"The only trouble is, when I ask myself or when I look at myself in the mirror. That's when my soul is the most restless. It cries for depth from the hollow noises around. And then, a long wait that brings out its shallow weaknesses on my face, like flies buzzing. It's like that traffic noise from inside the window, when you're sitting in office. A sort of dampness in life that kills every emotion there ever was.." he fiddled with Wilde's book.
He tuned into Led-Zep as he said this. I sat there, fixed to my seat, unmoved, frightened. I couldn't understand what was being said, even though it was me, who had asked the question.
"So..here we are, trying an answer to everything," I pulled myself back in my chair, my last breath choking my words.
He looked around with a puzzled expression. He was trying not to listen to anything or anyone. His words had just seemed to escape the shackles of his mind, and thrown in front of my eyes. The way, the waves just seem to drop anything at the shore. I knew he felt at home with me. And, at that moment, I could only feel being there, like a witness--helpless. It was like those 52 penguins watching the people from behind the glass. They had just been brought here this morning. Soon, the witnessing would make way for something more and more aggressive, and painful. I had a choice. I found what he must have been searching for all this while. I said I wanted to leave. Nothing, can compensate for one's want of freedom in moments of grief. He wanted to be left alone, as it as he would say, solitude sort of answers everything.
***
Beth was his agency colleague he had fallen in love with, while on his stay as the 'entertainer of the month' for the elite in the city.He barely mentioned about his relationship with her, as she only entered our conversation when he had nothing else left to tell me, or so, he made it seem. Maybe, the affair held its charm in secrecy between the two, like an old classic romace. I didn't know Beth in person, and I had never thought, I'd be the witness to their last moments together. A dramatic, theatrical finish to a badly-written play.
"You cannot leave me! Why don't we get marri.." her voice trailed off, and he told me how he seemed to have been hit by an unexpected pang.
That afternoon, I was to drive him to the airport, put him on a flight to India.
"Shut up!" that's the first thing I heard, sitting inside the car.
And then, she began to cry, while he put the situation as stark as it was. I looked at my watch. It was 2.15PM. Looking around, I saw an old woman, walking her dog. He had a family in India, and his marriage was important for the kids. I heard.
It was autum. The stunning yellow was capturing the sun light. She pleaded for a beginning. The light fell on my face through the windscreen, as the branches swayed with the breeze.
Just when the door was slammed behind him, a small guilt began to form inside. I wanted to tell him something. The carelessness with which he was throwing his last chance to..to, everything he could want. I stayed in the car, waiting for him to finish his cigarette.
We drove to the airport. I told him how much I wanted him to stay a little longer, but the voice didn't travel the distance.
When I came back, there was only silence. It sat, ate, drove millions of images, sometimes a haze or a fall. I moved to India later that year. I often imagine him sitting with his wife, and kids. Whenever I walk alone, I wonder if it was love that I felt towards him, a sort of unwanted grief for an unwanted memory. It must not have shown its presence then, but it troubles me each time the mundane grips, and I hear him say in my ears, like flies buzzing. Or, the traffic. It could be just another day. It could be just another farewell.
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