“Children see magic because they look for it.”

Saadiya Kochar with the children of Nepal.

My White Elephant,

I wake up feeling like a part of me just went missing. My behaviour seems a bit ubsard to the people around. Of course, if we are going to get money from the insurance company and I have a car to drive, I shouldn’t feel bad.
If you were around, I would have locked your door, we would have stared at the sky and I would have cursed or better still we would have driven to our favourite flyover and the blarring music would have drowned out the ambient noise.

I have always believed , “To know a person, you have to observe them when they are alone with no one around to play the game with. When you see them with their guard down, you catch a glimpse of their essence.” Question is-unless you are a Peeping Tom, how would you do that? But you my Dear Friend, were the Peeping Tom, my five year old diary, my most consistent companion.

We’ve gone on such crazy adventures, you and I. You remember, when the Srinagar -Delhi highway was closed and we took 42 hours to get back home. The number of times, my assistant would cover your windows with a black background, so I could park you on the side of the road and sleep for a few hours. You remember how difficult your first winter trip to Kashmir was? After a while, I guess you realised that it was your fate, to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Whether, it was the harsh weather or the men who tried to follow us, together we braved it all.

I can’t recall the last time I acknowledged loving someone. But I loved you, loads. That you were not a living being doesn’t make two hoots of a difference. Thank you for being there and for keeping me safe. Thanks for letting me cry over your steering wheel, every single day for almost a year. You were my unflinching shoulder. In a few months, your replacement will arrive. It may be new, bigger or faster than you…but you will always remain my favourite partner in crime.

After a few hours of fretting and fuming, my very wise friend puts everything in perspective. “Can we do anything about it?” “No”, I reply. “Will it change anything?” he asks. “No”, I say timidly. “But”, I interject and start again with the verbal diarrehoea. A few more minutes of venting my nonsense on this long distance call and I feel better.

A while later he laughs, “there’s a way in which someone needs to calm you down. One practical word when you’re upset and your reaction will be like that of a grenade going off. Say the same thing, once you’ve screamed and cried…you’ll listen to anything.” Wow! I think to myself, good luck on having a long term relationship with a man. But for now I have the sweetest friend.

A restless night later…I’m on a different train of thought. What if we could just forget the people who caused us pain? If we ever did bump into them, wouldn’t it be easier to meet like strangers, as if for the first time, without the burden of the past? With no expectations, no memories…nothing. They say time heals all wounds. I don’t agree. A scab forms over it…but a slight pressure on the same place and the wound is exposed, again. Sometimes, a wound just festers. Each time I bump into  someone from my former life, I’m reminded of the ostracization. I think it’s more convenient to have a bad memory. Wipe the slate clean. Drop it all and live as if nothing existed before the present moment.

Over the past year, I have imagined many a times what it would be like to bump into people from my former life. Asking the Universe for only one thing…that when I do, it shouldn’t be in a vulnerable moment.

And I have bumped into a few of them along the way and of course they’ve looked right through me! But it’s understandable. Everyone stands with the stronger party… I won’t forget it. But I don’t grudge it. Though, there’s one friend…I won’t mention his name..don’t want him to get into trouble with the others…who was nice enough to say, ‘we shouldn’t be strangers’. Of course, we shouldn’t! Everyone comes into our life for a purpose and when that’s done we part ways. Parting doesn’t have to be bitter. The nicest part about what this friend did- wasn’t just what he said but that he didn’t say it in front of an audience or play it for the gallery. It wasn’t done to show everyone, neither my friends nor his, what a nice person he was. It was an act of genuine courtesy and kindness.

Today-Making my Mother do anything, is like going into battle. It requires a mix of persuasion, stubbornness and aggression. So, my Father leaves it on me..he likes to be the good cop. I’m great at playing the Bad Cop. Somehow, manage to take her to meet her Doctor, with the help of my soldiers. As I’m sitting there waiting with a nurse and a domestic help- in trots in a person from my past life. She just sits down- her butt glued to her seat and watches as we take my Mother to see the Doctor and then kart her out in the wheelchair. My former friend has the best seats in the house and she sits there as a mere spectator, while the people around try to help. The funny thing is, if there was an audience, someone who would say how nice this lady was, she would have sprung up from her seat, immediately. But there are no witnesses and how and why should we be courteous, then?

It’s been a strange year and half. I’ve learnt many harsh realities of life. But the most crucial lesson I’ve learnt is this- At some point in  life, we have to decide what we are going to choose to remember. We can choose to remember the latter and say the world is a horrible place- where relationships are based only on money, sex and power. Or we can choose to remember the former and say- Well, shit happens. But there are a lot of nice people in this World. I’m not a practical person, so I don’t mind burning bridges. I can’t think better be nice-God knows who I’ll need next. Practicality, isn’t going to lead me to making a vital conscious decision. But it’s time to decide or get thoroughly burnt out. 

Thanks for being my constant source of entertainment and for proving that behaving like a ‘grown up’, is highly overrated.