Why Didn't We Stay?

And in the funeral service of his father, we met again. At the first look, I couldn't recognize him. That man bun, those blue sunglasses were replaced with a bald head and round glasses. Thirteen years of IT consultancy does that to a man, I guess; in this case, it killed the musician inside. In so many ways, I perceived myself as a lot luckier than my other counterparts. Living amidst people who constantly kept cribbing about how boring and unchallenging their jobs were, I got to live life on my own terms. Traveling between countries, meeting new people every day, making new ties, and breaking old ones in a wink; just the kind I imagined while I was still in college. In my case, I got to live the dream. Apparently, life was not that easy a cakewalk for most of the others. Otherwise, Nikhil would have been the greatest beatboxer ever. Only, at our times, nobody understood his art. 

I felt a bit disappointed looking at him, the way you feel when a guest turns up not looking the way you expected he would look. The young Nick was better, I thought. And somewhere, I cursed myself for coming all the way from Delhi to watch this change. But the truth is I couldn't contain myself. When I heard of his father's death, I just wanted to rush in here as soon as I could. I did my research under him. He was a good man, a kind man. I hear he got paralyzed towards the end. Cerebral stroke is not a very good way to die with. I meant to come sooner but the nature of my job doesn't allow me to be in one place for a long time. And now, in death, I felt so much remorse.

"I almost didn't recognize you," Nick said. "My gosh, you have changed. Where is that geek from college?"

I smiled. "Well, side effects of being an air hostess, I guess"

He smiled back. The air was so heavy around the two of us. As he showed me inside, I had a very strong feeling of turning back, getting into the car, reach the airport and take the next flight away from this city and imagine that this was just another dream.

"This is Natasha." He said, introducing me to a bunch of people. "These are my colleagues." He said to me. I folded my hands in a way to say namaskar. We started a light conversation. From Nikhil's job efficiency as a data analyst to his father's sickness, from my queer job preference to staying unmarried at thirty-two, some conversations never evolve. So, after some minutes of getting bored by some people judging everybody under the sun, I excused myself to a corner. 

There was a large photo of his father in the hall and several incense sticks burnt in front of the portrait. My eyes went from one table to another, one group to another, one person to another; laughing, joking, playing, and fooling around. Had the portrait not be garlanded, nobody would believe that people had gathered to grieve over somebody there. I felt pathetic. Lighting a cigarette, I tiptoed to the backyard of his home. 

That same swing, our first kiss, the hole in that tree. It's strange how tiny things from your past can give you so much happiness and pain together. Happiness that you were lucky enough to experience and pain that doesn't exist anymore. Or maybe it does. It just has been buried down too deep inside you to feel them anymore. 

"Role reversal!" Nick said from the back, watching me smoke.

"You quit?" I asked, amazed.

"Yep. Three years sober." He said.

I nodded. Once upon a time, I had brought hell and heaven together to make him give up smoking. But he didn't. I wondered who brought this change in his life.

"So." He said. "What's up? Married?"

"No". I said, a bit curtly. "You'd seen the vermilion instead. And you?

"Me? No. My fiancè broke the engagement a few months ago." He laughed trying to lighten up the melancholic mood. 

"Oh, why so?" I asked, trying to look as concerned as possible.

"Maybe, Karma." He said with a black face.

There was a long pause. An awkward one and that feeling of running away crept back once more. Breaking the somber pause, I said,

"I am really sorry about your dad. I wish I were here before. He was a very good man."

"Yeah, he was. Kind and generous. I wish you were here earlier, too."

Another pause. It always had been so difficult to talk to him. Even during the lunchtimes in college, I used to fight more with him than just talk. Sometimes, I wonder how we managed those five years together. Quarreling like mad rats all the time but deciding not to leave each other's side anytime soon. So many cards, books, watches, pillows, letters, calls, emotions, future planning; everything ends in one message, one day gone wrong. Such a waste of life! He was talking about something, competing in an open mic completion in Connaught Place.

He told me how over the years he has tried and failed to attend several musical competitions all over India. He was afraid to leave the city, his job, his sick parents. And every time, the only thing that had to be compromised were the events, his passion, beatboxing. We talked and talked and in the light of our conversation, the world around seemed to fade away. All those cacophonic noises of men and women arguing and buses honking grew softer. 

We talked about me and him, the kind of clients I have to deal with every day, the obstacles I have to face, and how traveling around the world all the time can get immensely hectic, cumbersome, and challenging especially when you don't get to spend quality time with your family and you don't even have the time to be meeting your significant other. The grass is always greener on the other side, he interjected. He talked about how choked he felt at all the house parties getting scanned by corporate strangers, faking a smile all day, getting overburdened by the same work lacking creativity in every way possible, and how he seriously needed some adventure in his life. Nikhil Oberoi talking of adventure! He organized street music shows in the slums near our college. He was the most daring man in our batch. 

Life's not fair sometimes. In all that we talked about, we, very consciously and rather intelligently avoided our past relationship entirely. Whenever one of us mistakenly reminded the other of any of our romantic or even funny instances, the other would request the other to change the topic or pause abruptly for a long time. At the end of such a pause, he asked, very shamelessly "Why didn't we stay?"

I tried to pretend that I missed the point entirely but there was no one around. Who was I fooling anyway? The cuckoos and the garden lizards?

Looking at that hole in the mango tree, I said, "People like us who want so much more from life than just love, how can we stay?" 

There was a long pause that followed, this time, it was not awkward. Unsettled things needed retrospection sometimes. Breaking both our chain of thoughts, my phone buzzed.

Oh, shoot! Nick. It's 4:30 pm. It is been hours since we have been here. 

Nick noted my words with a casual shrug and sat with that same look on that face.

Nick, I said, detachedly this time. I need to leave. I have a flight at seven. I assembled my sunglasses and bottle into my bag, hastily threw the cigarettes into my pocket, rolled my hair up into a bun, and said, bye.

He got up with me, offered to drop me at the airport, insisted he drives me to the airport but I said no. So, failing in convincing the stubborn me, he booked a cab, instead. As the cab arrived, he walked me to it. Just as I was about to get into the cab, he held my arm, a firm jolt. I turned back, both surprised and a bit giddy at feeling the same touch eons after. Looking straight at my eye, he said " We had something special, something people were jealous of. What did we do to us?"

"We killed us," I said. "Your fears and my ambition. Attend that open mic, Nick. Give yourself a chance. It is never too late."

Saying so, I threw myself into a light hug. I don't know whether it was apt but I just couldn't miss the chance. For a split moment, memories came flooding back. And time stopped while we embraced.

"See ya", he said.

I got into the car and waved at him. Told him to take care of himself and then rode my way to the airport with Jo Waada Kiya Woh Nibhaana Padega playing on the radio.