2014, Cambridge
As I slump with my natural gracelessness into a chair, she silently tilts her head forward from across the table, filling my field of vision with her freshly washed hair.
'What?' I grunt with the grumpy indifference perfected in my teenage years to which she replies rather cryptically, 'highlights'.
Cricket comes to mind (for any self respecting Indian, highlights = late night snippets of test matches), but then it dawns on me - of course, the highlights in her hair.
Her eyes search mine for signs of approval.
'It looks very nice', I say - sincerely - for it always seems so effortless for her to achieve optimum conditions of understated elegance.
With that she gets up with a half smile leaving me to my ruminations and my tea.
1994, Calicut:
Annoyingly loud footfalls draw my attention amid the chaotic buzz of medical students clearing out of the biochemistry lecture hall. As the rest of us jostle each other in the aisles, there she is in high heels skipping over the desks as if it is only right that the world makes special concessions for her careless abandon. 'Loose women' I mutter to my mates with a roll of my eyes.
1996, Calicut:
She is a friend of friends and I grudgingly start smiling at her although I make a mental note to persevere with my stares of disapproval in protest of her general lack of concern for authority and her unsettlng confidence when facing upto sweaty palmed boys desperately trying to be men.
1998, Calicut:
She is not a bad sort after all and apparently no one else can fish out the cricket ball when it rolls into the gutter after bouncing off the asbestos roof of the third floor anatomy museum. Even the big lads shake their heads in disbelief as she gingerly picks her way across the sloping roof to stoop inches from the slippery edge and brush the dead leaves off the precious leather before tossing it down to the courtyard so that the match and the accompanying flow of teenage testosterone can resume.
2000, Calicut:
She is amazing and so sweet and innocent and so helpful and hardworking and such a good listener. I will be sorry to see her go as we say our goodbyes after five years of medical school. I hope she finds someone who appreciates her.
A very bad place, a very bad time:
I cut my hands on the shattered pieces as I try to put them back together again. Some say it takes all the king's horses but I am on my own and I can't stop now.
A good day:
I ask her and she says yes, so we walk to the shop selling sweet lime juice and have a glass each. I smile a lot.
2001, Eastham:
Tropical animals in temperate climes, our circle of friends huddle close to keep ourselves warm. She visits often, crossing the dodgy railway bridge to the flat where three idiots sit planning futures on steely grey mornings when the whole world seems Photoshopped into sepia tones.
2003, London:
She looks happy hanging on to my arm as I pose - a troll with a scroll. Highlights in her hair.
2004, India:
The knot and an idyllic boat trip.
2007, London:
I walk the pavement in Regent's Park on a cold morning, carefully stepping in the centre of each flagstone taking care to avoid the cracks - my personal offering to the Gods of superstition - till she emerges with a victorious smile on her face. Someone important has signed a cheque for her to record the antics of little things in a petri dish.
Darkness falls:
A desperate voice of self preservation in the back of my head tells me in vain not to rip my throat out as I cry like I never thought I could. She holds me for a long time and just when I am about to turn into a grey outline of a big blackhole, whispers something magical and I cling on, suddenly desperate not to drown. Everything hurts just the same but now I quieten to sobs.
Parenthood V 1.0:
System upgrade released in July 2009. Santa sends us V 2.0 the next year.
2011, Liverpool:
January pavements covered in icing sugar. I stand alone holding a little bundle of pink outside the door where she talks about her petri dish to wise old men. The bundle looks at me unflinchingly - quietly confident of her authority over her ugly father.
2014, Cambridge:
She dances to Bollywood tunes with little XX and XY in tow. Highlights in her hair.
Ten years today since the proverbial knot, twenty since I first saw her. I have no gifts to offer except these random memories - bright strands scattered in darkness, like the highlights in her hair.
As I slump with my natural gracelessness into a chair, she silently tilts her head forward from across the table, filling my field of vision with her freshly washed hair.
'What?' I grunt with the grumpy indifference perfected in my teenage years to which she replies rather cryptically, 'highlights'.
Cricket comes to mind (for any self respecting Indian, highlights = late night snippets of test matches), but then it dawns on me - of course, the highlights in her hair.
Her eyes search mine for signs of approval.
'It looks very nice', I say - sincerely - for it always seems so effortless for her to achieve optimum conditions of understated elegance.
With that she gets up with a half smile leaving me to my ruminations and my tea.
1994, Calicut:
Annoyingly loud footfalls draw my attention amid the chaotic buzz of medical students clearing out of the biochemistry lecture hall. As the rest of us jostle each other in the aisles, there she is in high heels skipping over the desks as if it is only right that the world makes special concessions for her careless abandon. 'Loose women' I mutter to my mates with a roll of my eyes.
1996, Calicut:
She is a friend of friends and I grudgingly start smiling at her although I make a mental note to persevere with my stares of disapproval in protest of her general lack of concern for authority and her unsettlng confidence when facing upto sweaty palmed boys desperately trying to be men.
1998, Calicut:
She is not a bad sort after all and apparently no one else can fish out the cricket ball when it rolls into the gutter after bouncing off the asbestos roof of the third floor anatomy museum. Even the big lads shake their heads in disbelief as she gingerly picks her way across the sloping roof to stoop inches from the slippery edge and brush the dead leaves off the precious leather before tossing it down to the courtyard so that the match and the accompanying flow of teenage testosterone can resume.
2000, Calicut:
She is amazing and so sweet and innocent and so helpful and hardworking and such a good listener. I will be sorry to see her go as we say our goodbyes after five years of medical school. I hope she finds someone who appreciates her.
A very bad place, a very bad time:
I cut my hands on the shattered pieces as I try to put them back together again. Some say it takes all the king's horses but I am on my own and I can't stop now.
A good day:
I ask her and she says yes, so we walk to the shop selling sweet lime juice and have a glass each. I smile a lot.
2001, Eastham:
Tropical animals in temperate climes, our circle of friends huddle close to keep ourselves warm. She visits often, crossing the dodgy railway bridge to the flat where three idiots sit planning futures on steely grey mornings when the whole world seems Photoshopped into sepia tones.
2003, London:
She looks happy hanging on to my arm as I pose - a troll with a scroll. Highlights in her hair.
2004, India:
The knot and an idyllic boat trip.
2007, London:
I walk the pavement in Regent's Park on a cold morning, carefully stepping in the centre of each flagstone taking care to avoid the cracks - my personal offering to the Gods of superstition - till she emerges with a victorious smile on her face. Someone important has signed a cheque for her to record the antics of little things in a petri dish.
Darkness falls:
A desperate voice of self preservation in the back of my head tells me in vain not to rip my throat out as I cry like I never thought I could. She holds me for a long time and just when I am about to turn into a grey outline of a big blackhole, whispers something magical and I cling on, suddenly desperate not to drown. Everything hurts just the same but now I quieten to sobs.
Parenthood V 1.0:
System upgrade released in July 2009. Santa sends us V 2.0 the next year.
2011, Liverpool:
January pavements covered in icing sugar. I stand alone holding a little bundle of pink outside the door where she talks about her petri dish to wise old men. The bundle looks at me unflinchingly - quietly confident of her authority over her ugly father.
2014, Cambridge:
She dances to Bollywood tunes with little XX and XY in tow. Highlights in her hair.
Ten years today since the proverbial knot, twenty since I first saw her. I have no gifts to offer except these random memories - bright strands scattered in darkness, like the highlights in her hair.
