I saw him through the doorway, lecturing on topics too abstract for most of the world to understand. Yet he had pondered deep upon each of them and was confident enough to place his ideas infront of the world. Then there was so much more to know about him, I only knew one thing-at such a young age, he had been invited to the university conference week to talk about some contrasting and complicated subjects like theology, religious history, linguistics, mathematics and astronomy. He had to speak four days in the seminar. He was a genius.
Day one made me fall for his knowledge of subjects that few are interested in because of the terribly deep understanding and intellect that they require. As he explained about Vedic rituals, their physical aspects and scientific interpretations, he kept gesturing with his hands and I couldn’t help noticing his long fingers, holding a pen in an effortlessly firm and expert way. He was tall and lean, not the most handsome man I had seen. I attended each of his lectures. I learnt that he was a physicist and was working on connecting modern physics with theology. He had already published papers on his philosophies and was there to talk about it.
I made myself his student and then his devotee. Little did he know that his devoted student had become his stalker- obsessed with his talks, ideas, mind, body and soul. I used to follow him to his quater and stay there late till I watched him switch off the lights to sleep. Once in while I used to ring the bell with an excuse to be having a doubt in a topic just to get the smell of him. I was addicted to the faint smell of coffee and surf bodywash that he carried. His hands smelled of ink and old books which turned me on everytime he used to teach me in private. I realised I was starving all those years before I met him, since intelligent conversation was food for me. We made deep and good talks and I knew he liked me too.
I was happy and content until I found out about his fiancée. How could I loose him to a girl who didn’t even understand his subject? How could I bear him talking with a girl who didn’t even appreciate the knowledge he had? How could I watch him waste his time and energy in unproductive shits-roaming around shopping, dating and partying with that girl when he could use it to make intellectual conversations with me?
I killed her.
I have always liked mystery and thriller. I wanted to be a part of one. So I planned it myself and enjoyed every bit of it! I can be such a smooth criminal…
She wasn’t a thorn but one beautiful wild flower in my path which I removed painlessly. I was growing an Eden for myself and I did not want even a beautiful flaw there. So I murdered the flaw.
He was devastated. He needed me. I knew I could replace her, for the better. I knew she was not right for him. I tried telling him that. He refused to believe that but kept me company. I had become sure then, that he secretly wanted me but couldn’t show because I was his student. So I decided to stop being his student. I had to be his colleague. But how?
I replaced his colleague.
It was easy. It was easy to put a false rape allegation on that meek guy. I made a trap so complicated to get out of, that the poor innocent professor could do nothing. Too easy. And it was easy as well to get compensated for the pain it caused me. I joined in as a professor in his university to be with him all the time not as a student but as his friend instead.
I had given my heart and soul into keeping him happy. I helped him in his studies, attended seminars with him, discussed the world with him, maintained his paper works-every possible thing that I thought mattered to him! I used to call him for dinner everytime I tried cooking a new dish. I used to insist him to stay over but he was always reluctant. So one day while he was using the rest room in my house, I made his car break down. I broke the fuel pipe and kept him inside the house as I imagined the oil draining away from his car, in the same way as all worries were draining out from my mind. I smiled and watched him smile. He stayed back. That night I made the bed for him imagining how we would sleep together one day for the first time and then for years to come…
But then he changed. He started pushing me away. I couldn’t understand what went wrong. We were so happy together. We had everything-so many things to talk about, so much to learn together and so much to give each other. But he didn’t understand. I begged him to stay with me. I begged him to let me love him and love me back. He refused.
I told him that it pained when he told me that i can never get him. He never understood. So I cut myself to make him understand. I was ready to go further, to any extent. Even if it meant hurting myself physically to show my inner pain…
I tried everything but then, I couldn’t take it any longer so I killed him too. Yes, I killed my lover. I killed my teacher, my companion.
She knew she was in love again. A kind of love which carried the experience yet the madness of her first love. Yes, it can happen again-in the same, similar or a different way, nevertheless a better way. But was it in anyway better?
It broke her, made her weak. It was making her someone she wasn’t, a different person. But most importantly, it was one sided. They underestimate one sided love even when it carries weapons that can rip either of the two persons off into pieces that cannot be stitched together. One becomes scared of love, the other becomes scared to love. It forces both of them to act like there’s nothing more to it…. nothing at all. When the reality is, they are ashamed. Ashamed of confessing, committing, holding on to the friendship they had and talking about it, because they know, things are already messed up! None of them is the person himself or herself. We pretend. Ashamed of something so beautiful.
“Stop this Chhaya! This is insanity. Will you ever learn a lesson?!?! I did. You must” he said.
“Why should I? Loving someone isn’t a mistake. LOVE IS NOT A MISTAKE…the person is. But I was sure you are not.” she woke up telling to herself.
“Why can’t you be yourself? Why do you act like you don’t have a soul?” She asked her looking deep into her beautiful eyes. They made memories flash back into her’s as she kept waiting for an answer.
When she was a little girl, she used to love watching and talking to her. She loved everything about Saya-way she looked, the way she laughed, the way she dressed herself. She knew Saya the best and Saya knew her the best. She carried an ocean of secrets and desires of which, no one had even managed to reach the shore. Saya had tasted each drop of it.
She watched her grow into a goddess of beauty. Her teens saw waves of desire rushing from nothingness into her heart. While her friends told her about their guy crushes in school, she wondered what was something so angelic in Saya that no other persons she had met possessed. She was not just beautiful but had one of the brightest brains, greatest heart and wisest souls. That was one of the reasons why she liked studying with her rather than school.
She used to yearn to touch her every night when she undressed for bed. Her long thick hair, covering her soft breasts ended at her thighs. She used to watch her intently while her fingers glided smoothly on her milk bathed skin.
“God must be an awesome sculptor”, the thought used to keep striking her each and every moment of her visual treat.
She was horrified when she realised she had become obsessed with her. So much so that it was becoming impossible for her not to think about her, touch her or praise her. But there was something admist them that made sure that they can never become one. She was turning mad. She settled on to believe that Saya wasn’t real. But how could she? Saya was indeed the most real person to her. She was someone who defined love!
She knew that she could love no one the way she did to Saya. Who was to be blamed? God? The one who made her fall in love with her; one who was inconsiderate while making her the way she was? She wished she could find someone else like Saya. But then would have she fallen in love the same way? She loved her exactly for what she was!
She wailed, she shouted in angony because that was all she could do. Even god couldn’t change it for her.
“Why don’t you say something!”
Her own shout brought her back into the present. It is a curse to fall in love with our ownself. It is more torturous than hell itself-to not get something you love so much.
Blistering tears rolled down her eyes as her naked self stared back at her from the mirror, displaying the same emotions as her!
P.S : “Saya” is a word in Malay language meaning “I” or “Me”