As I Wait

[box]The narrator waits longingly for his friend Jo, and is drawn into a flashback that involves lost friendships and disappointment, until Jo came along to make a difference. Anjali Krishna tells us the story of a warm relationship.[/box]

The degrading, balding, small plot of yellowish green was situated at the end of the road, behind the last housing society, leading to an undefined muddy patch at its bend. The sole inhabitants of the park included a moss-covered old slide, a rusty swing, and two ugly stone benches. An unkempt banyan tree cordoned the park. The air was thick with the odour of decaying yellow leaves that blanketed the soil.

The sweltering afternoon heat with its arid air raised a mini dust storm in the park, mud and leaves swirling fanatically.  My tongue was parched, my nose gleamed with moisture, and my eyes smarted with the dust. Impatience driving me insane, I anticipated Jo’s arrival.

This was my second home. Solitude being my best friend, the disconnect I felt with the rest of the world when I spent hours in this park was somewhat alleviating. Though I wasn’t new to the city, it was almost as if the city had disowned me since the time I entered. I was a repellent who warded everyone off. It was long since that had ceased to hurt me; developing a thick skin had been my first lesson.

I often wondered why I had come here. I have a blurry memory of my mother, her dilated eyes being prominent in it, and an anguished cry, as she left me to fend for my own one night.

Fortunately, an old barber adopted me. “You are my Moti,” he used to say. The world didn’t seem cruel until the barber passed away. Soon after, his shop was destroyed in a local riot and I was left, once again, scrounging for a new home.

I don’t think I should delve into further details about my life because, believe me, it’s quite pathetic. Before I met Jo, my life was bleak and dismal, equivalent to that of a deplorable, Kwashiorkor-ridden Saharan, invoking pathos-cum-wariness in some of the kindred souls I had encountered so far. Gloom being accepted, Jo brought a whole new level of pleasure and happiness in my life, like a ray of sunshine through grey clouds.

I heard two voices in the background, growing louder. I turned my head to see two old men walking towards the park. They were oblivious to my presence and sat down on one of the stone benches.

“She is never going to come back, is she?” said one, his voice wavering.  For all my thick skin, I could feel his sorrow. It took me down memory lane, to Milan.

Apart from Romi, the old barber, Milan is a dear friend I will cherish all my life. Three years ago, he saved my life from a couple of beastly vagabonds. His bark was worse than his bite. His ferociousness was enough to make them scoot from the scene.

Milan took me under his wing. I didn’t mind his domineering nature because there was a deep sense of care underlying all that bluster. The city’s best smells, sounds and sights were associated with him. He introduced me to his roving pack of buddies. Vagrant as they were, they gave me some of the best days of my life. Oh that wonderful bakery! The delightful smells that emanated from it, kept us rooted in its vicinity. On lucky days we would stumble upon remnants of loaves, biscuits and cakes.

Happy days lasted until Jeena, Milan’s girl, died a mysterious death. Jeena was an integral part of Milan’s life. They were head over heels in love with each other. Looking at them, I had often felt curious to experience love and lust for the opposite sex.

One night, I was roughly awoken from deep slumber by Milan. He was shaking uncontrollably, tears raining down his long, angular face. “J..Je..Jeena..is..no..no more..” he spluttered. “C…cc..come with me and j..just look…” his voice trailed off.  We rushed out of the porch of an old cottage, where we usually slept, and found Jeena lying near a smelly old gutter, eyes turned upwards, with no sign of injury on her body. But her face had acquired a bluish tinge, as though she had been poisoned.

Milan was inconsolable. He sat by her side the whole night, wailing in agony. Helplessly, I stayed by his side, his pain latching onto me. The next thing I remember is being rudely roused by harsh sunlight. There was no trace of Milan or Jeena. I informed our friends, and together we scanned the whole area, visiting every nook and corner, but without luck. It was as though they had vanished into thin air.

Soon, without Milan’s cohesive presence, our group disintegrated. I was left friendless for a second time.

The rustling leaves broke my reverie. The grief-stricken old man smiled at me sadly and left with his friend.

There was still no sign of Jo, no whiff of her tantalising scent, and no sound of her fingers fiddling with the keys of her cell phone. Disappointment seemed to be lurking, yet, I tried not to lose hope.

A sponge ball, flying out of nowhere, landed with a soft thud on the ground, raising a cloud of dust in its vicinity. Squeaky footsteps approached me.

“Aayush! I’ll fetch the ball. Don’t you run!” shrieked a voice in Hindi.

A tiny tot appeared, toddling towards the sponge ball. Squeak, squeak, went his floaters. He slowed down, gazed at me in wonder, stood a few steps away, and pointing at the ball, exclaimed “Ball!”

“AAYUSH!” and I saw a frenzied woman in her mid-twenties, wearing frayed clothes, running towards the child, breathless.

Instantly, I dropped the ball, for her face, suddenly frightened, told me to back off. Facing the kid, she exclaimed, “You brat, back off! It’s not safe. I’ll get the smiley ball for you.”  Aggravated, she cautiously picked up the ball, keeping a considerable distance from me. To her, I was probably one amongst the flea-bitten, and uncouth.

I had a weakness for children, for they were those rare creatures who considered me as a friend, and my aloofness was shadowed in their presence. Usually, I got to spend only a few minutes with them until their paranoid guardians came to their rescue. I had already anticipated this woman’s behaviour.

Waiting for Jo was driving me insane. I fervently wished to taste those mouth-watering biscuits, coated internally with a sweet substance. She called them Oreo.

I walked towards the slide, and stood under the shade of the banyan. It was under that very same tree that I had first seen Jo. It was evident that she had been upset, her facial expression and body language said so.

A cloudy afternoon it had been, with the familiar smell of moist earth. Just like the gloomy sky, Jo’s face had been downcast and her eyes had threatened to burst with tears. Her eyes had been fixed on the screen of her phone.

Standing on the opposite side of the park, I had observed her, assuming she hadn’t noticed me.

“You remind me of him, you know,” she said unexpectedly.

I was silent. I was taken unawares.

“Chocolate brown eyes, the same build. It’s uncanny.”

This was met by another awkward pause.

“Is that you, Raju?”

“It can’t be him, obviously. He decided to leave me, just like that, out of the blue. I’m probably hallucinating.” She was talking to herself.

God alone knew who Raju was, but it was clear that he had been special, and that he wasn’t around anymore.

A melancholic smile crossed her face when I looked at her sympathetically. “I knew you would understand,” she said sadly and walked off. At that moment the rain came down, unabashedly.

Jo’s words had been etched in my mind. Her tone, sincere, and compassionate, had struck a chord in me. It was ages since someone had addressed me humanely. I fervently hoped to see her again.

I knew Jo secretly desired to see me. My instincts said that she would be waiting for me, the next day and boy, was I right.

“Hi!” she had smiled on seeing me.

Her smile was lovely, and her eyes twinkled amicably. It was the start of a new friendship, which was soon to acquire a deeper meaning for me.

The park was perfect for our daily rendezvous, the alienation suitable. I was usually the silent listener, as I loved her voice.

It became a ritual. My day would be incomplete without meeting her. I didn’t know the signs but it took me a while to realise that I was indeed falling in love with her. Soon an incident occurred that confirmed it.

Jo brought her friend Sameer along one evening. My face dropped on seeing this strapping teenager, reeking of a provocative scent. It was quite obvious that he, like me, was floored by her. Jo didn’t realise, but his body language clearly implied his cheap intentions.

Yeah, I can see right through you, asshole, I thought angrily. I stared at him sullenly, as Jo introduced me to him, describing our first meet. Sameer made his dislike evident by aiming a stone at me when Jo wasn’t looking.

I wanted to hurt him but I controlled myself for her sake. He repeated his sadistic action several times, making me wince each time.  It’s only after a while that Jo noticed my leg was bleeding.

“How the hell did that happen?!” she cried.

Sameer stood behind her, smiling derisively. I couldn’t hold it longer. I pounced on him, hurting him as much as I could. Jo was horrified; she tried pulling us apart, but in vain. It was a dirty tussle. Hardly had I emerged triumphant, when Sameer aimed another stone, at the tender, bloodied wound, spot on. I yelped in agony and collapsed. “You slimy bastard!” I growled.

Sameer put an arm around her stealthily, faking cold fear. “He isn’t safe, Jo.” Jo was no fool and she figured Sameer was the culprit. Pushing him off she said, icily “Get the hell out of here, Sameer.”

She didn’t wait to watch him leave. Instead, she helped me straighten myself, and hugged me tight. I was in a daze, partly shaken, partly feeling lightheaded. She bandaged my bruised shin with her handkerchief, and took me home.

Though my bruise had been nursed, I was in no condition to venture outside. Mrs. D’souza’s reaction lived up to my predictions. Following a dose of coaxes, she dubiously allowed me to spend the night in their musty old attic. It was one of my best nights. Though I let my guard down, and slept like a log, I made an early exit the next morning. Jo swore that she would find me better accommodation. But she had no idea what I really desired.

My nostrils caught her familiar whiff and I was thrown off my mind trip. Think of the angel and the angel appears. I could hear her hollering in excitement. Her words become audible as she sprinted towards me-

“BUDDY, YOU ARE COMING HOME!”

Hardly able to contain my enthusiasm, I leaped onto Jo, wagging my tail wildly, barking joyously.

So Jo did know of my secret desires.

Anjali Krishna is a blogger who has realised words can help in unleashing all those pent up emotions that can’t be otherwise expressed.  She loves fiction, especially flash and online comics. An avid reader, music-woman and songwriter, her motto is “Keep it simple!”

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