Intersection

Dear _____,

This morning, as I bought my train ticket and pocketed the change, I saw, caught in between two notes, the train ticket of my last visit to your place. It brought the thought of you to my mind and a smile to my face. So here I am writing to you.

I distinctly remember the first time we met. I had not been really keen on meeting you but I had promised to be there and so I was. You were sitting on a small bench, shoulders leaning forward, hands and eyes intent on the cellphone. On hearing the smile of my voice, you looked up with bright eyes and smiled, for the first time at me, that peculiar smile of yours - first of a hundred more to follow. Throughout the evening, I watched the creases on the corners of your mouth, remnants of laughter from the past, random patterns and insightful observations that pleasantly surprised me.

The sights of your home - golden rays fighting through the cream curtains, leather couch and coffee table that unite in obstructing the sunlight from playing on the brown marble floors, the lady cooking in the kitchen in the opposite building when I looked out of your french windows, the books on Indian Philosophy, the lonely kite on the wall - play through my memory, when I think of u.

Do you remember that afternoon when you sat huddled atop the table as I was writing quietly and suddenly the words moving from mind to paper stopped. When did I stop writing and when did we start talking? I don't remember. I listened to the soft syllables, the unrolled r's, the intermingling languages of your grave voice. When I fall silent in the middle of a conversation, you never ask me "What is the matter? Are you ok? Why are you silent?" Instead you let me follow my chain of thought, politely standing outside my private space, listening and watching. Thank you. This is my way of saying, "Please come in."

My elaborate greetings and curt farewells, that you so meticulously mimic, do not make me self conscious but send me into fits of laughter. You have given me the refreshing pleasure of laughing at myself. The ready-to-drink watermelon juice that you solicitiously poured out of a can, for me to drink, tasted good only because of your thoughtfulness punctuated by not merely a simple "What will you have? " but a more intimate, "I have watermelon juice especially for you!" Remember I asked for another glass of that affection? I had to drink it all in one gulp because we were awfully late for some place we were going to. You grabbed the glass from me in haste, placed it on the table with a thud and walked to the door, holding my wrist tightly, like you would an errant child. "Meera... we are late!" I know. I know. But all I wanted to do was to savour that one moment - to hold on it and preserve a snapshot of it in my mind.

You smile everytime I correct your english.

"_____, Its 'Beaut-i-ful' not 'beaut-eee-ful'. "

You reply is directed more at my laughter that at my correction.

"Naah. I will never improve. This is me. Take it or leave it."

I take it.

Ours is a friendship that was doomed even before it was born. How many times our paths have crossed in the past decade and yet our destinies never converged. We are merely different products of the same equation. All the chance meetings were filtered by Fate herself and when we did meet, it was planned, proper and careful, thus erasing all traces of serendipity. I would have preferred to have been ship wrecked on your island shores. Instead it turned out to be a meticulous landing. Though I came from safety, an anchor is an anchor. It only made me feel more rooted.

You are probably the only friend I would like to hold on to, if given a choice. Ironically, you are the only friend I will have to let go of, by my own volition. Oh how I wish our realities had been different, that time and distance had not played an evil game in our lives! What cruel game of hide and seek is this! I can almost see you raising your eyebrows at this melodramatic outburst in perfect imitation of my own familiar gesture.

Some day, we will be parallel wayfarers, watching each other from a distance, never crossing the divide that separates us. Protocol and practicality will probably demand that we greet each other with a cold meaningless nod. Emotional investment that will not be worth a penny, like outdated currency, valuable only in the relics of the mind.

When it is time for me to leave, though I may feel refreshed after this vacation on your island, my heart would still be heavy. But I know that this is not my home. I have to move on. There will be many after me, as there were before, who will bask in the warmth of your friendship.

I am not going away alone. I have forgotten promises, postponed conversations that never were and this small train ticket to remind me of you...

Love,

Meera.