Skip to main content

Amir

-
To Arjun, for being with me all this time
-

When a voice from the other end of the phone woke me up to the news of the demise of Amir, my childhood friend, the world had barely risen from its deep winter slumber. There was not a trail of light to soothe my eyes, nor a sound to destroy silence - which hung heavily around my ears. The news didn't disconcert my lethargy; it couldn't disturb the shallow post-retirement period where I found myself in fond company of solitude and regret.

'Aren't you supposed to go?', Esha asked.

Esha. She had been beside me - sitting where I sat, reading my thoughts before I spoke, giving me a world of abundance in a rather lonely life - for 45 years! I gazed at her. Life had stolen her numerous facets; her soft skin, the blackness of her hair, her imposing seductiveness, her fragile laughs and the exquisite music in her voice.

'Yes, I must go. Are you coming?'

'Shouldn't I? How could I forget Amir?', her passionate reply found me in a peculiar guilt.

Amir was my friend even before I could understand the miracle which separates sounds and language. Amir, Esha and I thought the same thoughts and dreamed the same dreams for the greater part of our youth. When I tied a knot around Esha, and claimed her to be the first and the loveliest possession under my ownership, it was on Amir's shoulders my weight rested, my life leaned. Sitting back on my cushion, I could not comprehend where the guilt originated from, but I knew it was something which would take time to recede.

Esha was ready within an hour. I had called up Pratyush, our eldest son to drop us off at Amir's place. Senility had completely destroyed my directions and fragmented my memories, it took a lot of queries to find the place which I have so often visited when I was a child.

'Call me when it is over.', Pratyush said as we got down. I nodded.

He struggled to guide his vehicle through the gathering which overflowed from the house and onto the streets. Every mouth moved in remembrance and tribute, every ear heard a tale of kindness, every heart melted tenderly amidst tears and every mind searched to out-pour its grief. Being a part of the elite, I couldn't entirely judge the genuineness of that social expression, but I could feel a remarkable sadness prevailing powerfully, which dissolved into me and perspired through my eyes. Esha held my hands tighter, she could feel my heart beat even before my cells respire with fresh air. She says that she heard my heart's echoes resounding with music on a rock concert 47 years back - the day Amir asked me to propose her!

I saw how baldness had disfigured Amir's hair. His hair was the envy of a whole classroom. He used to carry three things with him every single day; a purse without money, a bag with a single book and a bright green comb to present his most valuable treasure in the most perfect way. His body, shunned by the ruthlessness of life, remained sturdy, yet there was a dark patch beneath his eyes which showcased a lifetime of fatigue. I was sure it could no longer hold his extensive curiosity nor his avid dreams.

Esha leaned onto me and cried. I could feel the heat of her tears permeating my clothes and touching my skin. Yet, I couldn't bring out a single drop of tear to present to my comrade. I floated in memories, and found the place where there was an abrupt ending. Beside me was Esha, holding a baby who would grow onto be the fine gentleman who dropped us off today. We were moving to Delhi in a hope to find a better job and a better place to raise our child. Amir waved his hands in ecstasy but with tears in his eyes, within every single drop of his tear I found the tremendous love which made him run three kilometers to fetch us a taxi that day.

'No one had to run to call an ambulance. He fell down and died instantly', a relative said. I scanned the vicinity in a hope to identify Amir's wife or children but could not distinguish any emotional break down from the other. It seemed everyone was equally sad and equally at loss.

Esha and I walked away from the house. Just then, they took the body for burial, a wave of tears erupted. Esha leaned on me again. I looked at her imperfect frame and mocked at life which couldn't claw into her threshold of love, nor take away the glow in her eyes. I felt Amir's hands curling around me, comforting me and asking me to move on.

We walked away from the place where Amir's spirit still tends his banana trees, where his hands still graces his farm. We reached the bus stop where years before I saw a boy in white shirt and dark blue trousers, who asked me my name and told me his, who shared his cold and damp biscuit with me during recess, who laughed at me when I fell down while playing, who held my hand and asked me to count ten before jumping into a pond, who used to tell me he sees phantoms roaming about his room at night, who cried with me when I lost my father, who shared his lunch box when my mother was sick, who motivated me with his smile, who destroyed my tears with his laugh, who kept coming back to me after our fights and in the end who cried like a fool standing alone in a station as our train blew past!

While we waited for Pratyush to arrive, I asked Esha, 'Do you know what made Amir my best friend?'

'No', she replied.

'It was my first day at school after my father died. Everyone offered me to help out on anything I would possibly need. I felt an overwhelming pity crippling me and suffocating me that day. I asked Amir if he could help me complete my notes, and then with an impish laugh he politely asked me to piss off!'

Esha gave up her tears, which impeccably gave a spontaneous smile as she imagined the scenario.

I continued, 'Only then had I realized that more than all acts of love, saying no marked a more substantial trait!'

Esha's smile widened, she hugged me and I sat still.

'You know Esha, that bastard still took the time to write my notes, he wrote it all up and gave me the next day!'

I didn't look at Esha, but I could tell she would have heard my heartbeats, because she held my hands tighter. I saw drops of tears running through my cheeks and disappearing into the humidity which held every joy and every tear of Amir's cherished life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna All the reverberations of the world nestled In a tiny speck that glowed bright, Like beads in a necklace, It united with The mighty hands of a violent Lord. The speck, moved along like a Cobra, It wrestled to be released, A space Overpowering, yet calm waited For the Cobra to taste his infinity. The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand, He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched, With it all powers shall crumble down, With it all creations shall see annihilation. Umbraged, liberated and fearsome, The speck escaped his hands, Fire Spread all around the Lords' head, For once The speck was here, next it was there. It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune, The frenzy uplifted the Lord, His hands moved to push the flame, Onto the circling speck. In a flash of ambrosial light and sound, The speck exploded and whizzed all around, The Lord went onto a fury of power, He felt his waist c

A Lost Love

Artwork: Google Images   The calm of morphine kept fading, By little I found the pain brewing, While the untamed heart kept pounding Much like a blanched pigeon Freshly caged. Days were lost in hours of pain, Weeks passed as I couched Sans the strength to speak out, I gave a whisper one day As lightly as a fading song, I asked the doctors about her health. Spells of hallucination always struck, I remained in a hospital bed Looking at the monitor echoing my beats, But a moment after, I am in a car, Racing at knots at the rage of opium. In a moment my life became white, Her hands were clutched onto mine, I looked into her eyes and a paranoia rose, Is it the morphine that flows through me, Or is it the opium that makes me high? The doctors claimed she had died, But then who sat beside me last night? Drops of tears concerned my vision I felt her as real as the flagitious doctors Who raced around me like wild hyenas. A whi

The Partition

I dedicate this poem to all Pakistanis. You are all as much a kin to me as Indians. One of the many images of partition that moved me emotionally. It was also the cover photo of  Yasmin Khan's book, The Great Partition  The second column of Muslims passed, Not a soul in our side had the strength, To shower them with our words; cursed, Along they passed as silent as us, Drifting with the hot and wild wind, That very often burns our face, As we cut through this desert; wretched. O lovely dawn of freedom, while you showered purple and gold, half of us never knew what future held, Singing and dancing beneath the relentless sun, we hugged and kissed the conspirator's arms. The line drawn that sliced Punjab, The surgical tool that dissected Bengal, Never seemed more poignant, Till it ripped us apart from Lahore, And made us to savor this journey. Guided by a false pretense of safety, Moving onto a false notion of liberty, Living on the narrow verg