But men get lost sometimes
As years unfold
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn't matter anymore

In a New York Minute
Everything can change

-- New York Minute, Eagles

Camus is so irritating (yes, we're on first name basis now). Because he says stuff like "Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal" and "It is normal to give away a little of one's life in order not to lose it all". And you hate him because you realize how bloody right the guy is.

Sometimes life is about forcing yourself to wake up every morning and saying "f**k you" to every meaningful thing that happens to you.

It's a friend's birthday today.

It's always that way with me. I wake up and I know it's someone's birthday that day. Just that I don't know whose, and I spend the day frantically trying to remember. Sometimes I get the feeling a couple of days earlier and I keep telling myself not to forget and end up forgetting anyway. This happened quite recently too.

Anyway, I've known this guy for, what, eighteen years now. We were buddies (note the past tense). We spent Sunday afternoons playing one-bounce cricket in the backyard with a broken bat and my dog. We traded answers inside the exam hall, exchanged cricket cards outside. We stayed a bicycle ride away. His friends became mine. Mine, his. Weekends were spent at his place or mine with sumptuous lunches and goodbyes that lasted half an hour spent chatting at the gate. We once stumbled on a girl changing clothes in the school staff-room (she's a model now, so you can draw your own conclusions), swore each other to secrecy and then boasted about it anyway. My brother taught him chess. He taught me Hindi. I taught him how to fly kites. We were, what's the word, close.

And then things happened.

We grew apart. He switched schools. We grew further apart. He went to college in Coimbatore and I stayed on in Chennai. I became a city-slicker while he picked up the rural lingo. He wrote me during the first year (note - wrote, not emailed). I didn't reply. Every time he came to Chennai during the semester holidays he would come visiting, play chess with my brother, exchange insults with my sister and later, all of us would stand chatting at the gate after saying goodbye half an hour earlier. And he would go away to Coimbatore. He would have been the perfect friend. If I would let him be, that is, but then I guess I never let my scars heal. Second year, third year, and we continued to grow apart. I emailed him once asking how things were. And I felt stupid about it afterwards. I shifted to a place near my college, and his visits grew less frequent.

He was a star at college while I brooded my way through four years of engineering. Final year, and campus recruitment. An IT company with a three-letter abbreviation for a name took him in, while I chose to work with a firm few had heard of. He got high on code and I was confused. His mother probably wanted for him to earn a lot of money, buy a car, build a house. My dad just wanted me to do my thing.

The abyss widened.

I went to see him once during the break before my finals -- he was in Chennai for a few days then. His dad had bought him a computer and we ran amok installing all kinds of games. I gave him Commandos-2 and showed him how to get past level 4. We went around visiting other friends I had lost touch with (he hadn't) and played a game of cricket later in the evening. Before I left we planned another meeting when we would also go visit our school.

We've seen each other twice after that. In the last 30 months.

He called me recently. He had just returned from an onsite visit where he had torn a ligament in his knee playing soccer. Seven weeks of hospitals and ortho specialists. Said he was reporting to work the next week. We chatted briefly and I said I'd call him. I haven't.

And today's his birthday. Damn.

I wish I could call him. Wish him a birthday and chat like nothing's changed between us. But then I know I can't. Because it's different now. Or maybe, I want it to be different. Whatever.

I wish I could tell him I'm no longer the guy who took pleasure in pipping him at school. Wish I could tell him I don't see the point in cricket anymore (the Windies won! Did they hammer SA or what? Go Gayle Go!). Wish I could tell him news of his onsite visit and snaps in front of the Big Ben are boring. That I'm least bothered about what his sister did at school. That despite everything else, his uncle's death still leaves me sad -- the one person in his family who was 'different'. That my parents and siblings still adore him, but that he doesn't occupy my mind-space any more. That an MBA may not be the way I want to live my life, although he thinks it's his life's purpose. That I don't agree with his definition about anything, including "social life" and "friends circle".

I wish I could tell him I don't relate with his way of life anymore, and that we now move in different circles which don't intersect.

That it takes so much energy to be normal when I'm talking with him over the phone, trying to be someone I'm no longer in touch with myself.

That the memory he has of me is what I have to give away in order not to lose what I have left.

That I still consider him one of the few good human beings I've known, one of the few genuine people I know.

That I want it to be on record somewhere that I wished him -- Happy Birthday KK.

Desperado

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?

You been out ridin' fences for so long now

Oh, you're a hard one

I know that you got your reasons

These things that are pleasin' you

Can hurt you somehow

*

He stands waiting, outside, chewing gum. On time, as always. Impeccably dressed, as always, in a throw-away shirt and jeans and matching shoes, car waiting nearby. He looks the same, that five o' clock shadow, that twinkle in his eyes women fell in love with, that sly smile playing on his lips. A quick hug later, we drive away.

*

Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy

She'll beat you if she's able

You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet

*

(A few years ago)

She plays too much of the helpless female with me you know, he told me. We were walking. It was that period between winter and spring when trees look gawky in their half-bloom. The ice was still melting.

But aren't we all helpless? I'd asked in return. The sun peeped shyly from above the clouds. A car drove by, kids in the back seat making a ruckus.

He shrugged, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, and gave me that silly smile he reserved for moments when he wanted me to know that he wasn't changing his mind.

I don't think she's my type you know, he remarked. If only he'd known. We walked on.

*

Now it seems to me, some fine things

Have been laid upon your table

But you only want the ones that you can't get

*

Dear Ajay,

Sorry for not writing in earlier. Life is just too hectic here, what with one thing or the other demanding my attention....you know how it is.

Just wanted to wish you all the best in life buddy! Sorry for not making it to the wedding. Give the missus my best regards.

Sorry again.

Yours,

V

PS: Oh, she said yes, by the way ;)

I've never sworn so much as I did after reading that email.

*

Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger

Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home

And freedom, oh freedom well, that's just some people talkin'

Your prison is walking through this world all alone

*

Dear Ajay,

The fridge is all yours. Help yourself! Something came up at work.

-V

I stare at the yellow post-it all bleary-eyed while I brush. He'd pasted it on the spotless bathroom mirror where he knew I wouldn't miss it. Always practical. Always methodical. So unlike a romantic, which he most definitely is.

Practical and methodical. Even with his women. They never could see what he truly is. Thing is he never wanted to show them, if you ask me. He wanted to be very sure before revealing, he once told me. Self-defense, in my opinion.

And he regretted it. Always. After the break-up. Not before.

I knew something was amiss the minute he'd said 'hello' when I'd called up to tell him I'd be flying over for the weekend. Gentle pressing and much cajoling later, he'd confessed.

We broke up, he'd whispered over the phone.

I shave quickly in the dim light of the bulb above the mirror. The razor slides smoothly over my cheeks.

She was not my type, you know, he'd added.

The after-shave stings as I dab it over where I nicked myself. It doesn't matter even if you see it coming. It still hurts.

I felt caged all the time. No space man. Zero freedom, you know. It would never have worked, he'd said with a sigh.

I look at the note again, and make my way to the fridge.

*

Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?

The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine

It's hard to tell the night time from the day

You're losin' all your highs and lows

Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?

*

(A year ago)

Dear Ajay,

It's all over.

We broke up. I told her yesterday that I couldn't go on with this farce. She cried. A lot. But I hope she gets over me. I know she will. She's strong that way.

So why did we break up? It's got to with a lot of things. It's always about the little things, you know. The bigger issues you can always resolve, but not the little ones. Like the way she folds my books when she reads them and leaves smudges all over the pages. Like the way she has little patience for words and their meanings. Like the way...oh, never mind! Who am I trying to fool here? It was always about one thing. Just one thing. You've known me through all these years and through all these women. You know why I've never found what I'm looking for?

I'm too self-sufficient, A. Emotionally and intellectually. That's my problem. I guess some people classify me as a loner. So why search for love? Why look out for that elusive companion? I don't know how else to put this but there's this void inside me that's been unfilled all these years. I guess you might have known all of this all along.

A void which engulfs my soul when I stand by the sea at dawn with the moan of the waves in my ears, the wet sand crumbling under my feet, the water lapping around my ankles, the breeze flirting with my collar, the salt-spray stinging my eyes, when I see the sea shimmer with a golden gleam and the sky come alive as the sun squeezes itself from under the horizon and leaps out onto the sky above. I would like some company when I see that. Someone I can turn to and smile, someone I can hold hands with right then, someone who will smile back with the understanding of the emotions that run through me at that instant, someone who would travel with me through Life and yet weave her own path. Is that too much to ask? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's too less.

And all these women, who seemed to promise so much, are content with the tangible and the material. I don't blame them for that. Nobody wants to seek that which can't be sought, that which seeks you out only when you're ready for it, that which I find in the calmness of night looking at the stars lying with my back on the grass. Don't know if that makes sense. Does it?

Sorry to bore you, A. So tell me, how have you been? And how...

*

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?

Come down from your fences, open the gate

It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you

You better let somebody love you, before it's too late

*

"So any chance of you coming back soon?" he asks me.

We're on our way back to the airport. It's raining outside. Soft music plays on the car radio.

I reply in the negative. And turn to look at him.

I can see a thin veneer of disappointment glazing his eyes, as he steers into the parking lot. I can sense the loneliness shrouding his being. And there's not a thing I can do about it.

I remember something he once wrote in an email.

You know how you feel when your finger reaches out and tries to touch a raindrop sliding down the other side of a window? That's distance for you. Something which can never be bridged without breaking whatever's in between.

***

Note: Text in blue - Lyrics from the song 'Desperado' by the Eagles. Title and post inspired by the same.

And yes, this post is fiction. If anyone asks me otherwise, they're going to get it.