The first step.

Since with Loyana it was always about her and other people ceased to take on a personality, I was pretty taken aback by her sudden interest in me and my life. Why lie? I hate it when people ask me to talk about myself. That's because I find it really difficult to tell them anything but the truth and when I do, they find it extremely unpalatable. I decided to give her an edited version of the events that had brought me so far.

It all started in Jodhpur. The sun city of Rajasthan. A place charachterised by sandstone, heat and mirchibade. The last thing is a snack that consists of a HUGE green chili stuffed with mashed potatoes, coated in chickpea flour and fried in boiling oil. America gets fat on Big Macs, fries and coke; Jodhpur clogs its arteries with mirchibade stuffed between two slices of bread and lassi. Whatever works I guess.

My earliest memories comprise of sitting in a patch of sunlight in an expanse of red cemented coolness. I grew up thinking that the red color came from the blood of demons that populated my grandmother's stories. She'd tell us all those wonderful yarns that would leave us wanting more. There was a whole brood of us. Cousins by blood ties on our mothers' side and friends by default. I was the quiet one. I had to be.

I was born on a frosty January evening when the rain gods danced in the heavens with the ferocity of dragons fighting for their lives. The rain came down in torrents and the wind made every ghost story come alive. I'd fought my way out into the world a month early, my impatience manifesting itself in the need to see for myself what exactly was it that my mother warned me against every night before she fell asleep.
I was lucky I was a boy, if I'd been born the girl that my mother so desperately wanted then in all probability I wouldn't be here. I'd be part of the statistics that are quoted each year to gather funds for women's emanicipation in India. Another victim of accidental childbirth. Another unwanted child. Now that I look at it that might not have been so bad. At least, I'd be dead and hopefully at peace.

I was the boy who didn't speak much. The situation was so bad that my mother was afraid that I was dumb. Then finally the rain came to my rescue and the first drop falling on the dry dust of Jodhpur gave off a magic that brought words out of my mouth and my mother heaved a sigh of relief.

When I was about five years old I got on to an airplane that took me away from the wonders of the demon blood stained courtyard and into an equally dusty and dreary land of camels, oil and the smell of money that makes dreams come true for every person who sets foot there. Dubai. The land where the very pavements are paved with the gold of opportunity and the rising sun sets your spirits on fire, the fire to achieve what you'd set out to do.
My father had followed his dreams of a better life to the partnership that he had attained and now he was ready to become whole again. I led an idyllic existence while my mother slowly stifled her dreams and counted out the last few years of her life by immersing herself in the glistening luminiscence of embroidery material and the soft clicking of knitting needles that formed the background music to the gentle beat of time. While her home sparkled with the vitality of her life force the very life was being eaten from within.
A perfectionist to the core, She died with the quiet dignity that she had possesed and worn like a cherished heirloom till the end. Her death did not affect our lives. It was the eventuality of living without her presence that did us in. You never know what you've got untill you lose it. I learnt this the hard way like I did every thing else.

I told my dad not to get married, begged him but all he had to say was,"There are needs that every man has that only a woman can take care of." I was eight years old. Too young to know what he was talking about. But the day my body started to release the animal that every man carries within , I began to hate myself and my body, I hated the animal needs that arose in me and I hated most of all (although I would never acknowledge it to myself untill it was too late) was my father for being human. I hated him for being honest about things that I should never have been forced to acknowledge. I hated him for not being strong enough to love and for being weak in the flesh. I never told him I hated him. He made it plain that he couldn't care less soon enough. He got married within a few months and a few years later I was packed off to Jodhpur having put up with enough physical and mental abuse to last me a lifetime.

At this point Loyana stopped the jeep on the side of the road and began to cry. I told you that you'd find it unpalatable. She didn't listen but kept crying. Silently at first and then in a high pitched keening that told me that whatever it was had little to do with me and more to do with her.As usual.

My descent into hell - Pt. II

One day I walked out after work and I'd barely plugged in my ear phones when I heard a familiar voice asking, " Looking for a ride honey?" Needless to say I whirled round because :-
a) I wasn't used to cheesy pick up lines
b) I'm not that good looking that people mistake me for a Gigolo
c) I had this vague impression that I knew who that voice belonged to.
No prizes for guessing, It was loyana. After that day in the classroom I hadn't seen much of her. A glimpse of her hair as she walked by the library, a whiff of her scent in the corridors, her laughter ringing in the hallway, these were the only signs that showed that loyana existed apart from the jokes that she'd text out of the blue in the middle of the night.

And here she was in the flesh. in condescension to the weather she was wearing a lovely black shawl carelessly slung across her shoulders and vintage earrings. Seated in a sleek black jeep she looked beautiful but before I could say anything, she commanded,"Get in." Since it's severely impolite to not acquisce to a lady's demands, I did as i was told. My friends used to tell me that my chivalry would get me into trouble, And although I'd laughed at them often enough I didn't think that they'd ever be proved right. I was about to have my illusions cleared up.
I got in without any apprehensions, this was loyana after all. At best it would be an adventure into the unknown and at worst it would turn out to be a cheesy situation from a really bad B-grade novel. Either way it proved to be a noveau experience.
I tried asking her where she was coming from and where we were going, but then when i felt that my queries were dying under the wheels of the jeep having fallen on a wall of silence i decided to let her be. I settled back in the plush leather seat and let the cool night air wash over me. It was the beginning of winter and the nights weren't chilly yet. You could get by with wearing a light jacket and if you felt exceptionally brave you wouldn't need much more than a thick shirt.
I've always welcomed the winters. The first whiff of woodsmoke that takes me back to a bus ride on the winding road to Srinagar, the pushcart vendors hawking roasted peanuts and slabs of sticky jaggery based candy, fruit sellers with their trolleys loaded with apples and ofcourse the warm patches of sunshine that you can warm your fingers in, I enjoy winters much more than I'll ever enjoy summer.
That day was one of those treacherous intermittent days when autumn hasn't let go yet and winter is yet to take its rightful place on the seasonal throne. I wonder what was going through her mind and then I noticed that she was moving out of the city towards the forest.
Maybe she wanted to distract me or maybe she was bored. Whatever it was she said, " U never told me anything about yourself. There has to be soem thing interesting. Do tell."
And that was where I took my first step into hell.