tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64475538259485329932011-04-21T17:02:00.903-07:00Oreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04863411438986307777noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6447553825948532993.post-507127971644287192008-10-28T07:02:00.000-07:002008-10-28T07:07:47.345-07:00Wednesday, January 19, 2005 (this story was for a contest on Caferati)<br /><a name="110613545568237624"></a><br />"I love you love you love you, Ari . . ." she whispered into my ear."<br />You sound like Catherine."<br />"So let me be your Catherine tonight. How do you know I didn't use any commas?"<br />"There weren't any pauses, and not much of the night left, is there? It is already 3.00 in the morning. so good morning, Catherine."<br />"I will still call you Ari."<br />"Okay, so you be my Mia."<br />"Mia who?"<br />"Mia Farrow."<br />"And you my old man? My Woody Allen?"<br />"Whatever."<br />"The smirnoff was smooth, but i still seem to be swimming in it, Ari."<br />"I puked it out."<br /><br />Earlier that night we were together reading a posthumous novel by Hemingway, and I could not help relating her with Catherine that moment. Short hair, crazy, full of surprises. Only we couldn't be married, could we?<br />"Let's go to sleep now?" I offered.<br />"Since when are you awake? Has it been 24 hours?"<br />"Umm, lemme see . . . yes, I woke up last night at 3.15 to get dressed."<br />"Oh, baby, just go off to sleep now..." she sometimes changes her tone and pets me like I were her son or something. Somehow I feel very comforted, protected whenever she speaks like that.<br />She has to turn to her left, and so do I. I let her snuggle into me and am surprised at how comfortably my body allows her to dovetail into me. As if we were these gears of a machine, made to order. Is that a bad analogy? Why am I thinking of gears right now? The gears of my motorbike were pretty well-behaved all the way from Bangalore to Pune. They never slipped like they are wont to sometimes. After crossing Kolhapur my body gave up, but I carried on like a machine. I had to reach Pune in one day. I had to reach her . . .And then, near a diversion, I saw a milestone announcing: Pune 47 km. The other milestones passed me by, every fifty seconds or so . . .<br /><br />"Ari, I had a vision this evening."<br />"You are my clairvoyant, aren't you? My very own, my pet psychic. What did you see this time?"<br />"Will tell you tomorrow."My eyes were closing. I parked my right hand on her breast and went off to sleep.<br />"Don't, you won't let me sleep this way! I am sore . . ." she mumbled.<br /><br />***<br />"Ari, old man, wake up you fatso!"She was standing next to my bed in her pajamas.<br />"When did you wake up? What time is it?"<br />"You were snoring, my Woody Allen, I went to the other room."<br />"Oh, so sorry, why didn't you wake me up? Shit, hope you don't hate me for snoring?" I was embarrassed.<br />"How can I hate you? Maybe when you leave me and go back to your life, forever, I would. I so want to hate you, Ari. It would make things less painful for me, won't it?"<br />"Let's talk about something else. I am not leaving now, am I? What were you saying about having a vision yesterday?"<br />"Oh, it was around 9.30 in the night. I thought I saw you taking a turn on the highway where there was this milestone reading 'Pune 47 km'. But of course all that cannot be true. I so wish it were true though," she was smiling . . .<br /><br />. . . and at that moment I realized how I cannot ever go very far from her, no matter how far.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6447553825948532993-50712797164428719?l=golpo-holeo-sotti.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Oreenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04863411438986307777noreply@blogger.com4