Sometimes the support from a stranger works miracles, she was a miracle. She still is. R used to work in a domestic Call Center in Calcutta near AJC Bose Road. A meritorious student, her ambitions were soon marred by the socio-political structure of our country after she passed out. So we were sailing in the same boat, although I would say that she was a much better struggler than I was. And she never fell short off optimism, atleast not for me.
It was a late night at home. Everyone was asleep except for me. I was still recovering from that accident which almost killed me. I was watching a movie on Cable when my phone buzzed. It was an SMS from Indiatimes chat. I had registered there feeling bored with life and nothing else to do, my computer was broke after an unfortunate power surge.
It was R's first SMS for me. She wanted to be my friend. And since then I never had to turn back to anyone else for friendship, love and solace. She was always there for me, always. At times for me, she even forgot her own self!
Her introduction was short, sweet and crisp. And it never took me time to sweep her off her feet with my inborn charm of a true Libran *ahem* Slowly one thing came to the other and we never knew when, but we fell madly in love with eachother.
We used to meet near Forum Shopping Mall, it was the most convenient place for her as it was a 10 minutes walk from her workplace. And moreover we had a place to sit on a crescent shaped marble chair so that we could get lost in eachother's eyes.
R and I mainly used to talk over the phone, we hardly used go out together. Reason being, she had her office, and I was not used to dating or hanging out with someone. Come to think of it now I think it was a blunder, the times we shared could have been much better. And she deserved a lot more than that.
It was because of R that I became an SMS junkie, I still have an incredible text-ing speed of 70 wpm. Mostly we used to chat during late nights, when the whole world was asleep. The world dreamt in their sleep, we dreamt lying awake.
I still remember that night. It was one of the most memorable night for me. I was waiting for her SMS and all the while twisting and turning in my bed. All of a sudden a gust of cold breeze hit me hard on my face. My bedroom is on the 4th floor and it has 2 big windows in it just next to my bed. The windows open to the houses nearby, but those houses are at a distance. And in between there are lots of greens. No, I don't mean we have a money making press here, I mean trees, plain simple green tress. So during the monsoon I enjoyed watching rain from my bedroom.
Later that night all hell broke loose. It started raining cats and dogs, and it seemed that that night the cats and dogs were having the fight of their lives. But I was too lazy to get out of my bed to close the windows. So the occasional gust of wind which brought in the monsoon shower through the window drenched me from head to toe, but I paid no heed to it. Rather I was secretly enjoying it while hiding under my quilt.
Monsoon can bring the poet and the lover inside you. The poet because the virgin nature, bathed, offers you her body to write on, to write upon. Lover, because the dampness of the monsoon brings with it a sense of warmth. You want to snuggle up close with some someone for warmth, you want to hide your face behind her ears and hold her fragrance forever inside you. And you can take my word for it, during monsoon, the lover is not romantic, the monsoon love can be pretty wild.
That night when we finally started chatting it was still raining, and in that ambiance we forgot the concept of time and that she would have to go to her office the next morning. We played a little game of textual Antakshari. She would write a song and send it to me, I would write a song and send it to her. Childish, isn't it? Yes, there is a kid hiding somewhere inside her which only I can find.
That night, I would not say I was in heaven, but wherever I was I never wanted to come back to reality.
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