I was sitting alone at Oly pub in Kolkata, drinking beer and eating their Chicken Ala Kiev. It was the last day of Durga Pujo. As lunch time set in, the place filled up with people dressed in their traditional best.
I was on a one day solo trip to Kolkata. Of all that I witnessed that day, there’s one interaction that I distinctly remember. An interaction between two people sitting right behind me at Oly. An interaction I somehow became a part of.
“I think I love you.”
“It will pass.”
“Don’t go all Fleabag on me!”
“Of course you love me. I love you too. I mean what really is love after all. I care for you. You care for me. And that’s that.”
“Oh really? Then, why are you so afraid to say it back to me?”
“What are you talking about! I just said it!”
“Yes, while talking about how all of it is love. And hey, I am not disagreeing. In fact you don’t have to preach to me. I’ve always spoken about the limiting ways in which we define love. But, you know I’m talking about something else today.”
“Don’t overthink this. There’s nothing extraordinary about us.”
“I am not saying this to give us any special meaning or status. I am not trying to make anything out of us. Hell, that ship has sailed and don’t I know it. Fuck this, I need to smoke.”
In a crowded restaurant, amidst all the hustle bustle, I was hooked. I sat on my table, sipping my beer, nibbling on my Ala Kiev, listening intently to this conversation. But, suddenly I found myself doing something very strange. I found myself getting up at the same time as the two people I was listening to and heading out for a smoke. I was exhibiting creepy behaviour but neither did I care, nor did they. The three of us had big things to figure out and nobody bothered to care about boundaries.
“It’s raining.”
“It is.”
I let out my first puff of smoke and mumbled to myself, “It is”.
The three of us stood outside Oly, watching the rain, smoking our cigarettes. We all looked straight ahead. Not even a glance was shared, and yet so much was.
Flurry’s right in front, Peter recording at the corner, yellow taxis all around – I was falling in love with Kolkata. I remember feeling something familiar. Something I had felt before. The feeling of being brighter than sunshine. The first time, I came close to love. The kind of love everyone spoke about and everyone wanted. The kind of love, I would know and yet claim to never fully understand.
The cigarettes had been stubbed and crushed with the weight of all that we were feeling. We were all back inside on our respective tables.
“Rain is special to us, isn’t it? I can’t remember why, but I feel like it is. You’re my first thought whenever it rains.”
“Gosh. You’re not going to let this go, are you? You’re pushing me to say things, I don’t want to say. All of this exists in your head. We’ve barely shared anything in life. You need to let go. Just let go. Let it pass. Please. You are so caught up in your narratives, you’re losing grip of reality.”
There was a long silence. Two words kept popping up in my head – Say something. Say something.
“Say something.”
I almost turned back. Telepathy never seemed more real.
“It’s too late. If only, I had said everything I ever wanted to.”
“It will pass.”
Another long silence.
The cheque was called for. I followed suit. It was time to leave. I guess.
“It will pass.”
“No it won’t. I know it’s love because despite it all it has stayed. I don’t want anything. I just wanted to acknowledge this. I know I love you. I know this is love. Because, it stays. The love. The longing. It’s unshakable. I know that every truth is a built up narrative. But, I am done questioning this. Doubting this. Waiting for it to pass. This is love. I have known love.”
The bill was settled. And, clearly a lot else.
Amidst all the hustle bustle, the silence that followed occupied its own space.
I left Oly. I lost track of where those two went. And, I went on with my day. I walked around Victoria Memorial, standing in between a long line of tourists. Enjoying every second of my beer buzz. Enjoying the thoughtlessness of my mind. Life is an exercise of meaning making and enough had been done for the day.
I will never understand my behaviour or concentration span at Oly that day. But, well luckily I know now. Somethings can never be fully understood. But, they surely can be owned and accepted and declared.
the fifty's 