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"Something that has always puzzled me all my life is why, when I am in special need of help, the good deed is usually done by somebody on whom I have no claim" ~William Feather

Monday, August 10, 2009

Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me.


The End:
"He & I used to be colleagues at XYZ. He was required to phone me on official work, which he misused, and then began to misbehave with me. I quit my well paying job and moved to another office, where the harassment continued. He proposed to me. I was shocked and I refused. I couldn’t tell my parents all of this, as my father suffers from heart ailments".
This is gist of the complaint registered against him at the cop house. The year is 2009.
The beginning:
He had this offer letter to join a bank in the Emirates. He saw her, fell deeply in love with her, asked her while sipping tea on the balcony, if he ought to accept the offer, and when she simply smiled her dazzling smile, he decided against it, and didn’t get on the flight. It was the year 2001.

Life as it was:
Her parents believed that Catholic boys drank and beat their wives up. They wouldn’t relent. She didn’t want to leave them, nor would she commit to a time frame. It was always a case of "take it or leave it" and he always took it. He waited and waited and waited. It was a choice he made. He has nobody to blame but himself. Over the last few months everything had fallen into place. She decided herself that it was time to settle down. They collected the forms from the registrar’s office. They, along with his parents looked for houses for them to live in, the whole of the previous month. And then it all came crashing down.
Conclusion:
His father broke down in the cop station. And he himself sobbed uncontrollably as he read the complaint note the cop handed him. She stood in a corner with out a flicker of emotion on her face. His dad loved her. And they had established an independent rapport that included emailing one another, texting each other, calling one another frequently, even without his knowledge. And it made it worse that even when his father broke down, she didn’t step forward to say something, say anything. When they returned from the cop house that afternoon, his father suffered a bout of chest pain and breathlessness. His friend of long standing, who had gone along, was seething mad. He wanted him to hand over to the cops, the printed copies of the email exchanges that would prove the complaint incorrect. He couldn’t bring himself to do so.
He still doesn’t know what hit him. He puts a brave face at home for his parents, as they are worried that he will do something foolish to ruin his career, and end up being behind bars. He smiles and jokes and talks. He hugs his mum every morning, and calls his dad frequently through the day.
He does not know what to do about the searing pain in his chest, in his gut. He seems to have shut it all out. He is expecting to wake up from a dream to find it just that, a bloody bad dream. He hasn’t slept, and the sight of food makes him nauseous. He hasn’t listened to music in the car ever since the dream began. He is zombie like. There is no closure.


Joys:

The ‘good morning’ emails at work.
"Don’t forget to have lunch on time" texts.
"Drive home safely baba, and let me know when you get there" calls.
Arms linked while watching a movie.
The "hug spot" – the over bridge near her house, when on the drive back to drop her.
The frantic grabbing of his hand while having to use the escalator.
The glare he got each time he took a pot shot at her great love - SRK.
The funny laugh when he said something funny.
The arm resting on his hand, while the palm of her other hand rested on his lower back, gently maneuvering him towards the trial room, to try on something he liked, but was too lazy to want to test out.
The many emails when she was out of office on holiday, programmed to hit his inbox telling him "don’t think you can take it easy, just because I am not around. Have lunch NOW, and try not to MISS me too much. Three more days and I will be back"
The various times his parents and her ganged up to kick his ass during a conversation where there was a difference of opinion, while sipping on tea at his home.

The list in his heart is endless.


Regrets:

Not going to get to see her in the saris they had bought together for no apparent reason, but for the fact that they were beautiful.
That he never got to go to the temple or for that matter to a church with her.
They never went bowling.
They never walked hand in hand down the road.
They didn’t visit Blossoms.
They had so few "firsts".
He could never give her flowers.

There is so much he wishes he had had the chance of sharing with her. There isn't enough space to list them all down.

He will miss:

Never being able to tease her about her orange-peach skin.
Never waking up by her side.
Never being able to kiss her good night.
Not going to be able to worry her while she concentrated on her sudoku.
Cribbing about her awesome cooking – veg food albeit.
Not letting her sleep, when she is extremely sleepy,
Holding a baby that looked just like her.
Not being able to go together to pick up the Civic, she always wanted.
Never being able to fully relax when she drives, but instead bite his tongue and look out the window to keep from screaming at her, and giving her directions.
Like in the ‘pears’ advert, to wake up and not be able to see her face first thing each day.
Not doing those million holidays they had planned together.
Not seeing her fly the paratrike that he won in a contest, and which he never agreed to sell off, since she loved flying and wanted to take a flying course.
Walking down the aisle with her.
Going around the holy flame with her.
Never having their names on a plaque outside their home.
Never being Husband and Wife.
Never having the opportunity to be Father to those three girls he always wanted with her.

Life as he knew it, life as he wanted it came to an end, after nine long years.

9 Comments:

Blogger fullmoononearth said...

Don't tell me!!!

8:35 PM  
Blogger DreamCatcher said...

these unexpected glimpses of your relationship is very touching....
chin up...this too will pass. Keep faith...

3:44 PM  
Blogger Dusty Fog said...

fiction people fiction...: )

quite sad though eh?!!! sigh.

6:57 PM  
Blogger Random Musings said...

I just finished reading the Patrick French biography of V S Naipaul and there was a line there that stuck in my mind and resurfaced again when reading your post....

"When Strength of Fiction fails an author, what remains is autobiography"

Very Sad story....

10:24 AM  
Blogger Bee Bee said...

Nine years?!

May the villian get swine flu.

3:14 PM  
Blogger Serendipity said...

boy, am i glad to see the words 'fiction'

well written though -- very absorbing.

11:26 AM  
Blogger ~anu~ said...

awesome! very absorbing, very nice.

4:11 AM  
Blogger Serendipity said...

and then...?

1:53 PM  
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