Arrey Pagli...

19th May, 2013: First day in delivery. Sankar introduced me to you. You were to be my first boss.
20th May, 2013: First call and introduction with the onsite. You stuttered. I thought you were nervous and stupid.
22nd May, 2013: I told you, my first teammate in delivery, that it was my birthday. I asked you for a cake. You refused.
23rd May - 16th August: We met the third teammate. The three of us used to smoke together.

16th of August: We went for a failed attempt at the team outing. Ended up partying there. It was the first time I smoked up with you. And that's when you told me while smoking and dancing in front of the couch, "Tanjul, this is how I party."

For all of 317 days, I knew you. For at least 275 of those, we hung out.
You've been gone for 334 days. I haven't hung out with you on even one of them. But there's not one day when I didn't see you.


I never thought of it because I never had to; But I knew that we'd be friends till death did us apart.
Of all I met, you were on my fantasy wedding guest list.
If there was news, good or bad, you had to be the first one to know.
Because for any memory to be fulfilled, you had to be a part of it.

The events were never important. The time I spent with you, was.
The snores were never important. Watching Sarabhai vs Sarabhai to sleep, was.
The sandwiches and milkshakes were never important. Laughing for no reason till 3am, was.
Hangovers weren't important either. Neither was the lemon soda you'd make me in the morning. But brunch at Boondock was.

Ding-Dong! Who could it be?
A helmet, a bag, a brown and grey sweater,
Hobbling in, Oho ho ho ho... While you rubbed your messy hair.

Your reluctance to hug while I tried to squeeze your breath out of you.
Your constant spot on the bean bag, and the out of the blue Hmmmmmm...s
Your inability to console people, "There there..", you said,
But you'd hug me when I cried,
And for all the annoyance I had been to you, never quite left my side.

The last conversation over a smoke, as you left early for the day.
And the next time I saw you, you were still sleeping. Wearing the same brown and grey striped sweater. Your hair were as messy as every morning. You still had that calm expression on your face.
Just the snores were missing.
I still miss those snores.
I still want to kick you to stop them when you wake me up in the middle of the night.
I still want to share a last cigarette with you because you taught me how to 'share and care'.
I still want to hear you say one more time, "Lagul lagul lagul lagul, laal laal lagul lagul, Jelly!"

The last one in the box

There had been a two week break,

followed up by the mellow week.

The drunken texts,

and the cliched blocking of numbers.

She figured he had moved on,

She had never spoken to him again.

Every facebook update of his still,

was hard to get used to.

But she was,

Dressing up, going out

Attending parties, and meeting men.

She had amazing friends,

diamonds who stood by her,

helping her get through the moments,

taking things back to normal;

and she was.

She came back home one day,

and apalled by the mess in the room,

she finally decided to clean up her act.

Picking up the old pieces of paper,

and the empty packets of cigarettes,

strewn around the room.

Lay in one corner however,

was a small unknown pack,

they weren't the ones she usually smoked,

they were different.

She picked it up, and rattled it,

out of habit, like she did to every box,

to make sure she didn't throw out one of them,

most of them never did.

This one did though.

She took a peek, and in lay a single Benson and Higgs.

She never smoked them. She knew who did though.

And in a single moment, her thoughts came crashing down,

as she fell to her knees,

with shaking hands and a quivering lip.

His last visit came to memory like yesterday,

The pizza, the movie, and the kiss.

That kiss, the heat, the passion,

The last moment,

when the two had been at the same place,

Physically, and metaphysically,

Completely and utterly.

For over a hundred minutes, she could not think of anything,

other than the rush she had been through.

She took a sip of water, and a deep breath,

threw the box with the last cigarette in the pile of trash,

She'd bought one that evening,

the one she usually smoked.

She didn't need that cigarette,

the last one in the box;

just like he,

wasn't the last one in the box.

She can't sleep

She turns the key at the stroke of midnight,

stepping into a silent house after a long day at work,

She switches on the lights and throws the purse on the bed;

It's late, she realizes, and it's going to be a long day at work tomorrow,

the daily bedtime rituals follow,

and reflecting on the day's events, she tucks herself into bed.

The needle ticks one o'clock,

her head is blank, but she can't quite doze off.

Maybe it's the temperature, maybe not.

She checks her phone for all the missed Facebook updates,

the likes, the comments and the Candy Crush requests,

but it doesn't help, and neither does 9GAG.

What the hell, maybe I should get up.

She heads to the balcony, and the moon is beautiful,

the sky is clear and a cold breeze is blowing;

these are the skies that have been spoken about,

in prose and poetry over the centuries.

It's two am, but she can't quite put herself to sleep,

There's no chaos of thoughts in her head,

but it's isn't quite blank either.

She lights up a cigarette, puts on a song, and slips into a bean bag,

in meek hopes of lightening up her head.

An occasional horn of a car on the street,

in the absence of which she can hear the silence

and the burning cigarette with every puff.

The clock strikes three, maybe I should get a late night snack.

Her image, opening the refrigerator,

illuminated only by the little light inside,

moves the boxes, looking for something to nibble on.

Last night's uneaten dinner doesn't seem to be inviting enough,

Jackpot! There's ice cream in the fridge.

She grabs a spoon and slides back into her bean bag in the balcony,

as Eric Clapton begins to sing, You look wonderful tonight.

But she doesn't. She doesn't feel wonderful,

and all that she wants is for her mind to calm down so she can go to sleep.

The ice cream is over, but her mouth still craves something,

rattling the box, she's down to her last two cigarettes.

Must smoke wisely, and it strikes four am.

These are those awkward night moments,

when she reminiscences all that's happened in her life,

and what she anticipates to do with it.

There's no point going to bed anymore,

if she has to attend the call on time,

A cup of coffee would be perfect.

Choosing one of the five coffee bottles in the shelf,

the Mocha, and as she pours it into the mug,

as the house fills up with the only too familiar scent.

I could head to the terrace, there might be birds chirping,

and she might even be able to see the sunrise for the first time in months.

As she rests against the ledge, and lights up,

she can see the mini-forest behind the apartment complex.

What am I looking for, what am I thinking about,

what is in that view of the forest,

and suddenly she feels like a cliche.

It's such a beautiful weather, the brink of morning but not quite there yet,

at the stroke of 5 am.

That coffee was great, but I'm so tired.

The body needs some rest, I should lie down for a while.

She goes to bed, trying to be careful that she doesn't doze off,

since the sunrise awaits, and so does a long day at work.

Keeping her eyes open, with the lights switched on in the room,

the phone ready to browse all those emails, and notifications.

Maybe a small nap. The sunrise is still twenty minutes away,

and a nap wouldn't be too harsh.

She puts the phone aside and covers herself up with a blanket,

the nap is going to be so welcome after an entire night of being awake.

There's a sharp ringing of silence in her ears, as she closes her eyes,

and the first thing in her head is a butterfly effect.

How different would the night have been,

had something changed in her life; a small incident,

maybe some words, maybe some people,

or maybe it would never have been. That's how that night was always meant to be.

She knows she won't wake up on time.

She knows she'll have to send across another mail apologizing for being late.

She knows what will happen in her very predictable routine.

She hopes it was different.

Someday, it will be, very different.