ILLUSIONS

One
Saras was happy. He had no reasons to be otherwise. Life was looking up. At sixteen,
recognized as a promising star both at home and in school, he basked in that comfortable
satisfaction which comes with a clear conscience. While never a healthy specimen his
body, nonetheless, was holding up pretty well. The heart was light, the mind
unencumbered by fears, doubts or guilt. Not one to shy away from a challenge that
appealed to his intellectual acumen or to his keen sense of morality, he was in the
envious position of one to whom no hurdle appears insurmountable and who does not
even accept the possibility of losing. It was by no means a carefree existence but it
definitely was a life that was young and interspersed liberally with mellifluous melodies.

That afternoon, sitting in the tempo that was carrying him home after another good day at
school, he gazed out feeling at ease with himself and the world. The treeless landscape
swept past while gusts of air played havoc with his rebellious hair. The Board exams had
ended and his mind scanned the 'to-do list' he had drawn for the forthcoming summer
vacations. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he paid no attention to his fellow
travelers. In fact, he never paid much attention to most people especially if they were
strangers, blessed as he was with a singular lack of curiosity in such matters. He defined
his Universe, the boundaries of which extended only up to where his imagination soared
and understanding of which stretched only up to where his thoughts reached. It was an
existence circumscribed by, and responsive to, only his version of beauty and purpose.
He had not yet known the limits imposed by parental shortsightedness and societal
intransigence. He was later to marvel at how well these limits remain hidden from view so
long as one is on the right side of what is expected or accepted.

Thinking about it many years later, he was surprised that he could not recollect something
as definite as the date but could clearly visualize the way winds caroused her hair which
blew all over the finely chiseled profile of her face. Sitting opposite him from, perhaps, the
start of the journey was a schoolgirl- almost the same age as him- for whom he could
have, well, launched a thousand ships and more. It was only now when the journey was
ending that his eyes had spotted her and almost immediately he heard his heart
whispering: take a good look for presently you have to get down and accept her
disappearance into the whirlpool of time. A wistful smile caressed his face. He had been
vouchsafed a Vision that would be lost from view in a few minutes but which, he was
sure, would stay within him forever.

He braved a second look. It was a sight to make any man feel good about the fact that he
existed. The face was as ancient as Time and as ageless as Love. It evoked a terrible
longing that went back to an era long forgotten; it unearthed unspent emotions of myriad
hues; it brought to life unrealized dreams that had been dreamt in other times. It was a
face that murmured serenity and breathed purity. The jaw-line was sharp indicating
determination of purpose, the nose straight highlighting clarity of thought, the eyes
sparkling with the brilliance of unsullied youth, the lips essaying a nature given to
spontaneous laughter, the skin portraying health, the eyebrows reflecting a tendency for
sudden anger without rancor, the slight frown radiating a charming restlessness. It was
not the most beautiful face he had come across but it was a face that brought all the
beauty inside him to the fore and would, hence, get irrevocably associated with the
concept of beauty in his mind. The hair, long and shining like sea waves being wooed by
rays of the morning sun, completed the symphony. It was not that he came to realize all
this later. No, the effect was spontaneous and all pervasive. It swept right though him,
going within to depths he had no notion of and opening doors to places he did not know
existed.

He did not look back as he got down from the vehicle, paid his fare, put his bag on his
shoulder and started to trudge towards the colony gate. There was no sadness, no
desperation. He had seen someone remarkable and he had been part of something
amazing. That was that.

He entered the colony, checked the mail and made his way to his flat, his head bowed out
of habit and his mind empty of thought. The stillness of the afternoon was presently
broken by the sound of footsteps following him. On the curve he contrived to look back
and saw destiny at work. For, just a couple of meters away was she, evidently a resident
of the same colony and, like him, returning from school. A smile stole on his face but it
was not one of happiness or joy. It was an acknowledgement of the fact that mysterious
forces on their secret errands had suddenly decided to bestow their attention on him. He
had been, for better or for worse, marked down by Fate.

Two

Several chance encounters followed and each left a mark. Saras continued to live like he
always had but suddenly he had more to live for and had something that commanded his
entire being.

Emotional upheavals of sixteen year olds are a subject of derision because they cannot
explain what is happening to them and we won't deign to make an effort to understand.
"Oh, it is a typical teenagers' disease!" is what we think and either dismiss it by adopting a
supercilious attitude or try to ‘cure’ it by means that are more illogical than a whole lot of
‘tantric’ jargon. But to the sixteen-year-old in question, his is anything but a typical
situation. The more he gets enamoured of somebody, the more difficult it is for him to
understand that it is not anything or anyone outside of himself that he has fallen in love
with. It is something within that has suddenly woken up and is demanding to be
serenaded at outlandish hours and in crazy ways. The past melts away into nothingness,
the present is like a blazing flash of light that leaves one thunderstruck and enthralled but
not in a very good shape to carry out the daily business of living while the future is at
once a confused amalgam of dreams and plans, hopes and desires, determination and
nervousness. Suddenly there is something that one wishes to talk of all the time and, just
as suddenly, one finds that it cannot be talked with most of the people that one associates
with daily. Parents are the first casualties unless they are part of that rare breed which
foresees the advent of such an event. Normally, the closer the child is to the definition of
ideal, the more assured are the parents that their ward shall not fall prey to such
‘delusions’ and stray from the straight and narrow path, whatever that is. Normally, such
parents are in for a shock. Also, those who think that they are their children’s ‘confidants’,
just because they encourage their children to ‘discuss’ anything, fare no better. For call it
whatever you will, the teenager is going through something that is not a matter of
discussion. He may rationalize his feelings in due course but he is surely not going to
have his parents do the honours for him. In a way he is lost and he needs help but
something within him tells him that turning to parents would mean throwing the baby out
with the bath water.
 In such circumstances, a friend emerges as the proverbial gift from Heaven. Somebody
near one’s own age, equally vulnerable to the infectious idea of falling in love, a
companion who is willing to assist, listen, counsel and be available in whatever capacity
one desires as one goes about living out a surreal reality. Saras, too, found one such
friend in his schoolmate, Prateek. Prateek, the cool, balanced yet by no means indifferent
or detached guy who, very conveniently, lived in the same colony and at such a location
that in order to go to his house, Saras had to pass by her house. It was a perfect setting.

It may be a coincidence that her coming into his life saw Saras climbing new heights of
success and popularity. He made it through a tough competitive exam and was
appreciated by his peers and teachers alike. Saras saw all this as a sign from Heaven
proclaiming that his hour had come and gave all the credit to the girl. And, indeed, his
hour had come but not in the manner he visualized. Heavens, when they send a
message, encrypt it in such a complex manner that the odds of decoding it are stacked
heavily against the recipient. Age, experience, temperament all betrayed Saras into
believing that he was at the altar of being totally and completely in love with another
human being. He did not realize that the event was a clarion call for him to go within, to
leave harbour for a voyage of self-discovery and to harness his thoughts and emotions for
achieving spiritual mastery. He did not see that the girl was but a wonderful catalyst to
trigger off creative impulses. The possibility of her also emerging as a partner in this
exciting journey towards greater self-awareness could not have been denied but that
would have become clear only over a period of time. In no case, however, was she the
final destination. That Saras thought so and that many in his position make the same
error is unfortunate. If it is disgusting to treat other human beings as means to an end, it
is myopic to see them as the end. People can be companions sharing with us the delights
and the horrors of life but in no way are they the reason why we are here. (Of course, I
am assuming that there is a reason why we are here!)

However, it is instructive to note just why Saras and others like him make the mistake
they do. The moment a person falls in love with himself because of somebody else’s
entry into one’s life, it is but natural that one tries to connect the two events and convince
oneself that what is essentially love for the self is love for the person out there. The
creative faculties that suddenly come to the fore have an intoxicating effect on the
nervous system. One feels at the top of one’s form and there is a strange joy that
permeates the insides. It is like walking on the moon with fifth-sixths of the dead weight of
everyday life taken care of. Naturally one feels exhilarated and may, unless he is a cynic
or an opportunist, feel kindly disposed towards the harbinger of such joyous tides. It is
this feeling that sixteen-year-olds are most likely to confuse with love.

The role played by society is crucial. Should our moon-struck teenager be left to live out
his fantastic dream, chances are that he’d either arrive at the real picture and bid adieu to
his fantasies (but not to the magic he has been privy to!) or he’d succeed in developing a
real bond with the girl. In the first case, he’d have known the heights his soul can climb to
and the powers that lie latent in him. This would prepare him for his life ahead and help
him understand just exactly what his inner being hankers for. In the second case, he’d not
only know what he has to do and where he has to go, he’d also have company during the
journey. But society would not leave him alone. It would try to force it upon him that his
notion of love is hollow. Now, as has been pointed out above, the notion may be a
misplaced one but it is by no means hollow and, in any case, attempts at stamping out
the ‘fire’ only provides more fuel to it. It would also be the concerted effort of some to
make the poor fellow feel ashamed of the sexual stirring within him. He would be made
painfully aware of his ‘impurity’ and, as a reflex defensive reaction, he would end up hotly
denying the physical aspect of his feelings. This would be an unnatural stance to adopt
and shall put him in a false position. Sooner rather than later he would be ‘exposed’ which
would provide his detractors just the excuse they’d be looking for to paint him in the
wrong. Almost at once, when he cannot be bothered with it, society coaxes him to rebel.
And, he does just that, on terms that are vastly unfavourable, with no clear idea of what
he is aiming at.

Now, if the girl in question has a modicum of maturity, things may still remain within
control. But since most females can divine the weakness of an argument with unerring
precision but are deplorably woeful in gauging its potential strengths, they see no merit in
making an effort to understand the confused yearnings of a tumultuous heart. All they can
be sure of is that such passions, though flattering to an extent and making for some
interesting conversation, are best kept at an arm's length. Perhaps, a lot of this is also
due to the fact that they feel the onus of social disapproval more. Therefore, if the
attraction is noted, it is overwhelmingly avoided / feared or only furtively relished. Nothing
is done to provide the situation with balance, poise and grace- qualities in the absence of
which soft feelings get translated into hasty, ridiculous and incongruous actions on the
part of the boy who feels, incorrectly, that girls being girls would never initiate the process.
Thus, already on war with the world, the boy also ends up making an effort to ‘impress’
the empress of his heart by means honest and not so honest. Needless to add, the war is
always a losing one while the effort is always a useless one. The war is a losing one
because it essentially leads to isolation and no boy can survive the harshness of
loneliness and still remain the quintessential teenager. More often than not, what he
mistakes to be the ardour of his love is actually the ego of a young soul determined to
stand tall. The effort is a waste because what one should be aiming at is not to be
admired by the lady but to be understood and to understand. In his attempts to impress,
the boy moves further and further away from his true self and nearer and nearer to what
he thinks the girl would like her ‘dream man’ to be. It helps if the two get more time
together but even that cannot be of much use in cases where the notion of love has made
its presence felt without there being any friendship or even an acquaintance to sustain it.

Ideally, at this stage, there must be someone wise enough at hand to help the lad realize
that what he must concentrate on is to get familiar with the girl after having first accepted
that even though he may think her to be ‘made’ just for him-which is nonsense but we will
leave it for the present- she may not concur and she has every right not to. Her refusal to
show any interest whatsoever must be accepted with respect and no foolish notions like
‘a girl always pretends to be disinterested to begin with’ must be allowed to persist.
Secondly, he must be made aware of the fact that a cold response, if it does come (and
most probably would come), is by no means a statement against him or a reflection of the
fact that he did not try hard enough. Instead, this should help him to finally turn his
attention on making progress towards the main purpose – achieving enhanced self-
awareness, greater self control, clearer self-perception and truer self-belief. It is only by
recording some gains in these areas can he ever hope to accept himself in toto and, thus,
be worthy of being accepted by somebody else.

Like all intelligent boys, Saras compounded the problem for himself in two ways. One, he
led himself to believe that no one can understand what he is going through and, hence,
closed the doors to any sane counsel. Not that one was available but still, had he been
kindly disposed towards the possibility, he might have made some efforts in that direction.
Prateek did play a responsible role and often forwarded sound advice but as a man
starting out on the road to self-discovery himself, he could not be expected to provide
Saras with the sort of guidance that was required. The other problem was that Saras
attributed to the girl all the qualities he himself possessed. The possibility that she may be
even more imperfect and naïve than he was never entered his head and he was actually
proud of the fact that he thought about her in so unblemished and lofty a manner. But
thinking ‘highly’ of someone without having a solid basis for thinking so except that the
person concerned looks great, appears intelligent and acts in a matured manner in public
is far removed from knowing who and what that person really is.

One peculiarity that comes up almost without exception in all such cases is that the mind
allows itself to believe that small, unconnected occurrences have profound import and
colossal implications. So, when the girl congratulated him for clearing a particular
examination and followed it up the next day by asking him for a loan of two rupees to
board a bus, Saras led himself to imagine that there was more to all this than met the
eye.

The point needs to be underscored that in the absence of proper channels of

communication, attractions, infatuations and fantasies hold sway rather than sound
friendships, which may, in some cases, lead to love. This is not to deny the phenomenon
of love at first sight but even in those situations, sustained, meaningful dialogue is a must
if love is to lead to an enriching relationship. There should be avenues available to
facilitate the process of exchange of ideas and, maybe, they are available but one has to
be very lucky to find them. Saras wasn’t that fortunate or, perhaps, he did not try hard
enough in that respect. Intuitively he did feel that there must be a communion between
him and the girl and desired to establish some means of regular communication.
However, their exchanges remained fleeting and, but in Saras’ feverish imagination, of
little consequence.

Part of the problem was that had anyone asked him why he wants to develop a more
fruitful relationship with the girl, Saras would have tried to find some plausible reasons,
none of which would have passed muster. It is very difficult for a young man to answer
such questions, more so when one is constrained, as mentioned before, to either ignore
or hide one very important (though most certainly not the most important) reason-
physical attraction. Indeed, one does one’s cause an actual disservice by even trying to
justify a phenomenon like this. It has its own rationale and, howsoever fantastic, its own
logic. One must be content with debating the whole experience with one’s inner self or in
seeking advice from the ‘right’ person – somebody alluded to above- and not go about
taking on the world with less than adequate arsenal at one’s disposal. It never pays and
what’s more, even if it does, it isn’t worth it. Part of growing up is realizing that one need
not answer or, indeed, have answers for all questions. Part of growing up is accepting
that some battles must not be fought – not because one would lose but because there are
better things to do than to get into an ugly scrap from which one would emerge a loser no
matter what the outcome. Part of growing up is acknowledging that when one is following
the urge within, one is liable to be misunderstood or, in turn, misunderstand the motives
of others. Hence, the best course of action is to concentrate on one's own self.

Three

No matter how the situation develops, it almost always reaches a flashpoint. At some
stage, the leap has to be made over the abyss of uncertainty or else the whole thing has
to be given up. Whenever the leap is taken, the mood almost invariably is of –Oh!
Anything is better than not knowing – type of desperation and thus very rarely is the jump
timed properly. Of course, with boys like Saras, things are a bit different. Riding on top of
a huge wave, even while not looking upon winning a maiden’s heart as conquering a
battlefield, the idea that the thing is all but settled clouds the brain. Instead of desperation,
anticipation of wonderful days ahead propels these well-intentioned but thoroughly
muddled young men to take the jump. But, while the underlying factors are different, their
jump is as ill timed as that of their less confident and more diffident counterparts and, if
anything, the results are more disastrous because the fall is steeper and the
disillusionment greater.

Almost by chance but not quite, Saras found himself face to face with the girl and, in a
voice that did not shake, asked for a few minutes of her time. The girl felt that they could
discuss whatever he had in mind right then and there on the road, but he expressed a
desire for a rendezvous on the terrace. The readiness with which she agreed only
succeeded in making him feel surer of happy tidings. The fact that she mentioned
something about discussing the syllabus for a particular competitive exam appeared as
one of the several ways through which girls try to cover up their embarrassment at being
asked out. The thought that she may be too immature to comprehend the situation did not
bother him and the fear that she knew everything yet decided to act otherwise did not
numb him till much later. They fixed to meet at six in the evening on the terrace atop
Prateek’s house on the third floor and at six in the evening he was there and continued to
be there for more than an hour but the damsel did not turn up. Predictable.

A brief enquiry session followed the next day. Some lame excuse by the girl for not
keeping her appointment and another meeting was fixed. This time, too, Saras waited for
an hour before deciding to call it quits. But, while on his way down, he met her on the
stairs- she was coming! He turned to climb up expecting her to follow. But she merely
called out to him and again expressed her desire to talk the thing out – exams, wasn’t it?
– on the spot. Saras got bugged. Why was she being so Goddamn irritating? Whom was
she trying to put off by such a pathetic display? Curtly he asked her if she thought he had
called her up to discuss exams and when she enquired what else then if not exams, he
told her to leave and continued repeating that despite her mild protests. She left and so
did our bruised gladiator.

But gladiators are made of sterner stuff. They do not give up or, rather, they cannot give
up. Urged on by the fantastic notions that had found in him an obliging host, his adrenalin
rushing at the prospect of facing up to his destiny again and yet again till it is decided
once and for all who is in command, Saras felt that there had to be a better way to handle
the situation. Apparently the girl was not quite at ease with the idea of meeting him on the
terrace and having it put in front of her directly. Shy? Afraid? He could understand that.
The thing was to give a nice little letter to her somehow when she was all by herself and
that, too, at some place other than the colony. But ever since he had joined the coaching
classes for engineering exams, his schedule made it very difficult for him to meet her
when she went to, or returned from, school – the best time to find her alone. Besides, he
had a feeling that if he tried to do it by himself he may just end up failing once again. No,
somebody else had to be roped in.

It was not too difficult to convince Prateek of the basic soundness of the idea. What was
more difficult to manage was to get him to agree to be the messenger. It did evoke a
sense of adventure in Prateek but he was terrified of his mother and was certain that if
the thing went wrong, he would be guillotined. Two arguments from Saras silenced him.
One, nothing can go wrong because, lets face it, he, Saras -a decent guy known as such
to one and all including the girl in question- would be writing a delicate letter in a decent
language that would hurt no sensitivities and ruffle no feathers. Two, Prateek was his
friend and also known to the girl besides being intimately acquainted with the facts of the
‘case’. He was the right man for the job, no doubt on that score. Also, they'll deliver the
letter on the last day of school, before it closed for the summer vacations. Was not
Prateek scheduled to leave for a long vacation to Dehradun that very day? All he had to
do was to hand over the document, note the girl’s facial expressions carefully while she
received it, report to him all the details and then proceed on a well-deserved holiday.

The reasoning was spot on and now the thing was to write something really true and
really nice. It was a task that set Saras thinking. The problem wasn’t that he was short of
words and it certainly wasn’t that he was lacking the inspiration to come out with some
beautiful lines. But he had a difficult decision to make - poetry or prose? He settled for
poetry – free verse after a few unsuccessful attempts to rhyme his sentences. Aesthetics
was all very good but when it stood in the way of a truthful expression of feelings, well, it
should be sacrificed. The result was a long poem –titled, "Say Yes!"- that had three
defects: one, it required a huge stretch of imagination for somebody to treat it as a poem;
two, its subtleties were not very easy to grasp and, three, it assumed that the reader had
a fair command over the English language. He did try to remove a few jarring sounds
here and there, did make attempts to simplify the phraseology and did ensure to some
extent that no big words dot the landscape but it was still a labour of love that had more
labour shining through it than love. However, it was a sincere, honest effort except for one
basic observation: he insisted that the lives of both of them would be ruined if she did not
say ‘yes’. While he was tempted to believe that she’d be making a huge mistake if she
threw him out of her life (a very remote possibility!), he knew he was stretching things a
bit too far by assuming that this would ruin her life. Yet he went along with it because the
lines looked good, justified the emphatic title and were certain to leave an impact.

He did not bother to seal the envelope in which he placed the three pages carrying all that
his heart had to say. Nor did Prateek find anything amiss in the fact that his friend did not
even request him to refrain from reading the contents. After all, did not Prateek already
know everything? And, maybe, somewhere deep within Saras wanted him to go over the
contents and assure him that he had written nothing that was, or could be, construed as
hackneyed, pompous or, what was worse, false. But Prateek being Prateek, just pocketed
the document, nodded his head and tried his best not to let the fear in his belly eclipse the
excitement that such a momentous occasion generated. They parted for the night, each
knowing that their lives were poised for a huge change.

The message had been composed and the messenger properly briefed. All that was left
was to wait, always a difficult thing. But this time, Saras was strangely detached, almost
like a mother after undergoing the ordeal of childbirth. He had given "birth" to a chain of
events and though they bore his stamp and owed their existence to him, they were now
something that was of him and by him but not him.

The notion of personality - that carefully maintained veil of manners, customs, opinions
and biases that we inherit and nurture all through our lives - is an impediment in the road
towards true self-knowledge. We may identify closely with something but when the
experience reaches its climax we are not there, so to speak. A criminal at the scene of his
crime, a son at the deathbed of his father, a lover at the feet of his beloved, a blushing
bride at the altar of the church, a convict facing a firing squad, well, a host of emotions
accompany them but for a brief period of time they stand alone before being engulfed by
the event and by their personality once again. It is in these moments that we can hope to
have a glimpse of what we really are. Indeed, if only we are able to perceive all this
completely, we'd be surprised to the extent we allow ourselves to be identified with the
happenings outside and the notions within. We'd realize that we are more often than not
something other than what we think, feel and do in our waking hours. We'd also realize
that we are a lot more than what we think, feel and do. Of course, it is not easy to
understand what one is truly experiencing during moments of intensity and Saras, too,
could not quite explain his detachment. However, as the day progressed, the detachment
gave way to excitement and impatience and when the hour of meeting Prateek arrived,
he was all nerves.

Prateek was on time. He was ushered in with little ceremony and much haste. They sat
facing each other in Saras' study room, the scene of so many of their animated talks and
detailed planning. But now it was as if both were reluctant to break the silence. Indeed,
none looked at the other for a minute or two before Saras directed a questioning glance
at his friend and immediately knew that the thing had been done. The letter had been
delivered and, as Prateek put it, received in a manner that betrayed little surprise and no
alarm. Prateek shook his friend's hand and got up to go. He had his train to catch in the
evening. They were both reasonably elated as they parted, each finding it difficult to wait
for the dame's reply. But they knew that her decision would have to be extracted from her
somehow for it was too much to expect her to come out with it openly and clearly (girls
being girls and all that stuff!) Saras would have to manage that alone. It was decided that
he would make a move after waiting for two-three days and that, too, in as low - key a
manner as was possible. No need to attract everybody's attention.

Four

Well, girls will be girls. What else can they be? They can be a lot less silly, thought Saras
as he ruminated about what his parents told him some five days after Prateek's
departure. The girl's mother had dropped in at Saras' house a day after her daughter had
been approached. It was Saras who had opened the door and had gaped at the visitor
who asked to meet his mother. The two ladies had a long chat in hushed tones so that he,
sitting in the next room, could hear nothing. The contents of the hour-long discussion
were not divulged to him that day or, indeed, for the next three days for he was appearing
in a competitive examination. He, too, had not tried to ask anything. Today, after taking
the exam and briefing his parents about his performance, he had been called to face the
court-martial, only made worse by what his parents thought was a "mature" and "calm"
manner of handling a "crisis".

Put simply, they told him that the girl had read what he had to say and promptly informed
her mother about it. Apparently she harboured no such feelings towards him and was not
quite able to understand how Saras could have thought that she is interested in him in
'that' way. Her mother had decided to tackle the issue immediately for her daughter, she
said, was rather scared. This she had done with minimum fuss by explaining the entire
situation to his mother. Both had agreed that it was a delinquency on the part of an
otherwise 'bright' and 'well brought-up' boy, which needed to be corrected, surely, but
without recourse to anything dramatic or harsh. His father, delving into the pool of his own
or, probably, his friends' 'misdemeanours' stated that such things do happen during
adolescence. It was sad and rather unpleasant an incident and coming from him almost
unbelievable but still he, Saras, would do well to put it behind him. It was good that the
girl's father, known to be bit of a hothead, had not been apprised of the event or else all
hell would have broken loose. The whole family would have had to face social ridicule
and much worse. Sorry, son, you were way out of line. What were you thinking?

And now, lying on the bed in his study room, Saras tried to ask himself the same
question. What was he thinking? Well, whatever that may have been, he instinctively
realized two things: one, they all thought that they were behaving responsibly, all of them
- the girl by reporting the incident to the proper authority and not getting enmeshed in all
this 'nonsense' at an age when one is supposed to concentrate on one's studies; her
mother who handled the situation in a straightforward yet graceful manner; his parents
who had, first, patiently waited for him to take his exam and then, had broken the news to
him with an appropriate mix of scolding, advice and guidance, labeling his act not as a
crime but as a mistake. Two: while they asked as to what he was thinking, they all acted
as though they already knew what he was thinking and they were all wrong, oh, so
horribly off target. The series of events that would forever keep him at odds with what
most termed as 'sane' advice had begun, the distance between him and his parents
would, he knew that day itself, only increase with time for at the root of it was something
quite fundamental: they had pinned all their hopes, reposed all their trust and formed all
their opinions based on an incomplete understanding of who he was and what drove him
as a human being.

In thinking that he was in love with the girl, Saras was wrong. He hardly knew her. In
dismissing his fervour as infatuation, his parents were wrong. It was love with the idea of
being in love, it was a manifestation of the thought of sharing oneself with somebody else
and it was a sub-conscious urge to explore one's nascent manhood. It was all this and it
was more - it was an expression of the soul's desire to know itself. Saras knew as little
about his soul's wish as his parents and, had he been made aware of this by somebody,
would not have known what to make of it but he was certain that his parents had missed
the true picture. He was surprised to the extent this weighed him down in the days that
followed. With no Prateek to share his thoughts with, Saras spent his time alone in his
study room, avoiding his parents, talking to no one, listening to songs, thinking and
sleeping for long durations of time. Something had gone terribly wrong somewhere but
where? Could he be that wrong? Could the girl not have said 'no' to him instead of
rushing to her mother and if she had, would he not have accepted it? Could his parents
not have showed faith in him by declaring that if he thought that he was in love then, well,
perhaps he was and even if he was not, they'd give him time to find that out for himself
while supporting him steadfastly all the way? Could they not have taken it upon
themselves to effect a meeting between him and the girl so that he could have got the
whole issue clarified and made up to her if he had indeed hurt her with his actions?

With the benefit of hindsight, Saras could feel that, perhaps, he was demanding too much
of his parents. Besides, should he not have walked up to them in the first place and made
them aware of his feelings before taking any step? Even after what had happened, would
it not have been better had he initiated some sort of a dialogue with his parents rather
than shutting himself up in his room, all the while expecting them to walk up to him and
set things right like they always had till that point? But these were the thoughts that came
to Saras some ten years after those hot, arid afternoons and long, tortuous nights spent
in solitude. He may not have been mature enough in the eyes of his parents to be in
"romantic love" but by the same token, he wasn't mature enough to handle the emotional
fallout either. It hurt somewhere deep within and he knew that the angst would stay with
him forever. Well, the pain did stay with him all through at the subconscious level and
surfaced unexpectedly on numerous occasions but it took him many years to realize that
this was not because he missed the girl that much but because the incident made him
acutely aware of the fact that he was not just somebody's son, brother or friend; that he
had an independent existence and, like everybody else, a load of grief to carry which
could not be shared with anybody. Only in his case, his extreme sensitivity made him
more fully conscious of his loneliness while at the same time rendered him less capable
of facing it.
The dreary summer months passed away slowly. Saras did not venture out much, half
dreading the prospect of facing the girl. He did see her on a few occasions but managed
to avoid a face-to-face encounter. It was not that he was afraid. It was just that the idea
made him uncomfortable because he did not know how to show that neither was he
apologetic about what he had done (though he was sorry for having caused any
problems) nor did he feel any resentment towards her (though he was slightly irritated at
the course of action she had adopted). The overwhelming emotion was one of numbness,
of a strange disbelief that it had all panned out the way it had.

Fiv e

July came and with it came Prateek, all spruced up after an invigorating exposure to the
salubrious climes of Dehradun. The doorbell rang one afternoon, Saras' mother opened
the door and, to her credit, did nothing then or in the subsequent days to make Prateek
'pay' for his involvement in the 'fiasco'. Saras continued to lie on his bed even as Prateek
made his way inside the study room, sat down and looked at him with an engaging smile.
It was not to last for long. Briefly he was made aware of the mess and just as briefly he
had summed up his reaction, "Shit!" When Saras came out some fifteen minutes later to
bid his friend goodbye, they exchanged a glance that expressed resignation. But when
they met later in the evening, neither could quite take what had happened at face value.
As they went over everything again and again that day and for the next several days, both
led themselves to believe that the situation was open to a different interpretation.

Thus emerged the theory that the letter had been found on the girl by her mother who had
then taken the matter in her own hands with the girl too scared to do anything but to
comply with the set of directions handed down to her. Even if she was favourably inclined
towards Saras, well, the fancy would not have been strong enough to face the
subsequent onslaught and now she may be angry with him for having landed her in a
soup. That was understandable. What they refused to accept was that theirs had been an
irresponsible, juvenile action based on conjectures that had no basis in reality and one
which merited such a humiliating response. Their pride had taken a beating. Their
confidence in themselves had been shaken though, of course, for Prateek it was a
justification of the feeling he always had about the girl - that she was still very much tied
to her mother's apron strings. But, surely, it couldn't be that she was so unpleasantly
jolted by what had happened that, given time, the initial attraction wouldn't rekindle?

It made sense. They had to wait patiently, drop gentle hints that while they were hurt, they
were not bitter and be on the lookout for the slightest trace of softness in her demeanour.
The thought cheered them up a bit and they further resolved, feeling very noble while
they did so, that they would not discuss the girl any more till she gave them the right to do
so.

No doubt boys at sixteen are fools, most of them, but wait before sniggering at them. It is
infinitely less stupid to permit Cupid to take you for a ride at sixteen than to hand over
your reins to Mammon, which is what most of us do when we reach adulthood. In any
case, a boy can always grow up to become one of the 'men'. So, if he is behaving like a
chump at sixteen, let him. However, the problem is: chumps, unless they wake up by
themselves, are forced by the world to wake up and when that happens, they are likely to
disown their feelings. Finally, one fine day, our chump-turned-successful man-of- the-
world looks back and rubbishes the very notion of being in love. Tragic!
Anyway, our musketeers kept at their task assiduously. To their credit, they never lost
hope and never despaired of waiting. They did not push their case but they did not give
up either. They just stood their ground, the ardent paramour and the faithful friend,
yielding not an inch. Saras penned down several poems, some good ones and learnt
various songs. Of course, not much time or effort was devoted to studies and, if only he
had stopped to consider it, Saras would have realized that one must do what one has to
with all diligence if one is demanding the right to do what one wants to.

A full five months passed and no sign from the girl. Then, one evening, as Saras and
Prateek were passing below her window, a curtain was drawn aside, a face emerged, a
pair of eyes looked in their direction for, perhaps, two seconds and, then, the figure
retreated into the shadows slowly, as if reluctant to do so. The boys carried on, a bit
dazed, looking nowhere till the road had taken them to a spot just in front of her balcony.
And, as soon as they reached there, she came out and this time there was no mistaking
it. She had come out for Saras and she stayed her ground. The signal had been given!

Or so Saras thought. He turned towards Prateek, allowing himself a look of triumph,

which was returned by his friend. They had not erred and the gods had, finally, given way.
Relieved and excited in turns, they immediately got down to do some serious thinking.
Every step from now on had to be carefully planned. After all, they could not let the girl
down, could they?

Yet, for all their intense brainstorming, no suitable modus operandi suggested itself. Like
a child wanting the moon, they had only concentrated on what they desired, not on what
they'd do if their wish were granted. Oh, sure, Saras was now required to approach the
girl somehow. But how? And what then? No answers.

Out of the blue, just when they had reached their wits' end, a piece of news came their
way. Her birthday was round the corner, in fact, just two -three days away. This was the
opportune moment. Saras had to wish her, hand over his gift and start the proceedings
that would, they were sure, somehow culminate in long evenings draped lovingly with
love.

Saras got down to preparing a card – a simple one, with nothing to attract or dazzle. It
was a sublime offering carrying no names and wishing life to give her all that she wished
from it. In one sentence he had summed up his entire stance: I want to be in your life only
if you wish it! The moment he wrote it he knew he had written the best sentence of his
life. Years later, reminiscing about that moment, he had one huge regret: why did he allow
himself to feel proud of that sentence? Did that make him commit the same error he had
committed five months back – believing that just because he had come up with something
beautiful and true, his work was done and that it would all be smooth sailing thereafter?

Be that as it may, this time he was not like what he was on the previous occasion. No
matter how hard he tried, some hesitancy remained. Five months of waiting had done
much to make him question his instincts and he was more inclined to hold himself back.
Besides, both he and Prateek, in spite of their efforts, were a bit confused about the
actual date. All this meant that the day came and passed and he did nothing, absolutely
nothing. It was the sound of people partying and having a good time late into the night
that helped confirm what he had missed. No matter. If you wish that all of somebody's
wishes come true, well, one day is as good as the other to convey that message. It
helped that the next day was being observed as a holiday in his school while her school
was open. He would deliver the card to her in the morning.
 Six

The next day, he got up and carrying the card in a small plastic bag, joined Prateek at the
TT center situated within the colony premises. The center afforded one a fairly good view
of the entire stretch of road from almost the colony gate to the bus stop – a distance of
some 200 yards. Yet, as luck would have it, he spotted her only when she had almost
reached the bus stop. It was certain that if he went by the normal route, he'd not be able
to catch up with her. So, tucking the card inside his shirt, he made for the colony wall
adjoining one of the side roads, scaled it with consummate skill and, dropping lightly on
the other side, ran for all he was worth. It had been a deft display of youthful vigour and
as he felt the cool morning air against his face, he could not but experience a thrill. This
was the stuff dreams are made of. This was…but, hell, where was she? He scanned the
horizon anxiously but she wasn't there. Some bus must have come along while he was
busy jumping walls and she must have boarded it. He continued wandering on the streets
hoping to chance upon her but had to eventually retrace his steps. As he walked back, a
sudden change seemed to come over him. He felt like he was on a track to nowhere. It all
appeared so strange. Here he was chasing somebody at eight o' clock in the morning
with a card. No, he did not feel foolish. He just felt out of place, not expected, needed or
missed, almost like an intruder. It was a crushing sensation and he did not even have the
heart to chat with a waiting Prateek. As briefly as was possible, he narrated the
experience and then left for home.

By evening, he had resolved to change his approach completely. No more poetry, no

more mooning over what could be. No, he would put his head down, study hard, make
peace with the horrors of boring theorems, be methodical and gird himself for the long
haul. He'd carve out a career for himself, win a place under the sun and then try his luck
with her. No more of wandering on empty streets with a forlorn look. It was high time he
grew up to be a man. Love was no child's play. It was serious business and romantic
notions alone were not enough. He sat down at his study table and purposely picked up
the topics he abhorred.

And then, the bell rang. Since his parents had gone out, he opened the door and Prateek
walked in with the news that she was taking a round of the colony for the past half-an-
hour or so and, surprisingly enough, alone. Wasn't this a golden opportunity? Darkness
was approaching and very soon she was sure to turn in. That would be just the right time
to approach her. Surely, it was now or never. Oblivious to what his friend had just decided
Prateek felt he was bringing home news of the century.

Well, it didn't matter that he did not know, for, as soon as he heard what his friend had to
say, Saras himself forgot all about his resolve. Had he been reminded about it, he would
have dismissed it as a product of temporary loss of faith - loss of faith in the magic of
love, something that would somehow take care of everything as soon as she said, "Yes."
Destiny was beckoning him. Life was waiting -waiting to be met head on and to be lived.
He took the card and the two friends made towards her block. Once there, Prateek
wished Saras luck and departed, promising to drop by his house after an hour. Night had
now fallen and it was easy for Saras to become one with the shadows. Some ten minutes
later she walked right past him, evidently not seeing him in the darkness and started to
climb the staircase. He approached her from behind and called out her name, his heart in
his mouth not because he was scared but simply because it was after a long time that he
was uttering her name aloud. Months of silence were over and after days of waiting and
hoping, they were again meeting on a staircase.
 Se ven

A million things could have contributed to the way things went between them during the
next five minutes. But when he returned to his house, he dwelt on none of them and when
Prateek came over, Saras took him to the kitchen and, then and there, consigned all his
poems to flames. He would have done the same had his parents been around but it was
good that they weren't. It added to the sense of pathos and drama. The empty house, the
baffled friend, the smoke coming out of burnt sheets of paper, the set look on a tired face,
the vacant eyes, the end of it all.

He had been knocked down. The girl had eyed him with ill concealed irritation; had
accepted his belated wishes peremptorily; had looked askance at the card he was holding
out to her; had posed before him a cold, "Why?"; had directed a merciless look at him as
he had fumbled and eventually managed to only utter, "Why?, Why?" in a bewildered
tone; had declared icily, "I don't want it"; had not considered the pain in his voice as he
had mumbled, " At least read it once", had declared again the same words, "I don't want
it", had not even waited for him to finish his sentence, "If you don't want it, ok" and had
started to climb back without a backward glance.

He decided to- but never did- approach her again. He let Life take her away. He finally
accepted that he never occupied so much as an inch of space in her Universe. He
eventually realized that he had never known her enough to love her. But, over the next
few years, as the memory of those days kept stealing over him with no conscious effort
on his part, something was born out of the ruins: a revelation- There is nothing more real
about life than illusions and no illusion is more real than the one called Love.

For men like Saras, life would always be a test of Will, a parody of misunderstandings, a
terrible loneliness, an indescribable longing, an interminable wait, an elusive search– all
in all, a mad desire to live the biggest of all dreams: to experience a love so majestic that
one would be compelled to agree with what a poet once said:

"Love so great, so divine;

Commands my life, my soul, my all!
_____________