A Memoir- "For the one Who Will never Know I wrote"

Her aroma, the chemicals in my brain ooze and jig much like that angry bird, level completed.  The intoxication radically earthed like a bigeye bomb in my brain destroying all the structures in Damascus and Baghdad. Then the troops march for a ground assault destroying everything that confronts their Neuronal path. A coalition of chocolate boys, groups of sluggish soldiers and the silent ones hazily guarding the colleges’ wired borders with their clothed weapons (Read bags) gazed as she cat walked the ramp elegantly like that tortoise from childhood tales, but would suddenly transform into the counterpart in that tale, the rabbit, when chased by anyone from the three groups, on the way to the college.

I was the President of this lethargic Republican Army and my marines along with their chief are a daily “wiki leak” creating hustle and bustle in the chandni chowk market. We sell here. “Selling is no harm at all; it gives pleasure to the seller. Moaning is not bad always, sometimes it earns us Dinars, manats and riyals. It makes us strong driving us pertinently to a road where all other vehicles turn invisible and you want your vehicle to shine more and more”. She is a witness to our early morning Gold Flake crime and her eyes promptly charged us with sedition. Sentence awarded “To be hanged till death.”As soon as I stare into her eyes. I witness a chaste splendour with no disguise just a glimpse and my heart beats rise I too had a mechanical look.

Thereby, I surrendered to her bravura splendor; she tied me up me with her long wavy hair and captivated me. All Jails are not pathetic, some prisons are beautiful. The folks want to be booked under heinous offences, nobody wants to be released, and nobody wants to be bailed out. Nobody wants visitors; they love to confine their prison to two people, entry of the third person is abhorred.

The sequential theatrics begun and she wore a gadget or ate a tablet who knows, she phantom-ed, and my eyes. My eyes googled her in the ballads of nitcze, the odes of Shelly, the quatrains of Shakespeare, “error searching the item” declared the journalistic jargon, the intensity of the search around grew, from my classroom to the next classroom, next extension, all the neighbouring classrooms, the first floor, the second, the third, structuring an Inverted Pyramid style. But even Google needs key words, I had none, but “pretty” and that appropriately was less, minute, it shrivelled her, there was no solitary word to illustrate her.

The venician face sat well on her string-fragile bod, she had a carafe bent waist and her complexion had an impeccable, ochrous hue. Carved to perfection, her lengthy uncolored fingernails ran through her black hair. Reels of it thrust around her picturesque face and concealed a bird’s neck, elegant and smooth. I cherished her tenuous glowing eyes which were a-sparkle with the radiance like two beryl-green jewels melted onto snow. An artist could not have fashioned her fairy’s ears and pixie’s nose any better. Her edgy-thin eyebrows eased down gently to her black kohl eyelashes. When she busted into a smile, her mesmeric, oyster-white teeth lit up the area. It could jolt you like an electric current when that megawatt smile gave you her full attention.

Next, I dozed myself with intense drugs. The medications did not work for a long too, my heart failed. Most people die waiting, but in the most memorable March,  I was in Hyderabad when the boredom had killed people at Srujana and rushing back to Bangalore, I told myself, "The heart's here." For the first time I got petrified. All I could think was: I am going down, walk downstairs, tie my shoes, board a vehicle, and get my heart cut out—I don't know if I'm going to make it. The moments seemed to rush at me as I had worked hard. It is like letting your favourite food to be swallowed by someone else when you are hungry. When I woke up, it was definitely a memoir.

The next scene begins, the tone and spirit of the day is gloriously set. It is the college Auditorium. Every year it’s the same. The lights dim, people (chatting to friends in the isles) scramble for their seat. The screens flicker with life and movement … and then “the thud” of hundreds of excited and expectant people rises into the atmosphere. This little masterpiece Srujana was created in very much the 11th hour of our Srujana preparations. Not for lack of due diligence, because we begin preparations 12 months out, but simply because there is often “much on the table to complete” and life can sometimes press things into the pressure zone. But it is often in the pressure zones that the most beautiful emerges.

The stage was uncurtained allowing sight at the angels dressed in bizarre black and some ridiculous glitter. Her voguish clothes still kept captive an aroma redolent of cinnamon and meadow-fresh mint as she danced, again who cares. I viewed through fast forward from the initial greeting to an established dance (from the Ball change to the free spin). How was the dance?? Who Cares? Till they move fine and look pretty, but surely the song was terrible. The Google had found its Keywords. It finally found that startling aroma. Then, the setbacks of real life (breach of dream trip). The catastrophe of a sudden catastrophe (A dream busted). And the ultimate separation we all know is inevitable. That is a fast forward, probably I playing it at 16x.

I realized it an hour later or two, not that I was gone into imaginations, but I was busy capturing the event, meeting people, queuing stuff, this and that, tits and bits, monitoring the sluggishness, controlling the bizarreness and improvising our efforts. That is old ridiculous happy keeper, your efforts count, not the results; the truth is your efforts will be desolately unvalued without desired results. There was something unpleasant, unusual at a distance; it was the color she wore, which suddenly transited to being my favorite color, with some absurd Black, blue, green, brown. She made me colour blind, No, My colour blindness is inherent.I couldn’t ask for more as I saw her, it’s not the path we choose that makes the difference, but the person you share the path with. Even the perfect road has its own mysteries and turns, and it’s the ones we choose that make the difference in our lives. One more glimpse at her and i absurdly found myself drenched in sweat, and then I realized it was nothing to do with her, there was the effect of the scorching sun too. For the first time in my life, I was gripped by emotions I had never felt before.

I was puzzled, I was petrified… now I was too scared to know her, as I was afraid I might get lost or drown back. Or worse, find myself face to face with the revulsions that were cloaked beneath the solid green foliage.But I walked on, dodging the truth; she had admirers all over, the college, whatsapp, facebook which she took pride in. Though, she abhorred to admit that. She had “Fans” praising her eyes, lips, her figure, her eyebrows, eyelids, eyelashes, her that hair, this part, let us say and what not. The admirers went on praising her dawn to dusk, though it kept her not aloof from the real world as most of us do. We find soothe in the virtual world. We tend to please ourselves with the virtual world, attain something in virtual what we may always fail to accomplish in the real one. I am a covert admirer, by all virtue. That name I think fits me just right there is nothing I like about you (I think)But,  on my mind you stay day and night

            The modern Majnus don’t find any solace in the glimpse of the beloved. They find peace finding her Facebook. “Syria has been captured. Thanks to the creative minded Mr. X, he tirelessly worked till the goal was achieved” I had found her, that aroma redolent of cinnamon and meadow-fresh mintnm. Nothing abnormal, we talked virtually and we talked only, grew from strangers to “enemies” as she would call it. The conversations transited levels from beginner to an experts view. Soon we turned to the topic of kissing seriously, it’s like a sitcom, right? My heart was in my throat, my eyes darted to the floor and my eyes were terror-filled. We were at last interrupted and in an anxious mood I swifted back to being “normal”. I spent the next hour talking of course, seriously I think it was 3 in the morning at this point, she’s a trooper and hardly sleeps and at the end you are the reason for her “Dark circles.”

One day the coin was tossed into the sky, it was a “head,” the chemistry did not change at all, even the cathodes stayed constant when it was pertinently supposed to change after the mathematical probability worked. She whispered to me in a dulcet voice “It means nothing” as sweet as any songbird. I still was a captive of an aroma redolent of cinnamon and meadow-fresh mintnm . It lingered in the room long after she had logged off. This enormous transition is what psychologists’ term as “The Wall Nut Effect”. The word has been coined recently when the fact was discovered that happiness is Lays and joy is dry fruits, devotion is chicken and satisfaction is Nutella and the ultimate pleasure is a selfie and if you look good in that “You are the happiest”. It has lately been discovered that there is no reaction for the action, ridiculing Newton’s laws of Motion. Even the process of electrolysis did not work, she tried that too, I suggested learning titration, but it seemed like the Pythagoras theorem being recited to a class nursery child.

Arunachal is a cold place, Windy City, but to her it was where she grew, her passion, and her roots. As a child, she enjoyed living outside without motif. She barely forgot anything from her childish routine. Where she would wake up and sprint outside where her friends were anxiously waiting for her. With her friends, she, climbed trees and played all sorts of whacky games best suited for the moment. Here biographical bit says she spent most of her childhood somewhere in Arunachal and has had a ball. She dwells the mountains and there is no Marx who says that Newton was the dweller of mountains where Chaucer and Sigmund Freud lived, but “Pahari” people possess inborn capacities, they are thoughtful, they digest things easily. She like most boys was unwilling to get up early in the morning and go to school. She still hates to wake up early for the college. Sleep is adorable. It takes Humans away from the painful real to a state of restfulness, In case you are not a “sub-conscious” student of psychology. She has had a patriotic childhood reciting the hymns of Indian pride and nationalistic arrogance which pertinently emerged in a creation of volcano ready to burst against me. She played the dolls and always fielded while playing cricket, this craving to bat delivered the Electra complex. She was whistle blower and a mind blowing runner. 

Earlier she used to run to win awards now to escape the chasing boys. She along with the brother she loves more used to play all sort of pranks and games. She would ride on the bullock cart and make strange sounds which got the cartman agitated at times. At times the cart man left the bullock cart while watering the ground, urinating, she would ride the cart a few blocks away until the cart man came running after puzzled and agitated. The cart man would chase them through tiny lanes and sloppy mountains.

Time not only takes your physical abilities of climbing trees and running around for long periods of time, but it also snatches away the thrill and pleasure out of those moments you can never recreate those moments that one experiences as a child.

She was a child when she started being the “layla”to many Majnuun. Them, two boys poked with a pencil, then a certain guy blowing horns, then some boy in a bus, the hate, the love she is confused, baffled, puzzled, she winks disowning the guy. A book with volumes is where you can document her love stories. Though we find any commonalities, except Salman Khan and being grand food lovers; she loves potatoes and the smell of mud, to me, still she is a whole new way of looking at the world, a whole approach to truth and our bond to it. The idea and the math can be grasped by anyone who wants to. Abruptly, the rigid static cosmos is brushed away and reinstated with a personal world, related to what you watch and you transit from being remote to the universe, looking down, to one of the apparatus inside it as stated by Einstein in Relativity equation.  Naughty, pretty not good in looks.but with beautiful soul. 
Everyone use to pretend her wrong for her frankness,but she was the heart of her friends. She took everything serious,, Yet refused!!! She didn’t even realize that this was only for fun. She dealt the matter very friendly and instead of treating the boy harshly, she handled him with her soft heart. The girl was comfortable with the enemity but not in the state of being in a relationship with the boy. She had her desires and some different goals for life.

…. Her dream was more precious, then to be in a relation with the boy.One day the boy decided, never to talk again as he thought the girl does not understand him. The girl accepted and never explained anything this time. She thought,, if her friendship is strong he’ll come back again…

After some months, no hours, he is back again, with a promise that they’ll be friends forever. Months passed away with the same and now the girl decided that if he’ll come back again, she’ll not treat him friendly. Her self respect was badly hurt and she accepted that she had lost her friend.

It’s very hard to realize that you are no more important for the person for whom once you were everything. It hurts a lot when you see someday, that you lost a person who was truly indeed for you.

…..And she passed away, with the same tease in her heart of losing a friend… And tears rolled on, from his eyes Reminding myself that I am going to forget her, that the peaceful thoughtfulness is to end. I can't help hating her and teasing around, then she comes into my sight. Soon, I spit out all. Every day I have to face the guiltiness and the sadness of losing her, don’t expect pleasing words, I have stuff to do, no, better stuff to do.

wondering the time they’ve spent together…!!!

Because some stories never have their end… !!! ~Noopur~

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