Street Stories #5

It was raining in Mumbai. Yes, you’re right, Mumbai monsoons are beautiful. No doubt. But sometimes the most loved thing becomes the most hated one when a dreadful past gets stuck with it.

Even Tara loved monsoons. Because her life found meaning on that June when it showered cats and dogs.

‘ I was reading another mystery novel, completely focused on it. I had my coffee mug, and I was having it in Bombay’s one of the best café. It was raining. I realised that I had forgotten my umbrella. I panicked and I left the place because I needed to get home before it rained cats and dogs.

It was June. I hurried to the door when I bumped into a tall boy with cocoa eyes. I didn’t realise that he held a coffee mug. I didn’t realise that coffee got spilled on my book. I didn’t realise my book fell. Nor did I hear him say anything. I stared into his lips which made an inaudible statement. I couldn’t decipher it because I bumped into an angel. I bumped into magic and it drove me insane.

He handed me my book. I took the wet mess. He smiled apologetically and walked away. I stayed there for a moment facing the glass door and staring at the rain. I smiled. And left.

I left the place to find a box at my doorstep the next morning. A new copy of the book I was reading. Fresh pages, fresh smell of new pages. I found a little bookmark in it. Some words were inscribed on them—-To the lady who got a coffee stained book last evening and didn’t get an audible sorry:)—— and his contact number was also written. Under it, there was—- Text. No Calls.

From that June, I slept under the wings of an angel. Dhruv was a beautiful boy. These words can never surpass his beautiful heart and his beautiful eyes. He was mute. We talked through written words. But it didn’t stop us from loving each other.

On summers, we lay idle and he would run his fingers on my palms and write words which I had to connect and join so that it became a short poem. Once he wrote –//Behold-thine-beauty-in-these-eyes-of-mine- /See-thy-self-how-powerfully-like-hundred-summers-together-thee-shine-//

Our favourite was monsoon. We would sit at that same café where we met and talk about that fresh incident still locked in our minds. He would say, “You drove me insane. You didn’t even blink Tara. You were staring, staring through me. The whole night I spent rewinding the whole thing and reminding myself that how awful I was.”

And then I would smirk and let him kiss me.

Everything was going great. It felt as if life could be survived. It felt as if with him, everything would be easier. There were no nightmares nor pain felt unbearable. We were happy. A little more than any day before we bumped.

I come across thousands of people and they become memories. But when I came across him, he became my dream. Dhruv was that star in my starless sky. Dhruv became hope when things were hopeless.

Universe brings people together to make us believe in it and sometimes, sometimes it takes away one from the pair, just to make us believe in another possibility. A possibility which becomes a reality.

Dhruv had to go. Universe had to take him.

I remember our last summer together when he wrote poems on my palms and one of them was -Don’t-you-mourn-when-I-leave- But I stopped him. I didn’t want to taste the bitterness. I wanted to live every moment. Every hour. Every little second with him. I wanted him to live. Live so happily that death would tremble to take him and will fall on its knees in awe.

But I had to gulp the reality down. It choked me. I let the truth settle in me after so many years after his departure.

He was sleeping, like an angel, in the coffin. He was claustrophobic and my whole body shivered knowing that fact. My whole body wanted to hug him tight because I knew, I knew he would have collapsed if he were alive.

I let the coffin be wide open. Until I am there. I left his body there. To be closed. To be buried. To be dead. I walked away, they closed the coffin. I stopped loving rain. I cherished summers. I lost my love for monsoons. And Dhruv wouldn’t have liked it but he would understand. He always did.

Dhruv was still a star in my starless sky. He remained in my skin. His scent remained in these walls, on this bed and in me.

Today, my home is silent. It’s his silence. His muteness. He is present yet invisible. It is more than enough to feel him. It is more than enough than anything I could ask for from the universe.

You see, I come across thousands of people and they become memories.

When I came across him, he became my dream. When I will come across Dhruv again, he will always be a star.’

“Years later, Tara also seeks a journey. Dhruv was a star in my starless sky and Tara, she becomes another, just beside him, which completes my sky.” -G

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2 thoughts on “Street Stories #5

  1. It’s so mystical dude!! The speciality of yours is that your language is simple but your words delve deep and deep that it strikes right at our heartstrings!! Never ever stop writing!! All the best!!

    Liked by 1 person

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