Part 6 – Two kites
After wrapping up some loose ends on the 29th floor, and scheduling the missed KT with the interns for the next day, I mounted the emergency stairs which led to the terrace of the towering office building. Winding and rising like a ball in a tube, I ran, sometimes skipping two or three steps, and climbed, and finally reached the terrace after what seemed like exactly two minutes. The sun had set, and the hint of the last remaining sun light, had been long vanquished by the bright simmering city lights. No stars of course, no moon as well, just a dark blanket over a polluted city pushing around a strong cold wind amidst which I found myself. I trotted to the very edge, and peered down at the tiny cars going left, right, forward and that one car which was going reverse. Smiling, for no reason, I unlocked my phone, and dialed my peddler from college. He dint pick. Where are the peddlers when you need them? Where are the lovers when you want them?
What else did I think would happen? I had not scored any pot from this peddler after college, and that was not anytime recent, so why would he, being the shady person that peddlers are, pick a call from this number? I thought I could do with smoking a joint now, for it had been ages since I had felt the high, the freedom, the relaxation and the bliss of Marijuana. I did not know of any other peddler, nor was I in touch with my college buddies, who I was sure, half of them would still be smoking pot. Suddenly I wanted to smoke a joint really very badly.
A butterfly, which must have been caught in an updraft, which are quite strong around tall buildings, was thrown by the wind right onto my face. Then, for a brief moment, it screeched slowly across my cheek, trying to get some grip, and slid finally giving into the gush to be carried away into the night, and I heard a door opening behind me. I turned to see who it was. The faint dim of the city night was just enough to render our figures as somewhat better than just silhouettes thus we could instantly recognize each other. She was as surprised to see me as I was seeing her. Her curves unfurled, top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top, nevertheless, it looked just as good as it was in daylight, if not better in darkness.
And then in unison, as if on cue, we both said,
‘What are you doing here?’
And then, instantly, we both added,
‘Nothing.’
And chuckled in self defense.
To break the awkwardness, I wanted to add something to that, hopefully this time, alone, but she spoke again, and she said,
‘I come here often. I have been coming here since my internship started.’
‘I come here often too, I have never seen you here.’
She shrugged her shoulders indicating that she had nothing to say in reply.
We walked to the edge, standing there, we surveyed the vast golden expanse together. The wind blew on our face and the chill that it brought with it seemed to suggest that something warm was needed to enjoy the moment. Without thinking, I said,
‘I wish we had a joint. The weather is too good.’
After saying that, I half expected her to laugh and agree, and half expected her to simply nod as if she had no idea what I was talking about. But instead, she reached into her back pocket, brandishing a cigarette packet, and opening it, she got out a perfectly rolled Marijuana joint from it.
‘I was afraid to ask you,’ she said and giggled like a stoned monkey.
‘Woah. I mean. Damn. Light it. You have lighter?’ I said, spitting words faster than my thoughts.
Of course she had a lighter. I mean, who carries a joint without wishing to light it sooner or later, which I know, most of the time, the wish being to light it sooner rather than later.
Flick. A spark. Then darkness. Flick again, spark again, darkness again. The wind was too unruly to let the lighter light and so I cupped my palms around her mouth to let her light in peace. The lighter sparked, this time, to a steady leaflet of yellow fire and Preeti’s face lit with a gracious orange glow. Her face looked like the face of a goddess sent to rescue me, to comfort me, and then to die with me. She brought the lighter closer and lit the joint. Smoke puffed and rose and the tip of the joint came alive with a breathing red flare.
She took one long drag and tilted her head up into the night sky and exhaled a dragon’s breath. Seeing that, I remember thinking that she would prove to teach me far more things than I intended, stupidly indeed, to teach her. I knew, I just knew, that our story in fact existed and it was just a matter of time before we discovered it together.
I took the joint from her, and took a long drag. Closing my eyes I could feel the hot air spreading through my lungs. Oh, how I missed the feeling. Opening my eyes, I exhaled through my nostrils, like a baby dragon. She was smiling, and I was smiling. Slowly, barely even talking, we finished the joint. And by the end of it, we were both (or at least I was) bombed, stoned as a stone. The shining city lights seemed calmer in their flickering, the wind seemed nothing more than a gentle caressing breeze and she looked like she was having a great time as well. The stress of being a corporate slave seemed but a silly old illusory. And it felt like we were two kites flying high against the starry cityscape, dancing, twirling and bobbing like waves of the wind.
I turned towards her and asked,
‘You smoke J’s here everyday?’
She nodded, indicating that I was somewhat accurate in the assumption.
In that void instant, I closed my eyes, and pushed myself closer to her face. I was expecting her lips to come and dock into mine. Instead, a palm came slapping. It landed on the same cheek the butterfly had, shortly awhile before, slid across. I opened my eyes, reeling from the pain of the slap (not physical pain, but from the mental shock that she had just slapped me), to see her running, and soon she disappeared into the door from which she had emerged. And then, standing alone on the terrace, and being high as the red moon, I smiled to myself at the fact that she would one day be telling our kids about the day she had slapped daddy for trying to kiss her. As it turned out later, I could not have been more wrong. Where are the peddlers when you need them? Where are the lovers when you want them?
Part 7 is out!
