Life Is What You Make It A Story Of Love, Hope And How Determination Can Overcome Even Destiny (5 page)

“Wouldn't you love to know?” I replied.

“What?” he asked again.

“I'm not going to elaborate and hey, please don't keep turning around to talk to me. It's making me nervous and please keep your eyes on the road.”

“Yes' Ma'am,” he said and he was true to his word. I was beginning to relax a little now. But at the same time I was feeling a strange kind of guilt, that I was being somewhat disloyal to Vaibhav. It was crazy, I rationalised. It wasn't as though I
wanted
to go on a bike with Abhi, and it is not even as though I had a choice. But still that little pin prick of guilt wouldn't go away. I just pushed it to the back of my mind.

“Watch out, I am slowing down and need to apply the brake” said

Abhi. He said it three more times, each time he slowed down.

I smiled as he was really making an effort to be extra careful.

“It's okay,” I finally told him after he repeated it for the fourth time “Don't worry so much. I know your intentions are not dishonourable.”

“Phew, thanks for trusting,” he said.

The night sky looked magnificent with an explosion of a thousand stars. The moonlight was giving everything a silver glow. It was adding to the magic and I was actually beginning to enjoy the ride. We still had about thirty kilometres of the journey left. Abhi kept checking if I was comfortable. He was driving smoothly too. I was perfectly relaxed and very comfortable by now.

The highway to Cochin passed through a small village. It was desolate as all the shops were shut and the doors to the small tile roofed houses were also shut. There were brass oil lamps with a single flame burning, flickering like they were dancing, left at the doorways of most homes. The brass lamps were floor lamps, which stood either on the floor, or on a small wooden raised platform. It was a custom in Kerala that there should be a welcoming lamp at the doorway, to usher the Goddess of wealth and good fortune in. Most villages still followed it. I wished I had a camera to capture the beauty of the scene—the glow of the brass lamp and the beauty of the tiled house against the darkness of the night in the background. I took a snapshot in my head.

After the village, on the outskirts of it, there were a few push-carts selling hot
dosas
and steaming
idlis
and
appams.
It was the equivalent of
dhabhas
in Northern India. Truck drivers usually frequented these joints.

“Shall we stop?” asked Abhi “The food is really delicious here. These pushcarts are called
Thatu kadas.
Have you ever eaten in a
thatu kada?
”

“No, but I have eaten in a
dhabha
. Stop if you want to.”

“Well, you don't get
dosas
and
appams
in a dhabha. You must try it. You won't regret, I promise” he said, as he stopped. We got off the bike and walked towards the
thatu kada.

There was a wooden bench and we both sat on it as Abhi asked for a plate of
Dosa
and
Appam.
The guy at the shop was looking at us strangely. So were the few truck drivers whose trucks were parked nearby and they were eating there. Obviously a young couple on a bike, late at night, in conservative Kerala, could imply only one thing in their books.

Abhi sensed my discomfort and said “Ignore them. Just look at me and concentrate on the food.”

“A re you sure this is safe?” I asked moving a little closer to him instinctively.

“Relax—you are in my land. This is
ende Keralam
. And nothing will go wrong if you're with me. ” He smiled confidently.

The
Appams
and
dosas
we had were the most delicious that I had tasted so far in my life. We topped it with a cup of steaming hot tea. The feeling of a full stomach with completely satiated taste buds, a nice atmosphere and good company under a night sky is one of the most pleasant things that one can experience. I was content and I was happy. Abhi cut into this feeling almost immediately

“Hey, I have to tell you something,” he said and his tone was one that I instantly recognised. It put me on high alert. I had heard the same tone in Vaibhav's voice.

God, please let him not spoil this lovely time we have had by confessing his love for me, I thought.

“Ankita, I really love you,” he said.

I didn't know what to say. I looked away. Then I turned back.

I was speechless.

“You've known me for what, three days?” I said finally.

“I am not kidding, Ankita. I fell in love with you, the moment I saw you. I have never felt like this about anyone before, trust me. I am crazy about you. Honestly. And I have never done anything like this before in my life. This confessing feelings and all, is just not me, but with you I really cannot hold back anymore,” he said looking straight into my eyes. His eyes shone with a sincerity and kind of desperate manic glint that was hard to comprehend.

I was completely taken aback. I did not expect a ‘bare-it-all’ even though I had half anticipated it when he said he had something to say. But I did not think he would be so forthright and so open about it.

There was only one thing to do. To tell him about Vaibhav.

So I did.

“I do have a boy friend.”

“And who is this person, may I ask? Is it someone I know?”

“No, you don't know him. He's a classmate of mine. We went to school together. He is in Delhi now. ”

The relief on his face was almost instant.

“So, he is not even here.”

A moment later he added, “And why don't I believe you?” he asked searchingly, looking at me with a glazed look.

“Ummm—Maybe because you cannot see him?”

“Ha ha ha” he laughed “That's because you just made him up and he does not exist!” He said triumphantly.

“Oh no, he does. I did not mean it that way,” I hastily clarified.

“I'm sure you just made it up to fob me off. But I don't give up so easily.”

“Look,” I said “I cannot do anything to convince you. It is the truth.”

“Priya told me you don't have a boy friend.”

“You asked Priya about me?! What does she know about me? You should have asked Suvi. She is one of my closest friends.”

“I mean what I said, Ankita. Please don't say anything. Please think about it. That's all I ask of you.”

“Look, we've had a great time. Let's forget all this. You drop me back.” I said as I walked towards his bike.

We completed the rest of the journey in silence.

The next day was a holiday due to some festival and I was glad as it gave me some time to rest and think about things. The shrill ring of the phone woke me up the next morning when my parents had gone for their walk. It was Suvi. She said Abhi was at the college gate a little while ago, asking for her. He had lied to the hostel warden that he was her cousin. Suvi had presumed that it had something to do with me and had met him. He had given her my brown leather diary which I had forgotten in the Auditorium. He had found the lyrics of the song “Nothing's gonna stop us” which I had scribbled on a piece of paper. He was convinced that I had written the lyrics for him and was now playing hard to get. He had said all this to Suvi and had also given her a sealed envelope which she was to deliver to me. Suvi said that he would just not believe her when she tried to tell him the truth about Vaibhav.

What an idiot Abhi was. How could he presume that I wrote the song for him? Why didn't he just believe Suvi or me?

I just couldn't wait to reach college that day. Suvi and I bunked the first class and went to the college library. The library was huge and there were many corners where we could talk undisturbed. She handed me the letter as well as my diary that Abhi had given her. It was a sealed yellow envelope with the address in small neat writing.

“Go on,” smiled Suvi “Open it,” she urged, oblivious to my inner turmoil and confusion. I did not want to open the letter. I dreaded it. I felt it was wrong. I felt I was betraying Vaibhav.

“I don't feel like,” I whispered.

“Don't be an idiot. Here, let me open it,” she said grabbing it.

“Noooo!” I said, snatching it back from her and keeping it in my diary. I'll open it at home.

“I want to see what he has written. Open it, open it,” she urged.

“Yes, you shall read it fully, but only after I am ready,” I said with an air of finality as I closed the diary and stood up.

I opened it later, at home after I had bolted my door. He had used expensive handmade paper. His writing was small, precise and very neat.

Dearest Ankita
, he had begun and I cringed. I was not his dearest.

Pa rdon my addressing you as dearest, but right now that is how I feel towards you.

I almost jumped—Good Lord, could he read my mind?!

You have given my life a new direction and nothing has mattered so much to me till now. Swami Vivekananda had said “We are what our thoughts have made us. So take care what you think. Thoughts live. They travel far.” Right now Ankita, my thoughts are centred only on you. I cannot think of anything else but you. I have stayed up the whole night thinking and re-thinking and I am swept away by the depth of my own emotions. I have tried not to act like this. I hate it, but cannot help it.

God, you are lovely and really very beautiful. But that is not why I feel like this towards you. I love the way you speak, the way you smile and the way you are so easily shocked. I love the enthusiasm you have and how you think that you have to do it all. I love the way you come up with repartees and you work so hard to make things happen. I loved the way you warned me on the bike to behave myself (Trust me, even if you hadn't I would have treated you with utmost regard. You deserve of so much). I love your spirit and the way you spoke on Mandal Commission that day at Symphony, even though you knew nothing about it. I admired your courage to go up on stage. You may not have won a prize that day but in my mind you were clearly a winner.

I love the way your eyes sparkle when you speak. They seem to dance to the rhythm of your words. You are so full of zest. You inspire me and make me want to be like you. I love the way that wisp of hair falls across your forehead and the way you keep tucking it behind your ears. Oh yes—I loved your white high heels too. I loved the black top you wore and the slits that it had at the side and the way you kept tugging it down so that your skin wouldn' t show. I loved the silver bangle you wore on the first day and the thick white one with little polka dots you wore on the second day. I loved the silver

ear-rings and the mismatched gold chain. Yes, I noticed! I noticed every little thing about you.

I couldn't help smiling at his words. He really seemed to have noticed every minor detail about me. The first page ended here and he had written “P.T.O” at the bottom. I smiled as the last time I had used it was in school, in our assignments when I wanted the teacher to turn the page, just in case she missed it.

I was more than ready to turn over. “Oh God. Abhi writes so much better than Vaibhav.” The thought crept up surreptitiously into my head and I guiltily and hastily pushed it aside and admonished myself for comparing them both. When I turned over I recoiled, nearly jumped out of my bed and hit the roof, as though I had settled down on a hot scalding iron instead of my comfortable pillows. Written in blood in letters about two inches high, in capitals were the words

“I LOVE YOU”

The first few letters were darkest and the O and U were very light. And beneath them he had written in pen,
yes, it is blood and I do love you, but I think I don' t even have enough blood in my body to prove my love to you.

On the next page at the bottom left hand side, he had stuck a photo of himself which he had cut out in shape (I presumed from a larger photo which perhaps had other people). Beneath it, he had written

I may not be a pro-Mandal Commission activist or a reservationist but I surely want to reserve you for myself.

I want to talk to you for a little while. Please don't say no. I'll be waiting.

All my love and then some more,

Abhi

And below this he had written his phone number, address and drawn a map to his house. It was a route I was familiar with, as I knew that part of the town and he had indicated all the landmarks and important places. I could make out where his home was easily. The directions were clear and well emphasised.

My heart seemed to be beating at the rate of million times a minute now. I did not know what to do. Curiously I sniffed the letter, the part which he had written in blood. It smelled like rust. I found myself wondering whether he had cut himself and if so what finger he had cut. Had he cut his thumb? Had he cut his forefinger? This guy seemed to be crazy. Yet it was a manic, intense kind of craze.

I waited for a chance to call Suvi. When my mother stepped out in the evening to visit a neighbour, I grabbed my chance and dialled her hostel number. The common phone was very close to her hostel room and she came on the line almost immediately.

“Did you read it? What has he said? Tell me, tell me!” she demanded, without even a cursory hello. We were beyond that.