Gurus Of Peace by A R Rahman played as an uplifting chorus in the auditorium. Naveen stepped into the auditorium shoving the last tear from his eye. Shifting a pile of books to an empty table, he tried to keep his face calm, unabashed.
A vibrating thing in his pocket alerted him. Unwillingly, he took the thick metal-plated cuboid from his pocket and placed it on his left ear.
'Hello..?'
'Naveen.. Amma has returned home.. do you want to talk to her?' a benignant voice asked him.
'I am a little busy Aadhira.. I'll talk to her after a while..' he answered in a trice.
'Busy? Your slot is supposed to be at 4 pm right?'
'It is' he muttered frustrated.
'Okay' she snapped at him and ended the call.
On his right was a tall mirror, kept aside for the wood works happening in the washroom, at the tertiary corner of the auditorium.He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and noticed his red eyes.
The same features as his father. He felt like crashing his face onto a wall any moment. Suddenly, his phone vibrated again. It was a message this time.
It is what it is.
He looked away, as though he had already visualized the image of the message on the screen days back. Squeezing the ductile thing in his hand, he observed the silent red scar with a thin scab, on his left wrist showing up. The sleeves of his t-shirt slipped down burying the mark.
'Excuse me?' an upset feminine voice called out to him.
Naveen looked up at the woman standing in front of him, wearing a radiant white kurta, holding a politics textbook in one hand and a five-hundred rupee roll in the other. He stood up instantly and folded his hands as he watched her eyes scan through the heap.
After a while, her eyes went downcast.
'Uhm.. where can I find the book 'Listening Is An Act Of Love'?' she asked
'None here. You might find them at..' He scanned the volunteers' faces and stopped at one. 'That one, 11th table in that row'.
After her conventional thanks, he observed her inquire the volunteer. After a few seconds, she opened her bag and shoved in the five hundred rupee note. Naveen ran up to her.
'What happened? You didn't get it?' he asked.
She nodded her head with a frown.
'Do you really need it?' he asked her with concern.
'My friend told me that she will share the book with me if I buy it for her. But now..'
'If you don't mind, I can give you one copy'
She looked at him surprisedly and apprehensively at the same time.
'I'll get you one if you really need it' he said.
After a moment of thought, she took out a half torn A4 sheet and a blue ball pen from her bag.
'Your name and number?' she asked, to make note.
Naveen squirmed a bit.
'Naveen. You can come meet me here tomorrow' he squinted his eyes slightly realizing how witless he sounded. Anjana felt his insecurity and gave in, considering her moral scruples, though with rancour.
'Fine, then.' She left the auditorium sans salutation. Her moral scruples did not seem strong enough to him. Yet, he decided to return the next day. He held the book in his hand as a train of thoughts passed him every minute.
The day before, back at home, he took down the book from his bookshelf and reminded himself of how he bought it. Amidst the chaotic silence at home, he recalled the first time he ran down the streets to deliver newspapers. The book was a reward he gave himself. Suddenly, he questioned himself about why he should be giving it to a woman he just met.
She certainly did not bother to even thank him from her end. Why this concern then?
She was wearing an old-looking kurti which did not complement her simple earring. She carried a little rag as her handkerchief, wiping the oil off her face, now and then. The kohl smudged from her bottom eyelashes, showing that it was obviously a cheap one She used books that did not even have a front cover, a hand-me-down of course. She spoke to her friends with the hesitancy that he shared, being financially the poorest. With the fear of being ostracized.
How many more reasons could he find to help this girl who was just like him? Naveen could not help but take this chance of helping someone like.. no, helping himself.
Distantly, a woman in the same radiant white kurti, walked down with her probing eyes. Noticing a concealed smile at the corner of her lips, Naveen involuntarily moved his legs towards her. She recognized him and her smile faded quickly.
'Hey, hi' he assured her of his identity.
'Hi.. the book?' she asked him getting straight to the point, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible.
Feeling rejected, he held out the book to her. She grabbed the book, but noticed something else too. The thin scar on his left wrist. He noticed her seeing the wound and hid his hand in the pocket. She walked away from there with a forced nod bewildered. Naveen sighed in embarrassment.
In the classroom, she kept thinking about Naveen. She could not believe that there were people who even imagined of suicide, cause she was taught only to struggle but survive. While, Naveen attended his classes and walked to the tea shop opposite both their colleges.
As she flipped through the pages of the book while getting distracted, she noticed a bunch of lines arranged on a stashed piece of paper.
Sitting beneath the naked sky,
resumptions lie flattened like droughted land,
doubts in myself rise up the horizon,
bearing only red in eye ,
every new second.
Cohesive or not,
shall remain the tear on the pink leaf I am,
The poor thing my heart,
hasn't seen constancy,
people still come and go,
promising departure only.
Life can be as deceiving as death,
would not like to differentiate both,
henceforth.
Intrigued, she wrote a note behind the paper, willing to meet him. There was something about him that intuited her to have a deep conversation.
After a week,
Staring at the empty glass in his hand, he escaped the world for a few moments. Seeing a pair of foot standing in his direction, distrait, he looked up at the woman.
'Anjana' she said with a smile.
He smiled vaguely and stood up.
'Naveen' he forwarded his hand for a quick handshake.
'I know. Thank you for the book.' Her face lit up like a lamp when she smiled.
'Anytime. And, you don't have to return it, you might need it more than me'
'Okay, but I'll have to give back something that belongs to you'
Naveen's thoughts muddled. Anjana held out the paper.
Shit.
'This must be yours?' Anjana asked hiding her eagerness.
Naveen nodded uneasily. Anjana smiled and turned to cross the road. Before he could throw away the now squidgy thing from his hand, he eyed on something written in pink ink.
Turning to the back of the poem, he read the note.
Loved the book, Naveen. Would like to chat about it. Millennial Coffee Spot at 7.30 in the evening?
-Anjana (The Girl You Met At The Book Fair)
MCS? She wasn't the helpless girl he assumed to be? He thought as he watched her wave from the other side.
Stacking emptied cups on a purple tray, Anjana passed a smile to Naveen, who stood on the other side of the glass partition, watching her reality from a distance while it was actually not.
Moments passed and Anjana came out tieing her hair into a bun. She looked fixedly at him, which turned into an out-stare. To hide his intimidation, he looked back into her eyes. She quickly went through her bag, held her phone and heaved in relief.
'I thought I left it back there' she said looking quite amused.
'Oh, that was what you were thinking of?' He asked perturbed.
'Yess. I'm going to the Gurudwara now. If you dont mind, can we talk there?' She extended her request.
He nodded but felt weird.
'What am I even doing?' he thought to himself. Suddenly, he considered the thought of initiating talk, but also feared if it he would create a bad impression.
They walked amidst the headlights of the busy streets of T.Nagar, making sure they didn't lose each other in the crowd.
'Maybe this is what they call it' he opened up leisurely.
'What?' She called out not able to hear him in the noise.
'MAYBE THIS IS WHAT THEY CALL IT!' He said, unaffected by the people around him, making himself heard.
Turning back, Anjana stared curiously at him earning an awkward smile from him.
To Be Continued in Part 2.