Que Sera, Sera

It was about four in the morning. With all the alcohol and the cigarette smoke in my system, I was fighting hard to stay conscious and in my senses. Fighting a faceless demon inside of me, I tried to shut the voices I heard. Voices that told me to cry. Voices that suggested that I should just give up, throw in the towel, runaway, and restart. I was trying to my best to live, to act like it didn't hurt and pretend that I was "happy". I just couldn't take it anymore. 

I made my confession. My friends jumped into a discussion which led to an argument. Bits of Advice were thrown around. Counseling was served in platters. But I had heard it all and I had had it. I had made up my mind and I knew what I needed to do.

I have no memory of walking towards my bike, starting the ignition. I was a good twenty kilometers into my journey before  I realized what I was doing. The repercussions of my action kept gnawing at my soul but I didn't pay heed to it. I had to do this. 

I ought to do this. I owed it to myself.

I reached my destination on the outskirts of Pune, about a hundred thirty kilometers away from my home. Then came the waiting. I waited. I sat fidgeting with the cigarette in my hand trying to write my dialogues.

What was I supposed to say?

What was my plausible explanation?

What was I doing here?

It had been eighteen months since I had seen her. Eighteen painful, stressful, haunting and hurting months. The last year and a half of my life was by far my worst time on this planet.

I waited.

She stepped out. I saw her. She hadn't noticed me yet. She looked just as beautiful as she did eighteen months ago. It was a moment where I was happy and sad at the same time. A moment where I had a lot to say but nothing worth saying.

Our eyes met. I saw a twinkle in her eye which died in a fraction of a second. She didn't frown. She didn't look angry. She smiled at me.

We talked. I explained. I apologized. We had to sacrifice our love like an innocent lamb on the altar of religious dogma. She is a Muslim and I am a Hindu. For some, the very notion of us engaging in holy matrimony was satanic and unnatural. Our fate was thus sealed. 

They say that you owe a lot to your parents - I had to pay that bill at the cost of my love. We had decided to break up. I thought with time the wounds would heal, things would improve. But they never seemed to.

After spending fair amount of time apart, nothing had changed. Nothing was healed. Nothing was right. I still loved her, I still wanted her and I was ready to fight for us. I had made my compromises but my soul just didn't let me rest. We live only once, then why not live it for what we love.

I explained. I apologized. We were both in tears. We sat there just a few feet away from each other staring into the void of our hopelessness. We pulled and yanked at the shackles of society and religion and culture and responsibilities that kept us away. Freedom eluded us.

She whispered almost like an afterthought. I have moved on she said. I knew she was lying. I could always tell. But nothing I said or did seemed to change her mind. The sense of euphoria I felt when I saw an hour ago was now evaporating. It was being replaced by a sense of despair and hollow cries no one could hear. 

“So you have really moved on?”, I said.

“Yes I have. And it is time you move now too...” She said.

I tried convincing her. I tried to remind her of all the good times we had had. It kept up with my monologue and waited for a sign from her. A sign of acknowledgement. A sign that she was convinced. But I couldn’t find any. She was hell bent at ending the relationship and kept repeating that she had move on in life. She was now dating someone from her own community.

She was trying hard to agitate me. To hurt me, to instigate me. To make me hate her. I just could not. I could see through her. She was lying. I knew she was equally hurt and wanted this as much as I did. I knew she was staying strong for the both us.

“I love you.” I said. I waited for a minute but she didn’t say anything. She kept looking at her feet.

I decided there was nothing I could more. I left.

I could sense her watching me. On my way back, I rode at the fastest speed I could. As if running faster would help me escape from reality. But it didn't. I was still crying and was unable to handle my emotions. Just when I thought, I was going to break down - an epiphany struck me.

I tried. Yes, I tried. I didn't let the love of my life go without giving it all I had. I should have done this earlier, but I was scared. Years from now, should I look back at my life, I would know that I had tried. 

It may not make my life easier, but will certainly make my death more peaceful.

Without regrets of not having tried.