Saturday, December 05, 2009

My Last Goodbye


I don’t know if she likes me or not. I don’t know if she hates me or not. Damn it, I don’t even know if she considers me a friend. But she is probably the only reason why I can survive in this class which does not have any of my friends from my group. Fu**in’ system—transferred all of my friends to other sections on promotion to this class. Well, maybe it was good because now I have the time and solitude to look at her and admire her beauty but still I hate the system and I hate this teacher who always tries to flirt with her. What an a**h***. He will never even look at our copies or try to solve our doubts—as if his glasses have a filter and are not able to see such trivial subjects like us. Maybe he too is astounded by her beauty (It ain’t brilliance... I know that and anyone in the class can give a testimony to that) just like me and probably many other secret admirers of her.
It’s not that she is the only beautiful girl present here but I love her only (if it’s love at all). Maybe because of her casual attitude or indifference, dunno what it is (but she doesn’t really know me well, I only help her out sometimes with maths just like so many others, so why should she be a good friend of mine, loving me would be a farfetched dream). And being me, I know I am not gonna say anything to her. I will only sit here, complete my maths problems even before others start sharpening their pencils (guess a bit exaggerated) and look at her without letting anyone else know. What a coward am I! What am I afraid of? Her boyfriend (that bas**** who self proclaims himself to be her darling... but she has never denied the rumours too). No, I am not afraid of him. Is it about the fact that my class teacher knows my mom? Well, maybe but even that ain’t such a good reason. Is it because of the pressure that is on me when so many eyes (my family, my close relatives and even the distant ones too) are focussed on me, always expecting something extraordinary (by that, I mean academics) which they can easily show off (how they like to flaunt every small achievement... I remember meeting Parmeet aunty that day when she was so enthusiastically telling my mom that Gogi, her son had been awarded a prize by the school. Only later did my mom and I come to know that it was for 100% attendance and wasn’t a prize but just a certificate). Parents!!


I don’t know what the reason is but I know I won’t be able to tell her and I also know that in every maths period just like today, I will either be stealing glances of that beautiful face or killing my time writing such notes at the last pages, cursing at the same time the teacher, my school, my class partner(who I don’t know why is so interested in reading what’s written in my copy rather than his) and go on loving her (if it is love). I know I am pathetic but I am an irreparable defect.



Every memory returned in a flash as I completed reading the text on the last page. After frantically searching my cupboard for probably the zillionth time, I had been successful in finding the copy which was such a prized possession for me-- My mathematics copy in which I had solved questions in class 7. I know copies with mathematics questions are not the most interesting stuff to keep (and that too for so many years) and in no way can be a prized possession. But the last pages of that copy had scribbled text which was precious to me—even after all these years had passed. All those writings by me, just like the one above which I read again after so many years and yet it seemed like no time had passed. A smile came on my lips as I remembered everything. She was right. These memories always brought that smile, ever so elusive in my miserable life. I turned the pages and arrived at the only page which did not have my handwriting. And I wasn’t able to control myself from crying. The smile had vanished so fast and tears were falling from my eyes which are very miserly in allowing even a drop to fall out.

I remembered those days. I loved her so much and always thought of her. I wasn’t a stud (or any other word they use for smart guys). So, didn’t really have a reason why or how I could impress a girl like her (not like her but just her, to be precise). But I was very good in maths. That was the sole positive aspect in my entire story, my beacon of light in the darkness called life. It was the only time I could interact with her (she would have lots of doubts and I would always be so helpful to bale her out of her miseries, isn’t that what a girl dreams of when she talks about her knight in shining armour coming to her rescue in times of extreme urgency). But I was no knight and hell, I didn’t even know how to cut vegetables using a knife, slashing enemies with swords was something I did just in my dreams (I guess you know who all featured very prominently and very often in these dreams of mine). Jokes apart, I dreamt of her and yet I feared telling anything to her. I would have written more, about how beautiful she was, her eyes, her hair but I am not writing a novel so I will cut out all the fine details. Just like so many typical love stories, mine was no different. Boy loves girl, girl doesn’t know, boy can’t express and all the essential complimentary features like school life, friends (boy’s and girl’s), studies, secret missed calls, sleepless nights, poems written and pages of diaries filled in honour of the girl’s beauty and the boy’s love for her, were also there. But the love story didn’t last long (Well! Actually the story ended soon, the love did not).

Her dad got transferred to a different city. And she had to move out with her entire family. I never met her ever again or even had a conversation (Back then, there was no Orkut where I could look for her and become one of the 300 or 3000 of her friends and I was too secretive in not letting someone in my class know of my feelings for her—hence I could not even get her phone number. Anyways, it wouldn’t have helped. I could only have been able to muster up enough courage to give her a missed call or just listen to her hello before disconnecting). So, I decided to move on with life, moreover so after reading the only page of my mathematics copy which was readable because of the beautiful handwriting, which did not belong to me (As far as my handwriting was in those days, even those owners of the medical stores who are habituated in reading the worst possible stuff written by an entire race of people who never want or like to have good handwriting; doctors, would have either committed suicide or killed me for asking them to go through such a torturous pain). Now what was written there won’t come as a surprise to you people. I hereby produce the letter, as it was written (I can read it from memory too, after all I did read it for innumerable times).



Wow!! I can’t believe people can write such interesting stuff, that too in a mathematics copy. I am sorry that I read it but I will tell you it was all by mistake (though I don’t regret this mistake) and I am surprised and impressed as well by your writing skills. I didn’t know you could write so beautifully, except for a few starred words (mainly because I didn’t expect anything like that from you). My maths guru is after all not like I know him (that’s about one who teaches me and not the one who teaches the class—About him-- I always knew he was flirting with me and other girls too—I know you missed that part). I don’t need to worry about him anymore, or about my so called boyfriend (I agree with you, he is a bas**** because he has been spreading such rumours even after I have threatened him and now I know that there is at least one person in my class who believes the truth—anyways how could he ever think that he could get such a nice girl like me). Ooh! Enough of the bragging. You would ask why I don’t need to worry. Because I am leaving school (not because of any of the above reasons) as my father is getting transferred and we are all moving to another city. Isn’t it exciting, moving to new places, knowing more people, making new friends? And that is the only reason why I wrote this letter. I have come to know you more from your writings, though I would have liked to know you more personally. But, I know I don’t have lot of time left to spend here, so it won’t be possible. There will be still mathematics classes but I won’t be there for you and you won’t be “stealing glances of that beautiful face” (quoting you) any more neither will you be there for this poor soul to “help her out sometimes with maths” (I know I am not that brilliant—you don’t need to remind me of that ;) ). But go on writing; don’t stop doing it (maybe something else, with someone else as the central theme). By the way, the girl who sits behind me has a sort of liking for you (though she ain’t beautiful like me but is very good in maths)—interested??

Anyway, won’t tease you anymore. You are a really good boy. I will always be grateful to you otherwise I would have never passed in any of the mathematics examinations. We never became good friends or got to know each other, that is something I will regret. But there is no use thinking about what could have been and what could not. One should move ahead in life and not think of past (that is my advice to you). With that, I will say goodbye. I hope to meet you someday and then maybe we can even have a good laugh over all this that happened.


I never knew how she read it all because I always hid those pages behind the cover of my copy and cleverly hid my maths copy even from my brother. But she had found the well hidden (that’s what I thought) secret and even after knowing it, she had left so many questions unanswered. Like, what do I do next? Anyway, as I told, the story ended soon ‘coz even my father (maybe due to some heavenly providence) got transferred too within a month of her leaving the school and all my connection with her, the school was cut (maybe for good). And as she had written, I moved on forgetting her (or so I thought).

After this, a lot happened in my life. I passed through school, went to college but I won’t go into all those details. Let me fast forward the story to the time frame which was 2 hrs 14 minutes before this present moment. What a coincidence, 14/2 is 7; the class in which I saw her for the last time and 2 hrs 14 minutes is the exact time for which she is dead now!

Yes! DEAD. Gone. Alive no more. And I know I can’t blame fate here. I am the one who is at fault. Mea Culpa!

I was at this party and it went a little wild. Everyone got heavily drunk. And then we decided to do the unthinkable. The street race which we usually participated in. The adrenaline was high and all our senses had stopped giving us any warning. And then it happened. That scooter appeared from nowhere and my car hit it at the maximum speed. I saw the driver, her eyes, her face was still the same, it was her. How could I not recognize her? She was there, taking her last breath and I could not save her. I don’t know how she was there, in the same city as mine. The fate had never allowed us to meet ever before and now when we met; it wasn’t something which I ever thought to be. My friends pulled me out of my car and drove away from there.
I could not do anything except see her close her eyes.

I know I cannot take this anymore. It is difficult to bear this pain. And hence, I have decided to take my life. This is my last letter. My last goodbye.


7 comments:

Arjun said...

Dude... this is fiction ryt??

If it is not... Very sad... I'm sorry :(

If it is.. It's still sad.. But wonderfully written.. :)

Cheers..!!
Arjun

Saket said...

Hey Arjun..
This is fiction. This reply wouldn't be there if it was real. :)

Arjun said...

haha... I think it was obvious that it was fiction.. :P I get silly at times...

U've added the tags now.. ;)

ANyway.. as i said... so very well written.. :)

Cheers..!!
Arjun

Suyash Agrawal- Searching for lost marbles….. said...

Going maudlin mate? I suggest you, in so many words, to think twice before taking your own life.....not that i really care (tongue in cheek). Suicide is culpable (bless Gandhi) and it will not make up for your bootless wooing, nor will it unburden your guilty conscience. Now, how about a 'padho' of 'Jo Beet Gayee So Baat Gayee' by Dr. Bachchan......ha ha.

shwetabh said...

awesome piece dude...this is the kind of writing why every time you update your blog, i make sure i pay a visit. However although you say it is a work of fiction...i sincerely feel it is a situation every guy has to face in his life (Fortunately only the former part)...and you have painted the scenario so beautifully, i hardly could stop reading it once i had started (people who know about my reading habits will know that this is a high praise on the part of the author)

Saket said...

@ suyash - Though i am emotional or sentimental, i am not foolish enuf to do something like the character in the story. waise jo beet gayi wo baat gayi philosophy has never worked for me. i like to live in the past. but thanks for suggesting that, will consider it.

@ shwetabh - thanks buddy. thanks a lot. the story derives inspiration from so many of the people around us, we guys know it so well. And that is the reason why i chose this to be the subject of this story. Moreover, nothing can be as nostalgic as remembering the good old school days. What say??

Suyash Agrawal- Searching for lost marbles….. said...

oh really, u surprise me no end. i assure u that only pun was intended. perhaps i forgot to ask the readers to take my comments with a grain of salt.....