Hello *****, can I call you that?
Agastya—is that you?!
After a long time.
Yes. Almost 10 years.
How are you *****?
I am fine Agastya, how the hell are you? Where have you been?
I have been to London to look after the queen.
What a shitty joke, as usual.
Yes, I was always full of shit.
No. I didn’t mean that. But how come after such a long time?
I called you many times but you never answered.
But you don’t even have my phone number.
My heart called you man times, but your heart never answered.
OMG! You’re still the same boring philosopher, Agastya.
Don’t feel bad.
There is nothing to feel bad about *****. Neither bad, nor me.
This is the conversation we had—on Facebook messenger—after 10 years of separation. I haven’t forgotten the sweet-bitter romantic journey, she also hasn’t.
We met many-many years ago online and cultivated our love is the world of binary digits. We never knew when the binary digits became one, when the digital romance transformed into a physical one.
A real one. A beautiful one.
We spent sleepless nights in the one of the most romantic cities of India. I was in Mumbai but visited her almost every weekend.
Two bodies melted into each other every weekend, to finally become one.
The sun never set, the day never came. The intoxication had us all the while. The moon, the empty streets, the cold nights, the auto-rickshaws, the whiskey glass, the cigarettes, the bed, the silence, the crease on the blanket of the bed, the room of the hotel where we stayed, in are still witness of this silent, joyful romantic journey.
But when it all ended, there was a loud noise. My heart shattered into million pieces with a bang.
I never came to know—till date—why it ended. Suddenly, she was not there. I was alone. It was random virus attack on my life. Just a phone call and it all came to an end.
I cried a lot.
I had all the ears to listen but she had nothing much to say. I drank my whiskey all night and in the morning, boarded the first flight to meet her. I booked the same hotel and waited for her to come to meet me.
I cried all night.
Once upon a time in school days, I lost my new windcheater and I cried a lot. I was scared and guilty. I was ashamed. I cried a lot that day and after that, I never cried.
But that night I cried a lot.
In the morning, she came to meet me. It was raining heavily; both in Mumbai and that city. Both the cities were crying. I begged her to stay with folded hands but she was done with me. I kept my head on her feet to forgive me but she had to go. I had all the questions, she had no answer.
I cried a lot.
I blamed her all the while but after many years, when I learnt the art and craft of introspection, slowly-slowly I realized some of my mistakes. I learn the art and craft of forgives, compassion, kindness and gratitude. That is the time I contacted her to seek forgiveness.
And to my surprise she was already waiting with folded hands to ask forgiveness for what she did.
The chapter is closed now but I can’t forget that night when I cried all night long. Although, I have managed to get all the broken pieces—of my heart—together, I am unable to find some.
I can’t forget the tears; they were so innocent, so alone. They wanted to say so much but tears are just words the heart can’t say.
I can’t forget that night. I cried a lot.