Those were the days, my friend..

Life, they say, is a strange place. Shuffling along, alone and a little weary, I came to a crossroad and there he was, walking towards me one August afternoon. Time stood still just for a moment as I found myself hurtling down an endless tunnel. And I knew that very instant that the falling would be slow, dark and abiding.

S was our neighbor`s son, all of 22, who was visiting home for summer and who would soon be my Maths tutor. He happened when I was all of 15, had braces on my teeth and sparkling dreams in my eyes. High school board exams were around the corner and Ma decided she seriously had enough with my poor grades. Much to her relief, S`s mom came to her rescue.

"Of course he can help her," she squeaked with obvious pride, " He`s in engineering school now. What`s high school level Maths for him!" I protested animatedly just to throw Ma off track, all the while reveling in the warmth of the distant possibilities my mind had already conjured up.

Fast forward to the first lesson that was to begin in 10 minutes and I was already there in the community room of our apartment complex in eager anticipation. Wonder of wonders, so was he! For a while, not knowing what to do, I sat there absentmindedly shredding a tissue into flakes that settled on my black school bag. Soon it was time to begin. I hurriedly shoved my bag aside and tried hard to focus on the Maths textbook, all the time trying to avert my eyes as I sat across him in that room. The rest of the afternoon is a big blur. All that I remember from that afternoon is the way his lips curled at the corners as he spoke. And how startled I was at how tall he seemed from such close quarters. That, and how from certain angles and in certain lights, he resembled his crazy mother! But I brushed those thoughts aside.

" You did great!" he said finally.

I flashed him what I hoped was an alluring smile.

"I`ll see you on Tuesday. 4 o clock."

"You will?" I grunted, taken aback by my own display of immense dimwittedness..

"Hmm..well, see you around then." And he was gone. A wave of relief washed over me as I saw him quickly disappear. It was slowly getting difficult to breathe.

And so it went on. Glorious days of waiting for those Maths lessons. And two hours into them, two long hours in which I flitted from one textbook to the next, my attempts at cheery banter so edgy and stiff that at moments I felt almost foolish. There were days when we sipped on chilled cola drinks in plastic cups and let the conversation drift to topics outside our permitted domain. Graduate school life. His friends and mine. Family ties and how he was grappling with the expectations thrust upon him by demanding parents. And as we spoke, I watched his eyes glued to the skin of my hands in a long, fixed stare and I remember quickly moving my eyes to the bubbles of the drink rushing madly to the rim of the plastic cup. Oh I was in love. I was so in love! Now is the time I should speak up,I remember thinking. Instead, I found myself staring at an invisible screen separating us, the kind that glided smoothly into place whenever I approached anything intimate.

I reckoned I was going through a second childhood or maybe catching up on all the youthful rebellion in the name of love(!!) that I never had, given that mine was an all girls` school. I gave it some thought before I realized that it was true. I was showing all the classic symptoms. I put unnatural colors in my hair (much to Ma`s consternation!). I spent hours in the bathroom getting dressed! I was going out a lot in the hope of catching a much coveted glance and coming back late, reeking of forbidden desires. I had ever-growing phases in the day when I forgot that the high school board exams were near. I danced longer and wilder than anyone else in the community dinner hosted by all the residents of our apartment complex, until Ma dragged me away with firm arms and a steely look that threatened to tear me apart, while all others quickly moved aside, appalled. Yes, I was in love.

"This cant go on much longer," he said to me one day and I almost dropped the biscuit I was chewing on. I calmly dusted off the biscuit, soaked it in the tea cup and watched half of it dissolve to the bottom in lumps. I pretended this had been my plan all along and sipped the tea (which now had biscuit scum floating on the surface) with as dignified a look as I could muster. Then I coughed loudly for about 10 seconds and only then did I say, "Pardon?" He let it go and we chatted about the dinner he was attending that weekend with some old friends. I bit my lip so hard that I may have left a scar, but I did not ask for further clarification. I wanted it that way. That was where I wanted to be, pregnant with possibilities, full of hope. Nothing was defined between us. Nothing was overstated. By some tacit understanding, we were just the two of us and I felt safe that way.

Up until then, that room with its grimy blinds, worn out leather chairs and chipped off wall paint was the most perfect place to be. Every time I walked into it and shut the door behind me, I imagined that all around me the hands on the clocks stopped, the sand in hourglasses halted mid-trickle, the universe skidded to a halt - a frozen world outside and in here, the two of us. Every day I knew there was one less day of us together. Once the tests were over, there would be no reason for me to come here again. The waiting would be over. A new life awaited.

But God, I was besotted.

Even now when I get a flashback to those days, I smell the familiar smell of those blinds and the leather chairs and I`m back there, 15 again, stupid, skinny and in love. My spine springs up, I feel layers of dimpled flesh peel off my being, my cheekbones come back alive and I find myself running down the road towards him, like there is no tomorrow. But there always is. There was.

Three years back when I was visiting home, happily married to The G and the past indiscretions all forgotten, I bumped into him again. As we exchanged pleasantries and polite introductions to our better halves, I smiled to myself. He looked more and more like his mother and as I shared a knowing smile with someone who had held my heart for a while, I couldn't help sending a quiet prayer of thanks to the Heavens up above. The old times were good times, I said. But Thank You God, for now is so much better. And then I turned back and walked away.

This is my entry for this week`s Blog Adda Contest in collaboration with Pringoo.

Myself
Within you I lose myself...