Trespassing

Summer of '89 brings back memories of Nattu and twilight hours spent with him in the neighbouring HauntedHouse, white bedspreads over heads, held tightly near the chin by fingers too small to hold the folds of the sheet and cemetry jokes punctuated by wailing 'Oooooo...' terminating with the then famous ad-line "Naan Ujala-vukku maariten." [I have changed to Ujala] The HauntedHouse or "Pei Veedu" [House of Ghosts] as Nattu called it, was filled with nooks housing bird nests, light that caught us by surprise from unexpected creaks, charred brick walls, overgrown grass and weeds, the well behind the house with water irreversibly black and the lone pulley. We never used the gate. We climbed on the hood of Devanathan Uncle's car and then jumped over the wall and landed flawlessly on the stone pavement leading into the house. Peering over the decripit walls of the well and spinning stories about forgotten inhabitants and their gory deaths and how they continued to haunt the house were our favourite pastimes.We loved the echoes the empty rooms produced. We played the role of ghosts day after day, perfected the 'ghost-calls'. When summer bid farewell, we promptly returned to our lives. We never parted sadly. There was the untold promise of another summer hanging in the air.

Nattu and I shared a relationship that began and ended with the summer. We were cousins when family was around, partners in crime when they were not, ghostbusters in the HauntedHouse, pranksters in front of other kids. Sometimes he was the protective brother when he entreated the 'boys' to let me into the cricket team though I found the bat too heavy for me. The rest of the year he lived in flashes of memory that blinded my eyes during long hours of homework and that too rarely. I never noticed if he had grown taller or thinner or if he had tanned in the ten months I had not seen him. The sound of his laughter never changed, the one constant thing of my childhood. Nattu's arrival heralded one more summer, more expeditions, more Rasna during the evenings. We never exchanged 'news' of the year, of triumphs and failures, that inevitably revolved around academics at that age. A new life began when Nattu walked in and the past year seemed trivial compared to the two months ahead of us.

Gradually as we grew up, thanks to 'academic' pressures and life overtaking us, time spent together dwindled. My summers were now spent preparing for the next year, taking up extra maths tuitions and catching up on reading. Our friendship was never punctuated by phone calls, greeting cards for Birthdays, emails, SMS, appointments or promises. We never accounted to each other the daily happenings of our lives. He came into one room of my life, meant only for him and never trespassed into the others. Occasionally he would peer into the other rooms and exclaim in surprise at some little progress I was making, or sympathise with some setback. Like the time he found some photograph of me, taken during my second year at college and emailed me. One thought plus a few words minus endearments and expectations equal to the warmth I felt at that moment plus the smile it brought to my face.

Meera,
Yesterday I went home. Chitthi [my mother] gave me her wonderful kaapi and showed me some of your recent photos. I see you have lost a lot of weight. You eating well? Remember my philosophy - 'Nothing comes before food.' :-) You will always remain my 'achu-pichu'. Take care.
bye,
Nattu.

***




We talk on the phone, a friend and I, long silences punctuated by wordless sighs and bare minimum words. What was like the sea shore, with gentle waves, staying within an invisible line, now needs definite walls. Relationships last longer when hazy lines look definite only out of respect for the other, the result of polite hesitation that puts the other in front of oneself and not by spelling out loud and clear - 'stay out!'. I regret the few words that lashed out of my mouth and the fact that the defense mechanism was needed. Words are all good but non-words express more. I read your philosophy through your actions, through smiles and frowns, through inflections of your voice. When I recieve mixed signals, I am confused. I have pleasant memories but I do not want to relive them or be expected to do so or held hostage by my past words and actions. I want to let go and not be 'promised to'. I wish we could approach this on a daily basis, from minute to minute, from phone call to phone call, from summer to summer. Would not things be simpler if we had no lines, but just watch the waves drawing away, like curtains lifting over a stage, revealing the reflection of the moon on the wet shore?

When I take a stroll after dinner, and see the moon, I am reminded of you and I call you to exclaim, "The moon looks beautiful!" I would rather do this than make weekly promised calls. Do you find it weird or even opportunistic? The fact that I want to share this moment with you is the greatest tribute I can pay to our relationship. The flash of thought and the resultant smile spell an affection far greater than words can express. I only wish you could read that.