I Too Had A Love Story Part 21

You will search for and consume anything that can erase your memory.

And, believe me, your life will appear worse than death.

Every thing that brought a smile to my face had now started torturing me. Even the Shaadi.com ads on the Internet added to my agony. I remember how she used to tell me that, after our marriage, we would put a success story on the website. I never knew I would be writing a tragedy.

At times, I felt like a drug addict who badly needs his next hit. But at least an addict has his drugs ... I felt suffocated. As if something was stopping my breath. As if something was choking my soul.

I got scared of things. I don't know what they were, but they wouldn't let me sleep. And, like a kid, I'd rush to my mom, to sleep beside her. She would pat my forehead. Still, for hours, I would stare at the fan rotating above me.

If ever I fell asleep, I would wake to nightmares, screaming. The time was always 4 a.m.

The Present.

20 July 2007.

A very special day. A day of celebration and mourning.

Another evening arrives, so similar and so different from the one exactly a year ago. This evening, I am recalling that evening, when I received her first SMS, when we talked for the first time, on the phone. Wanting to know-from someone, everyone and no one-why I had to live both these evenings. Life would have been bliss, if I were to live only one of them, but not both. Had the second not arrived, I would have been kissing my engagement ring, talking to her, celebrating a year of being together. Had the first not arrived, there would have been no second one.

It was raining then and it is raining today as well. I didn't have a love life then and I have none, now. I never wished to have someone so special or to become so special to someone then, nor do I feel that way today.

But that evening she was talking to me, questioning me, laughing at my sense of humor, but she is not doing that today. I didn't know her at all then, today she lives somewhere close to my soul.

When I look back, I laugh and cry over those moments. They bring back such mixed feelings that make me so restless. Should I celebrate or should I weep? Look what I had, look what I lost ...

I remember, while talking to her, how I had brandished my invisible sword in the air in front of an invisible audience, and announced like a king, *This day will be celebrated throughout the nation and declared a public holiday henceforth. Schools and colleges will remain closed on this day. This will be a second Valentine's Day for people in love.'

And she had laughed at my craziness.

When I look back now, I am relieved that I wasn't a king and there was no real audience for, had they come to me now and asked me to celebrate, I would have no answers.

Here I am, feeling so alone even in the most crowded of places. And without my better half, this remaining half is getting worse day by day. So much pain, so much grief ... Even the tears have dried up.

But still, I have to sustain myself, I have to live and I have to laugh ...

And, therefore, on this day in my office when there is n.o.body on my floor, I open her picture on my computer. I tease her, pinch her nose, run my fingers over her eyes, cheeks and beautiful lips, kiss her pa.s.sionately again after so long and say, *Congratulations! We've now been a couple for a year. Three days of fighting and 362 days of love. Not that bad haan?'

And I run to the washroom to wash away my tears. I don't want to cry today.

The day pa.s.ses in an effort to laugh and to be happy by any means. Now night has arrived. Lying down on my bed, I wonder ... If I were in her place and she in mine, what would her life have been like? Would she have been able to survive without me? Would she be living just for the sake of living, for the sake of her family, the way I do now? Would she still have faith in G.o.d, which I lost long back? Would her family be thinking of another match for her? Would she, one day, forget me?

One year later Things around me have returned to what they were some two years ago, before Khus.h.i.+ came into my life. The romantic movies on my video shelf have been replaced by action movies. I am sleeping on time, as there are no late-night calls now. My Orkut status has rolled back from *committed' to *single'. I didn't want to change it because I still feel committed to her. But the awkward questions from people on my sc.r.a.pbook made me.

With her, everything else has gone-my dreams, my happiness, my good-looking future and a lot more. I have changed (of course, people tend to). It's been almost a year since I've laughed. But I have learnt to wear a fake smile. It's very difficult, but it makes my parents feel that I am getting better, even though I know I'm not. I don't talk much. When I am with friends, I want to be alone. When I am alone, I want company. Nothing comforts.

With the arrival of night and the pa.s.sing of each day, I realize that another day of my lonely life has gone. So, I am now little closer to the world where she has gone.

And people, especially my relatives, have started to say that I should get married, that my condition is not good. They don't have the courage to say that to my face, so they hint at it, subtly. My parents (just like anybody else's) want to see me happy. They also feel that only some other girl could console me and make me forget everything and start a new life.

But, another girl?

What would I tell her? That I spent the best hour of my life in the lap of a girl who is not you? That I may have married you but I'm still in love with a girl who doesn't exist? That whatever you do, every time I compare you with her, even when you kiss me? Won't I be s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up so many lives-the girl's, her family's, my family's. And mine? But mine is already screwed up.

I keep asking myself these questions. And because I don't have any answers to them, I walk away whenever this subject comes up. And then my mom and dad ask me, *Where are you going?'

*I don't know,' I say.

*How long are you going to escape these questions beta? You've got to settle down some day.'

*I don't feel like it,' I say. Then, after a long pause, *All right, I am getting late. I am leaving to see a friend of mine.'

*Wait! You have to answer us. Why can't you think again of settling down? Why can't you think of a different girl?'

*I cannot, Dad.'

*But why not?'

*Because ...' and I stop and walk away from the discussion and my home.

In the background, I hear my Dad shouting the same question *But why not?'

*Because, to think of another girl, I feel like a wh.o.r.e,' I silently say to the emptiness around me.

I am in my neighborhood park. It is early morning. After a long jog I am resting on a bench. There is a woman sitting next to me. I don't know her.

She is knitting a red sweater. She is with her daughter who is on the see-saw with another boy in that park. She is probably six years old.

There are a lot of people in the park. A lot of kids too. I don't know any of them.

I am lost in thought, with my hands underneath my chin. The see-saw, right in front of my eyes, has become blurred. My eyes don't move. Interrupting my thoughts, I hear the loud voice of the woman sitting next to me.

*Don't do that! Sit properly or you'll fall.'

In front of my unfocussed eyes, the blurred see-saw is rising up and going down. Then it speeds up and I hear the same voice again.

*Don't do that, you will fall ... No ... No ... Noooo!'

All of sudden, the other side of the see-saw doesn't come up. It stops abruptly.

The little girl is lying on the ground. I am trying to understand what has happened.

Her mother sitting next to me cries her name.

Her name ...

I know that name.

And, suddenly, I am scared. I look at her and then at her daughter. I run to help her. I am worried and breathing heavily. I kneel to lift her up. She is not crying. I check her face, her hands and legs for cuts and sc.r.a.pes. Innocently, she says she is fine. I am cleaning the dirt from her clothes. There is a tear in my eye. I hold her face in my hands and tell her that it is good she is fine and I smile.

Her worried mother reaches us and takes her in her arms. I stand up and see she has dropped that half-knit sweater on the ground. She is kissing her forehead. I go back and pick the sweater up for her.

I want to make sure if what I heard was correct or just my imagination. I ask her, *What's your name?'

Helping her hair behind her ear, exactly in the same way, she says in her cute voice, *My name is Khus.h.i.+.'

I keep staring at her for a while. Her mother looks at me.

I tell her, *It's a beautiful name.'

Then I walk back home.

ALSO BY RAVINDER SINGH.

Can Love Happen Twice?

When Ravin first said *I love you ...' he meant it forever. The world has known this through Ravin's bestselling novel, I Too Had a Love Story. But did Ravin's story really end on the last page of that book?

On Valentine's Day, a radio station in Chandigarh hosts a very special romantic chat show. Ravin and his three best friends are invited as guests to talk about Ravin's love story. But surprisingly everyone apart from Ravin turns up. As the show goes live, there is only one question in every listener's mind: what has happened to Ravin?

To answer this question the three friends begin reading from a handwritten copy of Ravin's incomplete second book-the entire city listens breathlessly, unable to believe the revelations that follow.

This highly antic.i.p.ated sequel by Ravinder Singh is an emotional rollercoaster that bravely explores the highs and lows of love.

Rs 125.

Acknowledgements.

My sincere thanks to the following people, for taking me ahead in the journey of writing this book.

Khus.h.i.+'s Dad, for reviewing this book for the very first time and helping me with his first edit work.

Priyanka Rathee, my colleague, my good friend, for being punctual at the 4 o'clock evening tea at Udupi in our campus, where she used to pen down those beautiful prose pieces for this book.

Ridhima Arora, my cutest and dearest friend, for being the kind of a reader who can be any writer's delight. For always keeping my spirits up and showing me the better ways to bring this book up.

end.