I'm back to my blog. I should have written here yesterday itself. I thought today wouldn't be too eventful, so I can always postpone it. Moreover, I was stressed with too much of pre-promised work to have the time for blogging.
What happened today, would be, in my usual boring words, "worse than before". Before I go into it, I should describe the previous couple of days. Proximity had over-powered Mission Pretension. I dunno if it was good or bad. Clearly, it was "good" for me. Having yourself unmasked (without any effort) is technically supposed to be good for one's psychology. What I dunno is, if its good for the future, for the "hope". Koushik Da pointed out in my previous post, that too much of confusion can cause permanent damage to the mind. Well, the confusion is inevitable, if not the damage!
Here I am, back, after more than 48 hours of having written the above paragraph. That awful day is still fresh, I can still make myself cry, reminding myself of the FACTS. But, I'm not shaking anymore, like I was the day before yesterday. Moreover, I don't think I'm allowed to write them. But I want to.
Okay, back to what I had referred to as a couple of good days, it's all the result of stealing. Stolen money, stolen happiness. It had been so good, that during the last few hours of the "couple of days", I had started being myself with her. I didn't know when and how she unmasked me. Crying to her seems so natural. Even if she is the only one who insults me every time she sees me crying, she is the only person with whom I'm comfortable crying!
Anyway, I didn't write anything that night, because, I thought, there wouldn't be much happening the next day, so I might as well postpone my blog. Moreover, I was exhausted. I watched 2012 against all my better judgements, and it made me prioritise on her even more. These kinds of movies do this thing more than any romantic movie!
Mashallah! The next day, right in the morning, I heard about the Taj-Together plan, and I put my mask back. I was feeling bad, sad and sick when I met Sayak. I tried to smile at him. But whenever he wasn't looking, I had trouble keeping a straight face. Next thing that happened, was running into them. Hoo. It was unplanned, and unintentional, especially because I was ill-informed about certain things. He talked to Sayak. She talked to Sayak. I tried to deep breathe. I failed. I bent down twice to calm my stomach. I failed. I shuffled my feet a bit, trying to calm my legs. I failed. I was scared that my face betrayed it all. (Later I came to know, it didn't!). She "felt", and "saw" my legs shaking violently. She laughed at it. I wanted to tell her that she is a sadist. I did. But, I kept thinking why she had laughed, and all the explanations that came to mind were positive ones. I can't really pen them down. But, if I was her friend, she wouldn't have laughed at my misery. She laughed, because she saw the amusing part only. She is indifferent to me and my miseries, probably. That's good. Indifference is better than the "friend" thing. I won't explain it anymore here.
Then, Sayak and me, went to my college. We were mostly quiet. I was trying my best to be OK. But my body has a mind of its own. When I am laughing, it makes my legs shake. When I'm having chocolates, it makes me want to vomit. Anyway, from Star Theatre, I boarded a tram with Sayak. I had to do it, after the turbulence that I was subjected to an hour ago. In the league of the things I have to do without her, it felt like a revenge. But, once Sayak and me were seated, and I looked out of the tram, I was bombed apart. I kept talking to her in my mind, I kept giving that imaginary her, all sorts of explanations like "Sayak wanted it, not me.", "Even you went for the launch ride", etc etc. I realised what I was doing, I wanted to cry. Then, I went to Dalhousie Square for the first time; i.e, the tram went, I saw it for the first time. I saw the Writers' Building and the lake before it, and all the palatial buildings around it. I thought it was beautiful. I didn't want to cry anymore, I was crying. I never wanted to do it. I never wanted to see anything beautiful without her. Yet she's making me do them. I have to see a lot of beautiful things without her. Oh, by the way, the news is that, I am neither going to Delhi, nor Mumbai, nor anywhere else. I don't have money enough. If, by any chance, I do get my hands on something, I'll flee, I swear.
A Coffee House disaster afterwards, I learnt that like "us", even Diya and Sayak's first movie together was Taare Zameen Par. I was reminded of the significance of the Enrique number Hero in their story. Similar to mine. I felt furious. I couldn't see any way how Diya could come back to Sayak. But she must return. There's too much of similarity between both the stories. Diya must return to Sayak, somehow.
Anyway, then I went to Disha's place, where Pupsen said that I looked drugged. I took his practicals and books, to do the diagrams that I had promised him a year ago. A sleepless night afterwards. Then, a sleep-ful morning. I had calmed down a lot by afternoon. Nothing much that day, except the late night chat with him, about her. When I say I am calm, it means I am numb. I feel nothing. I felt nothing.
Next day, an inpromptu-quiz. India Today Group's Inter College Business Quiz. It was held at Jyotirmoyee School Of Business at Sonarpur. We came third. I didn't feel anything then. I had gone "weak" once, when we had qualified for the final round. But, that wasn't weakness to my definition. Shauvik, my partner, called his father. Other people were calling their best friends or their parents. I had called her impulsively. She did't receive though. Anyway, as soon as the quiz was over, I left the place. I didn't wait for their free transportation back to Kolkata. Damn, I was in a village, in winter, I ought to enjoy it, and I can enjoy it only if I am alone! I travelled back home on my own, and travelled in a local train after nearly a year. It wasn't dark yet, and the train wasn't too crowded, in short, it was great. It reminded me of some Vivek Oberoi movie with a train scene in it. But, the name of Vivek Oberoi was about to spark reactions within, when I pushed aside all thoughts away, again.
The night was uneventful, even though I was at Disha's place, helping her give her Mom the birthday surprise at midnight. I was glad to see them happy, the three of them, but I didn't feel it rubbing off on me. I have become indifferent to them. Even Gublu, I have become indifferent to him too. Disha tried making me cry once, saying that I don't love her, I over-do the love thing, blah-blah. I managed to keep a straight face. But my voice was choked when I asked her for explanations.
I came back early morning, had a few intellectual discussions with father. Even that didn't excite me. I was supposed to go watch Kurbaan with Sayak. I couldn't. I had sworn that I won't watch anymore movies at theatres, because I am short of money. But, that's not the only reason behind not going to watch Kurbaan. I didn't want to watch Kurbaan with anyone. Then, I was supposed to take Sayak to LBC Fest, I have been promising him that since months. I didn't. I was incapable of doing it. He understood it. Because he has been through the exact phase. I slept, I had confusing dreams, I shivered in the 12o'clock sun, I was dazed. My head reeled for no reason, my migraine was back, awfully. My legs shook so badly that I couldn't even sit still. I had no track of the time or events around me. I was slightly better by evening. I went out, walked a kilometre. An important kilometre, at that. The stretch from South City to 8B. A damn important kilometre. I had to stop walking twice to stabilise my wobbly legs.
After that, I met the two of them. It wasn't unintentional this time. He made it happen. This time, he knew everything. He tested my acting skills, and I passed. I was at my best.
Coming back home, I read a bit of the book he gave me. I watched Chinese Coffeea bit. That movie is directed by Al Pacino himself. And after watching it, I respect him even more. I love the person more than the actor! Chinese Coffee's protagonist is so much like me. Except that he really has no money. The best similarity that comes to my mind, right now, looking around my own room, is Harry Levine's condition about being so used to living in a sunlight-less, small, cramped room, that he can never live in a large sunny room. He was a writer too, but with less of originality, and more of real-life inspiration, so much so, that his friend accused him of stealing his life. He shook badly when he was under stress. He loved a girl (with whom he had a relationship for a six and a half years), who left him long ago. The last similarity I'll mention here is what he told himself: "No matter what you do, how hard you try, how long you go at it, nothing good can ever, will ever, should ever happen for you."
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