Tuesday, June 22, 2010

The proof of love

It was a beautiful summer afternoon. I had a heavy lunch and was about to fall off to sleep. Its ironical because food is supposed to be a source of energy, but for me it was a source of lethargy.

I was about to nap when 'Omana Penne' started playing. It was my ring tone, a hep interesting Tam song and I saw it was Nisha calling me. "Rishabh, Save me. I am in a mess. I am at a phone booth in Down Street and a goon is following me". I got up with a shock. "I will be right there, ...". Before I could complete my sentence, she had jammed the phone down. I dont know what was happening but I panicked. I wanted to run but my body seemed paralyzed. Its an ironic thing how when we desperately want to do something, our body fails to do it!

I jerked myself to reality. I had to calm down a bit. I took a few deep breaths. Getting myself to move, I grabbed a pair of jeans from my wardrobe and rushed to my car. Down Street was fifteen minutes from here and I was wondering what was happening to Nisha. i was sweating not with the afternoon heat, but with fear. In peak afternoon, most of Kolkata sleeps and Down Street isnt very populated either. It is where Nisha works. I was shit scared and I pressed on the accelerator as soon as I got in my car.

I drove the distance at max speed and managed to reach Down in 12 minutes. Nisha was nowhere to be seen. I kept trying her phone. It was ringing. Her caller tune sang "Tu hai kaha? Main hu waha, tu hai jaha" (Where are you? I am right where you are). Again ironic!

I parked my car at a curb and started running north asking people whom I met on the way about Nisha's whereabouts describing how she looked. Nobody seemed to have noticed her. I ran for I dont know how much time - but it seemed like an eternity. Maybe it was just 5 minutes. How 5 minutes can turn into eternity when we miss our beloved, ironic!

I was running in the direction of Nisha's office as I assumed she would have run in that direction as she needed help. I had reached her office now. I asked the receptionist about Nisha. She directed me to a room. I asked her if Nisha was fine. She said, she was.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I went to the room the receptionist had pointed to. It was Nisha's personal cabin and she seemed to be working on a computer intently.
"What the hell?", I asked. "You seem absolutely fine".
"That doesnt please you much?", she asked.
"What the... Ofcourse it does darling. But what was that phone call all about. You had gotten me so worried".
"Oh darling, did it scare you too much?"
"What! Ofcourse, I was shit scared. What happened?"
Silence. I was bewildered.
"You remember what date it is today".
I thought for a while and I said, "June 22nd.... Oh shit! Its your birthday. Happy Birthday Nish".
"You forgot my birthday. I started thinking that you dont love me any more. I wanted to be sure if we could live happily together".
"Ofcourse we could."
"But I wanted to be sure. And after seeing your face worried, I realized that you were mine. I had to make the call just to be sure you love me. I love you too darling." She came into my arms and put her shoulder on my chest.

I was bewildered not only at her stupidity and but also the fact that she found the phone call a smart idea. That moment I hated her. Just because I loved her. And, I realized you never have to prove someone that you hate her but you have to go mad just to prove someone you love her. And they say, love asks for no proof. Ironic!

1 comment:

Netika Lumb said...

Surely one technique I'll adopt,if the need be :P god forbid, though that he forget my b'day :P

About Me

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I believe happiness and bliss is the birthright of every individual. I believe that God is like an ocean and man is like a drop in the ocean, both have the same properties and one is just another. I do not recognize a God who punishes, who is different from me. All things - good or bad - yes, even the bad ones start in God and end in God. I dont believe in the start or end of time. I believe I am the frame of reference, the refered and the act of refering.
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This work by Shreyans Mehta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License