Overrated (Part 5)

Reality was a bitch.

I had always been a person with a moderate level of self-confidence and self-esteem. Not one to try to leap above and beyond what I knew I was.

A lot of people thought it was a bad thing. For instance, my brother. He always pointed out how I lacked motivation to do anything and how I should always aim for bigger things in life and try to achieve more.

But what if I was satisfied and content with what I had? Wouldn’t that count as a good life as well?

There were no answers to these unspoken thoughts, of course.

So, I was more resolute to keep my life simple.

Complicated situations beget complicated situations.

And I was definitely not amused by my brother’s attempt at sabotaging that simple life of mine.

It so happened that my brother was not very thrilled with the idea of me taking Naira to our home. Or maybe he was too thrilled?

While Naira was very much surprised and my mother was over-enthusiastic as always, my brother made it a point to corner me every chance he got and question my intentions.

“Why can’t I bring a friend over?” I had asked, irritated.

“I never said bringing a friend over was a problem. What I am trying to say is, why bring a hot friend over, that too only as a birthday gift? There must be some other reason that you are not telling me.” He responded.

I was so done with his constant nagging. “You are impossible!”

In answer, he shook his head, as if disappointed. “Our parents made me possible over 18 years ago. Why are you still questioning it?” He said in all seriousness.

I was left flabbergasted.

Similar conversations took place numerous times over the span of the 2 days Naira and I stayed over. Each of them leaving me equally gasping for words.

My only saving grace were the times Naira insisted me to take her to the popular joints of the locality.

I was happy that Naira enjoyed her stay, to say the least.

She seemed happy to be spending some time away from the city, clicking pictures whenever she came across something she found worth capturing, trying new dishes and learning the recipes of some of them from my mother.

All in all, the surprise was a success, in my opinion.

After our return to the city, our lives proceeded like before, with the same routine of work and meet-ups, dinners and hang-outs.

The major change came soon after, in an unexpected way.

A month or so after our small trip, Naira was offered a big project. One for which she would have to move to Rajasthan for more than 6 months, if not the entire year. The owner of a chain of hotels was planning on opening one in Rajasthan and had given the contract for interior decorating to the agency Naira works for. They required a number of designers to travel to Rajasthan for the project. Naira being one of them.

Naira had been so happy about landing the project that she had even thrown a celebratory ‘mini-party’ two nights before she was to leave for Rajasthan. She claimed she would organise a bigger one once she successfully completed the project and returned home.

What followed was a plethora of free time for me. 

With the extra time in hand, I slowly started getting back to my old routine of spending more time in the office, binge watching shows and movies on Netflix, feeding myself with take outs and snacks, staying alone in the apartment while Hardik went for his dates.

However, I could not help but miss the time I used to spend with Naira. Missing our walks, our ice cream breaks, our hangouts, our dinner plans, our movie outings.

And that often made me take lonely walks in the same parks Naira and I would go to.

We did keep in touch. Of course, we did. Naira would often text me saying how she missed going for walks, or how she was very tired to do anything else, or how she had completed one of the numerous tasks, or how something had happened to infuriate her, so on and so forth. But they were not as frequent as before.

I stopped going out to drink and hangout with Naira’s friends. It felt weird without Naira there. They often looked at me with sad eyes and smiles. Suddenly, hanging out with them felt wrong.

My mother would occasionally ask about Naira, about how she was doing and whether she was taking care of herself or not. I had to convey the messages back and forth often.

Days went on without any remarkable incidents. Slowly, three months rolled by.

With nothing to do and no one to meet or hang out with, I had been spending my free evenings on the weekends at the apartment.

On one such evening, Hardik surprised me with a question.

“Wanna grab a couple of drinks, Ishaan?” He asked.

It was quite out of the blue, to be honest. 

From the beginning of my days with Naira and through it all, one person had seemed unbothered. Quite literally. And maybe because of that alone, no one at our office had got to know anything about it either.

I had often imagined what they would have said or hinted at. Definitely they could not have been worse than my brother. Yet, I was glad I didn’t have to face that.

Hardik, though often raised a brow when he witnessed me going out quite frequently, had stayed mum. And he continued to stay silent about it all when he noticed the sudden lack of outings.

Until… that particular evening.

“Uh- Don’t you have a date or something tonight?” I replied, not knowing what else to say, while I was on my way to my bedroom after grabbing some snacks from the kitchen.

“I don’t have one today. You would have noticed if you actually looked.” He said, amused at my flustered state at being called out for not paying attention. Of course, he wasn’t going out. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose hanging tank top!

But he didn’t let me wallow in the embarrassment for long. “Bring those snacks over here.” He said, as he brought out a case of 12 beer cans from the fridge.

“When did that get there?” I was confused. It could not have been there, sitting in the fridge for long.

“I brought it this morning, Ishaan.” Hardik chuckled at my expression.

Then paused.

“But It seems like you have been quite out of it lately. Any specific reason?” Hardik asked, handing me one of the cans.

I thanked him quietly while also shaking my head in negation.

“Are you sure?” He probed, making me wonder what he was getting at.

But what he said next almost made me choke on the chilled beer I had just taken a sip of.

“Dude, you look more heartbroken than when Radhika got married. There’s got to be something.”

At my stupefied expression, he rolled his eyes and put his can of beer on the table in front of us before turning to face me fully.

“Ok, maybe not that much. But you do. Look heartbroken, that is.” He raised a brow. “What? We have been living together for what? 5 years almost, if not more. Don’t tell me you thought I would notice nothing?” He sounded very offended and huffed before picking up his can and taking a swig.

I remained silent. 

Like every other inopportune moment, my mouth wanted to blurt out a ‘5 years and 8 months’.

But I could not.

Despite his somewhat carefree attitude, Hardik was surprisingly easier to stay with. He liked to joke around but never got into other people’s business. And maybe he felt the same about me, because he never mentioned anything about wanting to change roommates.

Even so, those things didn’t matter at the moment.

Owing to the fact that my mind was preoccupied with what Hardik had just said.

And all I wanted to do was protest his words. But words seemed to get stuck in my throat.

My mind whirled with the words and I didn’t even realise when I got up from the couch and made it to my room.

Hardik didn’t stop me. Or maybe he did try but I was too out of it, as Hardik had put it, to actually listen.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The day after was spent in a daze. The more I thought about it, the more it felt bizarre.

I was not broken-hearted. No way was I broken-hearted!

Yes, I thought about what she must be doing almost most of the day. Yes, I thought about how she might be doing with her work pressure. Yes, I missed our impromptu lunches and dinners. I missed hanging out with her. I missed the walks, especially when she would talk her thoughts out, the way she would smile at what I had to say, no matter how little or how insignificant. The way she would trap one of my arms in one or both of hers and drag me along with her. 

I missed Naira.

But I was definitely not heartbroken.

To be heartbroken, I needed to have feelings for Naira, which I didn’t.

Or did I?

*****

Overrated (Part 4)

Human beings were confusing.

Or was it just me who was not adept in the art of understanding human beings?

Well, that was quite a possibility.

Data was so much easier to handle and understand.

But you can not live with data.

You can not interact with data.

You can not become friends with data.

You can not have feelings for data.

No. You need human beings for that. Men and women. Each one with their own thoughts, feelings, personalities, ambitions, hidden agendas, priorities, responsibilities, likes, dislikes and so many other things.

Data was truly easier. Much easier.

And then there was Naira.

Straight-forward, no-nonsense Naira.

I found it equally terrifying and fascinating.

For instance, that time when I met one of her friends during a hangout and later on when I came to know that he was a homosexual, I had commented that he didn’t look like one and she had immediately turned to me, looked me in the eyes and calmly said, “I didn’t peg you to be someone who would judge a book by its cover, Ishaan.”

I felt ashamed. And embarrassed.

Also that one time when the both of us had gone for lunch and I had been uncomfortable because a woman had been staring at us and upon realising what was going on Naira had walked up to the woman and asked, “Did you have something to say to us? If not then please stop staring, you are making us uncomfortable.” 

I was horrified. I was sure the woman shared the sentiment.

Not to mention that one time when one of her friends was complaining to her about how their life was an utter mess and nothing was going right and many other stuff that were going wrong and Naira had been listening patiently for the whole time but at the end had just said, “No one can help you unless you help yourself. If you feel things are not going right, then take charge and make changes to make them right.” 

I felt inspired. It made me think of things in a new light. Made me want to do better.

And I could definitely not forget the incident one evening when Naira and I were walking down a street and having ice cream and she had suddenly asked me something. “Why is it that you never ask to hangout with me and we meet and hangout only when I bring it up? Don’t you like hanging out with me, Ishaan?”

I was speechless. What was she even talking about? I loved hanging out with her. But it made me realise that I had to say things out loud too. What I liked as well as what I didn’t.

On top of all of that, were her skills as designer as well as photographer.

I was fascinated. No other word could describe it.

In the almost half a year that we had been friends, I had come to know her and respect her. Had come to realise how she would smile when she found things amusing and how she would purse her lips when she was getting annoyed. How she would click her tongue if she was not really satisfied with the design she was making and how she would humm when she thought that a photograph would come off better from another angle.

I had not only encountered how she became happy and excited over things but also witnessed how she became sad and upset about things. 

I came to know that when she called up and said ‘Let’s hangout’, it meant we were going to hangout with a bunch of other people, mostly her friends, where she would laugh out loud without caring about anyone. I also came to know that when she called up and asked if we could go for some ice cream, she wanted to stay quiet and be lost in her thoughts, ask me about my opinions about certain things, discuss ideas occasionally, where she would smile up at me and her eyes would hold different emotions.

At first, we met up only on the weekends. As time passed we started meeting on weekends and weekdays alike. Mostly for dinner, occasionally for lunch.

It kind of became a ritual for us to go back to her place if we happened to go clubbing on the weekends. And have breakfast together the next morning. Maybe also hangout in the evening.

It was during one of those mornings that I discovered that the black ink I had noticed on one side of her exposed waist the day we first met was a huge phoenix, running down her midriff up to her upper thigh. I had kind of walked in on her when she was doing yoga, wearing a sports bra and boyshorts, leaving her waist and upper thighs exposed.

Needless to say, I had blushed immediately, apologised profusely and almost ran out of her room, utterly embarrassed. 

Later that day, the phoenix along with the sleeve she had on her left arm, made me wonder a lot of things. One being how did I even miss that before? However I chose not to linger on that for long. Instead…

“Wasn’t it painful?” I had asked, somewhat concerned.

“Not as much as you would think. But I guess it also depends on your pain tolerance level.” She had explained, patient as ever.

“Should I get one? Do you think it would look good on me?” I had voiced out. Without much thought to it, might I add.

Her eyes had sparkled at that suggestion, as if she had found a new treasure.

That evening itself, she had taken me to the tattoo parlour she got her tattoos done from.

“No need to worry. They are the best.” She tried to ease my mind, the familiar smile gracing her lips.

And it had been fine, until the brand new needle was brought out, still in its unpacked state, for me to see. And I had freaked out.

Naira sure found it hilarious when I announced that I did not want to get it done anymore. She was quite supportive though. She assured me that it was alright and I did not have anything to be embarrassed about.

Though, later on she had also teased me saying maybe I could try piercing my septum. That, I definitely did not even want to think about trying.

*****

It was a weekday, almost midnight. I, along with some of Naira’s friends, had planned on meeting outside her apartment building, to surprise her. It was her birthday.

Honestly, I was surprised that her friends invited me. They were good people, of course, but not close to me. I could only think about one quite obvious reason they would want me to be there for. Naira.

Umer, one of her friends, had told me that it would make Naira happy if I was present. I agreed to go.

As I waited for the others to show up with balloons and cakes and whatever else they planned on bringing, I thought back to the conversation Naira had with me not very long ago, about her family.

It just so happened that my mother had called me when I was with Naira. No. That was not the first time that I had received such call in her presence. But it was the first time that Naira decided to say something other than just staying silent or continuing the conversation from when we were interrupted.

“Ishaan, who all are there in your family?” She had asked.

That was not unexpected. A lot of people liked talking about family or cousins. Hardik was one of them.

 But Naira was not.

I knew that Naira was Radhika’s cousin. But Naira never really talked about her family or cousins.

After I told her about my immediate family, Naira nodded once and fell silent.

I waited.

It was one of those days when Naira was quiet. And I kept company.

I knew Naira had something on her mind. So, I waited.

It had been a bright day and the setting sun had rendered the sky colourful with shades of pink, orange and red.

After what felt like a long time had passed, Naira broke the silence.

“I didn’t get to spend much time with my mother. From what I have heard, though I was born healthy, my mother’s health deteriorated soon after. I once heard some relatives talking about how my father actually married her for wealth. I also heard she ran away with him when she was just 16 but after realising what kind of man he really was, she came back home. All in all, she was already pregnant with me and maybe depressed too. She didn’t last long after my birth. Maybe a month or two.”

I knew she was not done.

“It was all fine. I didn’t even know my parents were missing from my life. From what I remember, my grandma took care of me for the first couple of years. But then she had a stroke and the left half of her body was paralysed. With that and the gossip about my mother among the family members and servants, my grandpa decided it would be best to keep me away from home. So, I was sent to boarding school when I was a little over 3.”

Naira then turned to look at me with a wry smile.

“It was for the best, I guess. Got to make a lot of friends and learned to live independently. Having stayed all of my school and college life away from home, it got a little weird whenever I went back home. So I decided to move out when I got the job.”

With a shrug, she turned to look at the sky.

“Sometimes I just wonder, what would it be like if my mother was alive, or if I had siblings? When you talk to your mom, or when someone talks about their family. I know I can’t exactly miss what I never had. I just wonder.”

That entire conversation had been running on my mind since then. And I wondered too.

Call me immature or weak-hearted, stupid or an utter moron, but I still wondered.

And that’s why, after Naira cut the cake her friends brought for her, wished her a successful and happy life and many more such birthdays, gave her gifts and hugs and smeared the icing of the cake on her face, and she turned to me to demand her gift with a raised eyebrow, a teasing smile and an outstretched hand, with open palms, I told her I would take her somewhere on the following weekend, as her birthday present.

*****

I was not totally sure why I was doing whatever I was doing, but I was sure that I wanted to do it.

So, with that surety, I had booked a cab that Friday evening and was waiting for Naira to come downstairs so that I could take her to give her the birthday present I had promised earlier in the week.

The place I was taking her? My home.

It was not a spur of the moment decision. Absolutely not.

It was more like the desire to make Naira feel what it would be like to have siblings. To have a place that truly felt like home.

When that thought first occurred in my mind, I had called my mother to discuss it with her and ask her opinion. I knew she would agree.

My mother was what one would call a typical housewife who loved cooking and feeding and taking care of her kids. I would not be surprised if she ever said that she wanted more kids of her own. Besides, I was aware that she wanted to have a girl child but was blessed with two boys instead. Or maybe cursed? Depends on the perspective, I guess.

I also knew that a lot of my friends in my school days were my friends because they would get to visit my place and eat delicious meals.

Well, it was what it was.

And the plan was in motion. With high hopes that my over-enthusiastic mother and polar-opposite younger brother would make Naira feel not only welcome but also a part of the family.

What could go wrong, anyway?

Or that’s what I thought.

*****

Overrated (Part 3)

 Hangovers were vicious.

The splitting headache, the desert-like dry throat, the way-too bright and loud surroundings.

Vicious indeed.

I had no idea about what time of the day it was. Just a vague recollection that it was supposed to be the weekend. Thank goodness for that!

I laid still with closed eyes, wherever I was lying, for some more time after sleep left me. I needed to get a hold on myself before I decided it was a good enough idea to open my eyes.

All the while, I tried to recall the reason behind my bitchy hangover. Of course, it was alcohol. However, usually I didn’t drink so much that I would end up with a hangover as bad as this one here, hanging over my head, body and mind and casting its shadows on my memory. So yes, it was unusual.

The first thing I could successfully recall was my chance encounter with Naira. That bit of recollection led to a rather vague memory of her dragging me inside a club. That was followed by a whirlwind of memories of us downing shots after shots without a care in the world, jumping to the loud music inside the club, followed by drinking some more and then jumping some more too. The other people around us, the ones Naira had introduced to me, were just blurs.

Unable to remember much beyond the drinking and jumping, I decided that I could just laze around a bit more and  I rolled around on the bed, eyes still closed.

Even so, I kept feeling as if I was missing something. A nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

Was there anything I had to get done this weekend? Or was there something I had to do this morning? Did I have to do something last night? Not able to remember anything, I concluded that I should probably ask Hardik about it. That thought reminded me of his date the previous night and made me wonder how it had proceeded.

I frowned then. I could not recall meeting Hardik after his date. Didn’t he come back home? Maybe he came home after I-

Hold on! When did I get home? More importantly, how did I get home? Did someone help me?

I tried once again to focus and remember that particular piece of memory but came up blank.

Panic rushed through my body all of a sudden and I sat up on the bed causing the room to spin for a few seconds and an involuntary groan made its way past my lips.

Though I opened my mouth to curse at myself for drinking too much, no sound left my throat. Instead, my mouth hung open, my eyes wide, taking in the room I was in.

It was… for lack of a better word, a simple room. Not plain as mine, considering mine was rented and we weren’t allowed to do much to the walls and all.

No. This room was simple and cozy. Warm and homely.

With beige walls and light brown curtains that covered 2 sets of huge windows on adjacent walls, the room definitely looked warm and cozy. The closet as well as the frame of the full-length mirror which stood against the wall next to the closet, matched the curtains in their colour. Light brown.

The wall against which the bed was placed had a huge white dreamcatcher, with white feathers hanging off of the brownish ring.

Next to the foot of the bed was a door, most likely leading out of the room.

The bedsheet and covers were all white as well. The room was otherwise bare.

I didn’t get any indication of whose room it could be. But I was sure of one thing.

It was neither my room, nor Hardik’s. 

Leaving the bed felt like a huge task. But it had to be done, even if only for the sake of knowing whose place this was.

Making my way out of the room, I immediately noticed a L-shaped grey sofa with a number of white, pale blue and dark blue coloured cushions placed on it haphazardly. In front of it, on a white and dark blue rug was placed a rectangular glass-top coffee table.

The wall facing the sofa was painted white and had a television and a grey-coloured chest of 3 drawers installed on the wall right below the television. 

Beside the sofa, light grey full-length thick curtains fluttered while partially covering a set of floor to ceiling sliding glass doors. Beyond the doors was a small balcony littered with a number of pots housing various plants. Inside the room, beside the sofa, stood another white pot housing a bunch of lucky bamboos which had grown quite big. Truth be told, I had never seen those things get this big. It reminded me of my early teens when my mother had tried to keep almost 3-4 sets of those bamboos alive. All in vain.

The wall behind the sofa was painted pale blue, complimenting the cushions and the rug. Or maybe, it was the other way around. Five black-and-white photographs with broad white borders and black frames were hung on the wall.

One of the photographs was of raindrops falling on an already wet road. Another was of the city from a very high vantage point. Another was of a single white flower against a dark background. Yet another was a low-angle shot of tall trees in a forest with only a small glimpse of the sky allowed by the branches and leaves. Another was of a cloudy sky with rays of sunlight peeking from beyond the clouds and spreading downwards.

So lost I was in the mesmerising photographs, that I did not feel the presence of another. 

“Oh hey!” The voice made me jump, with my heart beating 100 times a minute while I risked getting a whiplash with how fast I whipped my head around to face the direction from where the familiar voice came.

The smile that greeted me reminded me of how the same face had smiled at me the previous evening and called me… cute? Did that really happen? Or was it the hangover playing with my mind?

“You look cute when you are confused too, Ishaan.” Naira smiled and walked towards me.

“What are you doing here?” I had blurted out, even before I could think clearly.

The statement made her pause for a moment. After what seemed to be a very long time, she blinked. Then blinked once again, before finally parting her lips.

“Do you remember anything from last night, Ishaan? Or should we go to a doctor?” 

“N-no, I, uh…” I trailed off. My eyes drifted towards the sofa.

The sofa seemed to trigger another memory. “You brought me to your place last night.” I muttered. In reply, Naira just hummed.

Quite unexpectedly, a thought jumped up in my mind. “Where did you sleep?” There was only one bed in the room. Did she sleep on the sofa?

Before I could ponder on that, her words made me choke on air. “In my bed, of course.”

“Wh-what? You could have just left me on the sofa!” I was hyperventilating. And hoping that I didn’t do anything inappropriate!

She raised one of her eyebrows, then bent down to place a mug she had in her hand and walked towards me. Taking a hold of my shoulders with both her hands, she turned me around to face the direction from which I had entered the living room. A slight smile playing on her lips the entire time.

“That is my bedroom, Ishaan.” She said, a smile evident in her voice.

Right across the hall, from the door I had exited, was another door. And another one, further down the hall. She was pointing at the third door.

“Oh.” Was all I could mutter.

Letting go of my shoulder, she walked towards the direction she had come from earlier. “Would you like some tea? Or coffee?”

Feeling embarrassed of my own stupidity, I turned to follow her. “Some black coffee would be fine.” I said, as she entered the open kitchen.

As embarrassed as I was, I still could not help but follow each and every movement of Naira with my eyes.

More so, because of how simple she looked.

She was dressed in light grey ‘One In A Minion’ printed boxy t-shirt paired with dark blue shorts. She had removed the rings with chains from her 4th and 5th piercings while the other 3 pairs stayed where I had seen them the previous night. Her nose piercing also remained unchanged. Her hair highlights were more prominent in the broad daylight.

When she turned towards me to give me the mug of coffee, I noticed how bright her eyes looked even without any eye-makeup.

And when she handed me the mug with a quiet “here”, I noticed something else too.

The small ring I had seen on her lower lip was missing. What threw me on a loop was that the skin looked unmarred and untouched by any needle. I definitely saw a piercing there last night. Or was I imagining that. A fake then?

A moment later, she announced, “That was a fake.”

That broke my stare and my eyes jumped up to meet hers. She must have noticed my unwarranted stare. But she looked back at me with a smile, before she started walking towards the sofa. I followed suit.

“I could not decide between a nose piercing or a belly button piercing. So I thought I would use fake ones to see which would look better.” She explained.

Her statement brought up yet another memory of the previous night. At some point of the night, I seem to have caught a glimpse of the said fake belly button piercing. Two flawlessly shining stones, one a bit smaller than the other, had sparkled in the colourful lights of the club.

Shaking my head, as if to shake the image off, I looked at her. She had taken a seat on the sofa, a laptop perched on her lap as she sat in a criss-crossed legs position. The presence of a pair of spectacles on her face surprised me. But I gathered myself before I could have continued to stare at her once again.

I went up to stand in front of her across the table. “I am sorry.” I uttered.

She seemed a little surprised. “What for?” She asked.

“For staring, back there. And for troubling you last night.” I uttered again, my head bowed, unable to meet her eyes.

I had been embarrassing myself again and again, just like the first time we met. How could I even stand in front of her without feeling any shame, I did not know.

The sound of her chuckle reached my ears. “Come sit here, Ishaan. You must be having a hangover. Even if you don't have one, you should drink that while it's still warm. You will feel better.” She pointed to the mug I had cupped between my palms.

Like an obedient child, I sat down beside her. She diverted her attention towards her laptop.

While she continued working on her laptop, the thought of peeping to see what she was doing ran through my mind. But that would not be a good thing to do. At the same time I also realised that I didn’t know what she did for a living.

“Um- Naira?”

It surprised me when she stopped what she was doing and turned to me, giving me her full attention. When was the last time someone had given me their entire attention, just to listen to what I had to say to them? I could not remember.

“Oh! Uh- I just, um- what are you doing?” I finished awkwardly.

“This? Just working on a design. Let me tell you Ishaan, being an Interior Designer is such a pain in the ass. Some clients just get on the nerves, I tell you. They just can’t make up their mind and make me do the entire design at least 4 to 5 times before agreeing to something. And some clients are just…” She rambled on.

I was content with listening to her. I also found it intriguing. Meeting new people everyday, getting to know them, their thoughts and tastes, getting to do something different every time. It all sounded very interesting. Being a Data Analyst was stressful as it is. Sitting in front of the desktop for the whole day was anything but interesting anyway.

“What about those photographs?” I asked once Naira was done with her ranting.

“Those are me being a terrific photographer.” Naira grinned. I was impressed to say the least.

Done with the coffee, I stood up from the sofa and turned to once again look at the photographs. “They are very beautiful.” I said truthfully.

“So I have heard.” Naira laughed. I could not help but smile at her.

Was it just me, or was Naira's smile and laughter really contagious? I did not know.

A few seconds of silence passed before it was broken by Naira, with an unexpected question.

“Do you have any plans tonight, Ishaan?”

I shook my head in negation. I seldom had any plans.

“That’s great! Let’s hang out tonight.”

“What?”

*****