About ten days after Culrav, we had mid-semester examinations and a mid-semester break for Holi. Spring was in the air and the fresh smell of earth was imminently evident in every breath I took. It was a warm feeling travelling home; travelling to a place so close to the person who meant so much to me. How much had things changed in a couple of months! As I reflected upon the gaiety I rode, a smile flickered upon my face. It was more than homecoming; it was heart-coming.
I walked up and down the entire train two times. The last time I had travelled home, Sneha was seated somewhere just one coach from me, and I could not meet her. How much I repented it now! Would I ever get to meet her again! She was not there on this train at least. It had been over a year since I had last seen her and I was so sick to see her now. I wanted to ride the train; double the speed straight to Birpara.
As I recounted the two years I spent at St. James’, a feeling of anxiety and anguish filled me. When did I develop a soft corner in my heart? When did I start harboring feelings for this girl? I can recollect that when I first met her, my first impression was of an intelligent girl trying to act disciplined. Although she looked lively, she did not look very lovely and I cannot say that I fell for her the first time I saw her. Then, we started going for tuitions together and before I knew it well, I was dropping her home after tuitions as a gentlemanly gesture; nothing more than that. Then, we became good friends and then we fell apart. She felt I was advocating for Praveen and I felt she was too egocentric to think so. We kept seeing each other at the mathematics tuitions but I jumped from one exercise to another in full haste and asked her to follow. Then I left home for the Puja break.
I was met with the dreadful news only when I came back. Sneha had been admitted to a hospital in New Delhi for facial burns after doctors in Siliguri had given up hope. Two days before Diwali, as she was boiling water, an LPG cylinder had somehow exploded and boiling water fallen on her face. She had been rushed immediately to New Delhi and placed under the emergency ward. After three hours of treatment, the doctors had declared her condition out of danger, but she needed three more operations to get new skin grafted to make her look just normal. And although she never looked the same again, the doctors did enough to hide the burns. It would be another week before she would come back; one week before I could see her again. I could not be by her side at a moment she would need company most. I was taken aback.
I first heard the story from the sister in my house in Birpara; she informed me that Sneha had met with an accident and got facial burns and that she was admitted in New Delhi for skin grafting. When I first heard this story, I was furious at Praveen. “We will take care of this Sneha business.” His words echoed in my ears. He had always been a psychopath and getting some acid off the chemistry lab should have been easy work for him. I was fuming like the H2SO4 I was thinking of. I rushed to his house and must have told him a hundred things I would repent in the future. He did not understand and I found no use talking to him. I went straight to Binay from here. After the standoff with Sneha, it was Binay that I entrusted to take care of Sneha. I had confided the entire discussion I had with Praveen as well as with Sneha to him, and he had assured me that he would take care that Praveen could do no harm to Sneha. Before I could even grasp Binay to explain all that had happened, he brought out the entire story at once and it was then, that the feeling sunk in. The realization of what had happened made me sick and senseless. It was that feeling where you are enraged, satiated, out of reason, out of comfort and out of sense at the same time. It was like the sun shining brightly to make you quiver after a soggy night in the fog. I felt numb. I was satisfied that it was an accident after all, and yet so sorry for all that had happened even out of an accident. It was a feeling I could not understand for a long long time.
When Sneha came back, she was stronger than before. I wanted to hold her and make her feel comfortable but she never seemed in need. There was a smile on her face that made it difficult for me to even stand by her. It was a conniving smile, one that made you feel that things had changed, but I could not see any other change on her. She still loved the puchkas, still fought over who solved the sums faster and still was unhesitant to ask me for my copy when she fell back by an exercise or two. It was my feelings for her that had changed. Out of nowhere, a deep sense of respect had filled in where no feeling had ever harbored before. All of a sudden, she became the single most important woman after my mother, Anchal didi, Nisha didi and Khusboo, in my life; an inspiration to live on in spite of all odds and beat them.
I have had a crush on many girls right since school. I had warm feelings even for Lanisang, Preity Gupta, Sovna Khati, Bhavana, Arpana, Birana and Pratistha, to name a few. At first, Sneha appeared to occupy just the void that Pratistha had left, but it did not die out so soon. All the girls before looked sweet in a particular dress to school or on a particular afternoon, and then the more practical side of me reined in. Sneha had definitely made a difference by reining in again and again. Now, she was destined to remain forever, more as an inspiration than just a good friend. I never knew this soft side of my heart before.
The train stopped at New Jalpaiguri station. I caught an auto to Siliguri and rode home to Mirik. They say home is where the heart is. It was a very comfortable feeling to be at home.
I spent an entire week thinking of every single moment I spent at St. James. Nothing seemed more pleasant than talking to Sneha up and down the main road; from the railway track to Chowpatty and back, with a cone of ice-cream that I had trouble finishing.
And although I was absolutely clear what I needed from life now, it was a rather uncomfortable thought. The very idea that I might be in love was unnerving; the idea that this could be a flight of fantasy was unnerving still. Why did I take so long to realize this if this truly was love? I had not met her for an entire year. She had landed in the best commerce college of India and I, although not in the best, yet managed a brace. I had done better than my other friends, to say the least. What would I tell her, if I gave her a call and how would she react? I had been talking to her only infrequently and had kept in touch with her more so through Binay. He seemed to have more time to inquire about all the friends and was the best source to get reliable information. What should I do to get her attention?
I had asked her once what kind of a person she would love to live her entire life with. She had replied, the one just like herself. I fathomed that would be something difficult to achieve. She was after all, the closest someone could be to perfection. She was the topper in her class, best sportswoman in school, took part in all extra-curricular competitions and commanded the hearts of many students. I was the topper in my class at one point of time, not anymore. When it comes to sports, I have a lame leg. If I ran a 100m race, I finished 25m behind the last person running. If I ran 200m, the lag was at least 50m. I could neither jump high nor long. And I had stopped taking part in elocution and essay-writing contests ever since I stepped foot into St. James. Poetry was the one thing I still enjoyed.
After seven days at home and two days on train, I decided to stir my faltering friendship through poetry. One art she appreciated in me and the one art I knew I could do better than any other lovers who might suit her.
It wasn’t the first time I was trying, and the result of the first attempt was rather disappointing. On a warm afternoon, I had written a poem on her beauty and planned to hide it in an exercise book I knew she would ask that day. I knew Sneha would be the first person to expect in the tuition; she was always on time. So I cut short on the newspaper and copied the poem on a blank paper instead of the usual rough papers; writing in the best calligraphy, but making sure that it was still legible and folded it carefully into two. Then placing the paper carefully in the exercise book so as not to drop it by mistake, I hastened to the tuitions, five minutes before time.
To my surprise, I found Rishabh waiting there. He was usually the last one to come. He was nervous. When he saw me, a warm blush came to his face that died rather suddenly as his eyes met my cold eyes. Yes, I can be draconian at times. Almost out of instinct, he started, “Mitesh, I am not sure if I should tell this to you. I was rather expecting Sneha. We have only four months left in school now, and if I don’t tell her now, I might never be able to tell her again.”
I understood what he was up to and it broke my heart. But it would take a rather longer time for the gravity of those words to sink in. “And you think Sneha loves you as well?” I asked.
“We had run away in seventh standard. But we could run no farther than the bus stand before her parents caught hold of us and locked us. She looked more ravishing before than now, you know, but still the feelings I harbour for her are the same.”
“And you think Sneha loves you as well?” I asked.
“Well, I cannot say. And I need to stir that topic once again. It looks a little stupid, but could you help me a little? I need a poem to tell her how much I love her… Naah, leave that. That would look like a jerk. Can you write a poem highlighting her beauty, her face, those locks… All that, you poets are very good at. I know it would be difficult for you, you know, not to undermine your poetry, but you are not into such stuff, but you could do that for a friend right? And please keep it simple, for it should look like I wrote it for her.” He was pausing very unusually for me to even butt in.
“But you think Sneha loves you, right?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so. But I need a point to start on this topic again. I could continue from there on. How long would it take?”
“Well,” I took a piece of calligraphy from my notebook. “I think I have a poem a friend wrote for his girlfriend. If you like it, here it is.” Sneha was making her presence felt in the room right below. “Read quickly, she’s here.”
“It looks too chic. Okay, I’ll do without it. Thank you anyways. Just one more thing, let me drop Sneha to her home today.”
Sneha appeared on the scene with Binay and Jyoti and Rishabh hid the letter as soon as possible.
“Mitesh, I would take that exercise book today. You can continue with R.D. Sharma as I finish off these last exercises of Advantage.”
I continued my own work without looking up. One sleepless night and my head was already bumpy. Subhashish sir called to inform us that he would not be coming and we should finish a couple of exercises before leaving. Sneha jumped at the opportunity to go and Rishabh rose with her. I could feel her stare for a minute or two but I continued my own work. Rishabh mumbled something and they left.
That night, after going back from tuitions, I turned into stone. I was not sure if I had done something wrong. To put things into equation, there were two friends, apparently deeply in love with each other. What was I doing in the equation? It seemed like I was meant to be a catalyst, and now my role was over. Yet, something in my heart ached on. On my desk, a rough paper cried volumes more than I could and I had to tear it into miniscule pieces to stop daring me from holding back tears.
That was a long time ago. It looks like ages now and ever since, Sneha had wept that Rishabh should not have thought of her kiddish behavior as something as passionate as love. She had stopped talking to Rishabh for a long time since and I knew that I could be met with the same fate if I tried to stir that feeling again. In my heart, I was happy that she was still uncommitted. That was a relief. But every time I looked at Rishabh, I felt very angry as well as sorry. Was I seeing myself in his face? But there was something non-committal about my feelings that made me feel it was not exactly love. After all, how could I have given up this easily?
And that feeling had been stirred now almost sixteen months later. Just this time, it was convincing enough that it could be nothing but a feeling as passionate as love. And this time, I was in a fix of how to express myself again; to stir such a topic again. If I failed, it would be a disaster and I would lose a good friend beyond anything else. How much had things changed since, I had to gauge that first. I had to test the waters before setting sail and nothing would suit me better than poetry.
I wrote expediently, choosing the best words I could and making sure that it sounded just like me. There were a hundred feelings blossoming in my heart to be put upon paper but I had to make a careful assortment. There was no room for a mistake. I could not confide all my feelings all at once, but I had to make a start. So I started with all I had ever felt about her and just before concluding, left the parting note after which I had not seen her again. There is this board in St. James’, just as in many schools, in which they write the names of the toppers in school year after year. I had challenged her that we would find her name there the next time we came back; she had challenged that I would be the school topper. And although she had won the bet, she hardly knew what I had lost to her. I sent her a copy of the poem and waited, patiently.
Two days passed and there was no reply. She had probably not read it after all. But what if she had read it, what if I had soured all that remained between us. I ought to have been more careful, deliberately pushing all this slowly. What if she took the bet badly? Should I call her to apologize? I was already kicking myself when a bubble burst on my screen: Sneha Agarwal online.
And in a minute, I got my reply.
I walked up and down the entire train two times. The last time I had travelled home, Sneha was seated somewhere just one coach from me, and I could not meet her. How much I repented it now! Would I ever get to meet her again! She was not there on this train at least. It had been over a year since I had last seen her and I was so sick to see her now. I wanted to ride the train; double the speed straight to Birpara.
As I recounted the two years I spent at St. James’, a feeling of anxiety and anguish filled me. When did I develop a soft corner in my heart? When did I start harboring feelings for this girl? I can recollect that when I first met her, my first impression was of an intelligent girl trying to act disciplined. Although she looked lively, she did not look very lovely and I cannot say that I fell for her the first time I saw her. Then, we started going for tuitions together and before I knew it well, I was dropping her home after tuitions as a gentlemanly gesture; nothing more than that. Then, we became good friends and then we fell apart. She felt I was advocating for Praveen and I felt she was too egocentric to think so. We kept seeing each other at the mathematics tuitions but I jumped from one exercise to another in full haste and asked her to follow. Then I left home for the Puja break.
I was met with the dreadful news only when I came back. Sneha had been admitted to a hospital in New Delhi for facial burns after doctors in Siliguri had given up hope. Two days before Diwali, as she was boiling water, an LPG cylinder had somehow exploded and boiling water fallen on her face. She had been rushed immediately to New Delhi and placed under the emergency ward. After three hours of treatment, the doctors had declared her condition out of danger, but she needed three more operations to get new skin grafted to make her look just normal. And although she never looked the same again, the doctors did enough to hide the burns. It would be another week before she would come back; one week before I could see her again. I could not be by her side at a moment she would need company most. I was taken aback.
I first heard the story from the sister in my house in Birpara; she informed me that Sneha had met with an accident and got facial burns and that she was admitted in New Delhi for skin grafting. When I first heard this story, I was furious at Praveen. “We will take care of this Sneha business.” His words echoed in my ears. He had always been a psychopath and getting some acid off the chemistry lab should have been easy work for him. I was fuming like the H2SO4 I was thinking of. I rushed to his house and must have told him a hundred things I would repent in the future. He did not understand and I found no use talking to him. I went straight to Binay from here. After the standoff with Sneha, it was Binay that I entrusted to take care of Sneha. I had confided the entire discussion I had with Praveen as well as with Sneha to him, and he had assured me that he would take care that Praveen could do no harm to Sneha. Before I could even grasp Binay to explain all that had happened, he brought out the entire story at once and it was then, that the feeling sunk in. The realization of what had happened made me sick and senseless. It was that feeling where you are enraged, satiated, out of reason, out of comfort and out of sense at the same time. It was like the sun shining brightly to make you quiver after a soggy night in the fog. I felt numb. I was satisfied that it was an accident after all, and yet so sorry for all that had happened even out of an accident. It was a feeling I could not understand for a long long time.
When Sneha came back, she was stronger than before. I wanted to hold her and make her feel comfortable but she never seemed in need. There was a smile on her face that made it difficult for me to even stand by her. It was a conniving smile, one that made you feel that things had changed, but I could not see any other change on her. She still loved the puchkas, still fought over who solved the sums faster and still was unhesitant to ask me for my copy when she fell back by an exercise or two. It was my feelings for her that had changed. Out of nowhere, a deep sense of respect had filled in where no feeling had ever harbored before. All of a sudden, she became the single most important woman after my mother, Anchal didi, Nisha didi and Khusboo, in my life; an inspiration to live on in spite of all odds and beat them.
I have had a crush on many girls right since school. I had warm feelings even for Lanisang, Preity Gupta, Sovna Khati, Bhavana, Arpana, Birana and Pratistha, to name a few. At first, Sneha appeared to occupy just the void that Pratistha had left, but it did not die out so soon. All the girls before looked sweet in a particular dress to school or on a particular afternoon, and then the more practical side of me reined in. Sneha had definitely made a difference by reining in again and again. Now, she was destined to remain forever, more as an inspiration than just a good friend. I never knew this soft side of my heart before.
The train stopped at New Jalpaiguri station. I caught an auto to Siliguri and rode home to Mirik. They say home is where the heart is. It was a very comfortable feeling to be at home.
I spent an entire week thinking of every single moment I spent at St. James. Nothing seemed more pleasant than talking to Sneha up and down the main road; from the railway track to Chowpatty and back, with a cone of ice-cream that I had trouble finishing.
And although I was absolutely clear what I needed from life now, it was a rather uncomfortable thought. The very idea that I might be in love was unnerving; the idea that this could be a flight of fantasy was unnerving still. Why did I take so long to realize this if this truly was love? I had not met her for an entire year. She had landed in the best commerce college of India and I, although not in the best, yet managed a brace. I had done better than my other friends, to say the least. What would I tell her, if I gave her a call and how would she react? I had been talking to her only infrequently and had kept in touch with her more so through Binay. He seemed to have more time to inquire about all the friends and was the best source to get reliable information. What should I do to get her attention?
I had asked her once what kind of a person she would love to live her entire life with. She had replied, the one just like herself. I fathomed that would be something difficult to achieve. She was after all, the closest someone could be to perfection. She was the topper in her class, best sportswoman in school, took part in all extra-curricular competitions and commanded the hearts of many students. I was the topper in my class at one point of time, not anymore. When it comes to sports, I have a lame leg. If I ran a 100m race, I finished 25m behind the last person running. If I ran 200m, the lag was at least 50m. I could neither jump high nor long. And I had stopped taking part in elocution and essay-writing contests ever since I stepped foot into St. James. Poetry was the one thing I still enjoyed.
After seven days at home and two days on train, I decided to stir my faltering friendship through poetry. One art she appreciated in me and the one art I knew I could do better than any other lovers who might suit her.
It wasn’t the first time I was trying, and the result of the first attempt was rather disappointing. On a warm afternoon, I had written a poem on her beauty and planned to hide it in an exercise book I knew she would ask that day. I knew Sneha would be the first person to expect in the tuition; she was always on time. So I cut short on the newspaper and copied the poem on a blank paper instead of the usual rough papers; writing in the best calligraphy, but making sure that it was still legible and folded it carefully into two. Then placing the paper carefully in the exercise book so as not to drop it by mistake, I hastened to the tuitions, five minutes before time.
To my surprise, I found Rishabh waiting there. He was usually the last one to come. He was nervous. When he saw me, a warm blush came to his face that died rather suddenly as his eyes met my cold eyes. Yes, I can be draconian at times. Almost out of instinct, he started, “Mitesh, I am not sure if I should tell this to you. I was rather expecting Sneha. We have only four months left in school now, and if I don’t tell her now, I might never be able to tell her again.”
I understood what he was up to and it broke my heart. But it would take a rather longer time for the gravity of those words to sink in. “And you think Sneha loves you as well?” I asked.
“We had run away in seventh standard. But we could run no farther than the bus stand before her parents caught hold of us and locked us. She looked more ravishing before than now, you know, but still the feelings I harbour for her are the same.”
“And you think Sneha loves you as well?” I asked.
“Well, I cannot say. And I need to stir that topic once again. It looks a little stupid, but could you help me a little? I need a poem to tell her how much I love her… Naah, leave that. That would look like a jerk. Can you write a poem highlighting her beauty, her face, those locks… All that, you poets are very good at. I know it would be difficult for you, you know, not to undermine your poetry, but you are not into such stuff, but you could do that for a friend right? And please keep it simple, for it should look like I wrote it for her.” He was pausing very unusually for me to even butt in.
“But you think Sneha loves you, right?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so. But I need a point to start on this topic again. I could continue from there on. How long would it take?”
“Well,” I took a piece of calligraphy from my notebook. “I think I have a poem a friend wrote for his girlfriend. If you like it, here it is.” Sneha was making her presence felt in the room right below. “Read quickly, she’s here.”
“It looks too chic. Okay, I’ll do without it. Thank you anyways. Just one more thing, let me drop Sneha to her home today.”
Sneha appeared on the scene with Binay and Jyoti and Rishabh hid the letter as soon as possible.
“Mitesh, I would take that exercise book today. You can continue with R.D. Sharma as I finish off these last exercises of Advantage.”
I continued my own work without looking up. One sleepless night and my head was already bumpy. Subhashish sir called to inform us that he would not be coming and we should finish a couple of exercises before leaving. Sneha jumped at the opportunity to go and Rishabh rose with her. I could feel her stare for a minute or two but I continued my own work. Rishabh mumbled something and they left.
That night, after going back from tuitions, I turned into stone. I was not sure if I had done something wrong. To put things into equation, there were two friends, apparently deeply in love with each other. What was I doing in the equation? It seemed like I was meant to be a catalyst, and now my role was over. Yet, something in my heart ached on. On my desk, a rough paper cried volumes more than I could and I had to tear it into miniscule pieces to stop daring me from holding back tears.
That was a long time ago. It looks like ages now and ever since, Sneha had wept that Rishabh should not have thought of her kiddish behavior as something as passionate as love. She had stopped talking to Rishabh for a long time since and I knew that I could be met with the same fate if I tried to stir that feeling again. In my heart, I was happy that she was still uncommitted. That was a relief. But every time I looked at Rishabh, I felt very angry as well as sorry. Was I seeing myself in his face? But there was something non-committal about my feelings that made me feel it was not exactly love. After all, how could I have given up this easily?
And that feeling had been stirred now almost sixteen months later. Just this time, it was convincing enough that it could be nothing but a feeling as passionate as love. And this time, I was in a fix of how to express myself again; to stir such a topic again. If I failed, it would be a disaster and I would lose a good friend beyond anything else. How much had things changed since, I had to gauge that first. I had to test the waters before setting sail and nothing would suit me better than poetry.
I wrote expediently, choosing the best words I could and making sure that it sounded just like me. There were a hundred feelings blossoming in my heart to be put upon paper but I had to make a careful assortment. There was no room for a mistake. I could not confide all my feelings all at once, but I had to make a start. So I started with all I had ever felt about her and just before concluding, left the parting note after which I had not seen her again. There is this board in St. James’, just as in many schools, in which they write the names of the toppers in school year after year. I had challenged her that we would find her name there the next time we came back; she had challenged that I would be the school topper. And although she had won the bet, she hardly knew what I had lost to her. I sent her a copy of the poem and waited, patiently.
Two days passed and there was no reply. She had probably not read it after all. But what if she had read it, what if I had soured all that remained between us. I ought to have been more careful, deliberately pushing all this slowly. What if she took the bet badly? Should I call her to apologize? I was already kicking myself when a bubble burst on my screen: Sneha Agarwal online.
And in a minute, I got my reply.