Animesh,
Is it that I went ahead and enrolled myself into Literature that this letter speaks what it will, while you, you chose the Joint and never bothered to voice what we all know you feel? Well, someone must take a first step, and I decided, no harm in being a leader! We are what, in our ample thirties now? I have had my share of sex, if you think that is what has propelled this, and quite a handful, really. I am not too sure about you though. I would have, had you gone ahead with that PhD programme in Colorado. How do I know? Animesh, surely, you did not think I would not, did you?
So sex subtracted, it is after all the holier stupidity of love that I confess brings me back. You are in the midst of capital gains now, seeping in the Delhi winter, and as Facebook confirms, in fantastic jackets. We have been friends for over seven years on it, did you notice? They missed the previous seven in the neighbourhood. The neighbourhood which only had the two of us not playing football and going for the theater festival instead. Of that one late teenage passion-wrapped kiss in my room, which stands like a soliloquy to all that could have been, can be still...
I teach in a college here, your parents must have informed you? Full-time. The pay isn't quite like what you corporate-geeks get, but it is sufficient. I have also bought a flat, a two-room extravaganza with two bathrooms and two balconies. It is on the sixth floor of a high-rise condominium, nothing quite like our neighbourhood, but it holds promises. Pockets of promises. It spells life, and love and companionship. It is, simply put, homely. So, on my way to the college this morning, I chose to travel earlier than necessary. The morning streets have a different character.
Almost magically, the chaos of a flea market came alive. Rows of track pants greeted the sight, out of thin air. An old man, with the aura of king, sat smoking his bidi over stacks of pant pieces, resembling bricks, making his throne. Next was a line of lungis. As my car stopped (I bought a Verna in the meantime, black), the street was a symphony of stripes, and thicker stripes, and fatter stripes and stripes across stripes -- blue, green, orange, red -- and challenging, thinner stripes in golden hue. It was a criss-cross paradise, Animesh, one in which I felt Arabyesque (you would not know -- Araby is a short story by James Joyce). There were multiple epiphanies (look up the word) -- of which, one was you. I had crossed over to the shoe section now, first a generous helping of heels, followed by baby toes and finally heavy duty boots. Calcutta is over-prepared for its effervescent, playful winter.
The first class was a hit, students adore me anyway. And then the epiphany returned. I never stopped thinking about you. It was Vasudha, my sister -- she is happily married now -- who mentioned you last Sunday, with an equal sense of music and camaraderie. Are you happy? I am, I won't lie. But I do not feel complete, and when I think in retrospect, only your being, made me feel so.
Care to think of us?
Thinking of you,
Adhir.
Is it that I went ahead and enrolled myself into Literature that this letter speaks what it will, while you, you chose the Joint and never bothered to voice what we all know you feel? Well, someone must take a first step, and I decided, no harm in being a leader! We are what, in our ample thirties now? I have had my share of sex, if you think that is what has propelled this, and quite a handful, really. I am not too sure about you though. I would have, had you gone ahead with that PhD programme in Colorado. How do I know? Animesh, surely, you did not think I would not, did you?
So sex subtracted, it is after all the holier stupidity of love that I confess brings me back. You are in the midst of capital gains now, seeping in the Delhi winter, and as Facebook confirms, in fantastic jackets. We have been friends for over seven years on it, did you notice? They missed the previous seven in the neighbourhood. The neighbourhood which only had the two of us not playing football and going for the theater festival instead. Of that one late teenage passion-wrapped kiss in my room, which stands like a soliloquy to all that could have been, can be still...
I teach in a college here, your parents must have informed you? Full-time. The pay isn't quite like what you corporate-geeks get, but it is sufficient. I have also bought a flat, a two-room extravaganza with two bathrooms and two balconies. It is on the sixth floor of a high-rise condominium, nothing quite like our neighbourhood, but it holds promises. Pockets of promises. It spells life, and love and companionship. It is, simply put, homely. So, on my way to the college this morning, I chose to travel earlier than necessary. The morning streets have a different character.
Almost magically, the chaos of a flea market came alive. Rows of track pants greeted the sight, out of thin air. An old man, with the aura of king, sat smoking his bidi over stacks of pant pieces, resembling bricks, making his throne. Next was a line of lungis. As my car stopped (I bought a Verna in the meantime, black), the street was a symphony of stripes, and thicker stripes, and fatter stripes and stripes across stripes -- blue, green, orange, red -- and challenging, thinner stripes in golden hue. It was a criss-cross paradise, Animesh, one in which I felt Arabyesque (you would not know -- Araby is a short story by James Joyce). There were multiple epiphanies (look up the word) -- of which, one was you. I had crossed over to the shoe section now, first a generous helping of heels, followed by baby toes and finally heavy duty boots. Calcutta is over-prepared for its effervescent, playful winter.
The first class was a hit, students adore me anyway. And then the epiphany returned. I never stopped thinking about you. It was Vasudha, my sister -- she is happily married now -- who mentioned you last Sunday, with an equal sense of music and camaraderie. Are you happy? I am, I won't lie. But I do not feel complete, and when I think in retrospect, only your being, made me feel so.
Care to think of us?
Thinking of you,
Adhir.
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