And so I waited outside the PCO, watching time go by. An hour later, I called her again. I was told the same thing.
‘She’s not at her desk. Why don’t you call after an hour?’
So I waited, feeling stupid.
This time, she picked up.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Brahmi?’
‘How did you get this number?’
‘I found it in the directory. You were supposed to come see me?’ I asked.
‘I was swamped with work,’ she said, her voice curt.
‘It’s okay. I have been really busy too. I don’t think I would have had the time to meet you as well.’
‘Did you call earlier too?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I did but never mind. I was just getting a little bored.’
‘Is there something you wanted to talk about?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not really. I just wanted to ask if you called me in the afternoon. There was a missed call and no one spoke.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ I said.
‘How’s everyone?’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Listen, I need to go. I am really busy.’
‘Fine, I will talk to you later then,’ she said. ‘Will you be home on New Year’s?’
‘I think so,’ I said.
‘I might come that side to see you.’
‘Okay, the next minute is about to start. I should disconnect,’ I said. ‘Bye now.’
‘Bye.’
We didn’t need to say we loved each other.
What’s wrecking my heart is not Brahmi’s coldness towards me but her unwillingness to come clean and tell me that it’s over, that she feels nothing for me. At least then I can start mourning and make a fresh start.
I just need to hear it from her.
1 January 2000
New Year’s Eve came and went. All the nonsense around the change of the century and the millennium grated on me. What’s the big deal? The last time the millennium changed, we found more religions, more pretexts to kill each other. And do you think those people would have still celebrated the year 1900 had they known they would suffer through two World Wars and countless genocides. It’s hopeless and pathetic to celebrate the passage of time, to think the coming time will miraculously be better. It’s the refuge of the impotent. Time, money, religion, society—everything we have collectively thought of and choose to believe in only hurts us. What power will money have, will time have, if we choose to stop believing in it. If we smash the clocks and burn our currencies. But love, that’s not our invention. That’s hardwired into us, to hurt us, to enthral us, to get us down to our knees. I waited for her till 11.59 and then at 12.00 I made a resolution to stop moping over Brahmi’s prolonged absence, to scruff her out of my heart, not think endlessly about her, but at 12.01 all I could think of was to pick up the phone and call her, hear her voice, see her face, and maybe hug her again. I want to cry and bawl and run all the way to Brahmi, to be her knight in shining armour, have a job in a call centre, have a house and TV and whatever Vedant has. Why couldn’t I be the hero for just fucking once?
I had still been struggling with these thoughts when Dada called home. Boudi had suddenly fallen sick. Maa–Baba and I rushed to the hospital, half dressed but wide awake. Most of all, it was Maa who was terrified beyond her wits.
She whispered in Baba’s ears, ‘What if something happens to Meenakshi?’
