Butterflies and Hurricanes

It has been 26 days since you left us. Twenty-six. As old as you were the day it happened. And as old as you will always be for all of us. It doesn’t seem right. To go on with our lives and pretend like life has to go back to normalcy. Nothing will ever feel normal again. I feel my breath getting knocked out when I realize that as more and more time passes, the chasm between us will only get wider. I last saw you online on Gmail 27 days back. I last chatted with you on Whatsapp 29 days back. I last spoke to you on the phone 32 days back. I last received a voice clip from you 41 days back. And these numbers will forever be increasing, never to be broken by the miracle of you coming back. Will you really never come back?

There has not been a single moment in a single day when I haven’t thought of you. How could somebody that I’ve known for less than a year have such a profound effect on me? I guess because for us, it was never about the time. It was always about the things we spoke about, the way we made each other feel, the way our souls leapt out of our bodies to join each other’s in a wonderful, beautiful, synchronized routine. And when it was all three of us, it was magic. It was sheer bliss. We didn’t need any enablers, any enhancements, drinks or music, or even food to enjoy together. All we needed was a broken staircase on an abandoned building in a dark corner of a city we had grown to love so deeply.

I miss every single bit of you. Everything from your teeth, to your voice, to your unbearably warm hugs, to your hand-written letters, to your hole-y T-shirts, to that crumpled orange kurta you always wore, you calling me ‘Asthamous’, your breathtaking short stories.

I used to ask myself, you know? How, just how did I come across a person like you? Remember that day outside the little bakery, when I spilled all my secrets out to you, and blamed your face for everything? “It’s your face, Nitin. Your face is so trustworthy. It is so sweet, and sad. I can’t stop myself.” I felt the wall breaking between us that day. We’d become friends. We could trust each other. We got each other.

I’ll never forget the day we went to the tiny café near office and talked about each other’s lives over a pot of steaming masala chai. How beautiful that night was. You told me about your family, your childhood, your ex-girlfriend, your passion for drumming, your old band, your fears and doubts and dreams. You came and sat down next to me the next day as I was sitting gloomily on the office couch, and said, “So, tell me how this idea is, okay?” and used your eyes, those hand movements, those voice modulations, until we both realized how ridiculous it was and broke into peals of laughter. I’ll remember that day when we were crossing the pizzeria and both of us wanted to stuff our faces with it, but none of us brought it up. How much we regretted it later. I loved how we shared the same passion for pizza, and for vegetarian food, and for books, movies and stories. I’ll remember how we went to that silly bloggers’ meet, ate, drank, got a little tipsy, made fun of everyone, and left early and stood on a random bridge talking about John Steinbeck.

You listened, actually cared enough to listen to each of my bizarre childhood anecdotes and said, “Asthaaa, each of your stories could be a TVC! Why don’t you write them down Asthaa?” I remember how you walked up to me after I wrote a story and said, “I loved your story. I felt jealous. That’s how much I loved it.” You made me believe in myself. You made me feel I’m actually good.

I’ll miss how you always left a piece of the last bite of every Mangabore bun we ate. You were always too sweet. A little too sweet. To an extent that we wanted to protect you from the big, bad world. You were too good to be true, my Nitty baby. I’ll miss the way we had long conversations over voice clips. I still have them. I play them over and over, giggle, laugh, smile, and tear up. I’ll never forget how you always, always had something interesting to share. About how you were scared of cockroaches ‘cause one of them climbed up your butt crack when you slept as a kid. Or how you couldn’t explain what a whisker is to a shopkeeper in Calcutta and made hand movements for ten minutes. Or how you thought that Hanuman’s gada may have actually been a chillum. You were something, weren’t you? You were really something.

You had this astounding capacity to make everyone around you laugh, and feel comfortable and loved, but when it came to you, you had so much sadness in your tiny little heart. You were carrying so much weight on your shoulders. There was so much more to you than your silliness and your bounciness. And I’m glad you shared it with us. I’m so happy we could see so many shades of you. Little Niticle of the Pitsicle. The drummer, the brother, the friend, the goofy odd duck, the storyteller, the doting son, the dreamer. You were everything I ever wanted in a friend. You were easily one of the best, heck, you were and are the best person I’ll ever meet. You were too kind for this cruel world.

Life has to trudge on. Because apparently that’s what it’s like. We have to “move on”. In my heart though, it has come to a standstill. In my heart, there is a void that can never be fulfilled. You can never be replaced. And we can never fully recover. I saw you in my dream and you told me “I was right here, Asthaaaa. Don’t be upset with me.” Well, I am a little upset with you. You left a little too early. What about attending each other’s weddings, and playing with each other’s grand-kids and visiting each other’s cottages and picking berries? We had plans, okay? We’d agreed to go for each other’s book signings. To still meet when we were seventy. And now you’ve left us, alone and cold and gasping for breath. How will it ever be okay?

You carried our photos in your wallet. You carried our letters wherever you went. And here we are. Wandering around aimlessly, digging for scraps of you in every folder in our broken folders and inboxes. Old emails, chats, conversations, photos. Carrying this huge ball of pain, trying to force it deep, deep down inside, only to have it rise back up with a vengeance every time thoughts of you drift by. You gave us so much, so much of you. How did you manage to hold so much love for so many people? How did your chest not cave in?

It is overwhelming to realize just how many people love you, little Nitpicky. How many people. It is amazing and unbelievable to me that one person could affect so many lives. It was impossible to not fall head over heels in love with you. You’ve changed our lives for good, Nitin. You inspire us to be the best versions of ourselves. You’ve made us believe in second chances, in never giving up, in having faith in the goodness of people. Because you were the biggest ball of fuzzy wuzzy energy and love we’ve ever seen.

I can’t say when we would stop tearing up thinking of you, and start remembering you with a fond smile. I don’t even know if we’ll ever reach that stage. I’ve heard time is a great healer. But more than time, it will be the realization that we got to befriend you. We got to be a part of your life. We got to be loved by you. And that is enough to warm our hearts for a long, long time to come.