He Came to Stay - 12. Chapter 12

TWELVE
My solitary existence had seen many ups and downs, but somehow survived through all the odds. Having nobody beside me to lodge a complaint or discuss things with even when life assumed a monstrous form, I had to fight it all alone which somewhere gave me, despite my suicidal tendencies, confidence in my ability to survive in this ruthless world. That was the only thing which helped me climb the slippery slope of life. But the events of my immediate past had left me devastated both mentally and physically. Though I had closed all avenues for Ishan’s return, in my heart, I was dying to catch a glimpse of his pretty face. Had I taken the chance to get to know him better, I would have known that he would not contact me, nor would he return even if I asked him to come back..

After he left, I put my best efforts to stick to my decision of maintaining a safe distance from him with the hope that if I overcame the initial bout of emotional setback, then it will even dry out in time. At that point, it was the best possible option for me. As days passed by, my longing for him intensified, despite all my efforts to subdue it. I could not, even for a moment, wipe him out of my mind. The immense pressure of my pending work due to the sick leave I had taken earlier failed to distract me from remembering him. I started doing silly mistakes at the office, which I came back to three days after he left, and I remained all the time unmindful and gloomy most of the time. In a desperate attempt to appear normal, I took out new clothes and accessories from my wardrobe, applied Shine-Gel on my hair, purchased a new pair of sports shoes, and wore expensive perfume imported from Paris. In spite of my best efforts to hide my mental condition, friends and colleagues started asking questions, further adding up to the level of my depression.

I had driven Ishan off my house, and perhaps also my life, to overcome the intolerable sense of humiliation that was tormenting me as I came to know about his physical relationship with a girl. Hence, the idea of inviting him to come back was giving me trouble, as I was yet to come to terms with that terrible realization. Not only because of my feelings for him that I was unable to accept his relationship, but also because of his nature. As I came to know him, such a behavior was quite unimaginable about him. I had always known him as a decent guy, who was quite shy when it comes to girls. Surely he was surprised at my reaction at coming to know about his affairs. It is not quite usual for a cousin brother to react to such a situation the way I did. Perhaps, it made my feelings for him all the more apparent. That might be the main reason he avoided me since then. It was not unlikely that he would hate me for having such feelings. Neither was it unlikely that he also thought I wanted him for myself. Though that would be the last thing in my mind, yet if he thought so, I didn’t have any right to complain, as I had given him enough evidence to support that assumption.

His friends didn’t turn up any news about him. Many of his friends live in the same locality as I do. On many of the earlier occasions when he would not be around I used to ask them about him. But this time I couldn’t get out of my house for three long days due to severe depression and the ensuing weakness caused by insomnia and anorexia. In spite of trying my best I couldn’t ward off the nagging suicidal thoughts from my mind. A single life has its own problems: if one led a single life, and didn’t have any strings attached anywhere, then in every difficulty one has to have a reason to carry on with life, unless he or she was a firm believer, which I was not, in the intrinsic value of life.

I was unable to decide whether or not to forgive Ishan for what he had done. My predicament was I couldn’t disassociate myself from him, at least emotionally. On the other hand, whenever the thought of inviting him to return came to me, it brought along with it the worry that it would amount to sharing my bed with the vice for which I was suffering so much. For, had I accepted him again, I would have to come in terms with it and see such things repeating themselves before my eyes. The rationale left in me even in my bewildered state of mind tried to convince me that it was his life and I should not be bothered so much about it. But to no avail.

After a few days, still fragile but a bit composed, I headed towards the market in the morning. I wanted to buy some articles for daily use, though the need for them was not that urgent. Ishan often used to go to a tutorial centre through the same narrow lane that led to the market from my house. Somewhere in the back of my mind I expected the unlikely to happen, my stupid irrational self was expecting a glimpse of him. But a chance was after all a chance. It seldom tilted to one’s favor and help to attain the desired goal. At the marketplace, I went on purchasing things, some important and others not so. I lingered until I couldn’t recall any other item that I required. Still no sign of his appearance was visible in the horizon. That it would be so was not at all unknown to me, still I expected what I expected. I couldn’t understand why people have such expectations despite knowing very well that they weren’t going to be fulfilled and ultimately, what they would get from it! Perhaps, nothing but a huge frustration. Was that what they truly wanted? I couldn’t believe it.

One of his friends, who used to go to the same tutorial centre, used to live near the marketplace. He once came to my place with Ishan. This guy, Duke, was a few years older than Ishan, was introduced as a painter. I never hesitated expressing my utter ignorance and lack of taste for modern art. I hated showing off about something I didn’t really understand; still my characteristic curiosity prompted me to initiate a dialogue on such topics in every opportunity that I got in the hope that I would learn something out of it and gradually would develop a taste for them. During such a discussion, I asked Duke to show me some of his works, to which he gladly agreed and volunteered to bring them with him to my place. He also invited me to his place. Though I never visited his place, Ishan once pointed out his house to me.

In Kolkata, especially in the suburbs, neighbors still, to some extent, shared a walk-in type of relationship. You were expected not to be annoyed even if your neighbor paid you a surprise visit without prior appointment. I was not particularly comfortable pressing his doorbell, yet I did. He opened the door himself and he stared at me as if he saw a ghost. Beyond my expectations, he welcomed me cordially. He appeared to be very pleased to see me at his place. After some initial talk on health and weather, I came to the point, ‘You promised me to show me some of your works!’
--Oh yes! It’s all my pleasure!

He invited me to his studio. The room was far from cozy with too many canvasses scattered all over, some of which were half done. With much enthusiasm, he went on explaining each piece; my knowledge about paintings began and ended with my ability to tell an acrylic from oil though. Yet I enjoyed their composition. I couldn’t discern, or to be more honest didn’t pay attention to, most of the things that he said. I was waiting for an opportunity to ask him about Ishan. I felt bad about such a heinous behavior on my part. The creator of those beautiful works of art, at least that was how what they seem to me, was trying to explain his works to a layman to oblige the latter’s request, while the latter was utterly unmindful to what the former was saying! My conscience demanded me to be attentive to what he said, though I had other things in mind. What I got from his talk was that he was talking about the history of art, starting from the Greco-Roman classics through renaissance art, Neo-Classicism, Impressionism, Realism, and so on, most of which I heard for the first time in my life. He seemed to have got a bout of belching out all his ideas on European art history at once, oblivious about the apathy of his poor audience.

Many of his pictures comprised human forms, nudes, mostly male forms represented in abstract geometrical shades. Male nudity has always intrigued me, but somewhere those pictures lacked in the erotic elements I generally admire. I didn’t have the expertise to figure out if the absence of the erotic elements in them was intentional, or just an accident. Yet I didn’t ask him about that lest he should understand my gay impulses.

He was one of those people who, when started at speaking, couldn’t stop very easily. So I changed the topic by interrupting him, ‘Did you show Ishan your works?’
--Yes, he visited my studio many times. But unlike you, he doesn’t seem to have much interest in painting.
--So what? He may not have an interest in painting, may not understand its intricacies, yet he can at least appreciate the form, the beauty that it represents.
--Yes, he can! But he never did.
He didn’t hesitate expressing his disappointment at Ishan’s distaste in his works. Perhaps, he also expected louder compliments from me. Keeping in view his talkative nature, I was a bit apprehensive about giving him another compliment for fear that if I pronounced even a single word of appreciation, he, being highly able to amplify it a thousand times, would have added up to it all sort of topics, which would neither please me nor fulfill my goal. So I didn’t let him change the topic, ‘Then I think, Ishan comes here very frequently. He never told me.’
--Well, not exactly…but often. Sumanda, if you don’t mind, may I tell you something?
--Sure.
--I know the reason you came today.
My situation was like a child, who after being caught lying, was at a fix. ‘What you are talking about?’ I exclaimed. I wondered how on earth he knew my intentions.
‘I know that you had a tussle a few days back, but I don’t know what exactly happened. He was depressed about it though. He told me that you drove him off your house. Instead of returning to his hostel, he spent the day here with me. I tried my best to get him to open up. But you know only too well that he is a hard nut to crack. He is the tightest lipped guy I have ever met. The only thing that I got from him was that there had been some altercation between you two, for which he was visibly depressed. I also know how much you love him. Isn’t it true that you came today to get news about him? Please don’t lie.’

As he correctly guessed, I was desperately searching for an excuse to mask the real intention behind what I did. Then, on second thought, I realized that any further attempt of masking my intentions would only serve to expose me to him more starkly. He appeared not to be totally aware of the exact nature of my relation with Ishan, yet from what he said it was more than evident that he went very close to discovering the crux of it. Thus I decided to handle that embarrassing situation without telling him any further lies. ‘Yes, I know that he must be sad and also upset with my behavior. Perhaps that was the main reason why he didn’t contact me after that day. But I also wanted to get news about him apart from my desire to see your works. What worries me is that he can hardly take care of himself, being quite immature.’
--I won’t press you to tell me what happened between you and him. But I wonder, if you are this concerned about him, why don’t you call him in?’
--There are many things that I can’t tell you due to various reasons. Yet one thing is for certain, he couldn’t care less about me, while I’m concerned about his well-being all the time. Perhaps, the message he wants to impart is that he has already grownup and will not tolerate my interference in his life any longer.
--No, that can’t be true! I can’t believe that he can show any disregard to you that way. I bet he holds you in the highest esteem; you are almost God to him. May be he is expecting you to call him back to your place and believe me he loves you!
From my heart I wanted to believe his last sentence, yet my conceited love and concern towards my cousin brother, tormented by his avoidance and indifference towards me, brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to continue with the topic. Perhaps there was an expectation in the back of my mind that Duke would assure me that he would contact Ishan and tell me news about him. But before he could give any such assurance or I could request him to do it as a favor to me without telling Ishan, I begged his permission to leave, due to fear of exposing my emotions. But he prevented me, ‘Please don’t leave Sumanda.’ He continued, ‘I think we need to talk. I’ll ask Ishan to call you in and I’m sure….’ I interrupted him, ‘Thanks, but please don’t tell him anything.’
--But why?
--If he doesn’t care for my concern about him, then let him be on his own. I don’t need anybody’s sympathy.
--It is only your arrogance talking. Ask your heart if I am wrong.
--Whatever…but I don’t want you telling him anything.
--As you wish. But you can’t prevent me telling him that you are not felling well.

Now I couldn’t resist my tears. I left his place immediately without saying a single word. In the dizziness of the trance-like state of my mind, I heard his faint voice calling me from behind to return. Soon I was again in the market-place, which was as busy as ever. Suddenly everything started moving and revolving around me. After that I couldn’t remember anything. When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on my bed surrounded by a few of my neighbors. A doctor was checking my pulse. In that gathering someone was patting my head from behind. When I tried to see who it was the doctor prevented me. But I could tell that it was him, it was Ishan. Tears crawled down my cheek.

(To be continued....)