As We Never Met... By Rinzu Rajan
Social networking was the in thing then. And as we were randomly familiarized , considering the two continents and the six hour flight separating us, we became acquaintances. He admired my clichéd verses and I venerated the undeserved honour he was giving me. Back then my poetry was the stale stereotype I hated. Even then I never missed a chance to learn and wallow myself in his praise, for there was no one else to applaud me.
The wounds of the last broken relationship were haunting, like a harlot trying to entice me to the pleasure of the pain it offered. We met against the trajectory of time , sharing a coffee on a forgetful Friday evening.
Months passed and then years. From being an unoriginal polly parrot I went to writing poems. Sometimes we met on phone and on the internet and he told me how with each passing day I was showing promise. When we exchanged conversations we happened to meet at the streets of his city, where the tube tarried down the noisy lanes and many times in the red and green buses that plied me back to my destination in Delhi. We met in poems I wrote for him and in stories I had never penned. We met in fights frivolously fought and in poetry readings where I spoke of him.
On another Sunday, things changed suddenly. He called and we spoke at length about how not talking to each other for six months had choked us with perceptions. I had thought he had found someone and he thought that I might be breaking the same news to him soon. We didn’t speak for six months for this fear, the fear of being taken away from each other.
"Is you marriage fixed.?" I questioned him in trembling tones that could have had just one answer.
No came the reply.
"How can I marry without you.?" He said
"What do you mean.? I thought things were on paper and it would happen soon." I retorted with uneasiness.
"Where is the bride.?" He inquired.
"I don't know."
"I am coming down to your city next year. Let's get to talking to our parents then." He suggested.
"What should we get talking about.?"
"Our marriage." He replied.
"I thought we were friends, weren't we.?"
"Yes, but do you think I can marry anyone other than you.?" He replied in protest.
"Let's remain friends. This is unnecessary. I plan to not marry. No reasons to give." I replied stamping my reasons on his face.
"But why.?" he enquired wavering in his speech.
"I said no reasons to give."
And banged the phone at his face.
We never spoke again, even though we often meet to see each other as thumbnails of pictures on some stupid social networking site, to steal glances and to swallow the silence that has walled the frailty of fears
I always knew we would never meet, and we never met.
Copyright Rinzu Rajan 2012
The wounds of the last broken relationship were haunting, like a harlot trying to entice me to the pleasure of the pain it offered. We met against the trajectory of time , sharing a coffee on a forgetful Friday evening.
Months passed and then years. From being an unoriginal polly parrot I went to writing poems. Sometimes we met on phone and on the internet and he told me how with each passing day I was showing promise. When we exchanged conversations we happened to meet at the streets of his city, where the tube tarried down the noisy lanes and many times in the red and green buses that plied me back to my destination in Delhi. We met in poems I wrote for him and in stories I had never penned. We met in fights frivolously fought and in poetry readings where I spoke of him.
On another Sunday, things changed suddenly. He called and we spoke at length about how not talking to each other for six months had choked us with perceptions. I had thought he had found someone and he thought that I might be breaking the same news to him soon. We didn’t speak for six months for this fear, the fear of being taken away from each other.
"Is you marriage fixed.?" I questioned him in trembling tones that could have had just one answer.
No came the reply.
"How can I marry without you.?" He said
"What do you mean.? I thought things were on paper and it would happen soon." I retorted with uneasiness.
"Where is the bride.?" He inquired.
"I don't know."
"I am coming down to your city next year. Let's get to talking to our parents then." He suggested.
"What should we get talking about.?"
"Our marriage." He replied.
"I thought we were friends, weren't we.?"
"Yes, but do you think I can marry anyone other than you.?" He replied in protest.
"Let's remain friends. This is unnecessary. I plan to not marry. No reasons to give." I replied stamping my reasons on his face.
"But why.?" he enquired wavering in his speech.
"I said no reasons to give."
And banged the phone at his face.
We never spoke again, even though we often meet to see each other as thumbnails of pictures on some stupid social networking site, to steal glances and to swallow the silence that has walled the frailty of fears
I always knew we would never meet, and we never met.
Copyright Rinzu Rajan 2012