Once a blogger always a blogger. Just like once you’re human you are condemned to living out a human existence no matter what. And so I have returned… It has been a long while. Eighteen days and some hours. I thought it would last longer– the silence. But then just like anything else, silence too grows on you. It starts following you in dark moments, creeping up on you and petrifying your soul. A lot can change in eighteen days… hmmm… nice title… sounds distinctly like the Barista Tag line… “A lot can happen over coffee”… But its true; SEA CHANGE and I prefer attaching Shakespeare brilliance to it as opposed to the Barista weak coffee connotation.
I ran away, and found that I really didn’t need to–because what I was running a way from was myself and unfortunately its one of those things that sticks to you for life. I’ve been ill– not terribly. I met relatives. A cousin of mine, who used to be the definition of ‘nice’ has turned bitter and her child is loud. They have a house, with fish tiles in the bathroom and polished white ceramic flooring. I’ve been eating too- quite a bit. Yesterday I ate three lunches… one was a Onam special on a banana leaf– and I managed the payasam without dropping! I think that is quite a feat. I also met acquaintances, one gave me a hug when departing time arrived post-courtesy lunch, I was shocked out of my wits.
The ex-boyfriend who offered me a job while I worked at a libertarian organisation…. is pursuing me. We met up. He looks the same in some ways. Same curly jet-black hair. Same long eyelashes and shirts of solid fills and the same old bike… I STILL had problems getting on… I guess I haven’t changed all that much either. I’m still the shortie. Anyway… he has set up his own office. He writes now, professionally. I am happy for him. He always wrote very well, except for the piece on me (his description of me seemed to concentrate on the ‘curves’… I tend to think that hormones or ferromones were working overtime….) The office is nice… fancy. It’s been renamed to the ‘designhead cottage’. It is corporate, clean and chic… with split air-conditioners and a black and red theme that has been followed to a fault, even the tube lights are theme decorated! I know he remembers me… there are Sepia tone prints on the wall (I love Sepia tones, it was my first and last gift to him).
There is a lot wrong with his life. Uma his wife, finds sex painful. He is drowning in debt and his SIX credit cards weigh a tonne. He has a son now, Ashu is the pet name. I’ve forgotten what the real name is.. but it mens the domain of god. He looks tired– I wish I could help him. I prayed. Some people you can’t stop caring about no matter how much pain they’ve caused you. He wants me to be his company’s Delhi representative. My head is turning around, I don’t quite comprehend how I can be feeling for him. Feeling not love or attraction, just concern.
Then there is my self-belief problem. I am down in the dumps. I have a distinct feeling that if I get involved, things will fall apart for him, personally and professionally. Perhaps I ought to stay out.
College activities are not really happening, I’ve been informed that my long absence has not gone down very well. And then there is work. But they can’t complain– I’m on leave without pay. That is going to cost me dearly when I get back though. Somebody very important to me, the one I love… has vanished. There’s been no mail, no call, no offline message for a while. I don’t know if that is a reaction to me. It might be, and I
deserve it. But I am worried. And I miss him.
It feels good to write after so long. But I have to go. Thanks for listening. The lizards are making out again on the ceiling, I wonder if they can last longer than rabbits…