In Palace of Illusions (which is a brilliant book, by the way) Panchaali and Krishna have a very strong, very desperate, very intense relationship. Often at odds with each other, yet completely in love – not the love that demands you to strip off your clothes and make mad love, but the love that transcends all understanding. As I was reading it, I was like I know this. I’ve felt this. I have someone just like this in my life. And now I know.
Awake past mid-night and grieving about good-byes.
How will I ever say bye to his bright blue eyes?
How can we not share Nutella and toast and quips anymore?
How can we not effortlessly rile each other and just as smoothly ease each-other’s cares?
How can we not worry together about our boy? And our other friends?
The first time I saw him cry, it broke my heart. And yet I didn’t want him to stop. He was so beautiful crying. My own impressionistic painting. Come to life.
The first time I saw him ever, I was charmed. I remember thinking ‘Not bad for a white guy’. Struggling with English. Saying no to swearing.
The first time I went out with him, I was tempted to cheat. How could he make my heart beat so? Why did my gaze linger on his too pink lips? And why shouldn’t I kiss that perfect face just because my then no-PDA-boyfriend was holidaying with his family in America?
The first time we held hands, I found someone more than a friend. A connection surely from a past life. Trust, unusually for me, at the very first touch. I could let him drive me in a tiny car making dizzying turns, I could trust him to help me up a mountain. I trusted him always to comfort me. And he was always there. Never saying what I expected him to but always giving me the truth. And the strength to be myself when I felt I could not.
How can you say good-bye to someone who is a part of you? Again? So many have left already. And when you know that parting is imminent how can you sleep?
My golden-haired boy; my capricious-contrary cat, my best-friend, the only King to my Queen, it’s not good-bye. It can’t be. Behind Blue Eyes. Walking down Baker’s Street in Pondicherry and singing it together, clutching hands and understanding without words every time our favourite songs played at the pub. Seeing San Francisco through each other’s eyes. There will be more. Europe. Germany. India. Why then, the world will see us together again. All of us. Laughing, fighting, touching, being friends, being intimates.
Because we have many more things to do in this life-time and meet again in others. There is a Krishna and Krishnaa in you and me as well. This post is just for you, Kitty Cat. (Not that you will ever read it.)