Besides, Who Knows Life Anyway
“It all started, when I farted,” he said jokingly. Chris, Abigail, and George laughed. It was the fresh start of summer in Bangalore and the evening was providing the momentary coolness. The last few drags of the last cigarette were pulled in by Dave and let gone into the breeze that touched every leaf, like a bear feeding all her cubs.
“That’s a great way to start a novel” exclaimed Chris. His legs were folded and his specs were placed correctly unlike George’s. Abigail stood with her hands clutched behind her back. Her eyes looked into the dark side of the Moon Cafe. There were a thousand creatures wanting to explore the darkness of the invading night. Abigail was smiling. “About your life?” she asked, wearing that smile on her lips.

“Pretty much,” Dave replied, looking at the very same dark side of the cafe. “Apparent situations force me to write.” Chris looked at Dave. “Like the Khusbi?” All three looked at Chris. And that moment of silence was followed by another flock of laughter.
Khusbi in Khasi means “slut”. Khasi is the language that is spoken by the people from Shillong and that evening, two people from Shillong and two Malayalis, one brought up in Madhya Pradesh and another brought up in New Delhi, were sitting at the edge of the Rock spot at the Moon cafe.
“Like our Queen khusbi?” with a mischievous glaze in her eyes asked Abigail.
“Abi, be respectful,” said Chris with a straight face. And the laughter followed.
It was an evening where chapters were closed. Old lamps were left to die. The torch left with the battery to oxidize. Letters torn and thrown. Pictures were deleted and the archived text messages were unarchived and later deleted as well. Strength fought. Weakness survived.
It wasn’t a war between two mighty countries. It wasn’t a battle between warriors. It wasn’t big enough for the literary minds to notice and Universe to acknowledge its importance. Houses were emptied and Homes were left open. The evening brought the metaphorical ‘full stop’ into literary terms. Self-contained and self-centered notions of human behavior were redefined and showcased to the night that brought an epic climax to many stories, interwoven. Not humorous, not witty, not sad as a fox stuck under a large mushroom during heavy rains and definitely not happy as the rainbow.
“So the book will have us?” asked George, after bouts of laughter killed her, unlike the medicines she took whenever she was depressed.
“Pretty much,” Dave replied. He took his phone and saw that the time was already past seven. He put it back with a face that said ‘Even clocks won’t let me get stuck in the moment.’ A very unqualified statement, with context to how humans should reciprocate linguistically to the happenings around them. But then Dave was like that. Randomly framing sentences, which made zero sense to his fellow breathers of oxygen and farters of methane.
“Let’s move somewhere else.” said Abi “Mosquitoes are eating me alive.” Chris stood up and Abi started walking towards the wooden tables, with 40-watt bulbs lit over them. George and Dave were still sitting. “So how are things going on with her?” Dave started the attempt unknowingly, of interrupting George’s thoughts.
She was looking at a fancy restaurant, with sherbet colored table cloth and paintings of contemporary artists on the walls. Ruksar was sitting in front of her. Her eyes said a lot and lips smiled a lot more. The red grin made George weak in her knees. The waiter was waiting. The lights were looking. The neighboring customers were discussing shares, cousins, lazy weekends and wine. Ruksar waited for George to look away from the menu and was still smiling. “You know, if you could still less and focus more, maybe we could do something-” George looked. “About the menu? He is waiting,” she said in an obvious kind of way.
“So going out again I suppose?” Dave looked straight into the eyes that were dreaming sherbet walls, contemporary art and the red lips that she could never forget.
“I think so.” came a reply. Like a lost puppy, trying to find its mother, George looked for words to describe her thoughts. “She is busy. She texted though,” she said.
“Naice.” Dave replied. He turned to the darkness that made more sense to his sunken mind. Lost souls were never supposed to return back to earth and try to find meanings in the creatures that were left alive. He was looking for it. Meaning. Why are things said? Why are things that hurt said out loud? Why can’t people understand that words can hurt, much more than a knife? Why can’t people just let things be?
Dave thought of many reasons why the turn of events occurred. ‘Maybe it was supposed to be. Or maybe it wasn’t still it happened.’
When you hit your lowest, you are open to the greatest change. A dialogue from his favorite Legend of Korra echoed in his mind, unheard by George who went back to complete her imaginary date with Ruksar, where Ruksar was teasing her under the table as the waiter was asking George about what she wanted on the side.
Chris and Abi called for George and Dave. They stood up walked towards the brown table on the other side of the empty cafe. The caretaker of the cafe, Ravi was bringing the coffee that Dave asked Chris to order for him.
“A book seems like a nice idea though,” Dave said as he took the first sip.
“Everything sounds nice at the start,” said Chris as he tore the tissue paper into shreds, his eyes focused on the intricate way he was tearing the tissue. Abi’s face was supported by her left hand, watching the war of hands and tissue paper where clearly Hands were winning.
“It’s been like forever since I wanted to write a novel. I feel like this time it’s going to happen, for sure.”
“Everything seems like happening in the start.” said Chris, he pushed aside the pieces of tissue.
“You would be a sad soul in my book.” said Dave.
Chris laughed “I would love that, only if you write one though.”
The four friends sat in an empty restaurant, the caretaker closed the gates and locked it. He lived inside the Cafe. The owners lived few meters away from the cafe and the fifteen-year-old held the responsibility of closing the cafe at the end of the day. He swung the key and walked. Reached for the switchboard and turned off the lights.

Dave was looking at the moon. “Even the moon looks beautiful when clutched by the dark. Like Kohl making the eye look extraordinarily beautiful,” he exclaimed.
Dave lost his mind that day.
Chris lost his trust. George lost hope. Abi lost herself.