GULMOHAR IN THE TREE

Chapter -4

Leaving the window, he returns to his study table attached to the wall beside window looking in the west and other side of the main road of the colony, filled with potholes. He searches for his diary, then sits down to write.

My dear diary,
It's a long tale of me, undisturbed and unnoticed, even by myself.
My life till school years was something and now it's something else, hard to accept the discovery. One thing 'bout being in a too perfect comfort zone is that, one never realises if he/she is there, and that happened with me too, and I have witnessed it goin' away from me. I had days compartmentalised in school ,friends and family, but there was no Me. My school days have gone, like a reel of film, spinning slowly, noticed but uncontrolled, it seems as if the passed phase was all planned while my now has been left on me, I liked being with people earlier but my solitude is more beautiful now.
After my 12th boards, days were passing like they were meant only for college preparations, but there is more than that actually, more than what people around wonder happens to be in someone's life. And yes, a more of a bizarre hit me recently. What people think is someone sitting beside them or someone walking by is simply doing what he/she seems to do, but you don't do what ypu seem to.I love spending my time with nature, someone incomparably patient and emotional than people around. But it's not only about, letting the wind pass against me, gushing through my ears , or the rain tremble down on my skin, it's something more special, liking a conversation between a pair of eyes gazing at each other or listening the heart of someone you love, the lub-dub slowly beating the chest, then passing emotions through eyes, rolling down drop by drop. It's that ! I can see nature turn to me when I do turn for her to conversate  what no-one else will understand. A flower fell and someone was before me-Dia. I remember her faded picture, that somehow was caged in me, in corner like a smell you identify while crossing a person in crowd and anyway vanishes. I remember her from Darjeeling, the fair complexion of her face, her big eyes always blinking, shoulder length silky hair black, but when looked under Sun, like the scalp of trees,some black some brown and her cherry like lips closed most of the time with slight smirk. I am familiar to it all. Her vividness is something, no, not a thing, it's more than that, like I can't imagine it ever fading from my eyes. Whenever I feel alone now, it's as if she comes to me, as my heart begins to pound and I feel no-one else ever so close to me. I'm writing'bout her and it makes me blush, makes my eye lids stable than ever and I picture her on these blank and written pages, pressed on the points where pen runs like an etching in a heart.
"It's so beautiful to think, but so hard to get out, like the wonderment of an infant, never knowing it's something world won't care when he/she grows up."
It hurts me, as she is only a dream, and I'm in love with her.
                     Your's Ved

Ved gives a sigh and reads what'll he has written in his slant cursive hand. Closing his diary, pulling the elastic band over it, he goes back to the window again, his mind still slogged and stares at the children playing out "What a carefree age!" He wonders, shaking his right leg.

It was while having his evening milk that his mother informed him about the guests.
"Prabodh uncle, Sakshi aunty and their son are coming today." She said, sipping her tea and reading some bank papers, with stern eyes, Ved beside her, just the way they were in the morning.
"For?" He exclaimed.
"For! Why do guests come?" She frowned.
"To postmortem my future......I hope so." He replied, wiping his upper lip with the back of his wrist.
His mother gave an angry sigh, then whispered " At least be there for a while when they come", tugging a strand of her slight gray hair behind her ears.

Talking with his friend on phone, Ved heard a car pulling in his lawn at 7:30 pm. He ended his call and ran to the balcony, to see a man, somewhere in 30s or may be 40, dressed in a casual white checked shirt, and deep blue jeans, with thin elegant specs on his nose, giving a huge smile, hugging Ved's father, laughing. No matter Ved ignored his wife and son, for they were never the bothering pieces. Frowning, shaking his head in anger, he went back in his room then changed from his smelling T-shirt with a fresh one. For a final time, he looked and wiped the grimy sweat stinking on his face then shut the door behind him, leaving the lights on.

His thoughts were no longer in his control, as Ved began to plan every next word to speak, biting his index finger with frozen numb legs, though he walked but every moment finding a reason to avoid his own mental commotion. He stopped at the door, trying to calm his shaking legs, took deep breaths and entered at last, looking up at the faces of people with their voices already howling in the corridor.