Chapter 1
Sitting by my window on a rather cold but strangely sunny morning, while the cup of tea, which I had placed on the morning newspaper, was quickly beginning to lose its steam, my mind was somewhere really far away, contemplating my options for the day. The prospects I was faced with would make any person crawl back into bed and wish it was still the middle of the night.
The constancy of this Sunday morning ritual, for the past many months now, was beginning to worry me. Was I really losing interest in my own company? how could that be- it was my only strength, my highest virtue. This ability of mine, to never feel lonely, to always love to do things in my own company.
This stark reality of boredom was like the proverbial last straw that could break my camel's back. I needed a raison d'etre, a certain something I could hold on to, to float on the sea of life.
A passing car on the road beneath my window broke the reverie of these thoughts and I found myself saddled with a cold cup of tea. I pressed the power button of the phone, it again asked me to type a pin and I again made a mental note to change the settings on the damn thing. There was no message of interest, apart from a few tired forwards and a few really unnecessary emails. It was increasingly threatening to become a big sulk of a day. I made an instantaneous decision to get out, throwing a jacket on my shoulders, I briskly walked out the door and turned the key twice, lest this momentary sense of purpose turned turtle too soon.
A passing car on the road beneath my window broke the reverie of these thoughts and I found myself saddled with a cold cup of tea. I pressed the power button of the phone, it again asked me to type a pin and I again made a mental note to change the settings on the damn thing. There was no message of interest, apart from a few tired forwards and a few really unnecessary emails. It was increasingly threatening to become a big sulk of a day. I made an instantaneous decision to get out, throwing a jacket on my shoulders, I briskly walked out the door and turned the key twice, lest this momentary sense of purpose turned turtle too soon.
Jumping stairs two at a time, I was out in the brisk winter morning air in no time and realized that it was colder than what the bright sun indicated from within the confines of my room. The neighbors in this rather quiet corner of the town were generally of the type who celebrate Saturday nights and miss Sunday mornings; not surprisingly the gardens and the street were pretty much deserted. I was tempted to imagine the bastards lying curled up in beds with beautiful women, but by now I knew too well the trappings of such thoughts and how needlessly they made me sulk. So to focus on healthier things, I instead decided to break into a slow jog.
I was headed to my favorite morning place, an old decayed bungalow situated at a bend in the road atop a small green hillock. Ever since I was a child, I used to come in here and sit in its garden on a small jutting rock; always quickly getting lost in the view of the valley and the mountains beyond.
I was headed to my favorite morning place, an old decayed bungalow situated at a bend in the road atop a small green hillock. Ever since I was a child, I used to come in here and sit in its garden on a small jutting rock; always quickly getting lost in the view of the valley and the mountains beyond.
The open blue sky today, I knew, would let me peer deep and far into the open valley. The thought made me happy, it also meant that I would be able to reach till lunchtime in peace and the Sunday would be halfway through.
It may have been an hour since I was sitting perched upon my favorite rock, soaking the sun, smelling the myriad fresh smells that the breeze carries in the mountains and contemplating the beauty all around; or maybe it was a little longer when I heard her voice.
It may have been an hour since I was sitting perched upon my favorite rock, soaking the sun, smelling the myriad fresh smells that the breeze carries in the mountains and contemplating the beauty all around; or maybe it was a little longer when I heard her voice.
The quietness of the morning was so encompassing till then that the voice really surprised me, I quickly jerked around to see no one, another few seconds passed as it came again, this time much nearer. I quickly ran a hand through my hair, for no reason apart from the habit of becoming aware of my looks on hearing a woman around.
She came out from behind a few shrubs that really covered the small dirt path that winds up into the hill behind the house. A few curls of hair were falling on her a face, where they glistened along with the sweat- she must have worked it up walking; together they shone like small diamonds as the morning rays of sun danced off her skin. Agape, I watched her walk out and towards where I sat. In an awkward and almost conscious manner, I tried a smile, which was returned with a heartwarming, carefree grin. This strangely made me even more conscious of some unknown social inadequacy.
She came and sat on a rock near to mine and commented on the beauty of the view- I agreed wholeheartedly. The conversationalist in me took over and my well-worn probes around the weather, the sun, the passing winter, and the coming summer almost tumbled out one over another, almost as if afraid of even a second of silence. In less than five minutes, I was facing the abyss, the usual abyss of a blank mind, bereft of any ideas to lengthen the conversation. I searched and urged my mind to come up with something funny or intelligent or even fleetingly engaging, but as is my wont, I found myself clammed up. For a few moments I glanced desperately into the valley as if hoping it would throw me a conversation line, she too followed my gaze and we fell into silence. The calmness of the morning had suddenly disappeared for me, but she seemed to be still enjoying it. After a while, she stood up and bid goodbye with the same smile, that a few minutes back had lit up my morning, but now it seemed to take away all the sunshine with it. She quickly dropped down onto the road and disappeared beyond the bend, leaving me rooted and almost wanting to jump and run.
As I walked back slowly home, oblivious of everything around I resolved not to follow the beaten path of reminiscing, then dreaming of what all I would have said, then pining, sulking, and then eventually forgetting.
She came out from behind a few shrubs that really covered the small dirt path that winds up into the hill behind the house. A few curls of hair were falling on her a face, where they glistened along with the sweat- she must have worked it up walking; together they shone like small diamonds as the morning rays of sun danced off her skin. Agape, I watched her walk out and towards where I sat. In an awkward and almost conscious manner, I tried a smile, which was returned with a heartwarming, carefree grin. This strangely made me even more conscious of some unknown social inadequacy.
She came and sat on a rock near to mine and commented on the beauty of the view- I agreed wholeheartedly. The conversationalist in me took over and my well-worn probes around the weather, the sun, the passing winter, and the coming summer almost tumbled out one over another, almost as if afraid of even a second of silence. In less than five minutes, I was facing the abyss, the usual abyss of a blank mind, bereft of any ideas to lengthen the conversation. I searched and urged my mind to come up with something funny or intelligent or even fleetingly engaging, but as is my wont, I found myself clammed up. For a few moments I glanced desperately into the valley as if hoping it would throw me a conversation line, she too followed my gaze and we fell into silence. The calmness of the morning had suddenly disappeared for me, but she seemed to be still enjoying it. After a while, she stood up and bid goodbye with the same smile, that a few minutes back had lit up my morning, but now it seemed to take away all the sunshine with it. She quickly dropped down onto the road and disappeared beyond the bend, leaving me rooted and almost wanting to jump and run.
As I walked back slowly home, oblivious of everything around I resolved not to follow the beaten path of reminiscing, then dreaming of what all I would have said, then pining, sulking, and then eventually forgetting.
Convinced, as I was, that I would no longer do all the things that had led me into middle age, without ever really experiencing love. I had resolved to find her again.
Chapter 2
A week had passed, amidst the morning to evening dredge and within the long hours spent doing unremarkable things, I had been secretly waiting for the Sunday to come. Waiting to find her again, to execute the many plans I had been contemplating every day.
That Sunday, I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall-size window of my room, and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbors garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. I spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help, were too high and not worth the risk. So instead I decided to take the trail behind the cottage and head into the hills.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I stopped at a sharply jutting out ridge, probably the best vantage point to view my still sleepy little town. I had a few memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light-headedness from the mountain air, and the many tall pine trees had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel-good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
That Sunday, I woke up refreshed and full of spirit, jumped out of the bed, stretched and walked to the wall-size window of my room, and moved the curtains with a flourish, somewhere I was hoping for the weather to partake in my enthusiasm and depute the sun to be shining bright. The dark gloomy clouds and the strong breeze that I could see flowing through the trees in my neighbors garden below, instead seemed to signal a dissuasion. Determined to not wait another week, I went about dressing up and having a light breakfast. I spent considerable time setting my hair in a manner that would signal a casual and carefree manner, and then in a similar manner handled my clothes. After an approving glance on the outcome of my efforts, I walked out the door of my warm, small but sufficient apartment, into the biting cold of that autumn morning.
Heading straight for our quaint first meeting place, near the rocks of the old decaying cottage, I found the surrounding a little unwelcoming, the overnight dew had left the rocks dripping wet and the wind was especially sharp atop the corner of this small hillock. I could have still braved the conditions but I was convinced that if she did turn up again, and found me sitting here, the chances of being taken as a glum moron requiring help, were too high and not worth the risk. So instead I decided to take the trail behind the cottage and head into the hills.
A couple of hours passed, even in the oppressing cold wind, I had broken into a sweat, I stopped at a sharply jutting out ridge, probably the best vantage point to view my still sleepy little town. I had a few memories of having trekked up here many years ago, with a few friends from school. I realized, with a tinge of remorse, how in the moribund life that I had been living all these years, I had never again found the motivation to walk up here. The crisp morning, the slight light-headedness from the mountain air, and the many tall pine trees had taken my mind away from all the inanities I chase week on week, I felt liberated and brimming with a feel-good hope. Standing there and looking down far away into the valley that spread all around, I was tempted to promise that I would make this a weekly habit, to trek up here- but then I thought the better of it, as even in the optimism of the morning, I didn't see much point in adding another promise on to the overladen table of unmet promises I kept in a corner of my small room.
Chapter 3
