Not so much to reflect on incidents you would rather put at the back of your mind and forget. Not even to render those incidents into words terse enough to reflect their gravity. It takes a lot of courage to convince people who know you naught, that it IS the story of your life.
But I will start again.
I fell in love with a beautiful girl called Sneha but I did not have the audacity to tell her so. I waited for the right moment, like most people do and then one day, I slipped the news. She was rather calm and relaxed. It was only the lull before the storm.
From that day on, every time I talked to her, a sense of regret filled me. Fuelled by sentiment, I’d poured my heart out. Now in the light of reason, I know of no reason why I’d made the move. I had neither a job, nor a stable future --- In fact, I was yet to start my career. She was sensible in telling me that she wasn’t ready for an answer yet. But each time I talked to her, I felt I was pressing her to force a decision. I stopped talking to her altogether.
And then, Binay completed his course in chartered accountancy. That same year, Sneha completed her graduation. They came close to each other, and broke up. The news was so hyper-inflated that somebody as ill-connected as me, came close to almost fifteen people who told me of various reasons, why they might have split. To me, it came as a surprise that my closest buddies (once upon a time) had ever come so close to a knot; neither had mentioned it once, except in absolute satire or good humour. One week later, I landed myself a handsome job with a reputed manufacturing giant in India. I called my parents, relatives, brothers, sisters and friends I’d been in touch; and I called Binay and Sneha.
I was angry with Binay. He had hurt my trust. Yet, speaking to him, I could feel nothing but pity for him. He spoke in hushed tones, concealing pain in forceful laughter and wry comments that did not strike a chord like they once did. Sneha was calm and composed as usual. Although I no longer felt reluctant to speak to her, she still inspired awe that only a rare combination of beauty and brains can command. I hung up within a minute or so because I did not want to appear to be pushing my case forward. She had put me on hold for too long; I was happy that I had not finished like Binay.
I resumed conversation with Binay and Sneha only in the final year of my engineering course. Three years had hardened the Mitesh, who had once entered like a piece of raw ore that you could shape the way you wanted. Put into a furnace, blasted and treated, wrought, beaten, annealed and tempered and finally quenched, Mitesh had learned the ways of life and adapted to them. Where there was an introvert once, here was a highly gregarious networker now. Where there was a God-fearing monk before, here was a radical scientist now. Where a good boy had entered, an ambitious man had emerged. The aims had changed. The behavior had changed. But what can never be changed is the heart.
I started writing about Binay and Sneha not because I wanted to pave a way for myself again. I wanted to come out clean, in what appears like a dirty game. I tried, and when Sneha said stop, I put my Remington down. But the story is far from complete; I need to complete it. This story is far from love, love, love alone.. It would be a sorry affair if it had been so. It’s about friendship and ego and conspiracy and hours of gossip that makes up an eventful life I’ve enjoyed.
So, with the wind blowing from the north again, I start again herewith to complete what I once started. How far would I succeed? May be only to the point we call history; may be not even close to that; it’s not in our hands to complete our stories and I hope the God who holds root access to my directories, would give me enough power to keep my command prompt running for long enough.