The memory of immersing myself reading this in the recent past, is brought back by this news. Along with the news come several facts that could potentially damage the feeling I got when I read. Strangely, that didn’t happen.

Dear Gupta,

I remembered you over the weekend, thanks to a conversation with someone[1]. When I did that, I went into an ironical tight loop – I wished I remembered you more often, and at the same time your memory evoked a deep sadness inside me! Why am I wishing to evoke sadness more often? I wouldn’t know.

The way you left us (myself, Mu, Ma, Noo) was shocking. We four weren’t the closest friends to you. It was more of a distant friendship and admiration. Ofcourse, a good deal of tutelage from your side. It is safe to say that what I have become in life as a human isn’t something that you (or anyone) would have imagined me to become. That doesn’t change the fact that you gave me at least an year of head start in my development process. I am not making any claims that you changed my life – you did not. You did accelerate my development process by helping me cover my basics when I had to. That apart, you taught me humility on the way back from Trichy to Chennai after our successful participation in Festember (1998?) in NIT, Trichy. The question that you asked “What if that was my father? Wouldn’t you have done the same?” humbled me and that’s the most painful question I have ever faced. As I said earlier, I would have reached the same realization eventually.

We might have failed in sustaining the award we created in your memory. We did manage to do that only for 5 years or so. That doesn’t imply that you aren’t in my memories anymore or that I am not indebted to you.

I did not get a chance to convey this to you or to anyone in the past (I did convey this to some extent to that “someone[1]” though). Hence, I am keeping it here for my record.

Yours Sincerely,

~A

[1] – is someone whom I have come to know and respect in the very recent past. Whom, i hope, will at least be a good friend for life.

I like very few with whom I can share only my past. And,I don’t like any with whom I can possibly share my future.

They both kept staring at the same Lasagna…And then?

As she was sitting in Little Italy waiting for her Lasagna, her thoughts wandered. She wanted to put the blame on something or someone. Should she put on him? Or herself? Or some other thing like fate? A glass of red wine had just become less engaging. That didn’t stop her from taking a sip though.

She felt low, but “given how it ended, that’s expected” she thought. Why things get complicated? However hard she thought, whatever she felt was utterly simple which others are supposed to understand/accept. It was from her heart and it was pure, so it should be easy for others to comprehend. But they didn’t. That left her in dismay, in addition to the deep pain that she was feeling. She had even tried to explain to them, they wouldn’t listen. She felt as if she is locked in a room without an exit. She felt tortured.

Lasagna was served. She didn’t know whether to eat or to sip the red wine. She just kept staring at them for a long time.

One thinks one can start stopping on a Saturday.

So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I’ll bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you’d probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. And I’d ask you about war, you’d probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, “once more unto the breach dear friends.” But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I’d ask you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet. But you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms “visiting hours” don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you… I don’t see an intelligent, confident man… I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You’re an orphan right?

Either it happens instantly or over time, both are equally honourable.

Boredom, Solitude, Pain – all of these can be temporarily solved by sleeping. And the ideal way to sleep whenever one wants is to gulp 2-3 shots of alchohol (1. anything strong enough will do as one is not after taste now. 2. do not sip – just gulp) and go to bed immediately. One should make sure that one eats well and drinks enough water to avoid any side effects.

One hates the possibility of not being trusted,

One feels helpless,

One lives.

Sometimes, one wishes one remains ill.