Which one did you get by him?
Two Lives.
And you?
An Equal Music.
Even Italo Calvino would have changed the plot of If on a Winters Night a Traveler- our titles fit in so well as we stood in that queue some five years back. So did our subtitles- Maithili. Not that it mattered so much. We did not know then. We did not even know that we will be screened in the same wedding hall after five years. All we knew was our love for literature, our joy of listening to music was perhaps in the same book, if not on the same page.
After three long years, a good time-as I did not even believe in stories- he came as a cynical surprise. I started thinking so much about meeting him after so long, phone calls had made it better though. Had I been the Baroda girl that I was at some point, this would have been simple- butterflies in my stomach and getting ready. As stories pass by, refrains take over. Refrains in how they will end, how they will begin. Stories that carry you, stories that have carried your friends. I did not want an end and as much as that, I did not want a beginning.
One hates how complex one becomes. We have forgotten to be simple. To carry those butterflies without worrying. To imagine further and further- to spiral in each each other. So biased that I was. I picked up the most rugged looking kurta from my closet. If he likes me in my worst, he can possibly fall in love. Sometimes, it is too bad to fall in cliches we read everywhere and since we are frail hearted, we look for these pessimistic statements to affirm. Even if their contexts would have been different. Pick worse time- when I am sick. If he likes me my coughing throat, he would like me. Make it seem like you have other work to do as well. You are not meeting him specially.
With all this, I knew he would not want to meet me again. And I could keep affirming my sadist beliefs that the world does not have that spark anymore. But then again, somewhere I did want to meet him, again and again.
He showed up with a letter. And Roberto Bolano. Is he lying? He says time stops with me and that he has been always waiting for me. Oh really, why didn't this happen before? He does not say anything. Sometimes, now that I know, waiting happens without promises, without expressions. But that wait brings you closer. Wait for a phone call, wait for a letter, wait for a guest to show up suddenly. But that waiting is different than anticipation. We have learnt to anticipate- an outcome. A result that is either positive or negative. Does he love me, does he not? Will I win, will I lose? And we also want to get a contemplated time- how long does it take it to grade an exam? Two weeks? I should have got my marks by now. How long does it take for one to think, buy a nice gift for me? The market is two kilometres, so by that estimate it shouldn't take him more than an hour to do this. In anticipation, we measure. In waiting, there are no measurements. Things may happen, things may not. Let life continue. Your letter may have reached your favorite school teacher, she might have not read it. She might be traveling somewhere. Or she might be struggling. After a long gap, you go to her town to meet some friend and get to know she's no more. But you see that letter on her desk. Or you go and find out, she was happy to receive your letter but did not want to reply. So what. You meet her, hug her and get back to your life that you had been living.
He taught me that- waiting.
As I was meeting a friend, he kept waiting outside the cafe. I did not think he would. I could have taken long, he didn't care. He waited. I heard the butterflies in my stomach as I sipped in the coffee. Discussion was important, I kept nodding to my friend. My eyes fluttered and were flattered by that Kurta clad tall guy moving around the cafe. I came out and sang in my heart. I had forgotten singing. To sing for someone when in love.
Next day, I was hoping to find something nice to wear. And I assured myself, you are not doing it for him. Wore Kajal and my favorite perfume. Is this happening? I did not know what all I was going through. I decided not to dream. Just walk into a dream and if I am lucky, I would be let inside. To see, even if a little- of that beautiful dream. He did look at me, a lot of times. It felt great. Before I know, we were walking on streets, hand in hand, laughing, going to random places. As I was headed back home, a lady with a bunch of roses asked me if I would buy a rose and that if I did, god would fulfill my wishes and that I would find a great husband. Earlier, I might have bought, but also would have told the lady, I don't want a husband. Life is so beautiful alone. But this time, I bought four- secretly hoping that love would come to me in whatever form. I didn't care so much.
I made sure to tell him, it's not what you're thinking. I am not interested. He smiled. Laughing off my pessimism and letting me just be. If not in love, then around love. With each day, I was moving. My head on his shoulder for the first time, that faith. Then suddenly realizing and lifting head up. Uttering, "by mistake, not what you think, okay?" He smiled, passing me on his butterflies. Lighting me up. With each month, I was waiting, looking at myself in the mirror - he said he loves my hair- kept adjusting it again and again. He said he loves the way I hold glasses, looking at my smallest gestures and falling in love. Writing love letters, writing papers. I did everything- laid those butterflies jumping in my room. Slept with dreams.
And before I realize, we're married.
Each day I am learning to wait, more and more.
I will open this door if you finish one chapter- and he still opens and gives me a peck as I write. There's no end to the waiting, life goes on as we wait to live every next moment.
This is us~
Humming an equal music every day. Writing this as I wait for him to come and brighten the room with his laughter and glittering eyes.
