The Youth I Wasted

The Youth I Wasted

The young couple reminded me of the youth I wasted. The young lad must have been in his early 20s, while the lass seemed to be struggling to look beyond the wall that marks the 20^th year. The trinkets in her ear, nose, hands and around her neck obscured the skinny figure she had. There was the customary ‘sindoor’ in the parting of her hair indicating her marital status. The deep intimacy between the couple pointed to a union effected in the recent past.

Several relevant questions raced through my mind at once. I wish I  could ask the couple if they had eloped or if they had had an arranged marriage. They looked as if they belonged to a rustic background. Indian villagers marry off their wards at an early age, and this could be an example.

In a small way, the young couple were mocking me because of my celibacy and age. I ought to have given up the burden of celibacy at an earlier instance, but situations had never been amenable to matrimony. Things would have been quite different had the hurdles and barriers not been a part of my fate. I would have found myself on a completely different train, it would have been a different journey, the co-passengers of the journey would have been different, and an entirely different destination would have waited for me. The youth and freshness of the couple pointed towards the several wrong turns my fate had taken.

The truth is that my fate has never been in my hands. I could never have avoided any of the wrong turns. My fate, that dictated the wrong turns, was etched out on a stone tablet several millions of years ago, long before the earth was created. There were several crests and troughs typical to my case. A head-injury resulting in several physical handicaps that would plague me for the rest of my life was on the cards. Ammi’s death collated from it only to add to the wrong turns. Her departure from our lives left a night without end that searches for dawn to its very edge. The sun seems to have lost its typical warmth, the moon no longer erases the gloom of the night.

The Script Writer had scripted several dénouements and climaxes in the script. But none of these wrong turns could be dubbed as ‘wrong’ ---- the Script Writer’s skills at writing scripts could never be doubted.

I only hope the wrong turns that have been a part of my life would not be a part of my second chance to live. Life would be quite different for the second chance. There would be the youth with all the zeal, fervour, energy and vigour typical to it. I wonder what happened to my youth. I badly wish I could go back in time and rectify the mistakes made by my fate, but the mere belief would be being thankless to the Script Writer, for the expertise with which each yarn is knitted can never be doubted.

But this certainly is not the end. The end would not come till I give up. I shall never give up in my crusade against my fate. After all, it is only my patience that is being tested.

The Changed Equations

The Changed Equations

I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. I did it all the same. There is nothing right or wrong when you are in love, and I was in love ---- that’s all that counts. I was looking at her through a vacuum created by the society we live in, but the vacuum didn’t permit her to raise her vision and look at me. Most probably, she didn’t even know I was there looking at her. a long time had gone by since the last time I saw her in the examination-hall. The moon had certainly not changed, although a lot of time had certainly gone by.

I was looking at her even as she wasn’t even aware of my presence. The eatery in Big Bazaar didn’t have many tables, and she occupied the one nearest to the entrance. She did appear a bit changed; the hue and colour could be probably be attributed to matrimony; but I couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter a lot now ---- the equations were changed on my part too.

I wasn’t exactly married, I wasn’t even engaged, but I was committed to someone I had never known in my life. It was a typical Indian case ---- issues of matrimony are settled by the elders at home. The Home Ministry had chosen someone who was to be someone special in my life. I don’t think I held any rights to look at the young lady before me enjoying her piece of fast-food. Time had turned things around for both of us. I was headed for the moon, and she was probably already there.

I was a victim in the hands of time. The appointed time for her bliss had come, while I would probably have to wait a bit longer for the appointed time to take over the dim part of my life. I’ve been waiting for a long time, I wonder how much longer I would have to wait for my dreams to come true.

I console myself with the belief that the destination I’m headed for might be where I wanted to be after all. It is certainly a satisfactory experience when you are finally at a definite destination. But the end of my journey would be the beginning of another adventure --- one that might be much more exciting, or it could leave me twice as miserable.

The adventure and the end it brings me to would be quite significant. I hope it would make the adventure in Big Bazaar insignificant. I hope things turn out well.

The Window In The Room

The Window In The Room

A purblind day was struggling against the fog. She had to gather a lot of courage to open the shuttered lattice of the room and look out into a world of sunshine and happiness. These were some of the elements missing from our married life. She wished she had had the courage to break through the window at an earlier instance, but her fate was sealed with me now.

I was aware of a bit of dissonance on her part with respect to the alliance, but I didn’t have an idea of its gravity. I certainly would never have favoured matrimony had I had an inkling of the passion she had for him. She was madly in love with him. Love has the power to blind one’s sight, and this was the case with her. She could only look at the cauldron of virtues he held in his hands. She could not see the wide gorge of social and cultural differences separating them.

Although they were in love, the dense fog of social and cultural affiliations swirled around them, and it was not possible for any of them to break through the fog. She did her beat to convince him into wading to her side, but he refused to budge from his orthodox religious moorings.

But love is something that can’t be stopped or blocked by anyone in any manner. It finds its own route, and simply flows on. She sought similitudes even as there were differences between them. Cupid flashed such a strong light into her eyes that she was unable to see anything but love. So, the bonhomie between them shot the rapids and she prepared to flee her parents’ abode.

Her parents plunged into the picture and persuaded her against the decision. Innovative thinking on her part could not help her out in any manner now. She had no choice but to follow the diktats of her fate now. She could not gather her courage to rebel, to look out of the window and elope with him, so she found herself in the room  on a winter day with me.

The winter day had foggy weather. Things had changed since we were brought together. Time had flowed on. I believe time is the best agent for change in our lives. Over time, she would certainly get over her attraction for him. My company would be the balm serving to anoint all the wounds. I hope the magic of time works out well in out case.             

I sometimes feel confident of wining over her love as time goes by. The windows of the room she was in were encrusted with dirt, so they made the weak winter sunshine dimmer even as youth, hope and beauty looked through them. Daylight flooded into the room as she loosened the shutters flooding it with hope, happiness and joy. I hope a similar aura spreads all over our lives.

THE CATALYST FOR THE CHANGE

THE CATALYST FOR THE CHANGE

Her photograph was all the physical evidence I had of her existence. I wasn’t sure if it signified anyone special in my life. Looking at it was quite like my attempts at breaking the monotony of life by the sips of Pepsi I enjoy once in a while. The face in the photograph seemed to be looking straight at me; it wanted to say something to me: I wish I could give it all my ears. The eyes were quite livid with life; they wanted all my attention: I wish I could keep looking at them forever and a day. I wondered if the eyes would infuse a fresh gust of life in me.

Life’s adventures and misadventures had left me badly bruised and injured. They had managed to suck out all the fun and mirth from my life. They had left me looking at the world through a pair of glasses whose lenses had been badly stained with scratches. I was struggling against a fog that got even more dense as I moved on. The density of the fog would certainly go down with the passage of time, I was sure. Things would certainly get better, and she would be the catalyst for the changes time would usher into my life.

Time would continue to march over Rip Van Winkles insisting on the importance of embracing change and novelty in life. Time would certainly march over several Sleeping Beauties waiting for their princes. The face in the photograph could be my  Sleeping Beauty with her eyes open, and I might be the prince she had been waiting for. The ideal situation would have put many Sleeping Beauties before me, but this was not the ideal situation. Time had done its best to wreck havoc all over my life; all this had left me in a mess. I looked at the face for the tenth time as if to make sure she was still there. She might be the one appointed to clear all the mess in my life.

But I wasn’t sure if I wanted anyone, let alone the one in the photograph, to do it. I just might add some more weight to the bulk awaiting clearance in her case. I certainly didn’t want this to happen, I didn’t want to add dungeons to anyone’s woes. I didn’t want to drag anyone into the quagmire of suffering and uncertainty in my life. But I did want to be the agent behind all the smiles on the face in the photograph. I did wonder if I could supply all that was needed for those smiles.

The truth was that I didn’t have much of a choice. Orthodox Indian traditions seldom leave a choice, specially where matrimony is in question. My destiny was probably sealed with her for quite a long time to come. There would be an element of novelty that would merit some changes in our lives. I hope Rip Van Winkle helps both of us in adapting to the changes.

THE LINGERING FRAGRANCE

THE LINGERING FRAGRANCE

The sweet fragrance of her perfume clung to the tapestry for a long time even after she left the sofa. It took me back to the first time we had  seen each other. We had been living close-by for a long time, but we were introduced to each other that day.

I had never seen her before, but here was someone I would have to put for quite a long time to come. The glass wall of orthodox Indian traditions divided us even on the first day. We could see each other through the wall, but the image was a bit hazy. Both of us wanted to break the wall, but none of us had the courage to do it.

In desperation, my gaze travelled to other props in the room. The portrait at the other end of the room provided a comprehensive view of a sunset. Sunset has never been a novel phenomenon in my life. It has always been synonymous with several changes and novelties ushered into my life at different occasions. Here was another sunset, and this one probably symbolized the end of my celibacy.

The problem was that I was approaching the Christmas of my life, and unlike the Christmas in real life, this one was not very pleasant. Several realities of life had been laid bare and naked; they had sucked away all the excitement of life. There had been several ups and downs in my life, there had been bright and gay moments, but the encounters with life in the past few years have equated them to a dark and dismal night. I did wonder if she could bring the night to an end.

I sometimes wonder what other facts of life the apparent darkness of my life conceals. There has to be something bright at the other end; there has to be light at the end of the tunnel; there has to be silence beyond the entire medley. All of it would remain a mystery till the light of early dawn penetrates my life. I did wonder if she would be the source of this light.

She would certainly be the bedrock over which I would thrash out all my sorrows. She would give me some company through the arduous journey of my life. The glass wall dividing us on our first meeting would eventually wither away, but the fragrance of her perfume would linger on with the tapestry for quite some time. I hope she leaves behind a stronger fragrance all over my life.

The Dawn

The Dawn

Her presence blocked out all other thoughts I could possibly have. I was left numb and dumb. I was overwhelmed: I felt like what I felt in Mecca and Medina. I pinched myself to confirm her presence: she was right there before me: her eyes had all the fire and spirit that announce virtue and intelligence at the same time. There was a typical catharsis in those eyes:  they had the power to effect my transmutation to paradise. I could sense the beauty of paradise before me.

Her perfume and deo made her presence all the more obvious, although I didn’t need my olfactory senses to drink the magic potion before me. She was a dream come true, and I was visualizing the dream with both of my eyes open. She had stepped into my life to resonate my world with sweet melodies. I hope I can sound even sweeter melodies in her life. She was to be the threshing-machine that would thresh out all my thoughts, opinions and feelings. She would guide me towards the realization of my dreams: from now on, my dreams would live in her eyes too.

It was the end of the road for some of my dreams, I know. But dreams fade with the night. She was the dawn of a new era in my life. A thunderstorm reverberated across the heavens to celebrate our union. There was the customary lightning and rain as the dreams were washed out of my life. It was the end of the road for some of her dreams too. But we were to share our dreams now. She gave me a gentle push, and it brought me back to the real world: there would be hardships and even fights, but I hope all of it ends well.

The sun gradually gained power over a dark and yet luminous night, and it was the dawn of  the first day of our lives.

A Wrong Choice

 A Wrong Choice

I had taken the wrong turn. I chose the wrong way, and it has brought me nowhere. I might have found myself at a destination had I not taken the detour. The detour provided a good aura and atmosphere, it was quite a pleasant journey, but I find myself lost in the end. Had I not taken the detour, had I not wanted to do something different and be different, I would certainly have found myself near an end today. The road wouldn’t have been easy, I’m sure. I would have faced a lot of problems on the way, but at least I would have reached a definite destination.

Reaching a definite destination was not important for me at that time. The journey seemed to be more important. Priorities changed with time; the importance of the journey didn’t diminish, but the importance of the destination, and the importance of getting there had been highlighted. The journey is certainly fun, traveling has certainly been a big joy, but the traveler isn’t rewarded in any manner unless he gets to the destination.

A lot of things would have happened in my life had I got to the destination by now: my life would have been quite different had I not taken the detour. It wouldn’t have been an easy life, I’m sure, but the challenges would have been quite different. An incomplete comprehension of these challenges appears to me to be what makes the route pleasant. On second thoughts, perhaps these challenges wouldn’t have been as tough. At least I would have found myself near   definite destination. I sometimes wonder if I wasted my time in traveling thought the detour. I did waste quite a bit of my youth this way.

The sight of young couples canoodling in popular fast-food-outlets reminds me of the youth I’ve wasted. They remind me of my incomplete love-stories. They make me think of Zeenat who would have been a reality had I not wasted my time. I hope some of the young couples so see a happy ending to their love-stories. Several silent prayers leave my lips when I come across a young duo chilling out in McDonald’s or Café Coffee Day. But I know only a lucky few manage to walk up to the altar and exchange vows. I salute all the young couples hanging out in parks who manage to see a happy ending, and even those who didn’t. I wish I could be a part of their happy journey.

The journey is in itself a big reward. I’ve been through the experience, and could give up a lot to be a part of the bandwagon of the youth again. Love certainly makes life the most beautiful of all experiences; it makes the world come to life again. The experience purges one of all evils: love leaves you as pure as a new-born-baby.

I feel quite bad when I think of the mistake I made: I made a wrong choice. The detour had brought me to no end, and I’m not sure how much longer I would have to tread on before I reach a destination. It would be a long time before I reach a destination. I don’t even know what the destination would be like. A wrong choice on my part has left me with a lot of unfulfilled wishes. I wish I had never taken the detour. But fate and destiny don’t leave any options of going back and correcting the path. So, I march on.

The Rebels

The Rebels

We had run away from home. Her willingness to elope reflected the magnitude of trust and confidence she placed in me. She had left behind the comforts of her home, and even the love and affection of her parents in the hope of finding the same security and satisfaction in my company. I salute her for this, this is what is called love --- she loved me.

Her love was never professedly declared --- it was implied and understood in whatever she did. Her deeds reflected her thoughts; she was thinking of me, I’m sure, as she sat kneeling on the floor near the window after the morning namaaz. She tried to capture whatever shreds of light and hope she could. The sun gradually gained power over a cold, gloomy and dark night.

Parental dissent and conflict similar to that between the Montagues and Capulets was the driving force behind our decision to rebel. The contention had assumed such enormous proportions that there didn’t seem to be a chance of our union. It was a night without end.

There has to be a way out, I thought. There is always an end to the night. The night can be very long, dark and cold, but it does have an end. But the night would never have ended had we not made a conscious effort to terminate it. So, we ran away from home.

She was a bit skeptical about it in the beginning, she doubted if she could find happiness after causing the displeasure of those who had cared for her since she was born, she had a dissonance for the novelty life would put before her, it would mean the end of the road for some of her dreams, and while many would still tread on, the most important dream of her life would come true. She had dared to see the dream with her eyes open.

Daylight was breaking into the room as she knelt on the floor. The sunlight gradually became so intense that she had to close her eyes. The closed eyelids concealed the eyes, but the dream still loved on in the eyes. I hope I can make the dream behind the eyelids, and many more dreams the eyes would see, come true.

I wanted the eyes to be the lighthouse of my life showing the way through the world. I wanted her hands to be the rudder of the ship of my life guiding me to success. She had left behind her world to be all this and more to me.

I too looked out of the window as she knelt before it. The night had been conquered by the day: the worst was over: things would get better now.

The Shells Of Time

The Shells Of Time

Her thoughts couldn’t be chained anywhere, neither in the present, nor in the past, particularly on a subject like me, for I was right there before her, commanding all her attention. Her heart sank within her even as she looked on. The embarrassment sunk deep in her heart; she could hardly stand before me.

It was evident that she still distinguished me by the same affection she harboured for me a couple of years ago. I didn’t doubt it. Women love with all their heart and soul, and it remains unchanged for a long time. Men are a bit different when it comes to this quarter. The continuance of my preference was uncertain after all these years. She had been elbowed out of my life before she could be my destiny. A lot of equations had changed since we parted.

Time and space change everything, and yet she was unchanged after all these years. In fact, she looked all the more beautiful. There was a hint of the early dawn in her eyes; a momentary blush appeared on her cheeks as she realized my presence. Apparently, she had me in her thoughts; the outlook was a bit altered now. I was not, and would never be the apple of those eyes again.

Her parents’ opposition to our alliance seemed baseless to me at that time, but it makes sense now. An unstable professional career faced me at that time. Fate had brought academic success prostrating at my feet, but I still crave for professional success. Things would have been quite different for both of us had I been professionally employed at that time. She would have been with me as my wife, the past couple of years would have witnessed an intimacy between us, and Zeenat would have been a reality. It would have been a different world.

But all this seems to be a dream today. Time moved on from that point and brought each of us before different realities. Sometimes I feel there are different shells of time, each running parallel to the other. There is a shell of time where Zeenat is a reality, there is a different time zone where I’ve escaped the car-accident without a head injury, and yet another shell of time where Ammi still lives.

The screeching of the door-bell brought me back to the reality. There never were different shells of time, there never would be. Life is to be lived as fate presents it before us, there are very little options. She stands before me affianced to someone else, I remain unemployed, Zeenat remains the dream she has always been, and Ammi awaits the Second Coming. But I thank Allah for all the dreams that could come true, and even for those that couldn’t. Time marches on.

The Second Coming is a poem by Keats dealing with the resurrection of Jesus Christ on The Day of the Judgment.