Storieo

Author: Anvita

  • Godsent

    Godsent

    The most life-changing thing that has ever happened at an airport with me was not related to an airport crush, some scandalous beef with a co-passenger, or any other conventional thing that pops up in your mind when you go to the airport.

    I had been at a very strange place in my life at that point in time, forget a job, I was unhappy with the career that I got into, and my love life was as fleeting and flickering, to sum it up, I was just unhappy. As a coping mechanism, when things start to go array, I usually book the first flight home that I can. Not because I need the comfort or the warmth, but because I need an escape, even if it is just temporary. Most things in my life are temporary. That is one topic I want to avoid. Anyway, this time the crisis was being unhappy with literally every aspect of my life here in Bangalore. I needed some of that vanilla cake that my mom baked and the late-night drives with my brothers. These were the only things I had been looking forward to for the past week.

    The cab ride to the airport that day was, very surprisingly, pleasant. Maybe it was the weather, the sunset, or the fact that I was going home, whatever the reason was, it started to feel like things would turn out to be just fine. However, the airport was unusually crowded for a reason I could not fathom. I mean, it was not a long weekend, or even a weekend, no holiday or festival was upcoming, whatever it was, I did not appreciate the long check-in lines and not finding a place to sit for almost 10 minutes. When I finally found one, I was approached by this middle-aged guy with spectacles, who looked like someone I might know. Moments later, when he was close enough for me to see him clearly, he indeed was someone I used to know.

    He recognized me too. “Anvita!” he said, “Where are you headed to?”

    “Home, sir, been a long time since I last visited, I think the homesickness is messing a little with my head,” I replied to my college professor, who was one of the few professors I actually respected.

    “Aah, understandable. How is the corporate world treating you? You know, Anvita, I never took you to be the corporate kind. Do not get me wrong, as much as I appreciate the stable source of a 10-digit income, I always thought you had a calling for art, literature, and all things poetic.”

    It baffled me how he casually just put some salt on my wounds, without having an idea that I could burst into tears when I think about it for too long. I became what I despised the most. I became what I feared the most. I don’t remember the last time I read a book, and that sent a chill down my spine, because how could one lose sight of what they always were, how could one lose themselves? The thoughts that had been deliberately locked away in my mind found their way out. For the past few months, I had been questioning my career, and my choices, but this one-minute interaction with Shamik sir had me questioning myself. He always did that during debate club meetings when he would bring in points of view that would have me questioning all my beliefs. This time it felt like he was a godsend to me. Why else would I reach the airport 2 hours early despite the traffic, why else would the boarding of his flight be delayed, why else would I find a seat at a completely different boarding gate? I was never a believer in signs from the universe or manifestations, but desperate people find faith, so now I took it as one.

    “I still have a calling for that, sir. I think the network is a bit problematic at the moment, but I believe I will find a way to make it work.” I said as casually as I could to not portray the storm that just raged on in my mind. The storm that eventually a year later made me start writing my first book, made me take poetry seriously, and made me read all the books I had been planning to but never found the time to. That day I realized that there is no point in waiting for a miracle, in hoping a story would come to me, or in complaining about everything that has been going wrong. That day, I was sent in the direction of finding myself, and I will forever be grateful for that. 

  • Of favorite sweaters and perfumes.

    Of favorite sweaters and perfumes.

    It had been 8 months since I last visited home, so this time around when I stepped out of the plane, the air hit me like nostalgia always did. When my dad said while putting my luggage in the trunk of the car, that things have changed around here, I did not believe him. Why would I? 8 months is not a long time in retrospect. The flyover construction was completed, okay, noted. There were more plants all over the city, okay, no big deal. The old staff quarter building of a government department was demolished. This was the change that stuck with me. For I had my fondest of memories in this place. For I buried a part of me in this place.

    To elaborate upon this, let me take you back to 2015. I had just fallen head over heels in love with a guy who was as equally in love with me. Shrey Sharma, the person who will have the softest spot in my heart, confessed his feelings just days after I realized that he is my first-ever crush. It felt surreal, like a movie, how often do you realize you have feelings for someone and then find out that theirs are stronger and more intense? We were teenagers, just two kids trying to figure out life, together.

    I don’t think I have had such intense feelings for anyone else in my life, and that thought has always scared me. I have accepted that Shrey and I are over, there’s nothing left of us, except warm feelings and a heart full of memories. But the thought that never will I ever experience that passion again leaves a void in my heart. As I stroll through the ruins of the quarters, my feet take me to the backside of the compound. It used to be our hiding place. Shrey and I would lie to our parents about our whereabouts and sit there for hours, just enjoying each other’s company. I never needed anything more, I still don’t. All I want is someone who would be equally happy to do mundane things, together.

    I sit underneath a tree and listen to some songs, just taking in the picture in front of my eyes. The ruins of the buildings strike a resemblance with how it feels to hold on to Shrey. Holding on to the thought of what we once were and the wishes of what we could have been. It is my heart that has prevented me from feeling those feelings again, maybe because it still holds on to Shrey, maybe because it fears being hurt again, or maybe because of some other reason that is unfathomable to my sane brain. Despite these thoughts clouding my brain, I start to dig just below the shrubs nearby, where Shrey and I buried a box. It was decided that when one of us would miss the other, to an extent that all they want is nothing but just a glimpse of the other, we would dig it up.

    I thought the idea was beautiful, that despite missing each other while our heart breaks, all we would want is a glimpse, for the fear of ruining the life of the other if we re-enter, would be too strong, it would be a selfless act then, just to feel close to each other again. I asked him to put my favorite pastel blue sweater that he wore on our first date in there, something I could hold on to instead of him. He asked me to put a bottle of my perfume in there, he associated nostalgia with smells. The bottle of perfume was there, though a third of it has been used up when I opened the lock of the box. Shrey did miss me. I do miss him. I sit with his sweater for a few minutes and then put it back, for I know that I will want just a glimpse of him again.

    I keep revisiting this place, in hopes that one day, we both would want the glimpse at the same time. Until that day, I will hold on to his memories, for they have always felt like the source of light that has kept my heart warm.