withered sunflower, one half of which had fallen under the twilight's gloom and another half which was under the protection of the last few rays of the sun and was on its way to a full droop.
*****
The same day,
Somewhere in Lucknow,
Ayesha
I struggled with walking back.
I couldn't look forward straight, my eyesight grew blurred, and a terrible headache had dominated my head. I had awful dizziness growing steadily and couldn't manage to walk any further, and I felt I was about to faint any soon.
I paused and looked ahead the lonely street, illuminated by streetlights. Though the road didn't smell of unsafeness, there wasn't a sign of people anywhere, which wasn't right. I paused to catch my breath which had increased, and tears of physical discomfort and pain brimmed my eyes.
I clutched the handbag strap tighter and wished for support. In an obscure view, I could make out a fenced corridor, and I limped towards it. I positioned my palm over as support and closed my eyes.
Tears of vehement pain flowed down my cheeks, and I didn't have the energy even to wipe the dampness. I just wished to reach the PG as soon as I could and sleep. Sleep forever and not wake up to see another day of intolerable pain. I felt tired. I felt weak. I felt fragile.
I could feel my knees trembling and knew I was inches away from fainting wholly. I blinked, and my hand's frenzy got hold of the water bottle stuffed in my handbag. I fumbled in opening the cap, and as soon as I did open it, I wasted no time draining the bottle. I splashed some water on my face even, which gave little relief.
Calming my hazy breaths, I looked around, if I could find a cab to ferry me back. The PG was merely a 10 min walk from here, but I knew I couldn't walk. I would not even reach the end of the road, I thought hopelessly. Fortunately, a rickshaw came honking, and upon seeing me, he stopped and kindly asked if I needed a ride. Feeling utterly thankful, I got inside the rickshaw. Sitting down gave some relief to my tired self.
I laid back, resting my head, and closed my eyes, with sharp pain strangling my throat, which screamed to escape.
When would this formidable agony get over?
*****
Ahalya was arranging my tablet boxes on the little table across the bed. Fortunately, she didn't know what those tablets meant for; else, I had to give her an explanation, for which I had no strength.
"You should have called me, Ayesha!" She scolded, taking a tablet from one of the green boxes, "When you were in the orphanage itself! If you weren't feeling well, then you could have waited; I'd have picked you up!"
"It wasn't that serious, I thought", I mumbled, looking at her pouring me a glass of water. She came over and sat at the foot of the bed, extending her palm with the tablet and the glass of water. I first took the pill and then gulped it down along with the water.
"You are getting these headaches so frequently! Shouldn't you consult a doctor?" She asked worriedly.
"They are regular migraines." I lied in a reassuring tone.
Ahalya wasn't convinced, but she didn't say anything. She got up to keep back the glass and leaned on the table, crossing her hands, "But Ayesha, this isn't good at all... This is the third time you were about to faint! And I think it's getting much serious, and you are ignoring it. "
"Trust me, Ahalya. I am fine." I said shakily, "I am F-Fine. Just exhausted. " I smiled tiredly, completing the sentence in my head, 'Exhausted of living a torturous life that wouldn't acknowledge death.' I smiled reassuringly again.
Ahalya finally nodded and then took out her mobile from her backpack and said to me enthusiastically, "All loved your article... It was subtle and deep, my boss loved it a lot. " she said warmly.
I smiled faintly and looked towards the window. Ahalya sensed my desire to be alone and mumbled something about dinner before quietly leaving my room.
I fixed my gaze at the shimmery sky, breathing lightly. A small tear trickles down my cheek.
I was tired. I was tired of the pain. I was tired of feeling so low all the time... Tired of my body not cooperating with my mind. I was tired of feeling sick all the time. I was tired of every single thing that made me feel so weak...so fragile...so vulnerable.
Was death so cruel that it wanted to torment me first and then extract the essence out of me? What sins did I commit to facing such torture?
"Appa, it's paining. " I whispered, unable to control the overflow from my eyes to my cheeks. My lips trembled as I uttered those words. I didn't have anyone to seek comfort to...I didn't have anyone to confide in...I didn't have anyone to hear me out.
I pressed my head in pain, as a splitting pain captured me, into a wave of unmanageable anguish.
"It really is paining, Appa," I whispered, crying silently now. "When will you take me with you? When will you free me from this?" I sobbed
Slowly, the shimmery sky obscured—stars attained their decrepitude. A mist engulfed the atmosphere...dimming the natural lights till wholly shut.
And the entire universe got painted with two varied colours-each colour vigorous and strenuous and harsh over the other...both combating to wrap over the other...engulf over the other... Quell each other...With equal vitality...but unable to conquer the other.
Then, a potent, unerasable blend of the two of them together tainted the majestic universe, this time so dominant and pursuant, determined to never expunge-a colour of an unmendable heart and colour of an unsalvageable soul.
******
Twenty-five days later,
Sahil
I was strolling the streets of a dynamic and engaged Marine Drive. People thronged the road, making it buzz vibrantly. Marine Drive was one of the best places in Mumbai. It was like your mother's arms. It could solace and comfort you, at any time, relive you out of all apprehension and adversity, at any time of the day, no matter how old you were.
I was wearing a crumpled T-shirt and relaxed jeans and strolled towards a quieter and unbusy part of the street, hands in my pocket. I don't stop until I spot a solacing spot. I scan a glance across and find no one except for a small girl, who couldn't have been more than five, wholly absorbed in reading a book. If she had any discomfort in reading under scant light, she didn't show it.
I tear my eyes from the sight of her and watch the glittery, undersized city of dreams. I had always wondered how vibrant and dynamic Mumbai was. How lively and energetic the people were. How vigorous, robust and alive the population here was. They never believed in squandering time... The busyness of Mumbai had taught them to be recreational...agile...and be live at the moment.
Mumbai was an amiable town; she unfailingly accepted people who weren't original denizens yet taught them the same important lesson. She taught her children, irrespective of the place they came from.
My hands reach to my pocket, and I extract a vintage bronze case that contained cigarettes—a pack of them. I yank a cigarette and keep it between my lips before shutting the fancy case and keeping it in my back pocket, and scouring for a lighter.
My eyes randomly fall on the girl, who I had seen not so long ago, looking at me now with a blend of objective curiosity and a mingled conflict. Ignoring her, I reach out to my lighter and bring it closer to my lips, wanting the glow of the cigar. I can feel her still gazing at me with a mingled emotion.
But I couldn't light the cigar. Her prying gaze wouldn't allow me to do so. And nor did my ethical values privilege me in doing so.
I reluctantly bring down the cigar and stifle it in the jeans pocket. My eyes noted her face erupt into a gleeful smile in the corner, and a sudden spurt of warmth detonated in my heart. I sensed her approach me.
I pretended I overlooked until a highly tender voice arose, "Bhaiyaa?"
The tenderness in her voice melted my heart.
I look at her. I can see her more clearly now. She had a craggy face, covered with soot. But they couldn't obfuscate the happy, tender smile on her face. Her eyes shimmered with an untainted joy. I noticed the heavy basket she had on her shoulders and the book that she cradled in her fragile arms.
It was a fairy tale book.
I gave her a genuine smile and crouched to her height. She looked at me, batting her eyelashes as if wondering if she could trust me, and then slowly and demurely held out a blossomed rose.
I felt a smile tugging from the corner of my lips, and I accepted the coyly presented rose and smiled positively at her. My eyes reach her shoulder basket, and I notice blossoms, bouquets, wreaths and garlands, and individual flowers neatly enclosed and arranged within them. I realised she might be one of the flower sellers who throng the city of Mumbai during festive seasons.
"Tujhe Vaya kiti?" I asked her, implying, how old are you.
She held out her palm, extending her five chubby fingers, indicating she was five years old.
It was strange and sad that a five-year-old had resorted to selling flowers to earn a living. The girl was impoverished and destitute.
"Apana ingraji bolata?" I asked if she could speak English, pointing to the fat book in her hands. It was a fairy tale book. I could make that out by the skillfully decorated cover, which consisted of numerous illustrations of fictitious characters.
She provided me with an embarrassed smile, and I could understand that. I grinned, patting her head knowingly.
I looked at the sag in her shoulders, visibly apparent because of the heavy basket on her fragile shoulders. I felt I should do something.
I asked her if she was selling those flowers, and she answered that she was. I inquired if I could buy them, and to say that she was overjoyed, would be an understatement, for I could see her eyes shimmering with absolute jubilation. Her smile on her lips magnified as she nodded vigorously and slipped the handles of her basket, and positioned the bamboo basket on the ground.
I purchased some rose blossoms and some fragrant flower wreaths from her. And she neatly wrapped them in newspaper bags. As she did so, she animatedly chatted with me. She said that the rose blossoms that were buds might bloom into flowers in a day, and the wreaths would remain afresh for a day or two minimum. I heard her even though I wasn't going to keep the efflorescence. I had planned to give them as offerings to some temple on the way.
I noticed three identical pamphlets in her basket and felt intrigued by their inscription. I reached out to one of the leaflets and read that it was an invitation to a charity event...no, not precisely a charity event, I uncovered as I scanned below. It was an event held for needy and disadvantaged kids of various orphanages... In Varanasi, around a month and a half later. And it was pretty uncommon that the sponsor of the event was underwriting the expenditure born.
Feeling weirdly suspicious, I made a note of the sponsoring NGO and the event name. I made a mental note to Google about this event once I reach home. I kept back the leaflet and focused on the little girl wrapping the last bits of the flower wreaths.
As she gave me the wrapped blossoms, she thanked me gratefully for purchasing the blooms from her, and I patted her head again, smiling at her innocence. I, for a brief moment, felt intrigued to ask about her place of dwelling and know more about her, but the intuition was brief enough, and a feeling of Why-do-you-want-to-interfere-in-others-world-when-you-dont-have-one-crushed it.
As I set to walk towards my car, I felt something more intriguing. There was something in this five-year-old girl that attracted me. It was almost as if my meeting with this girl was destined. She felt home...she had a spark of warmth that could so quickly soothe my stifled soul, Even if it was for few minutes...just like...just like Ayesha had done for me always,
Deciding to give in to my contemplations, rather than regret it afterwards, I whirled around to dart back to the girl to ask her about her inhabitation and dwelling, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Surprise overwhelmed me as I rushed back to the corner. She couldn't have gone so far; I repeated in my head as I scanned the desolate street. I even made my way ahead of the spot of our conversation, browsing through the busyness of the crowd, but it was too late.
She just wasn't seen anywhere.
*****
Driving back to my apartment, I asked the driver to stop the car near any temple he first sees and requested him to take the flower garlands and offer them to the temples.
As he stopped the car near a busy temple, I began to unwrap the newspaper draping around the tender, fragrant buds and slowly gave them to my driver.
I gave everything to my driver, except for three roses that were on the verge of blossoming. I wasn't fond of flowers, but I couldn't ignore the voice inside me that desired me to keep the roses.
****
I reached home and made my way towards the mini bar, not before plopping down the three roses, which I had recently purchased on a vintage, expensive flower vase that decorated my sparkling hall.
I then made my way to the mini-bar in my kitchen and extracted a bottle of whiskey. And a glass to pour it. I pour liberal amounts, well aware that I would get a splitting headache tomorrow, but I drink nevertheless.
*****
The next evening, I returned home at around midnight, after a thoroughly exhausting brand endorsement event. We were still a considerable distance from my apartment.
My driver was driving the car, and I was occupying a seat back. I pressed my cheek to the closed window panel, resting my head and trying to soothe the pain that was raging in my head. Drinking yesterday had taken a toll on me. I had woken up to a severe headache and no mental peace. And I had then headed to a shoot, and then in the evening to a brand endorsement event which further worsened the headache.
I glanced at the newspaper bags strewn on the back seat because of the flowers I had purchased yesterday. I idly reach out to one of them if I had to puke, and there was no way I was dirtying my new car.
I pressed my cheek to the window panel, keeping the bag near my mouth, ready to puke when my eyes indolently raked the small newspaper articles that were present in the bag, and I could read them through the scant light available. I inadvertently scanned through the news clippings when my eyes fell on a particular paragraph.
...Meaning, there will be clouds that'll drench you even if there was no mistake on your part, but then, you'd have to adjoin fragile threads to knit something comforting, and that can be done by finding happiness in the most trivial things. Everyone has a garden of substantial sorrows, but the real trick lies in growing abundant flowers in them. '
I froze.
The heat drained from my face, and I felt my body turn ice cold. A frostiness engulfed my heart like a cage. I already wasn't feeling well today, but now, it turned worse. The barriers around me that I had weaved began to fall so quickly, differentiating wildly from the amount of time I had spent weaving them. I began to sweat.
That simple three-lined paragraph held the gist of what I had said to a particular person. Of course, the phrases were significantly altered, but some words kept the same essence I had told a specific individual. And from the depth of my heart, I knew I wasn't mistaken.
It was Ayesha Mehra who had written this.
"S-Stop," I said in a shaky voice. "Driver, please-please stop the car."
The driver looked at me from the window and seemed surprised but wheeled to the left and applied breaks at that particular instant. I rapidly disembarked from the car, Clamping the newspaper clipping tightly.
I began walking in a stupor, unaware of where we were or where we had stopped... I started towards something that attracted me...towards something that I felt was luring me...towards something that was drawing me like a giant magnet.
I was unaware that at that uncanny astonishing and heart hammering moment, we had stopped precisely at the Juhu Beach...
And I was walking towards the Juhu beach...
I walked in one direction and froze, and repeated the action in another injunction and again froze. I repeated it on the lonely beach for numerous times, unable to comprehend the sudden manifestations.
My heart knew where it was taking me, and my physical self blindly compiled...for it felt like an epoch after, a feeble, fragile, delicate flame had been ignited in the darkest corner of my unruly heart and was cracking its warmth slowly, to a vehemently chilled self, trying to break the iciest shackles.
I knew it was a moment singly before my disastrous anger would return, and so would rationale, but my heart was adamant that it hold on to this flame...for a minuscule second at least... Before I return to my regular life of uncontrollable sadness... I wanted to savour this flame... And hold on...
I dropped to my knees, clenching the newspaper...very carefully...which now held the breath of my life...drenching myself into the saline brine.
I needed to calm myself and reason, but I couldn't. I needed to manage my heartbeats but couldn't. I needed to think in a calmer frame of mind with my brain too, who was already devising a taunting chant in my head. But I couldn't do that either.
Stupefied with various barraging emotions, my head slumped, and my shallow, ragged breathing intensified. I stared at the stippled sea and overlapping waves, and then I couldn't see anything, for my vision rapidly blurred, and a thick, watery layer abounded my eyes.
At some distance from the Juhu beach, at a house 110 feet above, the elegant, vintage flower vase encountered a mild tremor.
And, a pristine moment later, all the three buds arranged into it, very recently, altogether blossomed into fragrant ruddy roses. Each petal unravelled fully, hugging its precious midst, and they three together dispersed a wonderful redolence into the secluded house.
*****