A whiff of white on a stack of black hair, a dash of red stripe on a grey t-shirt, blue denim, blue loafers and buckets of swag -- such was Arjun. His voice smoothly gruff, his charisma undying and his career as solid as his Ford -- steel grey, unassuming. For most of his rare spare time, he preferred playing carrom in the club. In fact, he was so fascinated with the game that in his flat too, in the balcony, he placed a professional sized square, well protected from rain and shine and complete with an overhead light. All his relationships, whether they blossomed or withered, did from that board.
Anandi, whenever she thought of Arjun, thought of his voice compassionately companioned by the sound of the striker hitting one of the object disks, slightly guided by night car horns and neighbouring TVs. She could never fathom where they stood in the game of life. They were, perhaps, like the folds of an ironed shirt, creased, an associating presence, nevertheless invisible. Or the striking sound off Arjun's carrom board.
They were in two different cities now, leading separate lives of sealed happiness. Coated with sugar, their individual success. But they were miserable on evenings when Arjun played a game of board with himself, walking on either ends, itching to dial Anandi, and Anandi on flights and drop-offs in new cities, looking into her phone screen, achingly. Eleven months into their verbal discontinuity, they met. It was in the New Delhi airport on the same flight counter for two different flights that they stood in a queue. One was flying to Bangalore, while the other to Mumbai.
Having got their respective boarding passes and steaming intensity covered, they lurked in the momentary awkwardness of paper coffee cups and dunking cookies. It was Anandi who came up with the proposal, "let us meet!" Like erswhile promises, this one was exchanged too. The following Friday they decided to be at Coorg.
The sexy, striking, interim hours were like a dream, deep. The moment of pocket ended in one too. What remained was the sound of unkept promises, one never knows from which end.
They were in two different cities now, leading separate lives of sealed happiness. Coated with sugar, their individual success. But they were miserable on evenings when Arjun played a game of board with himself, walking on either ends, itching to dial Anandi, and Anandi on flights and drop-offs in new cities, looking into her phone screen, achingly. Eleven months into their verbal discontinuity, they met. It was in the New Delhi airport on the same flight counter for two different flights that they stood in a queue. One was flying to Bangalore, while the other to Mumbai.
Having got their respective boarding passes and steaming intensity covered, they lurked in the momentary awkwardness of paper coffee cups and dunking cookies. It was Anandi who came up with the proposal, "let us meet!" Like erswhile promises, this one was exchanged too. The following Friday they decided to be at Coorg.
The sexy, striking, interim hours were like a dream, deep. The moment of pocket ended in one too. What remained was the sound of unkept promises, one never knows from which end.
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