From Victim to Offender - III

Time Jump....45 days later

It was a weekend and for some reason weekends seemed harder to go by than normal work days. As usual she was taking a walk in the twilight on the roof, watching those planes go by- wondering... if he ever thought about her. As if by voluntary action she checked the mobile for any missed calls, his calls. None. It has been 40+5 days but the situation had showed no signs of improving-maybe she was an exception to the principle of "A habit is formed in 40 days". She still felt all that - intense love, intense hate, desire to call, desire to kick him. The same rawness of not just one but a whole gamut of emotions.She still day dreamed about them being married and things being all right. Pages after pages in her diary had been filled up and when she looked back she suspected that the action of writing was more directed at killing time and preserving her sanity; than as a reflection to her thoughts. A particular phase she had written often caught her attention

....ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बहुराष्ट्रीय संस्था में कार्यकारी हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गई हूँ जो अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गई है....

That was probably the only sentence(if not only than maybe the first) in Hindi in her diary. She had taken all that trouble to find the Hindi words and then print them out correctly in a neat handwriting when all of it could be written in English easily.

The wind carried traces of television playing in the neighbourhood and kitchens being invaded for the preparation of the evening meals. Suddenly she heard क्यूँ आज कल नींद कम ख्वाब ज्यादा हैं...लगता है खुदा का कोई नेक इरादा है...कल तक फकीर आज दिल शैज़दा है...and it almost broke her heart. All over again. How many times had she and Aashray sat and listened to this number because...Because it reflected their emotions, what they felt. Her emotions...she thought bitterly. For him, it was just a song. Things would have been so different if he would have thought of it something more than a foot tapping number...But then that was a mere song...she should not expect such things from a guy who dumps his girlfriend....

The next day being Monday was a busy one. There were new joinings in the office and she was to handle the induction of those 10 guys. Huh!! These software engineers they would ask a thousand stupid questions about salary, tax, earnings, benefits and leaves. Most of them were just out of college maybe with a year or two of experience and were earning nothing less than 20 lakhs/annum and yet all they could think was....did they not have anything else to think of? No heartbreaks? No affairs? Lucky them...

During the induction meeting she could not help but look at a particular guy. His name was Jatin and he had that poetic air,around him (no no...that was not the right word. The right word was मजनू-even though on the surface he was smiling, was shaved and dressed in formals). More than once they held each other's gaze and there was nothing intimidating or flirtatious about it. Infact it was a comfort...a comfort that generates from a similar loss...as if he was saying......ऐसा लग रहा है की ज़िन्दगी की कश्ती कहीं बीच अनजान समंदर में गोते खा रही है....मुझे याद ही नहीं रहता की मैं एक बैठक में हूँ. मैं तो बस एक नाविक बन कर रह गया हूँ जो तुम्हारी तरह अपनी भावनाओ के चक्रवात में फंस गया है...

Over the next few days they saw a lot of each other...more by design than by chance. He would come to her often with questions and she would drop at his seat just to check if he was comfortable in the new environment. They would talk a lot about work and while they did the eyes carried a conversation of their own. Something like:

जतिन : बहुत दर्द होता है ना जब कोई अपना चला जाता है?
एकता : हाँ...तुम्हें भी ना?
जतिन : हाँ...पता नहीं कब मैं आगे बढ़ पाऊँगा..उसको भुलाकर.
एकता : मैं तुम्हारे आंसू कैसे कम करुं...मैं तो खुद ही अपने रस्ते से भटक गई हूं

Then one Friday, some 2 months while she was working late and everyone else had left...he walked into her room. Without a preamble or as much as a hi, he asked her if she would like to join him for a coffee the next day..so that they could share something that he felt would make things better. She agreed instantly and did not even ask what was that something. She knew...no "they" knew the pain...the pain when a song stops being a song and becomes a memory lane. When familiar roads become an unbearable sight for they hold too many emotions. When....

The next morning she woke up happier and excited than in several weeks. She questioned herself on her "status" Was she still the "torn lover" or was she the one who could sniff love in the air? After several seconds of deliberation she decided she should get ready for the meeting. The question could be answered later..at night.

It was good to talk to him. Plus there was no awkwardness...it was as if they had known each other all along...thanks to those random "eye conversations". He never asked her if she had a boyfriend...instead he asked "so how long it has been?" Her question could have meant anything...but she answered "4 months...he left me because his parents did not want him to marry in another caste....maybe" That set it off...the conversation had finally moved from the eyes to mouth...and their was no looking back...they shared stories, they held hands and consoled each other for what had not been their fate.

In another couple of days they were "seeing each other".Kind of. No, they have been too hurt to express love openly...after all love was not a verbal thing, it was in their silence, their eye to eye conversations. Then one day while they were walking in the Lodhi Gardens, he kissed her, gently on the cheek. She did not restrain his moves, for she was busy crying. It was as if some dam had just broken and had flooded the world...her eyes, her heart....For a moment, Jatin thought, he should not have done that and even said "Shit...I am sorry...I did not intend to do this...oh please stop crying....forgive me" bur she just drew him closer, while her body was racked with sobs. Jatin still unsure asked "Did I hurt you?" She nodded in negative and hugged him tighter even as the crescendo of the wails increased. So Jatin let it be....his heart knew she was trying to spend as many as tears as possible so that they do not come in the way of her life, so that they do not blind her anymore in between important meetings, so that she can link new memories to old songs, so that she can start all over again.

For Ekta, life was finally moving. Jatin had not said a word about the particular incident, nor had he made any further moves. He still smiled and their eyes still carried out conversations (more cheerful ones) but for one reason or another they could not meet each other over the next few weekends. Then one day when she came to office she saw a mail from Jatin. To say she was surprised was an understatement.

Dear Ekta,

A thousand thoughts run as I write this mail, sitting at the airport. As you might be aware, I am not in office today. I left...left the company, left the country...left you. I should have but did not tell you that I had applied for PR in Australia. I can give a thousand reasons why I did that but then I will give none...Choose the reason that suits you best...maybe because you were the HR and I could get into trouble if I told you all this, maybe because I did not want you to be lost in the ocean again...when you had just managed to emerge...maybe because there was someone else in my life...maybe....

Take good care of yourself. You shall always be in my prayers.

Jatin

She did not know what to make out of it. She did not even know how should she react to this mail. Should she write back (if at all) saying "take care, bbye...it was nice knowing you" or should she write a mail full of obscenities? And why did he leave...like that? What reason should she choose from the ones he had provided?

Several hours later when she was in her bed and sleep refused to come after 2 pegs of neat vodka she decided that the problem was not of Aashray or Jatin or any Tom, Dick or Harry. The problem was with...what did they call it? मर्द जात. साले सब के सब **** होते हैं. As sleep enfolded her, her last thoughts were of jotting down "some things sound so much better in one language than another".

But then was she filling the pages more to kill time and to preserve her sanity than as a reflection to her thoughts?

(to be continued)