I remember it like it was yesterday. We’re at a party, dancing with gay abandon-arms around each other. For some reason, I decide it would be a good idea to head-bang to a Bollywood song. By the time I realize, it’s too late. You fly under a pair of feet. The two murderers trample you. Your eye-lens pops out of your socket. I can’t see it. Literally.
*Pause for effect*
You did not survive the night. To the tune of Badtameez Dil, you left this world for the heavens. Along with the little sense of rhythm I had. I refused to break down. I refused to stop dancing. I danced in your memory, vision blurred, all night long- or at least till the security guards shooed us away.
I remember when I first met you. It was at a posh store in Jubilee Hills. I was just a dork in a frumpy school uniform which went past my knees (Yes. My parents were strict) and oiled hair. It was love at first sight. Your delicate frame. Your Armani pedigree…I still have no idea why you stayed. Was it my money? I prefer to believe otherwise. My mother was against the alliance. Said you were a gold-digger. Said you’d rob me blind and run for the hills. I refused to listen. They relented. Some thousands later, you were finally mine.
You were different from my exes- that I understood right away. You didn’t make me feel like the nerd I was- I simply felt cooler, sexier and smarter around you. You stood by me through thick and thin. You saw me transform from geek to class beauty. You were the reason I lived. You didn’t mind when I wet your face with my tears. Or when I forgot to give you a bath. Or even when I took them scantily clad Lomb boys to parties- as if I were ashamed to be seen with you. You paid no heed to such indiscretions. You knew my heart was yours. I took that for granted. Please forgive me.
I saw you age as I grew into a young woman. You lost some of your beautiful orange sheen, exposing your dull gray innards. You underwent multiple surgeries and organ replacements- some of them my own fault. Again, please forgive me. I wasn’t all that bad, I guess. I stuck by you when you lost half your screws- God knows I haven’t any myself.
Describing our four years together would take eons. Plus, I don’t remember half of it. I shall have to suffice with the last month of your beautiful life. Which might as well been mine, for we never spent a waking moment apart. I was a fresh(wo)man at college. Still am, actually. With you, I saw the people we would stay with for the next four years. I saw our temporary lodgings- cramped, with four people- the fourth was of your kind- you two never really spoke. I saw the beetle the size of my fist near the entrance, and the canoodling frogs and cats near the bathrooms. And the more glamorous deer and peacocks during my morning bicycle rides. I saw the lessons on the board- I tried, at least- I always had to move closer for a better look. I saw the basketball flying onto my face numerous times. I saw the endless orientations, the underrated mess food. I could, but did not see the cow dung I stepped in my first week here. I saw it all, all with you.
Even your support and guidance were not enough to see some things. I did not see the time the activities and orientations and sports would take up. I did not see the clock strike twelve, as I worked away at my assignments (The fact that I don’t even have a clock is an another issue altogether). I did not see the value of the Bournvita dabba at the back of my Godrej almirah. I did not see the importance of putting the keys to said almirah in its rightful place. Even so, I loved you.
I did not see the surprise quizzes and mountains of assignments coming. Or the moods of Those-Who Shall-Not-Be-Named. I did not see the value of saying ‘no’. I did not see, until you left me forever, how lucky I was to stay near our previous abode- it was my parents who helped me move on; they had grown to love you, by the way. I still love you- I always will. I think I shall stop here.
Farewell, my sweet, my love, king of all spectacles. I shall always cherish our short time together. People think I have moved on. They may be excused for that erroneous presumption- I have another one now. They say we make a good pair. That I’m better off with him. To me, his brown exterior, nondescript lineage and tattoos on both arms (I haven’t decided whether it’s a fish or jaguar yet- I may never know) only remind me of your glory. I spend too much time with the Lomb boys. Just to get away from the memories; to dull the pain-….
Spectacles may come and go, but I will always be your chashmish.