the Thinker

Tired and exhausted, he walked out of his office, towards the parking lot for two-wheelers. It had been a busy day at the office. His colleague, Nadim informed him yesterday about the latest rumours circulating in the office.

“The new promotion list is being finalized, it seems you are in for one. So when do we get our treat?” Nadim had asked.

“Come on yaar! They haven’t announced the list officially as yet,” he shrugged off.

It was almost 6:30 pm, as he started walking out of his office.

‘Two-wheelers to be parked here,’ said a board as he approached the parking lot, which was situated towards the backside of the main building.

Some of his friends thought that it was a luxury to drive on one’s bike everyday to office, covering a distance of 12 kms, both ways.

“You drive from home to office and office to home everyday on your bike, that might be costing a fortune,” asked Shikha, one of his collegues, the other day.

Whenever these people came up with such comments, he used to laugh it off and they would misunderstand him.

“That guy has got so much of attitude.” He overheard one of his colleagues yesterday. All those conversations and remarks buzzed in his ear as he drove back home.

“How ignorant could people be, refusing to accept a person for what he is,” he thought as he drove silently. Evenings were pretty pleasant. The cool breeze kissed his skin, soothing his senses. It always relaxed him, and in a strange way reminded him of his home.

As he speeded across the flyover towards his home, and turned right, he came across the dingy slum. He crossed this slum every morning and evening. It was a complete contrast to the place where he was coming from.

Compared to the neat, sophisticated air-conditioned space, which constituted his office, this appeared to be some kind of a dungeon. These were small chain of small dwellings, huddled together. The people living here were a sharp contrast to the kind of people he interacted with, throughout the day.

The dark surroundings of this area appeared suffocating sometimes, and at other times, mysterious. He used to slow down his bike purposely, whenever he would cross this area. He knew it was a strange habit. But he could not help it. There was this strange attraction he felt towards this area and it squalor.

The slum covered a long stretch on this street. Sometimes while traveling he felt that it would never end. His senses would experience different vibrations simultaneously. It was a synesthetic effect that aroused him. As he went ahead swiftly, he heard a woman screaming cantankerously at some fellow. He could not relate to her tone somehow.

However, as he moved ahead, he saw a bunch of kids from the slum playing in the middle of the street. Their screams and giggles captivated him, every time he would pass through this lane. He did not know why or how they managed to drag him 12 years down the memory line, back to his school days.

Somehow, in their voices, echoed the voices of his classmates who would rush out of the classroom at the sound of the closing bell. While everyone used to pack their bags and walk out quickly with their friends, one boy would remain seated in the second-last bench of the class, silently. He used to do that everyday.

The reason for his delay was standing near the first bench, far away from his bench. A girl stood near the first bench, picking up her books slowly from the desk, ready to leave for home.

He did not know whether she was beautiful or not. He did not know much about girls. Most of the times the girls whom he found beautiful, were the most ordinary ones to his friends. When he saw her for the first time, he could not guess whether his friends would consider her pretty or not. Sometimes, he could not understand why people were not liked for what they are.

But he knew for sure that he felt differently about her than he has ever felt for any other girl. He could not define what he felt for her, but it was certainly something he had never experienced before.

For the past one year, he used to quietly sneak a view at her, from the last bench. It was not that he was bad in studies, because of which he sat at the end of the class. In fact, he was very likable to everyone. His class teacher had told him several times to sit in the front bench.

“Arun, why do you sit at there, come and sit here in the front row, you were the class topper this semester,” his teacher would tell him lovingly.

“No sir, I am fine here, actually I can see the board better from here,” he replied quietly. The girl’s would giggle at his words, and some of the guys would snigger. He could never understand why.

He was not acting modest or anything. In fact he hated when people raised him to a pedestal, and then kept pestering him to perform better and better. His father would force him to stay awake till twelve in the night, during his exams.

The results were clearly reflected in his report card. He stood first most of the times. Everyone would look up to him with awe, as if he was some kind of an extra-terrestrial creature or something. Some of the guys in his class would view him with an expression similar to envy. He had only a few people, whom he could call friends.

He silence sometimes gave some of his classmates the impression that he must one of those typical arrogant guys. He knew about them, and he really wanted to break their illusion. He wanted friends badly but not the ones, who wanted to be with him only to get hold of his notes.

He was tired of being the class topper; he wanted a respite from it. He hated it, when his father would interrupt him, as he would be leaving for the football ground.

“This time your marks were slightly lower in Chemistry. Certain chapters in Geography too need revision. Come back soon from your match, I think we need to work on these two subjects,” said his father.

Somehow he always felt that his life was bonded with conditions. He had to excel in studies, even though he did not want to. He had to be in the good books of the teachers, though he wanted to stay away from them most of the time. He had to be the role model for all other students, as one who could be pointed at as an example, by their parents.

He desperately needed a breather. Hence he made the first move by shifting to one of the last rows in the class. However, his disgust against his star status was not the only reason that made him sit behind everyone.

It was also because; he could steal a glimpse at her from behind. She got into his school a year back. The day he saw her, all his desperation suddenly melted away. God had answered his prayers by sending a very unusual distraction.

He had seen her for the first time, in the library. She was asking the librarian whether he had some good reference book for Economics or not. God bless the fellow, he could not understand which book was being referred to, and therefore he directed her towards him (Arun).

“He is the topper from your class, go and ask him, he would know,” said the librarian.

She walked up quietly to him. At first he did not even realize that someone was standing before him. He was engrossed in his assignment. Suddenly he heard someone cough, as if to attract attention.

He looked up and saw her.

“Hello, I am Nishi. I am new in your class,” she said and paused looking uncertain, as if she did not know what to say next. He waited patiently. She handed him a small shred of a paper, on which the name of a book was written.

“I was searching for this book, I asked the librarian, but he said he has never heard of this book. Can you tell me, where can I get it? Or if there is some other reference book which is better?” she looked at him hopefully.

“I have this book at home, I shall get it for you,” he said. Suddenly, he was amazed at himself. He had never been so spontaneous, when it came to helping people with their notes, books or assignments, before this. He always refrained himself from doing so, in order to escape from all that flattery and superficial comments that they would confer upon him.

But what had happened to him all of a sudden. Why didn’t he react similarly to her? After all, she was also another one of them, asking for his help.

“Are you sure that you can give it to me? I mean I wanted it for the test we have, day after tomorrow. Won’t you need it,” she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

He found himself listening to her voice very intently. He looked up at her eyes. She had light brown eyes, which were filled with concern at that moment. Her voice reminded him of his mother’s voice. Whenever, he would rush in the morning for school without finishing his breakfast, his mother would ask him in a similar tone, that whether so little breakfast sustain him till the lunch break?

“I have read that book several times, so I do not need to read it again. I will get it for you, tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, and slowly walked off away from him. After she left, he looked back at his copy and tried to concentrate. But, his mind kept dwindling here and there. He had looked up at her only once.

But her face and voice were registered in his mind. She had a yellowish-wheatish complexion, one that reminded him of fresh corns. He felt weird, but he could not find any other comparison.

The next thing he thought about, were her eyes. He had never paid any special attention to anyone’ s looks before this. But then, she had this fairly large, light brown pair of quizzical eyes. He kept remembering them all the while, he could not understand why.

The next day, he clutched the book that she has asked for protectively in his hand, scared that someone else might ask for it.

When the recess bell rang, people ran out of the class, half in the school playground. Others took their lunch boxes and walked out in a merry mood. Only he was tensed. Somehow, he always thought that thinking makes a person hungry.

Previously when he used to sit and ponder over a problem or sum, after sometime, he always felt like munching something. They had a double math period before the recess bell, but still he was not hungry that day. He walked up to her slowly, and tried his best to hide the tension, which was transparent on his face.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She turned at him.

Okay folks, this post is a kind of a preface (If I am allowed to call it one), after two of my ‘love’ stories, which I presume most of you found sensible enough. Ideally, this should come after my third story, on which I am working right now. But then, I thought that it is necessary to push this post ahead. The reasons for doing so-I shall discuss one by one as I move ahead with my post.

I was really flattered, when I saw so many comments on my stories. Meanwhile, it was not only the complimentary ones, which I am talking about. Some people revealed their critical outlook, for which I am thankful.

I guess the first story; ‘The Smile,’ deals not only with the idea of falling in love, but also with the theme of wish fulfillment. I guess falling in love with a person and a desire to receive love from them in return, is strongly related to this idea, which many of us nurture.

Its not only about falling in love, but the desire for wish fulfillment, that plays a major role in the formation of many of our emotions. It is concept, which we hear about right from our childhood, when we listen to fairytales, especially the Cinderella story. I do not know how many men such tales affect, but I am sure that girls certainly are affected. Sometimes it may rouse in us, a desire to do something, which we might have never dared to do before.

I can trace a recent example of one of my friend, whose name I will not reveal. Without embarrassing her too much, I would simply say that a meek, reserved and conservative person like her was not the exact image who would strike any of us, when we want to zero-in on some ideal, whom we would like to follow, when it come to the initiation of a amorous relationship.

But then she went ahead and made the first move, in her own dignified manner. The end result is yet to be seen. But since my first story was written before she decided to listen to her heart, I found a strange similarity between her attitude, and the dispositions of the lead females, in both my stories.

I remember some of the comments, where some of you asked that why haven’t the two characters been given more time to understand each other. One such comment, which I specially remember, was by Art, who actually asked that why were the characters not given enough time to understand each other, in the first story.

Another was by Virumandi in the second story, where he clearly refused to accept Anjali’s final step. Please do not misunderstand. I am not complaining, in fact, I genuinely enjoyed these comments, and liked answering them.

While concluding both these stories, I mainly thought about the kind of circumstances I have seen or heard from people. I would not say that I am a fatalist, as far as believing in success of love is concerned. But then, I simply wondered that how many of the real life love stories might actually reach that level, when we say, “…and they lived happily ever after!”

I got loads of comments, which surfaced around one concern. Whether the events I mentioned in the stories draw inspiration from my own life!

Hold your breath! I would say… yes and no. Certain events in the story are definitely reflective what I have seen or heard of. I also got comments on whether the girl in the first story is myself during the college years. I would simply say, that it doesn’t matter whether it was me or not.

What was important is that many people could relate to the character. I was really enthralled by comments like, “such things happened to me,” and the kind. So now finally I will move on to my next story, which will be published in a few days.

And before ending, if any of you have wondered over these two stories, that what could have inspired me to write such stories all of a sudden, I would only say that, well I am getting to see a lot of them around me. So, all the best to all those sneaking eyes, pulsating hearts and hesitant lovers. Hope your real life endings are in no way similar to my stories.