I could hear the sound of a pop singer crooning as I stirred in my sleep. I opened my eyes to find Abhishek clad in just the skimpy boxers lying on the floor watching MTV. He was leaning on a couple of multi colored pillows that lay on the floor. It was an amazing sight. The white of the floor contrasted the multi colored pillows, and on which lay this brown colored man who I worshipped. A few rays of the morning sun peeked through the window and rested on Abhishek's chest. Somehow everything seemed right that minute -- my sleeping on his couch -- his relaxing lazily on the floor -- almost naked, and oblivious to my attraction to him. I sighed. He turned and smiled at me. "You awake lazy boy" -- he said dreamily and punched me in the stomach. I giggled and excused myself to the bath room.
I spent some time to run the mundane biological requirements after which I showered and stepped out to find my evening clothes. Abhishek walked in that minute and stared at me for not longer than a second. My nakedness didn't surprise him, nor did he feel awkward about it. It was as if this was normal. "What are you looking for?" he asked -- I answered "my clothes". "Oh those? I mistakenly shoved them in the washing machine along with mine. Why don't you wear my denims for now?" A few minutes later I was clad in light blue colored jeans and a loose white t shirt. I stepped out into the drawing room where I found Abhishek playing with a basket ball all by himself.
"Arggh. So I should leave I guess" I muttered
"you are leaving already? I thought we could have brunch. I wanted to have your egg omelets."
"Oh sure. Just let me know where the stuff is, and I can fix you that in a couple of minutes"
He showed me to the kitchen. It was a nice long kitchen with the right amount of sun light that illuminated the room! I busied myself with chopping onions, peppers, mushrooms, green chillies. I then broke the eggs and was beating them fluffy when Abhishek walked in. "You should be a chef". I smiled looking at him.
Over the next thirty minutes brunch was ready -- I had omlets with hash browns on the side with bread toasted brown -- just as he liked it. I had also squeezed some orange juice. While I was laying the table I thought to myself -- this is what I would like to wake up doing every day of my life. Fixing breakfast for Abhishek -- laying the table for him.
Ordinarily I would not do this -- I hated to sleep over at friends' places. I hated to cook in their kitchens. I was a loner. I wondered why I liked to spend time at Abhishek's apartment. I had even started unconsciously thinking of what changes should be made to the apartment to make it more livable. Why? Was this not exception making. And had I not once admitted to myself that love is exception making?
I shuddered at my own acknowledgement to myself. Later as I washed the dishes and placed them in the dish washer and cleaned the kitchen platform I wondered what was happening to me. I knew that I was getting not only physically but also, and rather more so, emotionally attached to Abhishek. I knew that it was perhaps not right, knowing that he was straight -- or at least there was no reason for me to believe otherwise. I was confused, and more than that, I was scared.
Despite Abhishek's repeated invite for me to spend the rest of the day with him bowling or playing tennis, I excused myself and went back home. Entering home was painful. Painful because I lived alone. My father lived in another city, and since my mother passed away a few years back, I had this weird pain in the throat whenever I entered home. It would remind me of the last few days of her life, and it reminded me always anew of how close I was to her. I shared an amazingly excellent relationship with her. At times Mom was my friend. At other times she was a mentor and a guide. There were times when I would just let her pamper me! With a doctorate in literature and a post graduation in History, Mom could talk with authority on most of the topics I was most interested in. My utter passion for literature was a reflection of our genes, perhaps. I remember there were times when we spent hours discussing some book we would have read, and we would analyze every character thread bare. I was always fascinated by fiction and was amazed with the simplicity with which eminent personalities authored such great novels!
Entering home this Saturday afternoon I could feel that weird pain in the throat. I knew I wanted to cry, and I knew I would eventually. This was a luxury I had reserved for myself only in solitude. A distant relative had once commented that one should not celebrate suffering. And while I agreed with her, I knew that deep within the time I spent crying was actually the most peaceful time I ever had. I am not sure whether I would ascribe these moments as self pity -- it was different. It was as if the real pain that I endured was too much to even acknowledge. Instead these moments when I would cry would be a welcome get away from that pain. It was as if the loneliness that I went through this minute would lessen should I think of something else. I don't know -- maybe I am not making sense. But the closest metaphor I can draw is about a character I had recently read in a novel -- this young woman would use a knife to peel skin off her knee when in solitude. When questioned by her friend why she did that, she answered "because the pain I go through when I torture myself with physical pain makes me forget the emotional pain that I otherwise have to endure." I had cried to bed that night when I read this remark. Why is human living prone to suffering? Is there something grossly wrong about the way we live our lives? I don't know!
I spent the rest of the weekend running chores -- buying groceries, vacuuming the apartment, writing checks on due bills, and then setting the agenda for work for the following week.
On Monday when I went to work, my eyes kept searching for Abhishek. He was of course at his desk busy working on some assignment. "Hi" I said. "Oh Hi, he answered" and returned his attention back to the screen. After exchanging a few pleasantries, I asked him if he would like to go for a football game with me over the weekend. "Actually no. My girlfriend is back in town and we would be busy." "Oh of course, no worries." I exclaimed and excused myself
"What was I even thinking" I screeched inwardly at myself. Of course he is straight. Why would he go out with you? And to be fair to him, he never said anything to suggest otherwise.
So my fascination of Abhishek remained to myself. I continued to love him and worship him in my mind. I imagined what it would be like to be made love by him. I kept imagining about how long his long uncut organ would get and what would it feel like to taste him. I wondered how great it would be to be the one to give him pleasure, and I wondered how lucky that person would be who derives pleasure from him.
Thus began my silent admiration of my dear friend! I am not sure whether it was apparent for the rest of the world this new change in me -- but it was apparent to me of course. It was an obsession, I was sure. I would like to be the one next to Abhishek when at work. I would like to be the person who was a co team member with him. I would get jealous of colleagues who would get to work with him. I would be hurt if someone else knew something about Abhishek before I knew it.
Over the next few months I realized that Abhishek had a craving for good food. I would then try my hand at different recipes and cook lunches for him. No -- I didn't do it for him. I am too selfish to be so selfless! I derived a lot of pleasure in cooking -- and that pleasure was the maximum when I was cooking for him. Once he casually mentioned that he likes Italian cuisine, and that evening I spent hours trying to find the necessary ingredients and the right equipments to make fresh pasta for him the next morning.
At work, our team work received superlative recognition. My analytical mind and his leadership qualities made us a perfect duo to be entrusted with complex assignments. The two of got to be recognized as the star performing team, and I inwardly enjoyed that recognition.
Abhishek did mean a lot to me -- more than I would dare to acknowledge to myself. They say that the power in a relationship rests with the person who cares less. Not sure what relationship I have with Abhishek -- but he does care much less about me than I about him, that much aware I am. Is that the reason why the power rests with him? Is that the reason why even if he treats me as a doormat at times, I am ready to live with it? I -- who would not place anything about my self respect, was ready to let that respect be butchered and kicked. Why? Is love really exception making?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMore to follow in the next partXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX