Question: Whom does a piece of art belong to? The creator or the person who admires the creation the most because he relates to it the most? If your answer to the second question is the latter, then I believe I have the right to put this up here. If your answer is the former, I've given the credits to the due person.
I often wonder how much you know about yourself। Whether you know what your eyes look like when you smile, the way you tilt your head when you laugh, the way you play with your hair when you get real nervous, how beautiful you look when you are angry। Sometimes I think you do, sometimes I think you haven’t the slightest idea. In my mind you shall forever be the mysterious, the tempting unknown.
You would sit in the front row of the class, hanging on to every word. Your forehead would be creased with attention, as you strived to understand those rambling Profs. I would sleep through most of the classes, waking up now and then to try and steal another glimpse of you. Oh how obvious I must have been, craning my neck here and there, for a glimpse of that face, that dimpled smile. The world for a chance to be next to you.
How often I would meticulously plan out our conversations; Conversations that, for some reason or the other, never materialized। Every possible topic would be covered, even the unpredictability which makes the fairer sex so appealing; Appealing and at times immensely frustrating। These conversations would be near perfect; you would be charmed by my wit and awed by my intelligence. We would walk out towards the sunset, hands held tight. Live happily ever after and all that.
Coming back to those meticulously crafted plans; well they never did see light of day. The courage to talk was never summoned. Reduced to a particularly quiet piece of stone, I refused to grab the opportunities, which would be offered to me once in a while. As the semester proceeded, I truly began to believe that somehow the courage-gene managed to skip my particular pool.
The blame however, cannot be solely placed on me. You see one of the crucial requirements for the plan to succeed was finding you alone. Your charm ensured that friends always surrounded you. Your friends. Not mine. They would tear me apart were I to come within speaking distance of you. “Who is that loser talking to our dear angel? Bad influence he will be. I heard the other day that he’s an alcoholic as well. Chee chee….”
Oh yes, I was quite sure of that. Deceptively gentle in their appearance, the wolves provided irrefutable proof to that saying about women’s fury. Pack of wolves, that’s what they were, baring their teeth at the slightest occasion. And even if I managed to avoid the wolves, what excuse could I possibly have to speak to you? What could I say?
You smiled at my obvious nervousness. You knew that the upcoming exams were just an excuse I used to talk to you. You answered my rather vague questions on the ethics of family law, well aware that I had no interest in either (family law or ethics). “Ah yes the pressing need of a uniform civil code. But there are so many complexities involved…”You waited patiently, your dark eyes pulling me in. I never did stand much of a chance against those eyes.
I tell you all I have to tell, a stream of rushed words. You look a little surprised (pleasantly so?) The question has been asked. “Would you?” I asked, knowing that I would only breathe once you had answered. You continued to hold the question in the air, stretching those instants to the length of generations. I began to look a bit like a fool, watching expectantly for a reply.
Complete silence for a minute, a minute that seems to drag on longer than one of the class lectures. And then you smile. Is it possible? Will I start believing in the one above all ever again? Shall life start working with me for once? You say nothing at all but your eyes seem to say so much. I still remember the way you smelt that day, gentle and warm. Tinged with a bit of icy mint.
“No” you said, a smile creeping across your face। You felt that sudden rush you always got at times like these। You watched as my face crumpled, as I tried to hide my thoughts behind a weak smile। And then you slowly walk away, but not before you got a good look at my crestfallen face.
And as you walk away, completely aware that I am watching your every move, you hum just loud enough for me to hear “In this game of trust and lust… another one bites the dust।”
Anuj Agrawal [4th year, nujs]
