The truth is that I have no pride. Maybe I should take pride in that.

A shared smoke and a funny joke
With a surprisingly likeable bloke

A quick look and an invisible hook
And a discussion on an inane book

An unfamiliar style and a quiet smile
Distractions for more than a while

A stolen glance and a long dance
And a planned evening of chance

A cupid’s dart and a beating heart
Growing fonder every moment apart

A little thought in a moment caught
Is it so transient, maybe or maybe not

So we did it right with hands clasped tight
Bonds witnessed by little doves white

Then the beginning of lies and long sighs
And the time to say goodbyes

An inevitable end and some pretend
Little cracks that we tried to mend

A little of me you just can’t see
Now I only want the freedom to be

Feelings shunned and arguments won
For, the two are no longer one

So many questions. So many lies. I don’t want to lie. So I give evasive answers. Half truths. The whole truth will sound like a justification. And I don’t want to justify. What is right? No one has the right to judge me. For, my right maybe your wrong. Maybe you won’t judge. But you would pity. Make tutting sounds of sympathy. I don’t want you to feel bad for me. For in your feeling bad for me, is your feeling good about yourself. It’s not that I don’t want you not to feel good. But don’t feel good at my cost. Maybe you’ll relate to me. Maybe my story will be yours. Maybe my right will be your right. But I don’t want to forge a bond with you based on misery. You will think we are friends, because we understand and we agree. But we won’t really be friends beyond that one truth. And then you’ll be hurt when my truth changes to a new one. Because what is now, will change. Soon. So, if you have to talk, speak of the weather and recession and other inconsequentialities.

I stayed in a small guesthouse in Chennai in the one month that I was there. So it wasn’t the Taj, but it was adequate. The room was bare but neat, the sheets slightly frayed but clean. The staff barely spoke English (or Hindi) but we managed to communicate in broken words and sign language.

My first day there I called up room service for a cup of coffee. The following was my telecon:

Me: Hello
Reception: Re-sap-shun
Me: I am calling from Room 5
Reception: Room 5
Me: I would like a cup of coffee please
Reception (Silence): …..
Me: Coffee please
Reception: Ka-fee?
Me (unsure): Ka-fee? (Ka-fee? Oh, he means coffee). Yes coffee, I mean Ka-fee
Reception (politely): Sa-ree madam
Me:… (Sa-ree? Sa-ree? Oh, he must mean sorry)…Ka-fee
Reception (politely): Sa-ree madam
Me (slowly and clearly): Kaa Fee
Reception (politely): Sa-ree madam
Me (a little louder): KA-FEE
Reception (politely): Sa-ree madam
Me (exasperated): Coffee, Ka-fee, Ka-fee
Reception (even more politely and patiently): Sa-ree madam
Me (wondering why I ever came to this city where the people can’t even understand me when I say coffee, which is a reasonably universal word; missing my morning coffee which would be given to me without my asking for it….): …..
Reception (clearing his throat): Madam?
Me (my last attempt before I give up): Coffee…. please
Reception: Ok madam. Send room.
I put the phone on the cradle out of breath and thankful that I would be getting coffee after all because now I desperately needed it.

It was some days later that I realised that ‘Sa-ree’ in Tamil means ‘ok’.

I forgive you, but you forgive yourself a little too easily.
~ John Irving

You were

A poem,

A desire,

A beacon,

A belief.

You gave

Time,

Faith,

Hope,

Confidence.

You are

A disillusionment,

A broken promise,

A past,

A nobody.