Three is a crowd

It was complicated,

And I was happy.

It was messy,

And I was happy.

It was absurd,

And I was happy...

It was wrong... but...didn‚t I say it before?

I was happy.

I DON’T really know where to start. Is it appropriate to start with the disasters or the miracles? Is it safe to let people know exactly who you are? Or do you just omit the bad stuff and let the good stuff be. It was the year that India was blessed with its billionth baby, Aastha. We had been ushered into a new century. And here I was, wishing I would be blessed with my own little miracle.

I had lost a leg. But I couldn't have been happier. He sat next to me and held my hand, "Don’t you worry, I am here now and this time I won‚t leave. Ever." He wouldn’t leave me, I smiled and then we both laughed, threw our heads back and laughed, the lilting sounds made my tears flow. There I was, crying and laughing at the same time. He was finally there.

And then I woke up.

My leg was there, where it was supposed to be. And all I wanted for was to cut it. Do something, lose a leg, an eye... die. Anything, I just wanted to be hurt so badly, that he would come back to me. But that was not to be. So that was that. It was hot and I was wet in places that only existed in that perverse mind of mine -- a mind that thought of nothing but him since he went away. There was nothing else that I wanted more. I was ready to die at his feet. I got up and headed for the bathroom. As the water slid over me, I thought of that feeling we called love. I could swear it existed, but like God, it only appeared in front of those who truly deserved to see its glory. Like a teacher picks her favourite student, love picked those choicest few who deserved happiness. I watched the shopkeeper outside my house kiss his fat wife in a wheelchair and the smile that she smiled, was similar to the smile I used to smile when I had seen my parents hug the last time they did.

I saw it creep in,

it woke me up.

it took away my breath

and then it made me smile

it held me tight

and shook me up

kissed my lips

and whispered sweet nothings

oh why didn’t I lock the doors

fasten the window

seal the entrances

because I can’t find it anymore

have looked everywhere

have u seen it?

it goes by the name of love

Make it happen, we have to make things happen. If we work hard enough, things would happen. Good will triumph over evil. Good would always win. But then again, was I good? Was I really, madly, truly deeply good? Now let’s not talk nonsense and let’s not beat around the bush. Was I a good person? Did people see me as a good person? All that was coming out of this argument was that I was self-obsessed. Conceited too. I was in a room and there was a figure sleeping on the bed. The fan made too much noise. I kissed him hard, and slowly put my hand under his shirt. He was awake now, and he looked at me with half-closed eyes. As I kissed his neck, I could see him squirming under me. I kissed him harder and slowly made my way down his lean form. I could see him shutting his eyes and when a moan escaped those lips, I knew what to do. It was an epiphany; I knew what to do to make this one happy. At least, maybe then, it would delay his departure.

The sun shone brightly outside and I squinted and opened my umbrella. I walked into the cafe at the corner, ordered tea and sat down to brood. I took in the couple on this corner... another on the other corner. Somehow when one was alone, the world seemed like a bundle of lovers. I tried to focus on the book in my hand, but the words were blurry. I looked outside the window and saw people waiting for the bus. Mothers with children, people getting back from work, college-goers and then, I saw him. He walked past the window in a flash and the next moment, I saw him paying for a cappuccino on the counter. As he sat on the next table, I couldn’t get myself to look away. He was around 40, tall, lean, with kind eyes. His shirt was a pale blue and his eyes as black as the night. Look away, look away. My hand ached to reach out and touch him. But I tucked my hands tightly below me. I saw his face tilt and I knew he was looking at me. I stared hard at the book in my hand... then slowly looked at him... He wasn’t there.

What was that? Why had I felt as if someone reached inside me and grabbed my heart tight? Why had my mouth gone dry and why had my breath almost stopped. I was dizzy with... I did not know what to call this. I gathered my things and rushed to the room with the noisy fan. He lay on the bed where I had left him, spent and drenched in sweat. I put on the fan and touched his hair. He pulled me towards him and I found myself thinking of blue shirts and black eyes.

What is love at first sight? Does it exist? Was what I felt, love? How could  I, I didn’t even  know him. I saw just a glimpse. And he hadn’t even noticed me. Was love that blind? My feet ached and my head throbbed. The bed creaked below me and I tasted my salty tears on my tongue. Why was I crying? Sheryl Crow hummed in my head “If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad if it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad.”

I got dressed, put on some lipstick and was out of the door. As I walked the street, I noticed people look at me and I smiled. Being looked at always made me happy. For the lack of a better word, I could say I was an exhibitionist. Ouch, that hurt. Was I actually calling myself that. I walked and I walked and I walked. I didn’t have a place to go to... so I walked a little more. The water lapped over my toes and I remembered days gone by. Sweet kisses, harsh words, missed moments, regrets and promises and love... yes, days of love. Days spent with that special someone I used to know. Why do people leave? And once they leave, why do things change? Does love live within a specific boundary? Does love confine you or let you spread your wings? Where does love go when you need it the most? And then I saw Him. Today the shirt was a dark blue, though the eyes were still black. He looked at me and half smiled. I looked away and then cursed. He was smiling at me, look back and smile. I looked back and glory to God, he was still there.

The next few days were a blur, as most things in my life. I divided my time between the room with the fan, the memories in my head and Him. He was unlike anyone I had met before. And I was finally where I wanted to be. His room was unlike one I had seen before. I entered and was faced with the thousands reasons, why I had longed to be there. He slowly shut the door behind me, and I took a deep breath. So I was here, what was I going to do. Nothing, we were just going to talk. We  would find things that were common between us. We would talk about everything and anything... and then I would feel that this was not wrong. He sprawled across the bed and I felt a slight twinge in my heart. My hand ached to reach out and touch him. But I tucked my hands tightly below me and tried to change the subject. A row of books adorned his bedside and I busied myself. He told me funny anecdotes about each book, what he liked, what I would like, who gave him what... his eyes growing wide, his voice animated. I told myself not to notice, I had to be strong, I wasn‚t going to give in. I was going to be strong. I sat on the edge of the bed and he lay right behind me. Those fingers circled the skin next to my ears, my neck all the while oblivious to the effect that had on me. This did not mean anything, I told myself. His fingers then entwined with mine and I felt  myself starting to give in. No, I had to do something, stop it, stop it... but it just kept happening. He made small circles on my back and I jumped. He then firmly placed his hand on mine, kissed me and said, "You are beautiful", and I was floored. When we finally came up for air, he started laughing, "Don’t you feel like a teenager making out." And I did, I felt like a little girl... with a man who would take care of me. I think I should leave, I gathered up the courage to say. After one last long lingering kiss, he let me go.

He knelt down before me and made me wear my shoes... tying each shoelace carefully. "I am sorry, I hope you are OK?" Ya, I was OK. As I walked out of the room, I noticed a kajal pencil lying next to a woman’s watch on the side table. WHAT? What could this mean? Did this mean he already had someone? Did it mean he already had someone he slept with, brushed sides with while they both got ready in the mornings, spent evenings reading to? And then, I grimaced.

What was I cribbing about? He was exactly like me.