Zoya... A Short Story (Part V)

    My fingertips were trembling, but I had them well out of her sight.

    ‘Sure, I guess, after ten years maybe’ she replied after a while gazing me deeply into my eyes.

    ‘Would you even remember me?’ I chuckled funnily and a moment later, wishing that I had rather punched myself in the nose than say that.

She laughed.

    ‘Of course. It isn’t too hard – the English song guy’

    The dreaded bell rang. We bade goodbyes to each other and wished each other luck for the rest of the days and when I walked out of the classroom, I knew it was over at last. It was the last time I talked to her.

    I still remember the day as clear as the best polished marble.

    On March 13^th, I had one of my papers of final examinations and when I arrived at the venue, I saw her standing there at a distance. She was deeply immersed into her book and I was unable to take my eyes off her. We didn’t talk; I didn’t try to. I was completely aware that the feelings I had for her were free of expectations. It was but   merely an anthology of little things carefully concealed in the little time that we had spent together. The starting bell rang a little too soon than I wanted it to. I stole my glance away from her to walk towards my room, from what I knew for certain was the very last time I was going to see her. And so it was.

    After I moved to Calcutta a month later, I tried to look for her for a few years and when I recalled the story to my best friends, they too joined the hunt, but none of us ever found her again. It was, perhaps, meant to be one of those bizarre fairytales which come to pass accidentally, and we merely find ourselves extraordinarily fortunate to have lived through them, if not more, then only for a while. They are never meant to come true but only be cherished and treasured in our memory. Whenever miracles like this occur, there is a reason, maybe universe’s bigger plans which are beyond the realm of our momentary realizations.

    Even though, back in the summer of 2006, I didn’t believe I would stop looking for her, but deep down, I knew I would, eventually. However, at the same time, I knew that I was going to keep her, and the entire pleasant adventure, safe in my reminiscence, forever.

    Today, I know why I never expected to find her...

T H E     E N D

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Part I    |    Part II    |    Part III    |    Part IV

Zoya... A Short Story (Part IV)

    She stood up to make way for me. I was very resentful of her absence in the previous days and I wasn’t willing to talk much. But halfway through my paper, she closed her script, capped her pen and set them aside.

    ‘Do you need some help?’ she asked rubbing her palms together.

    ‘Yeah if you can solve the income tax problem’ I said instantly. We had mathematics and that’s one of the problems I didn’t have the slightest clue about. Moreover, it was long and boring.

    ‘Oh! Anything other than that please’ she replied bitterly. She disliked the problems and she didn’t even mean to hide it.

    ‘Okay’ I laughed. ‘Can you do these?’ I said pointing towards the linear equations.

    ‘Yeah sure!’ and she started solving for the variables.

    ‘So you missed the previous two?’ I asked her after a while.

    ‘Yeah, I was group-studying’ she said. I started humming ‘Summer of 69’ very deliberately but carefully enough not to allow it to reach the invigilator's earnest ears and just like I thought, she joined in again.

    By the end of the day, she had solved three of my questions, offered me to do it for me in my spare answer sheets and we hummed many English numbers together. My mood was back up again and it was better than ever.

    After I got home, I dug up my music collection to look for rare tracks which I could feed into the remaining conversations with her in the coming days. I also picked up Wuthering Heights and read it in ten straight hours over the next day which was the day off because of the Republic Day. My mom was bewildered because she was sure I didn’t have Wuthering Heights in my syllabus. The icy chill of the winter was disappearing as days passed and a gentle air was taking over, unusually agreeing with the mood and dexterously carving its way into my head. The dull of the examinations had vanished into thin air making it probably the only exam-time I ever enjoyed in my life.

    ‘Can I be of any help with anything?’ I whispered the next day after quickly finishing my script like she did the previous day.

    ‘Only if you know anything about Accounts!’ she replied.

    ‘Umm… no, not a clue!’ I replied, my balloon inside suddenly showing signs of a big puncture at her answer, as soon as it was inflated. However, I was soon reassigned to my previous part-time job of the holy messenger which worked out quite smooth over the next hour. After both of us were finished, we had a half hour to spare in which time we discussed some music including George Michael and Goo Goo Dolls and also a detailed analysis of Wuthering Heights which was only interrupted by the bell.

    Days were bliss. Books lay forgotten, more songs were queuing up in the playlist. Heaven couldn’t have been farther away. I knew it was not for long, still I willingly pursued the unknown and I also knew I cannot expect anything else than what I’ve already got; a chance to spend some time with her. It served to be sufficient for a reason.

    The last paper of the second pre-board arrived eventually and I was ready to make it count, yet a little nervous.

    ‘I hate this subject; Sanskrit’ I whispered to her furiously. She smiled.

    ‘You know, I used to wear full sleeves in those days and I used to hide pieces of paper saying all my answers. I could “never” stand that subject and moreover couldn’t get the spellings right’ she whispered back reassuringly. I smiled this time.

     ‘Finally the papers are going to be over’ I sighed, but for a hugely different reason.

    She smiled in acknowledgement.

    ‘What are you going to do after this?’ I asked.

    ‘I was planning to do CA. How about you?’

    ‘I am another passionate IIT enthusiast’ I replied. In those days I was more than sure that I would crack it.

    ‘Ah good luck with that’ she replied with a carefully muted laugh.

    ‘I was wondering one thing, you remember that guy who sang an English number in the competition last year?’ I asked hesitantly. I wanted to make an impression.

    ‘Ya ya! He was the only guy who did such a thing. It was a lovely song. I forgot the name though’ she whispered trying hard to remember.

    ‘The song was called “We’re on the Same Boat Brother” by Leadbelly’ I said proudly.

    ‘Oh! Wait a minute, it was you?’ she hushed with her eyes widening.

    ‘Yeah!’ I replied smiling broadly. My head had wandered off to the Pluto and might as well have strolled beyond that.

She adjusted herself in her bench.

    ‘You know I love that song “Summer of ‘69” ’ it totally agrees with me. I wonder how that guy managed to say the things I wanted to say’ I said.

    ‘Yeah, really unusual. The song agrees with most of us’ she said and hummed the first few lines and when I filled in the lyrics, she became excited and we started to sing together even though in whispers, but I could make out every single tune in her voice.

    We discussed some more Bryan Adams the whole time and that day and she was more interested to talk than ever. Her paper too lay forgotten, like mine did the previous days. I felt that I succeeded to make it count.

    Time flew faster than light that day and the time of the unwelcome bell was drawing nearer and nearer and my heart was shrinking painfully making me a little uncomfortable to breathe. I didn’t want it to end for it was too magical to let go.

    ‘I was wondering if after a few years when we would be in different places, would you like to meet again?’ I asked her...

To Be Continued...

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Part I    |    Part II    |    Part III    |    Part V

Zoya... A Short Story (Part III)

    ‘You missed yesterday?’ I asked anxiously but in a hushed voice to avoid any attention from the invigilator.

    ‘Yeah, I didn't feel like it.’ She replied in the same way.

    ‘Could you do that?’ I asked curiously

    ‘Yeah, sure! These are just pre-boards, they don’t fuss. So, how was yours yesterday?’

    We continued exchanging whispers for a while and then she immersed herself into the paper and I pretended to be immersed in mine. It was Computer Science paper for me and was only meant for an hour while she was scheduled for three. I didn't like the sound of it at all.

    ‘Could you stay after you have finished your paper?’ she asked me in a low whisper.

    ‘Only if they let me’ I mumbled back. Secretly wishing they did.

    ‘Okay! I thought I could use some of your help’ she said carefully pointing at the girl sitting right in front of her. I was in for it blindly. I could swallow a scorpion for her.

     For the next half hour my paper lay forgotten and desolate. Instead, I worked as the holy messenger between my lady and the lady in front of her. She shot occasional smiles at me which I was savoring. I was exceptionally delighted with myself and started humming a few songs. She joined in without taking her pen and eyes off her answer script.

    ‘You listen to foreign music?’ I asked her surprised but suppressing my voice which had all the reasons to be loud.

    ‘Uh huh’ she replied taking a quick glance at me.

    ‘That’s unusual. None of the people I know in my class listens to them’

    ‘There aren't any around who do, I guess. But I like them; you know Backstreet Boys, Shakira, Christina Aguilera…’

    ‘Blue?’ I interrupted. Blue was the band which I was exploring intensively at that time.

     ‘Yes, “One Love”, “Fly By”, nice tracks’ she replied. My heart and mind was swimming somewhere near Jupiter. We had similar tastes.

    ‘Then you must also like books?’ I asked curiously.

    ‘Yes, I do too. Dickens, Bronté’

    ‘You’re kiddying! Dickens is my favorite’ I whispered back excitedly. It was loud enough to grab an eye of interest from the invigilator and I lowered my voice at once.

    ‘I love Wuthering Heights’ she said, her whole attention towards me.

    ‘Yeah I love that one too’ I lied quickly. But the moment passed as soon as it appeared. The bell rang.

    Our scripts were collected into a neat pile and I got the feeling that we would be thrown out soon. I glanced at her trying hard to conceal the unwillingness in my eye.

    ‘I guess I won’t be able help you further. I wish I could’ I told her quietly.

    ‘That’s okay, I will manage somehow’ she chuckled and thanked me for my help.

    I was the last to leave the classroom and I stole a quick last glance at her and she smiled back. It could be the last time I ever saw her.

    A fortnight passed and we were having our regular school when one day the teacher announced that they have decided that we were going to have to sit for the second pre-board. Everybody groaned. I was delighted, but resisted to show.

    January 23^rd; the first day of the second pre-board. I waited anxiously for her to turn up, checking eagerly up and down the corridor adjacent to our room for the slightest sign of her and by the time it was halfway into the paper, I knew she wasn't coming. Just like the day in the first pre-board.

    January 24^th; the second paper. She didn't turn up yet again. The largest part of my heart had given up on the hope to see her again. At nights, I spent most of the time awake. Sometimes strolling in the balcony, looking up at the cloudless, dark sky filled with a thousand sparkling specks, listening to songs playing randomly in my playlist and trying to remember the time we've had just a little more than a fortnight ago. I had three more papers to go before I knew for certain that I would never get to spend time with her. Maybe that served as a little hope to make me appear for the papers next day, which I knew by now, didn't matter.

    The next day I arrived without expecting her but she was there, already sitting on the bench with a pleasant face...

To Be Continued...

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Part I    |    Part II    |    Part IV    |    Part V

Zoya... A Short Story (Part II)

    Well it certainly sounded like an echo to me and also made me drop my pen. She was of average height, bright, fair skin, her jet black shoulder length hair was tied into a neat ponytail and she wore a full sleeved petticoat suit of the school uniform colors.

I hastily picked up my pen as she strolled inside to take her seat beside me. I lost my tongue.

    She continued to scribble for the next three hours occasionally tucking her long freckles behind her ear. She wrote with her left hand and had long fingernails. Her handwriting, as I noticed, was strikingly similar to mine. I didn't make a sound, nor did I do anything else other than steal a glance of her through the corner of my eye every once in a while and smell the beautiful perfume she was wearing. She was gorgeously stunning and I had already lost my urge to write my paper, yet I wanted to turn up for the rest of them.

    The next day progressed pretty much like the first except when I helped picking up her handkerchief which she had dropped and we had both momentarily bent to pick it up and hit our foreheads instead. She thanked me politely and I too kept my manners but still didn't find my tongue.

    One more day passed the same way and it was New Year’s Eve.

New Year’s time was wonderful. I got into my dreamy shoes, like I did often, and spent most of the time thinking about her and the merry lights seemed to garnish it extraordinarily. I wished badly that she knew how I felt and came running to me like people do in movies. But my life wasn't yet a movie, but it sure didn't feel too far from it either.

    January 3^rd. It was the day of the final paper of the first segment of examinations (pre-board, as it was called) and there was a fortnight at hand before the school officials decided if they should hold a second pre-board for our revision. But for me, it could be the last time I get to spend time with her.

    I arrived early and was quite determined to spark a conversation with her. So, I had it a little rehearsed in my head. She had missed her paper the previous day and I was scared if she did that again. But she didn't...

To Be Continued...

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Part I   |    Part III    |    Part IV    |    Part V

Zoya... A Short Story (Part I)

    There exists a bunch of words, which I believe, can prove to be exceptionally difficult to define. Maybe that’s why sometimes it’s for everyone’s well-being that words like ‘Love’, are best left alone from our attempts to define it. Nevertheless, we often unconsciously happen to relate it to a few of our actions. This also qualifies for a convincing justification as to ‘why different people have different opinions about love’. Just like, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

    I wouldn't take more time to confess that I don’t have the slightest idea whatsoever about what love is or what it can possibly be. However, I, like so many others, have taken the liberty to associate it with two of my unforgettable and most treasured experiences. One of which, I am about to share.

    It was the December of 2005 and the city of Bilaspur used to swing delicately between chilly and soothing. Our school, being one of its kind, stood out from the rest by not having winter vacations. 

    Even though they had spared Christmas day, there wasn't much left to celebrate because the examinations were scheduled to start the next day and continue till three days into the New Year. But the universe somehow manages to amuse us with its curiously placed miracles and turn our dull, boring life upside down. I found mine the very next day; the first day of the exams.

    I was a boy of fifteen back then, with a decent height, messy short hair, athletic build though I was not too much into sports and not to forget a pair of glasses. The sun spilled itself all over my room but still couldn't confiscate the cold. I had to drag my feet to get up and get dressed. My head was still frozen from the previous night’s heavy dosage of unopened pile of textbooks. I somehow managed my morning chores, nibbled some of my breakfast (with a lot of help from Mom), and after a while, climbed into the big yellow bus filled with serious people, who still didn't seem to be satisfied with their preparations, and got to school.

    ‘Who’s sitting here?’ I quickly asked a twelfth grader, pointing to my empty bench, when I found her voluntarily answering identical queries of my friends. We were supposed to sit with twelfth grader girls alongside us at each of the desks. We were in tenth grade.

‘Lemme see, one… two…’ She counted, ‘that would be... Zoya, if I am not wrong’

    My heart skipped a beat.

    ‘Wasn't she the cute girl you kept looking out for whenever you got the slightest of chances?’ a voice in my head broke loose, and I was pretty sure it was loud and as correct.

    I waited patiently on my bench, as the minutes ticked by, for her to arrive and take her seat, alongside mine.

    ‘May I come in sir?’ echoed a sweet voice...

To Be Continued...

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Part II

Arthur Hitler

    All the miss-communication started when my friend misheard 'Hiller' as 'Hitler'. He was a stock broker and all he has ever seen in  his life is a bunch of videos containing more numbers and figures than characters who did anything other than sitting and staring out at you with but their lips moving. It was not until recently had he been introduced to something alien to his usual watch-list - Motion Picture.

    The first movie he had seen was Valkyrie, two months ago. But the latest movie we saw was Love Story. But it seems he was still more into Valkyrie than Love Story.

    We were trying to have a movie discussion of Love Story (at least I thought so) and apparently he didn't know the name of the director (Arthur Hiller). But that wasn't the only thing he wasn't aware of. It so happens, he also didn't know that Hitler's first name was Adolf, not Arthur.

    ..."That's outrageous!" he burst out.

    "No No, I believe the artful way he had portrayed them was significantly overwhelming" I replied. Only I was talking referring to the characters of the movie.

    "But he hated them and there is considerable depiction of racism and hatred in, what he calls, his accomplishments. And the whole world is there to support this fact." He was referring to the Jews.

    "But it can't be! I have several references who considers Arthur's art as subtle and moving. His art was even honored -" -I meant Oscar Nominated - " - by one of the most prestigious -"

    "He was only awarded stuff which he awarded himself! That's exactly what people like him do. And that's the truth and that's where it stands." he said thumping his fist into my coffee table.

    "But that is so untrue. An artist is no dictator. But yes, sometimes, one needs to dictate to get good at his art."

    "Whatever he did, has got nothing to do with art. It was all pride.  On the contrary, I know he had destroyed art in many ways. And he was ruthless! And moreover -"

    "Yes, ruthless, he was, but that's the very quality the art of film-making demands. You have to have an eye for certain aspects but you can't be too attached to it either. I think -"

    "Wait, what did you just say? FILM-MAKING?" He cut me in.

    "Yes, precisely that." I replied annoyed, by the interruption and also other things he said.

     He stared at me for a full minute before he burst out -

    "Who the hell are you talking about?"

    "Arthur Hiller, director of a movie called Love Story? Why, what's going on?"

    "Wasn't Hitler's first name 'Arthur' ?"

    And that's all folks...

Of Advices...

    Giving advice is easy!

    I give loads of advice and suggestions to myself every time. They are all very brilliant too. Now is the point, you are by all means entitled to ask - 'If they are so brilliant, why aren't you on the top of the world?' The answer to which is easier even - I am too busy being proud of the advice that I had just devised, I spend the rest of the time being obsessed about it and after I am done with that, I forget what the advice was in the first place. So I seldom follow my own advice.

    The usual blokes who give advice are well known successful people - that's the traditional idea. You will never take advice from someone who never succeeded. And sometimes you also run across people who have been awarded success for free by the thing called Universe (Universe is defined for non-scientific folks as 'a thing to blame if you have no clue why or how something happened'). These people have no advice under their invisible sleeve. They usually retort to the phrase - "I have no idea!" when they are asked how they succeeded.

    But I am not one of those folks. I am pretty disciplined in what I do. My two major activity of the day involves eating and spending the rest of my time staring at my computer screen, sometimes moving some stuff around (mostly within hard drive partitions).

    But that was two days ago. Now I have known better and I took up reading again. And I found out, not long ago, that somebody missed my writing (I am ecstatic) so I am here, writing once again.

    Now that I have tore my eyes off the computer screen and have read books the past few days, I can give myself advice again.

    In my brief research on this subject (Advice) all my life, I have found out that - if you want to give good advice to yourself, try it on people who are in pursuit of similar stuff as you are and more importantly, pursued them to follow it (that is what takes real skill and energy). If they work for them, then you can be somewhat certain that they are going to work for you as well. Surely, there might be a few loopholes and glitches; its not rocket science; but it usually works pretty fine with me...