Conversation

Rajesh spoke to me after ten days. He wanted suggestions on how to approach essay-type questions addressing socio-political and economic issues. We discussed at length the role and problems of media (electronic, paper, social). I was rather focused on his words, than his voice, the voice that would help me get started for the day for three years. The voice that would give away all his moods in the snap of a thunder. The voice that I could not stay from even for one hour, at some point in my life. That same voice would speak to me in a sleepy slumber when I would wake him up in the morning, agitated, urging to sleep for five more minutes, and I would badger him that we were getting late for breakfast. That same voice I heard after ten days. I expected my stomach to churn, my heart to flutter and my soul to calm down in ways that I have always known. It is as though I am programmed to feel a certain way when I hear him speak. Well, apparently, my mind is still but not my body. Not anymore, maybe. There was no bodily reaction, so to speak, this time. Only a certain calmness flooded my senses, the way frothy waves wet the sands before receding to the sea. My soul was soaked but it was still, unperturbed, unmoved. It listened to each sound that left his voice, his playful chuckle, his warm laughter, and the honeycombed words in his vernacular, that I could so attentively follow and then respond with such confidence, although my mother tongue was not his. Every word that he uttered felt like pearls in my ears, and my nerves felt healed in a long time. A touch that could only come through his voice. Every sentence he framed reflected thoughtfulness and sincerity, the traits he always had when he was talking to me. Every opinion he formed was necessarily not well thought out, which meant he did not pretend to be perfect in front of me. Like always. He was secure. And I felt secure in his secured disposition. I was secure. I could be anything, say anything, and yet, I did not say a lot of stuff that crossed my mind. I stuck to the academic question he had posed to me. I tried to steal certain parts of him from moments of interaction, when his voice sounded joyful, the kind of joy he could never hide when he speaking with a special exclusivity with me. And I would always know that, because that is when he was completely unguarded. He was not in himself in those precise moments. He was intersected with me, and I with him. I listened and he spoke and we were in a world created with his words and the space between words, in between the lines. Our ephemeral world was in the ending of a thought and in the beginning of another. Our world was in those words that he did not articulate but I still managed to hear. Our little space was our own where words lost meaning but the essence was still the same and the taste familiar. Maybe, it was my imagination all along. But it is when I imagine such possibilities, that it feels just right and in place. As if I always know what he could not say, but meant a certain way. And all of this happened today, while having a detailed discussion on that question. I am sure I heard more than he said, and he did the same with me. The wordless communication was what precipitated in my mind and skin. I do not know why I did not feel a rush of emotions like I thought I was supposed to feel. In fact, his voice had a sublime effect on me this time. Like the cloud of fog you stand in and inhale the soft wet mist that doesn’t vanish unless you really notice it is gone. It isn’t gone unless you forget about it. As for me, I will perhaps remember and keep reminding myself of the calmness he left behind when all I was expecting was a storm to sweep me off my feet. I am happy and perplexed. Happy that now the residual feeling is calmness, and perplexed because I do not know how I reached this state of mind, wherein he could leave behind a feeling of infinity, like planting countless dewdrops on my skin. A token of kisses and good wishes.