Love Letter to ✰xíḉ⧷⋮

I sit on a chair-table next to the see-through glass wall. A pigeon looks at me & wonders why humans live in cages of bricks & glass. A girl walks towards me with a smile. I speak before she does. 

“I will take a coffee in a ceramic cup — black, no sugar — thank you.”

“Sure.” She made a note. “And are expecting company, Sir?”

“I don’t know if she’s coming”

“Um”

“It’ll just be me”

“Alright, Sir”

I don’t know of anyone who has drunk more coffees in a café sitting by himself. I like the amalgamation of solitude with coffee, ink & paper - that’s how my soul weaves stories. It’s the thing that makes me come alive even when my heart is frozen.

Today is different.

Not different like when it rains on a sunny day - different like when a bride dies on her wedding day.

The calendar had no 29th in February. The calendar has a 29th in March.

The calendar of my life & hers also had a 29th. 

Now, it doesn’t

——

In life, I didn’t expect to fall in love. 

Not because I didn’t believe in it or thought I wasn’t capable of it. 

Because I knew what makes love special is that it’s rare — most humans never fall in love. 

I knew if one in a million falls in love, I really didn’t stand a chance.

And then I did. 

In time, she went away.

I was 24. I was yet to know that everyone, eventually, leaves. 

Her going away destroyed me. All of me.

That’s when she came back to me. In another avatar. In writing.

Writing became the reason I woke everyday. Writing made me sleep like a baby, whose heart wasn’t broken.

And when I knew that I will never love anyone again, I found out I was wrong again. 

In time, she went away, too.

I was 31. Now I knew that everyone, eventually, leaves. 

I wrote more. The more I bled on paper, the less I thought of my frozen heart.

And then one day, I met you.

I know I never said to you that I love you. It’s inexplicable that I haven’t.

I know why I haven’t. It’s still inexplicable.

And now, you’re gone.

I always knew you will leave. Everyone leaves. I know that. I’ve known that for the longest time. 

“There are no happy endings — just happy in-betweens.”

The journey to find love took me 23 years & then another 5 to fall in love again. And then it took 11 years to find you. And now that I’m 40, I reckon — & so does the algorithm — I will be 63 when I fall in love again. So the next 23 years are going to be one hell of a time with writing, weaving stories. Life has shown me, when your heart is shattered, you bleed gold.

You’re one hell of a person. You got the worst deal amongst all, but you fought hard. Like a warrior. The truth is I wouldn’t date myself. Because I’m insufferable. 

I know all the right things to say that keep things good — they tell you all that stuff in the movies, you know. But I’m too much of a cunt who wouldn’t shut the fuck up when he has to.

In this year, when I got to know you intimately, I knew I wanted to know you more. We all evolve with time so we are never the person we were a year, 5, 11 years ago. I wanted to see you transform over time. I can’t think of anything more beautiful. 

There are things I can’t do nothing about. And there are things I can.

I will still go to Defence Bakery & pick up a cup cake for you as you wanted. I will still give you the hard drive. I will still give you my T-shirt with dead rockstars. I will still write letters to you - I hope you tell me when your address changes. I don’t want some weirdo to read another weirdo’s letters. I will begin to oil my hair. I will watch WestWorld & Mr. Robot. 

I will never finish the film - Eurovision. I will still re-write the songs I spoke to you about [You’re Beautiful, Paradise, When We Were Young, Kids Again, River & most definitely Photograph] & may be someday you will sing them. I will read Morticia when she writes. I will listen to all the songs you sent me on the Playlist. I will still cook the butter chicken for you.

I still had to take care of you when you were under the weather. I still have to get a tattoo of you - I will. I still had to show you my room & tell you everything about everything that is in there. I still had to share so many stories with you & don’t even get me started about the stories we still had to create together. I still had to clean the shed in front of your balcony with you. I still had to smoke anything you rolled for me. I still had to show you my kinder garten near my home. I still had to show you my boarding school in Dehradun. I still had to see everything you wanted to show me. I still had to fight with you & tell you to never settle for anything that’s not amazing - even if that’s me. I wanted to make sure you never stop writing - I know you won’t so that worked out alright. 

I still had to see your new hair. I still had to see you dance & see how it makes your hair fly. I still had to dance with you.

My eyes didn’t rain when I read your letter. I was too frozen to. 

But my eyes are in the midst of Bombay monsoon as I write this. 

As you know real well, what the kid said in Real Steel. “I want you to fight for me.”

I will always fight for you.

You know, I remember a hell lotta things we did together. Though, it’s impossible & ridiculous to say one thing was the best. But if I were to pick one, then I will always pick when I carried you home on my back. Everytime I remember that moment, it fills me with absolute happiness. 

Our story is like Eurovision. We started it together. We never finished it. Now, either I will finish it with you or it will remain unfinished - I, we, may never know the ending.

Even if some things I do are bloody difficult or outright stupid or both, I had decided a long time ago that I will always hold my end of the deal - failure & embarrassment notwithstanding. So I will board the train on 28th night & barring a miraculous train crash, I will be on the station of your borrowed home town on the 29th morning. 

And I come there not to ask anything of you. I come because all of me wants to. If I see you, I will give you a letter. And if I don’t, I will give you a letter. And yeah, also the cupcake from Defence Bakery. 

That’s my deal & you will always be a big deal to me.

P.S. There are no goodbyes, just really really awful days, months, years when we don’t see the people we love the most.