The night before last I did something that I have resisted doing for a long, long time. For so long, actually, that I may have even fooled myself into thinking that I’m back on track. That it’s only a dull ache now, nothing more than a distant but fond and very painful memory. Something that plays up only when I mess with it a bit. Or, when I’m asleep and have no control over my thoughts and the direction in which they’re headed. But, since the night before last, I know, I’m beginning to lose it again. It’s as if all these years never happened and I’m back to feeling what I felt then…really, really screwed in the head.

I guess I’m being vague here and not making much sense at all. I’m not sure I would even if I tried but I’m going to give it a shot anyway. Because writing, they say, is therapeutic. Even though I don’t believe anything they say, I’ll try and pretend to be a balanced and rational person and test their theory before I denounce and ridicule it.

She and I broke up a long time ago. I have not discussed the specifics of the break-up even with my closest and best friends because, I believe, that is something between us and I will not talk about it in her absence. It was sheer hell…the break up, I mean…for me and, as her best friend told me, for her too. It couldn’t have been otherwise because we had a really long and truly wonderful relationship. Suffice it to say that, even if I wanted to, I still cannot find an unkind word to say about her. Anyway, to move on, for very long after that, I was completely closed to the idea of another relationship. Because I didn’t think I had it in me to feel like that for another person. Because I didn’t think that I had it in me to go through another broken relationship. Because, as I said in another post, long ago, I knew I would compare everyone with her. Because, in my eyes, everyone else was going to come up short. Because, as my oldest friend said to me a few days after the break-up, “you’re not likely to find another girl like her again.”

Moving on…on a trip to Bombay last year, I met someone and, let’s just say, things appeared to click. My friends were really happy for me. I thought I was too. Anyway, a month or so later, I had to go back to Bombay to shoot those AIDS films. Although RBose agreed to be a part of the project immediately, we still had to wait for his first free day to shoot. Which meant that there was plenty of time to kill and to meet. On one such evening, when I came back to my friend’s house, where I was staying, he and his other friend were having a drink. More than a drink, actually, and wanted me to join in. Now, I’m not much of an alcohol person and don’t care a whit for either rum or beer. I will consume the aforesaid only under tremendous compulsion, which, depending on the day and mood, might mean that you may have to hold a gun to my head. But, when I do, I’m quite capable of making one drink last all evening. Having said that, I do love wine and can consume vast quantities (before anyone even attempts to raise that eyebrow, I don’t claim to be an expert…not in the least). On the said evening, however, it was white rum that was going around and, for once, I didn’t kick up a fuss. By the time I finished my second really large drink, which was less than an hour after I’d started, I was too far gone to know that the third, which my friend’s friend had made, was way, way too large. Apparently, it had rum with just a dash of Coke! Anyway, after this chap left, my friend and I sat down to talk…and we went on till about 5 in the morning. The topic of discussion, as one would expect, wasn’t the person I was supposed to be seeing then, but her.

That was the first time that I actually talked to my closest friend about my broken relationship. That was also the first time that alarm bells started to ring in my head. I started to think whether, in such a state of mind, I had any business seeing anyone else. As luck would have it, just a couple of days later, these bells found another occasion to ring. My friend brought out his photo album and asked me if I felt okay enough to look at some old photographs. Of course, I said without thinking. Although she featured in a few of those photographs that we had clicked in Bombay, Delhi, Mysore, Bangalore and Sariska, it was really the Goa snaps that got me. One, in particular, just killed me. And, my whole day was completely ruined. I knew then that, to use a cliché, the flame still burns and, in fact, is more like a blazing torch. I guess I must’ve known it all along but, then again, I suppose I’m some sort of a champion of denial. There wasn’t anything I could do about how I felt but I could certainly do the right thing by the person I was supposed to be seeing at that point in time. Fortunately, we were able to call the whole thing off like adults and still be very good friends. In fact, today, I can lay claims to being her best friend. The damage, thankfully, was limited to the dozens of long distance phone calls both of us, and some of our friends, made over a period of about a month or so after we decided to go solo.

Since then, I’ve managed to keep a lid on things, busying myself with trivial pursuits and the mundane modalities of life. The night before last, however, just as I was about to switch off the computer and go to sleep, I had this thought and acted on it immediately. I’ve had the very same thought hundreds of times before that night but, each time, I’ve managed to dismiss it quite easily. It just didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But this time, I guess, I didn’t allow myself enough time to think about it. Either that or the urge was just too strong. Whatever the reason or cause, I did a Google search on her. Over time, and just for the heck of it, I’ve done searches for almost all my friends, as I’m sure some of you must’ve done too. But, I’ve always stopped short of doing a search for her. Always, except this one time. And what I found has been quite unsettling. She’s no longer in Bombay (I already knew that…long ago, my friend once started to tell me where she was but I cut him short…I didn’t want to know) and she has a different second name (thanks to the same friend, this also I knew). Anyway, what I found was her poem on a poetry site and…how should I put it…that poem is driving me crazy. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what it means! And, that is not a good feeling…the not knowing, I mean.

She is/was a writer but she is not so much into writing poems. She doesn’t just write poems for a lark, if you know what I mean. The very few that she did write were expressions of what she was feeling at that particular point in time. And that is the problem with the poem I found…I know that it’s not just another poem. It talks about the “mind wandering back”, about “yearning”, about a “shared journey”, about “reliving those moments” and many other things that, to my mind, point towards what I think they’re pointing towards. You may think I’m reading too much into this…maybe I am. Because, in this situation, my mind can hardly be relied upon. But, then again, maybe I’m not reading too much into it. At the best of times, you wouldn’t call me an optimist and this is hardly the best of times. I’m more of a practical person, tending towards pessimism, if anything. As a result, I almost never read more than what is already there in a situation. Therefore, I doubt I’m imagining the things and feelings in that poem that I think are there. Yet, I don’t know what to make of it.

If I’m reading the whole thing wrong, it’s okay…all it means is a bit of strife for me, which I don’t mind. But what if I’m not reading it wrong? What if I am right? Either way, there’s no joy in it for me. Because, either way, there’s nothing that I can do about it. The only difference is that, if I’m right, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with it.

The last forty-eight hours have gone by in a bit of a daze. I’m feeling a bit crazed, a little on the edge and I just don’t know what to do. I’ve done a hell of a lot of walking in the last two days…just walked and walked and walked…but it doesn’t seem to help. I thought that writing it all down would help me make sense of it but, unfortunately, I was wrong. If anything, I feel even worse now. Because I know that I’m making a fool out of myself with this post but, really, I don’t care.

I’m going off to Bombay on Saturday. No, first to Pune and, after a couple of days there, to Bombay on Monday. I know I’m going to regret this trip later…really, really regret it but, as I said last time, feck it! (How I wish I could apply my new philosophy to this situation I’m in at the moment.) Because I really need to get away. I need some serious distraction and I really hope I can find it.

Going away, I know, is only a stop-gap arrangement. But, then, what else have I got? Usually, running away is a good solution to many problems. But, I know that there’s only so much you can run. There’s only do far that you can run…

Did they say writing is therapeutic? Yeah, sure…and my name is Robert De Niro.