The Gulmohar

I saw you the other day, framed in the mirror of the croissant shop. As I watched your hair sparkle, your eyes gleam, my mouth curved itself into a smile. I reached my hand out towards the mirror, almost in a dream, and then quickly retracted it, as I caught his reflection too, behind you.

Was I jealous? I didn't think there was any need to ask me that, I would have thought the answer would be clear, as clear as the fresh sea-air breezing into you as you drive down the coast, the lush red strawberries in your father's little patch, as fresh as your breath as your mouth which reaches upwards as your eyes half-close, your lashes tremble slightly in anticipation… I want you so badly I can't even deny it anymore. Least of all, to myself. If you came up to me at the croissant shop, smiled your diamonds up at me, and asked how I was, I would have wept at your feet and made a sorry wretch of myself.

I watched you walk out of the store, your packets in his hands, his laughter ringing in your ears, my envy dogging your footsteps.

****

The crisp air of Mahabaleshwar is an aphrodisiac, a cunning wile that makes you believe that you're capable of everything in the whole wide world. You have absolutely no equal, no rival to snatch your prize away from underneath your nose, and just when you start believing in your own immortality, Memory comes wafting in, unannounced and uninvited, and the sound of Her bags hitting the floor jolts you back to Reality.

I can't come to this place, you know, without walking down to the Gulmohar Tree. He sees me coming, and holds out his boughs for me. He understands me, and my sorrows. You're not unique, he seems to say, but you're special. Comforted, I rest my back against the old bark, and listen to his slow, silent rumble. We stay like that for ages, He and I, listening to each other, consoling each other, and helping the other along. No explanations are necessary, for why should they be? He knows Everything. We swore by our love underneath those very branches, we witnessed the blooms tingle and tremble together in rapture, you clove my heart in two underneath Him. It all seems so, so long ago now, but not when I go to see my old friend. Seconds pass, then minutes, then whole hours, as I stand there, my eyes closed and my mind seeing. Memories, moments and epochs.

I must have spent close to three hours with Him this time. I remember marveling at the bright tangerine shots streaking the sky, and then at the cold greys setting in, and pulling my jacket closer around me. I sighed finally, and arose to walk back to the lodge. In a way, I was replenished.

***

I can't stay away. I can't understand how I've fallen back down the hill again, after seeing you that time. The boy behind the counter knows me by face now, the other day I think he even called me by name. I must have - yes, I remember now, I'd left my wallet there a week back. He gave it back, intact.

I know you come by often. Repeatedly. With him once a week, and without him once again. Sunday mornings at 11'oclock, and Wednesday evenings at 5. You buy those round jam-tarts and the chocolate boats. On Sundays, the donuts and the chicken puffs. The girl called Meghna handles the ice-cream machine, and you smile at her. She hands you a butterscotch cone which you nibble over, while making your rounds. A touch of ice cream sticks on the edge of your nose, and I'm dying to reach out and wipe it off. Dying to get you to look up at me, smile in politeness first and then cry in wonderment, clutching onto me and never letting go...

It's the same daydream, everytime. I snap out of it, when I see you pay the boy called Raghav. You smile up at him, and accept the change. You make space for the parcel in your packets, and after another smile at Meghna, you step out the door and I can see you through the glass now, as you shift all your packets to your right hand, walking down towards Colaba. I stay there for awhile, examining the breads intently. My heart yearns to scream out something, but I finish making my own choice calmly without a single cry, and walk over to Raghav. Unfailingly, a loaf of brown bread and a pie. He looks at me, cheery and glad to have a moment alone with Meghna at long last, and bills me.

I leave, only to return the next day.

***

There are times when I wonder if it's all really worth it. Tell me, was it worth it to give you your freedom at the cost of my life? Who decides these things? Who decides what's wrong, and what's right, what should and what should not be? Can He ever truly not be biased? Who made up that despicable lie about Love being all about Sacrifice? I loved you, and let you go - if my love was the greater one, shouldn't I be the one with the greater reward? Who says that it's mean-spirited to talk about rewards, as far as love is concerned? Who says that love is a Many-Splendoured-Thing?

But most of all, I wonder about You. About whether you're the same person anymore. I gave you your freedom, is this my punishment then, for not trying harder? And you, do you ever regret coming up to me that balmy afternoon under the Gulmohar, with expectation in your eyes and the divorce papers in your hand? I wonder time and again, whether you're ever as happy as you believed you'd be? Has it worked out for you then, the way it hasn't for me?

You haven't been coming to the shop for a long time, and all these questions whirl at topnotch speed inside me. In the mirror, I can see Raghav bore into my back with annoyance plainly written on his face at my extended stay, see Meghna give him coy shrugs, but they don't understand how I just have to stay here, waiting for you… You haven't come for days, and yet I'm here again. Everyday here for the last two weeks. Only the pie now. I choose, taking longer and longer with each passing day, waiting to hear your footstep. I never do, I take my wrapped pie, and stand out on the street, waiting under the bus-stand, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. I never do. I gaze towards Colaba; the shimmering haze clouding my vision doesn't endear itself to me, but I stay on, determined. I've learnt my lesson, you might say, learnt not to give up on you all that easily anymore.

But I'm not an accomplished liar. I never was, and who knows that, better than you? I lean against the bus-stand for hours now, and I can see Raghav looking out through the glass door, looking out at the crazy old man who's been standing under the bus-stand since morning. I can sense his pique, his bewilderment, and his hesitation. I lied to myself that afternoon under the Gulmohar when I told you bitterly that I could do without you, that I was my own man… I lied to myself when I said that you meant nothing to me, when I reasoned with myself that I couldn't be broken by you. And that lie has cost me so much. No, I can't lie well - maybe I should just stop. Stop telling myself that you're coming back to me, that I'll see you again.

Stop lying.

Like a great big Gulmohar myself, I turn, shoulders hunched, ready to walk away from Colaba. The sun hurts my eyes. Like a giant who must return to his castle high above for slumber, after having renounced the world, I turn.

My shoulder knocks off somebody's briefcase. I mutter a sorry, and bend to retrieve the fallen file, and my head hits another. Slightly stunned from the sharp rap, I pull back, and look into a pair of eyes. Gleaming, sparkling eyes. Eyes tinged with sorrow and joy. Eyes radiant with laughter and eyes drooped in despair. Eyes that mesmerize me.

Eyes that recognize me.