b o o k s | " f o r w a r d e d c o n v e r s a t i o n / a b h i s h e k "
1.
first forwarded conversation
subject: »attempt«
1.
first forwarded conversation
subject: »attempt«
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 june 2012 _ 11:37
hola abhishek: plans shift, windows open up. any chance of coffee post-work tonight?
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 june 2012 _ 15:29
or then perhaps friday is part of the copywriter's weekend... well, mail me if you see this, i might be in.
hola abhishek: plans shift, windows open up. any chance of coffee post-work tonight?
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 june 2012 _ 15:29
or then perhaps friday is part of the copywriter's weekend... well, mail me if you see this, i might be in.
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 june 2012 _ 09:13
hey rehaan, any chance that i'm not too late in replying? free anytime saturday evening?
hey rehaan, any chance that i'm not too late in replying? free anytime saturday evening?
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 june 2012 _ 09:28
oh hello there. i'm spending this evening with parvesh, musician friend in town from chicago for a bit - i help him with a music festival he gets on in mumbai every july. we're planning an early dinner, but it could overrun, so it's probably wise not to try to plan around it. how about coffee tomorrow evening instead, after i help karuna nundy pack? 8? [i know that's not really coffee time, but.] at either saket mall hideousness or else hauz khas village? otherwise there's always next week...
oh hello there. i'm spending this evening with parvesh, musician friend in town from chicago for a bit - i help him with a music festival he gets on in mumbai every july. we're planning an early dinner, but it could overrun, so it's probably wise not to try to plan around it. how about coffee tomorrow evening instead, after i help karuna nundy pack? 8? [i know that's not really coffee time, but.] at either saket mall hideousness or else hauz khas village? otherwise there's always next week...
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 june 2012 _ 09:33
hauz khas village at 8 sounds good. elma's cafe? and i don't quite know any of the people you mentioned. was i supposed to?
hauz khas village at 8 sounds good. elma's cafe? and i don't quite know any of the people you mentioned. was i supposed to?
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 june 2012 _ 09:38
ah, no of course not, was just putting you into the picture. elma's is just that little bit on the pricey side for the perennially unemployed. and now that lovely bini will no longer be working there [yes i realize you might not know her either] i kind of feel there's even less reason for me to go. how about flipside instead...?
ah, no of course not, was just putting you into the picture. elma's is just that little bit on the pricey side for the perennially unemployed. and now that lovely bini will no longer be working there [yes i realize you might not know her either] i kind of feel there's even less reason for me to go. how about flipside instead...?
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 june 2012 _ 09:48
i don't know where flipside is. but i'll find it. i like how you call the mall hideous but the pretentiousness of hauz khas village appears tasteful. let's talk more about that tomorrow, 8pm at flipside.
i don't know where flipside is. but i'll find it. i like how you call the mall hideous but the pretentiousness of hauz khas village appears tasteful. let's talk more about that tomorrow, 8pm at flipside.
from: <[email protected]> _ 18 june 2012 _ 01:09
hope you've reached home safe and in time. sorry if i freaked you out. i'll shut up now.
hope you've reached home safe and in time. sorry if i freaked you out. i'll shut up now.
from: <[email protected]> _ 18 june 2012 _ 01:22
back home. and not freaked at all. sorry if i asked too many questions. next time let's not talk too much.
back home. and not freaked at all. sorry if i asked too many questions. next time let's not talk too much.
from: <[email protected]> _ 18 june 2012 _ 01:29
you don't ask too many questions. and i'll only be too happy not talking too much ;) whenever you say.
you don't ask too many questions. and i'll only be too happy not talking too much ;) whenever you say.
2.
second forwarded conversation
subject: »question«
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 13:18
leaving sunday. you want to meet again before that? or on my return? p.s. what's rust? what's connor?
leaving sunday. you want to meet again before that? or on my return? p.s. what's rust? what's connor?
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 17:11
yes. i would want to meet before you leave. and again after you're back. where are you headed to? this is a really old email account. created it when i was still in school. all other ids that i wanted were taken, so decided to make this name up. kind of stuck with it since :d
yes. i would want to meet before you leave. and again after you're back. where are you headed to? this is a really old email account. created it when i was still in school. all other ids that i wanted were taken, so decided to make this name up. kind of stuck with it since :d
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 17:32
how's friday for you? any good? i'd like to come hang out at your place for a bit. and not talk much. and make out some. but not necessarily have sex. if any or all of the above strike you as horrible ideas, please feel free to tell me, and suggest alternatives.
how's friday for you? any good? i'd like to come hang out at your place for a bit. and not talk much. and make out some. but not necessarily have sex. if any or all of the above strike you as horrible ideas, please feel free to tell me, and suggest alternatives.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 17:56
friday is good. might get a little late to come back home after office / gym. around 10. does that suit you? also, you're not allowed to judge me by the mess in my room. sound good?
friday is good. might get a little late to come back home after office / gym. around 10. does that suit you? also, you're not allowed to judge me by the mess in my room. sound good?
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 18:04
all good. [i'll just have to judge you by everything else, then, i guess.] 10 pm. tell me where to come.
all good. [i'll just have to judge you by everything else, then, i guess.] 10 pm. tell me where to come.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 18:08
come to malviya nagar metro station. start walking to pvr anupam. you'll notice a yes bank atm to your left. stop there and wait for me. or a better plan would be, go to pvr anupam and wait for me at cafe coffee day and we walk back to my place together. do you really have to judge at all?
come to malviya nagar metro station. start walking to pvr anupam. you'll notice a yes bank atm to your left. stop there and wait for me. or a better plan would be, go to pvr anupam and wait for me at cafe coffee day and we walk back to my place together. do you really have to judge at all?
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 18:17
yes, judgements are essential. and best to handle them overtly. or else they rumble on covertly anyway. possibly-stupid question #1: is pvr anupam the same as pvr saket? possibly-stupid question #2: no, there is no #2.
yes, judgements are essential. and best to handle them overtly. or else they rumble on covertly anyway. possibly-stupid question #1: is pvr anupam the same as pvr saket? possibly-stupid question #2: no, there is no #2.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 18:37
yes. pvr anupam is pvr saket. but... why shouldn't i come to your place instead? will save you the worry of finding a metro late as well. suggestion. also i'd like that.
yes. pvr anupam is pvr saket. but... why shouldn't i come to your place instead? will save you the worry of finding a metro late as well. suggestion. also i'd like that.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 june 2012 _ 18:44
i might like that too. and was planning it - for next time. [unless things go horribly wrong.] [of course.] coming to yours is my way of asking questions without asking questions. yes?
i might like that too. and was planning it - for next time. [unless things go horribly wrong.] [of course.] coming to yours is my way of asking questions without asking questions. yes?
3.
third forwarded conversation
subject: »after«
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 june 2012 _ 01:08
have a good trip home. it was great seeing you, r. sleep well.
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 june 2012 _ 01:23
weird thing to say after having met you just twice, but i think i'll miss you.
have a good trip home. it was great seeing you, r. sleep well.
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 june 2012 _ 01:23
weird thing to say after having met you just twice, but i think i'll miss you.
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012 _ 00:27
was thinking of writing you. this morning. hi yourself. sandip sent me pictures he took of pavi's birthday. how's things?
was thinking of writing you. this morning. hi yourself. sandip sent me pictures he took of pavi's birthday. how's things?
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012 _ 00:46
i thought he would. he kept blinding people with the flash. been good. thought of you, so sent you a message. is it three weeks yet?
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012 _ 00:49
and i'm sure i look miserably bored in those pictures.
i thought he would. he kept blinding people with the flash. been good. thought of you, so sent you a message. is it three weeks yet?
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012 _ 00:49
and i'm sure i look miserably bored in those pictures.
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012 _ 01:06
miserably bored and reasonably hot. and no i'm not talking sweat. rehaanreturn might just get pushed back a little further - my aunt wants to extend her holiday. and i can't see any reason to deny her four or five more days. since she spends all year taking care of my grandmother... how's life at the hang-out spot? what was it called again? that club-type thing? zook?
miserably bored and reasonably hot. and no i'm not talking sweat. rehaanreturn might just get pushed back a little further - my aunt wants to extend her holiday. and i can't see any reason to deny her four or five more days. since she spends all year taking care of my grandmother... how's life at the hang-out spot? what was it called again? that club-type thing? zook?
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 june 2012_ 01:11
yeah, zook. was at 1 boulevard today. stand up comedy night. it was fun. then helped a drunk friend to his car. no, he's not driving. see ya soon :| can't do a sad face. i understand.
yeah, zook. was at 1 boulevard today. stand up comedy night. it was fun. then helped a drunk friend to his car. no, he's not driving. see ya soon :| can't do a sad face. i understand.
4.
fourth forwarded conversation
subject: »two worder«
from: <[email protected]> _ 1 july 2012 _ 20:52
mostly in bed with mostly bad back. [don't ask.] so. i'll put my money on yours...
mostly in bed with mostly bad back. [don't ask.] so. i'll put my money on yours...
from: <[email protected]> _ 2 july 2012 _ 02:42
the day started with my favourite workout. then saw the new spiderman movie, excellent. and ended with a drunk me with my prediction about the euro cup turning spot on.
the day started with my favourite workout. then saw the new spiderman movie, excellent. and ended with a drunk me with my prediction about the euro cup turning spot on.
5.
fifth forwarded conversation
subject: »mid-week, almost«
from: <[email protected]> _ 5 july 2012 _ 14:26
hope your back isn't killing you anymore, and you're enjoying the monsoon.
hope your back isn't killing you anymore, and you're enjoying the monsoon.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 july 2012 _ 08:55
hello boyo. i was telling my friend rohit the story of you and that broken bottle last night. he seemed quite impressed. and suggested that i had a running interest in nut-jobs. but in some ways i suspect rohit thinks of me as a nut-job too. back better, thanks. and singing workshop almost over. rehearsals for concerts begin tomorrow.
hello boyo. i was telling my friend rohit the story of you and that broken bottle last night. he seemed quite impressed. and suggested that i had a running interest in nut-jobs. but in some ways i suspect rohit thinks of me as a nut-job too. back better, thanks. and singing workshop almost over. rehearsals for concerts begin tomorrow.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 july 2012 _ 13:13
i am a nut-job. all my experiences have suggested the same. so rohit is not the only one. he's got company. sing your heart out. time to strain the vocal chords. now that the back is not feeling it. enjoy the rains.
i am a nut-job. all my experiences have suggested the same. so rohit is not the only one. he's got company. sing your heart out. time to strain the vocal chords. now that the back is not feeling it. enjoy the rains.
6.
sixth forwarded conversation
subject: »mississippi«
from: <[email protected]> _ 11 july 2012 _ 08:40
well, apparently patricia rozario's throat isn't in very good nick this morning. so she's called off today's rehearsal of our piece together. which means my morning is free. so - if only you were here - i could have said "how about coffee at 11, then, tiwariboy?" only of course you're not. this is the trouble with travel. but that mississippi river, it just keeps rolling along. and the lately-gone-away soon become the newly-come-back. i get in on the 20th night. so - speedily post-that? x.
well, apparently patricia rozario's throat isn't in very good nick this morning. so she's called off today's rehearsal of our piece together. which means my morning is free. so - if only you were here - i could have said "how about coffee at 11, then, tiwariboy?" only of course you're not. this is the trouble with travel. but that mississippi river, it just keeps rolling along. and the lately-gone-away soon become the newly-come-back. i get in on the 20th night. so - speedily post-that? x.
7.
seventh forwarded conversation
subject: »smiley«
8.
eighth forwarded conversation
subject: » - «
from: <[email protected]> _ 22 july 2012 _ 04:26
so - bringing you up-to-date. while i was off in mumbai, sandip headed out to baroda to try and get in to an mfa program there. and did get in. and so he will be leaving town, in about two weeks. and despite him and me being as over as we'll ever be, this has still thrown me. and i'm trying to see him as much as possible over this period. and feeling complicatedly. about him. and about me. and so have been putting off fixing a meeting with you. because [i suspect] feeling-complicatedly is not a good position in which to meet you. does this make sense? i wanted to let you know before you began to wonder. not that you'd necessarily wonder. but still.
so - bringing you up-to-date. while i was off in mumbai, sandip headed out to baroda to try and get in to an mfa program there. and did get in. and so he will be leaving town, in about two weeks. and despite him and me being as over as we'll ever be, this has still thrown me. and i'm trying to see him as much as possible over this period. and feeling complicatedly. about him. and about me. and so have been putting off fixing a meeting with you. because [i suspect] feeling-complicatedly is not a good position in which to meet you. does this make sense? i wanted to let you know before you began to wonder. not that you'd necessarily wonder. but still.
9.
ninth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »hi«
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2012 _ 00:50
okay, here's what i really wanted to say. i never liked that man, never will. you gave me one more reason. and honestly, i don't think he's going anywhere. just my thoughts. i might be wrong but they're mine nevertheless. no paras and spaces because my phone doesn't allow that. i won't apologize for saying that.
okay, here's what i really wanted to say. i never liked that man, never will. you gave me one more reason. and honestly, i don't think he's going anywhere. just my thoughts. i might be wrong but they're mine nevertheless. no paras and spaces because my phone doesn't allow that. i won't apologize for saying that.
10.
tenth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »17:33, friday 24th august 2012«
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 august 2012 _ 17:33
i.
i hope.
i hope that.
i hope that you.
i hope that you are.
i hope that you are well.
i hope that you are well, mister.
i hope that you are well, mister tiwari.
i.
i hope.
i hope that.
i hope that you.
i hope that you are.
i hope that you are well.
i hope that you are well, mister.
i hope that you are well, mister tiwari.
11.
eleventh forwarded conversation
subject: »23:00, friday 24th august 2012«
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 august 2012 _ 23:03
answer depends on what you mean by 'well'. i'm doing okay. but my head is fucked up. i'm also happy that you sent a mail.
answer depends on what you mean by 'well'. i'm doing okay. but my head is fucked up. i'm also happy that you sent a mail.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 12:05
sorry to hear about head. you want to let me have a look at it sometime? perhaps tomorrow?
sorry to hear about head. you want to let me have a look at it sometime? perhaps tomorrow?
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 14:32
what about evening? have to go for a marwari friend's birthday in the afternoon. and see manu early evening, whom i've ditched enough.
what about evening? have to go for a marwari friend's birthday in the afternoon. and see manu early evening, whom i've ditched enough.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 15:25
evening then. i'll follow manu. say when say where say what.
evening then. i'll follow manu. say when say where say what.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 16:00
your place. 9?
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 16:02
headed to select city walk for 5:10 show of finding neon right now. come if you're free.
your place. 9?
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 16:02
headed to select city walk for 5:10 show of finding neon right now. come if you're free.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 august 2012 _ 19:49
only saw second message just now at 7:47. was having tea with my brother-in-law's brother. who's in town from nainital for a few days. my place, 9 tomorrow, fine. 271 kailash hills, 3rd floor. kailash hills is near the east of kailash c-block market. biggest local landmark is the iskcon temple. you enter the colony [there's only one gate], then take the first right, and then the second right. there'll be a park on your left, and houses on your right. go down towards the end of the line. and keep climbing up the stairs till a grill door bars your way. then yell.
only saw second message just now at 7:47. was having tea with my brother-in-law's brother. who's in town from nainital for a few days. my place, 9 tomorrow, fine. 271 kailash hills, 3rd floor. kailash hills is near the east of kailash c-block market. biggest local landmark is the iskcon temple. you enter the colony [there's only one gate], then take the first right, and then the second right. there'll be a park on your left, and houses on your right. go down towards the end of the line. and keep climbing up the stairs till a grill door bars your way. then yell.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 02:13
yes. and may i ask for some sex please? last time i had anything that remotely resembled that was with you. yeah, it's been that long.
yes. and may i ask for some sex please? last time i had anything that remotely resembled that was with you. yeah, it's been that long.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 07:29
really? gosh. and i think my subconscious renounced sex when sandip left for baroda. since i haven't thought about it since. but we could give it a go.
really? gosh. and i think my subconscious renounced sex when sandip left for baroda. since i haven't thought about it since. but we could give it a go.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 18:54
the way it is right now, i'll definitely be late.
the way it is right now, i'll definitely be late.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 19:37
this is fine with me. if you're tired or anything of that kind and would rather reschedule, that's also fine with me.
this is fine with me. if you're tired or anything of that kind and would rather reschedule, that's also fine with me.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 20:26
thing is... i want to be with you tonight. but i'll be late. let me know if you're okay with that.
thing is... i want to be with you tonight. but i'll be late. let me know if you're okay with that.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 august 2012 _ 20:55
yes. not sure how late 'late' is for you. but yell when you get here. in case i'm asleep, yell louder and i'll get up.
yes. not sure how late 'late' is for you. but yell when you get here. in case i'm asleep, yell louder and i'll get up.
12.
twelfth forwarded conversation
subject: »weekend starts«
from: <[email protected]> _ 31 august 2012 _ 17:32
and the beard is gone. shaved it off on wednesday. thought i'd tell you. it'll grow back soon.
and the beard is gone. shaved it off on wednesday. thought i'd tell you. it'll grow back soon.
from: <[email protected]> _ 2 september 2012 _ 19:16
hope newlyshavedness is everything you'd hoped. heading to nainital for a week on tuesday. my aunt [mother's sister] and uncle are visiting, and my mother seemed very keen that i join everyone up there. she asked three times. so eventually i said yes. let's do something on my return. x.
hope newlyshavedness is everything you'd hoped. heading to nainital for a week on tuesday. my aunt [mother's sister] and uncle are visiting, and my mother seemed very keen that i join everyone up there. she asked three times. so eventually i said yes. let's do something on my return. x.
13.
thirteenth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »thursday evening«
14.
fourteenth forwarded conversation
subject: »friday afternoon«
from: <[email protected]> _ 14 september 2012 _ 13:23
just entered my office. yeah, at lunch time. screamed at two people in the lift. my landlady told me not to throw used condoms in the bin. don't remember the last time i had intercourse, so no clue what she was talking about. yeah, good day i guess. it's raining outside.
just entered my office. yeah, at lunch time. screamed at two people in the lift. my landlady told me not to throw used condoms in the bin. don't remember the last time i had intercourse, so no clue what she was talking about. yeah, good day i guess. it's raining outside.
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 september 2012 _ 08:53
oh boy oh boy. is your landlady is somehow having sex herself without knowing it? or do you have people sneaking in and using your place as a shag pad and sneaking out without leaving any traces behind except the odd condom? and what did the lift-people do to need being screamed at? back in delhi. mother in hospital. i'm well.
oh boy oh boy. is your landlady is somehow having sex herself without knowing it? or do you have people sneaking in and using your place as a shag pad and sneaking out without leaving any traces behind except the odd condom? and what did the lift-people do to need being screamed at? back in delhi. mother in hospital. i'm well.
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 september 2012 _ 16:59
?
from: <[email protected]> _ 20 september 2012 _ 18:15
that question mark meant, how, what, why, where, is she okay now?
?
from: <[email protected]> _ 20 september 2012 _ 18:15
that question mark meant, how, what, why, where, is she okay now?
from: <[email protected]> _ 20 september 2012 _ 21:56
i did puzzle over it, i'll admit. but then there were bigger worries on hand, so i stopped puzzling. discharged now, gone back to nainital now. if i were to say "let's do something sunday," what would you suggest?
i did puzzle over it, i'll admit. but then there were bigger worries on hand, so i stopped puzzling. discharged now, gone back to nainital now. if i were to say "let's do something sunday," what would you suggest?
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 september 2012 _ 00:40
i would suggest me talking a lot. i prefer your place. maybe coffee before that.
i would suggest me talking a lot. i prefer your place. maybe coffee before that.
from: <[email protected]> _ 22 september 2012 _ 23:50
anytime post-afternoon is fine with me. you say.
anytime post-afternoon is fine with me. you say.
15.
fifteenth forwarded conversation
subject: »[silence]«
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 september 2012 _ 18:25
no word off mister rustconnor. heading out. maybe another day, then. x.
no word off mister rustconnor. heading out. maybe another day, then. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 september 2012 _ 21:23
my fault.
from: <[email protected]> _ 8 october 2012 _ 00:50
okay, so here it is. when i was supposed to meet you, my friend called and she has been low for a while. wanted to catch up. had to meet her. i put my friends above anything else. i did tell her that i was supposed to meet you, and she insisted that i go. but i couldn't.
my fault.
from: <[email protected]> _ 8 october 2012 _ 00:50
okay, so here it is. when i was supposed to meet you, my friend called and she has been low for a while. wanted to catch up. had to meet her. i put my friends above anything else. i did tell her that i was supposed to meet you, and she insisted that i go. but i couldn't.
from: <[email protected]> _ 8 october 2012 _ 07:54
oh gosh. i wasn't holding it against you at all. just one of those times. would have replied to your message of two days ago, only have been running around manically. trying to get two new projects off the ground, one a set of drawings into an exhibition - that, after a 3-hour-long meeting with one of the curators yesterday, where we couldn't agree on anything, i'm feeling probably isn't going to happen - and also even what looks like a little play that i might just leap into directing, if all the pieces will just fall into the right paces. is all. busy silence, not grumpy silence. more in a bit.
oh gosh. i wasn't holding it against you at all. just one of those times. would have replied to your message of two days ago, only have been running around manically. trying to get two new projects off the ground, one a set of drawings into an exhibition - that, after a 3-hour-long meeting with one of the curators yesterday, where we couldn't agree on anything, i'm feeling probably isn't going to happen - and also even what looks like a little play that i might just leap into directing, if all the pieces will just fall into the right paces. is all. busy silence, not grumpy silence. more in a bit.
16.
sixteenth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »hello again«
17.
seventeenth forwarded conversation
subject: »question«
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 october 2012 _ 23:06
planks appear to be coming off my futon. you any good with a hammer?
planks appear to be coming off my futon. you any good with a hammer?
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 october 2012 _ 13:57
i'll try and look for one. when do you want the job done? and sorry. didn't expect a message from you so didn't check my email.
i'll try and look for one. when do you want the job done? and sorry. didn't expect a message from you so didn't check my email.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 october 2012 _ 20:07
fantastic. might be heading to bareilly on sunday for two days of work for my father. is saturday any good for you...? x.
fantastic. might be heading to bareilly on sunday for two days of work for my father. is saturday any good for you...? x.
18.
eighteenth forwarded conversation
subject: »developments [never a good title for an email, that]«
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 october 2012 _ 12:21
dear mister handyman: no word from you, and then word from my father this morning that this business of his is actually more diffuse than i thought, and might need to happen at any point over three or four days, at short notice. so i'm going to head off tomorrow instead. shall i mail you when i'm back? [will you be waiting...?] x.
dear mister handyman: no word from you, and then word from my father this morning that this business of his is actually more diffuse than i thought, and might need to happen at any point over three or four days, at short notice. so i'm going to head off tomorrow instead. shall i mail you when i'm back? [will you be waiting...?] x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 october 2012 _ 13:23
i have a tough time accessing email over my phone. and it's been giving me a lot of trouble of late. yes, a bad subject line for an email. i will. i mean wait. i always do. i like that.
i have a tough time accessing email over my phone. and it's been giving me a lot of trouble of late. yes, a bad subject line for an email. i will. i mean wait. i always do. i like that.
3 september 2016. saturday afternoon, a little past one o'clock. i have an early lunch, wash the dishes, and step out into the delhi heat. i am heading to greater kailash to see z. she wants to discuss a new installation piece she's working on. it will show at the kochi biennale this december.
we are meeting at a foundation for the arts started by her grandfather: take the first left after savitri, and count off three rights to enter m-block. i pass 137 and 139 and find myself at 143. i turn around. the gate at 141 is a large sheet of black metal, without a sign or number on it. a security guard appears, walks me in, and punches in digits until the glass doors to the building whirr open. he wanders off to find z. her grandfather, in his nineties now, still lives somewhere nearby, i think. i wait on a low leather couch, listening to the hum of the air-conditioning. my soaked t-shirt is drying out when z emerges and says hi, come upstairs?
we go up two narrow flights of stairs and along a short passage to a room with a wooden floor and a large desk. do you want something to eat? z asks as we sit down. no, i've eaten, thanks, i say, how are you doing? everyone is sick, she begins, my brother, my daughter - and her phone rings. there, she says, it's started again. why don't you answer it? i ask, as she says i really don't want to pick it up.
while z speaks on the phone, i look at some books lined up by the wall. a forbiddingly large volume propping up the end of the row turns out to be entirely in german, and full of images of death - post-mortem photographs, and death masks, and paintings depicting death's approach or aftermath. i study a picture of two boys in coffins, surrounded by flowers, and a sculpture of a man in a coat leaning over clumsily to embrace the recumbent body of a woman. a voice in my head says she is not dead, but sleepeth. what is this book? i ask z when she hangs up. part of the foundation's library, she shrugs. we begin to talk.
z's installation is based on the bhawal case, a legal dispute involving a zamindari in colonial bengal owned, at the turn of the last century, by three brothers, the bhawal 'kumars' or princes. all three died within a few years of each other, and the british government wrested control of the estate away from their childless widows. slowly, however, a rumour began to spread suggesting that the middle or 'mejo' kumar hadn't died at all - someone else's body had been burned at his cremation, it was said, and the kumar was wandering the country with a group of ascetics. then, a decade later, a vaguely familiar-seeming sannyasi appeared in the region, and began to attract crowds wherever he went.
the mejo kumar's wife refused to meet the ascetic, insisting that he was an imposter. but one of his older sisters was convinced that the man was her brother - despite the years that had passed since she had last seen him, and the ash that entirely covered the sannyasi's body and face. in time, the two of them jointly initiated legal proceedings to reclaim the estate.
z shows me photographs of both men from the foundation's collection, seated or standing stiffly in front of cloth backdrops. the sannyasi, unkempt and bare-chested at first, increasingly grows to resemble the original kumar as his long hair is cut and his beard shaved. once they are dressed and posed alike, i can't tell them apart.
z has worked on the bhawal case before, and now we look at pictures of an earlier project on her computer. her plans for this installation, she says, include live performance, two videos and possibly a book, all revolving around what she calls the darjeeling episode - the confusion surrounding the death of the original kumar, who was sent to darjeeling by his doctors to recover from syphilis, and is supposed to have died there a month later. z wants me to help her assemble a text, and find an actor to perform it. i want to find, she says, a certain immediacy with the narrative, to find a way of placing people inside the narrative. how old was the kumar when he died? i ask her. twenty-five, she says. what goes on the video? i ask. i don't know yet, she says.
i skim through various accounts of the mejo kumar's death provided by his wife during the course of the trial. the kumar's last week is a blur of recurring fevers and colic pain, visits by two different doctors, and a mysterious injection that he is repeatedly urged to take and repeatedly refuses. by the time he relents, it is his final afternoon, and he has already begun to sink. at dusk, his wife reports, nurses spend half an hour rubbing a white powder all over his body - hands, feet, chest, abdomen, back, everywhere. soon after this, he dies. his wife stays in the room with the body all night, and watches from an upper-storey window as it is laid out on the lawn the next morning, and flowers are placed upon it.
i ask z for the sannyasi's explanation of his mysterious return to life, and she reads aloud a section of his testimony in which he claims to know nothing at all of what transpired. all he knows, the sannyasi says, is that he opened his eyes to find himself lying in a hut amongst a group of other sannyasis, with no memories of his earlier life, no awareness of where he was, and no knowledge of how he got there - like a baby just born. i could not recognize trees, nor skies, nor cloud, the sannyasi says, in z's voice. i did not know if i was a man or a ghost.
i think briefly about syphilis, which i was treated for myself earlier this year, with a course of three injections in three weeks, as z tries to draw my attention to some white flowers on a table behind the kumar - or is it the sannyasi? i can't tell - in one photograph. the studio portraits of this era all share a fondness for elaborate paraphernalia, and like to surround their subjects with a welter of backcloths and drapery and furniture and decorative staircases. z is particularly interested in the scenes painted on the backdrops. we talk, briefly, about the idea of the represented landscape, and how these countryside idylls, seascapes, ancient ruins and mountain panoramas gesture towards the outside world. i'm thinking, z says, of covering the floor of the installation with grass. her phone rings again. it is her daughter, whose fever hasn't gone down. z suggests a cold compress and some medication: take the calpol now, she says.
it's coming up for half past three. z has another appointment to get to soon. where are you headed next? she asks me. just around the corner to m-block market, i say, i'm meeting s there at four. she gives me an ambiguous look, and says well, i'll drop you off.
as we get ready to leave, i ask after z's parents. their home in e-block is being torn down and rebuilt soon, she tells me, they will be shifting into an apartment in w-block for the duration. her grandfather is going to move in with them. z has noticed that the old man is more alert when there are other people around - when he is, as she puts it, in a living house.
walking down the narrow stairs behind z, i look out of the window at little clouds racing above the red and beige wall of the clinic next door. that's beautiful, i say. what is? z asks. the clouds moving above the still building, i say. yes, z says, sighing, perhaps i should video that.
we wait on the road outside the foundation for z's driver. rust is starting to eat through the middle section of the gate. i pick up a spray of neem leaves lying near my feet and find they aren't neem leaves at all. the world is full of resemblances. then her car arrives and we climb in. when we get to the market, z is still talking about outside-ness and inside-ness, and i am trying to imagine the everyday life of a bhawal prince - the days out hunting, the nights in with wives or mistresses. i want to buy a cigarette, z says, will you wait a bit?
we stand in the shade of a tree while z smokes. i think about s, my last boyfriend, whom i haven't met in a long time. he moved to baroda a while ago to get a degree in painting. i look back on the years s and i spent together, thinking of how we move through the world and then carry our experiences around inside us, turned into stories. outside, inside. i have started to sweat again. perhaps, z says, stubbing out her cigarette, i don't need to use a performer in this installation at all. i agree, but i tell her i'll think about writing a text anyway. we say goodbye.
19.
nineteenth forwarded conversation
subject: »proposition«
from: <[email protected]> _ 10 november 2012 _ 09:26
so, question 1: do you like the hills? and question 2: do you like walking? i'm up in naini, and look all set to remain here till mid december. and questions 1 and 2 above are a way of working round to - question 3: would you like to come up and spend a few days with me? [assuming you also have, apart from the inclination, the time?] [main question, yes.] it's quiet, i read walk eat and sleep and that's about it. it's also cold, but not while the sun's out. i felt it might be nice to see you here on the hillside. so i thought i'd ask. x.
so, question 1: do you like the hills? and question 2: do you like walking? i'm up in naini, and look all set to remain here till mid december. and questions 1 and 2 above are a way of working round to - question 3: would you like to come up and spend a few days with me? [assuming you also have, apart from the inclination, the time?] [main question, yes.] it's quiet, i read walk eat and sleep and that's about it. it's also cold, but not while the sun's out. i felt it might be nice to see you here on the hillside. so i thought i'd ask. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 15 november 2012 _ 15:16
yes. that's my answer to all 3 of your questions. took some time to answer it because i didn't know when i'd be able to come. still don't. i want to. hope i'd be able to. headed to chandigarh for a friend's wedding from 22nd to 26th. need to rush back to delhi after that. looking to change my agency and find another, better paying job. amidst the stupidity in my office, your proposition seems like a great offer. which it is on its own. i love the hills.
yes. that's my answer to all 3 of your questions. took some time to answer it because i didn't know when i'd be able to come. still don't. i want to. hope i'd be able to. headed to chandigarh for a friend's wedding from 22nd to 26th. need to rush back to delhi after that. looking to change my agency and find another, better paying job. amidst the stupidity in my office, your proposition seems like a great offer. which it is on its own. i love the hills.
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 november 2012 _ 10:59
good. come anytime. there'll always be a bed. but if you come before the 18th or between the 21st and 25th i'll also have other company. [which is fine too.] x.
good. come anytime. there'll always be a bed. but if you come before the 18th or between the 21st and 25th i'll also have other company. [which is fine too.] x.
20.
twentieth forwarded conversation
subject: » - «
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 november 2012 _ 13:15
the word on the hillside is that you're busy flirting with pretty boys in clubs. so they're saying, at any rate. x.
the word on the hillside is that you're busy flirting with pretty boys in clubs. so they're saying, at any rate. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 november 2012 _ 13:46
saw the person who probably uttered those words. seemed like he confused himself for me. i was simply enjoying my beers. and telling some people who were hitting on me to fuck off. i'm headed to chandigarh tomorrow afternoon. really excited.
saw the person who probably uttered those words. seemed like he confused himself for me. i was simply enjoying my beers. and telling some people who were hitting on me to fuck off. i'm headed to chandigarh tomorrow afternoon. really excited.
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 november 2012 _ 14:48
:) i'll be with friends. don't know the city. no fooling around.
:) i'll be with friends. don't know the city. no fooling around.
21.
twenty-first forwarded conversation
subject: »just so you know«
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 november 2012 _ 17:40
transport options from chandigarh to nainital. by car: take a car or hire a cab from chandigarh to nainital, which takes around 10 hours. the cost of cab ranges from INR7 to INR24 per kilometre, depending upon the type of the car. ideal for travelling in groups. by bus: take a bus from chandigarh to nainital, which takes about 10 hours. the nainital bus depot is located in the city centre. travelling by bus is economical and recommended for individual travellers and youngsters.
transport options from chandigarh to nainital. by car: take a car or hire a cab from chandigarh to nainital, which takes around 10 hours. the cost of cab ranges from INR7 to INR24 per kilometre, depending upon the type of the car. ideal for travelling in groups. by bus: take a bus from chandigarh to nainital, which takes about 10 hours. the nainital bus depot is located in the city centre. travelling by bus is economical and recommended for individual travellers and youngsters.
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 november 2012 _ 01:12
that mail made me smile and really happy. but. i'm back in delhi. will probably see you sometime early december. before you come back. i'll try to. i want to.
that mail made me smile and really happy. but. i'm back in delhi. will probably see you sometime early december. before you come back. i'll try to. i want to.
22.
twenty-second forwarded conversation
subject: »sorry«
from: <[email protected]> _ 12 december 2012 _ 11:45
naini looks improbable now. sorry. things have come up that i need to deal with. kicking myself right now.
naini looks improbable now. sorry. things have come up that i need to deal with. kicking myself right now.
from: <[email protected]> _ 12 december 2012 _ 23:54
and funnily i'm reading this message back in delhi. got asked to come down to mumbai to step in for someone at a concert next week for a new music piece that involves a pianist a violinist a clarinettist and an actor. so heading down to mumbai in a hurry tomorrow, to start rehearsing it. something's looking out for you. hope whatever came up isn't too unpleasant. and don't kick yourself, i'll do it for you. with much pleasure. on my return. around christmas. x. xx.
and funnily i'm reading this message back in delhi. got asked to come down to mumbai to step in for someone at a concert next week for a new music piece that involves a pianist a violinist a clarinettist and an actor. so heading down to mumbai in a hurry tomorrow, to start rehearsing it. something's looking out for you. hope whatever came up isn't too unpleasant. and don't kick yourself, i'll do it for you. with much pleasure. on my return. around christmas. x. xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 december 2012 _ 02:07
let me know when you're back in delhi. need to see you. in person. and touch you.
let me know when you're back in delhi. need to see you. in person. and touch you.
23.
twenty-third forwarded conversation
subject: »back«
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 december 2012 _ 19:04
how about tomorrow?
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 12:13
...which is now today?
how about tomorrow?
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 12:13
...which is now today?
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 12:53
i was thinking of watching the hobbit tonight. it goes off screens tomorrow. so... either later tonight or tomorrow?
i was thinking of watching the hobbit tonight. it goes off screens tomorrow. so... either later tonight or tomorrow?
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 13:06
go hobbit away, mister man. tomorrow i'm dinnering early with my folks, should be back home by ten. after that is just fine...
go hobbit away, mister man. tomorrow i'm dinnering early with my folks, should be back home by ten. after that is just fine...
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 13:45
okay. keep some stuff for me. i'll be hungry when i come, i know. see you tomorrow.
okay. keep some stuff for me. i'll be hungry when i come, i know. see you tomorrow.
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 december 2012 _ 20:09
then of course it gets more complicated. handsomeandmuchmissed, let's not do tomorrow. because rohit [my other self from mumbai] is in town and has decided he's abandoning his relatives in punjabi bagh to spend some nights with me. he'll be here in a bit. let's quietly move this to next week, and just pretend we didn't almost get it together... [sorry.] x.
then of course it gets more complicated. handsomeandmuchmissed, let's not do tomorrow. because rohit [my other self from mumbai] is in town and has decided he's abandoning his relatives in punjabi bagh to spend some nights with me. he'll be here in a bit. let's quietly move this to next week, and just pretend we didn't almost get it together... [sorry.] x.
24.
twenty-fourth forwarded conversation
subject: »next week«
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 january 2013 _ 18:04
it did, didn't it? i'm to blame. i'm sorry yet again. not monday, but - tuesday? wednesday?
it did, didn't it? i'm to blame. i'm sorry yet again. not monday, but - tuesday? wednesday?
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 january 2013 _ 22:13
may i call you an idiot? i really want to call you an idiot. the idea was not to get you to apologize. i wanted to say that i really want to see you. i might go and watch vagina monologues in hindi on tuesday. at blue frog. wednesday is good.
may i call you an idiot? i really want to call you an idiot. the idea was not to get you to apologize. i wanted to say that i really want to see you. i might go and watch vagina monologues in hindi on tuesday. at blue frog. wednesday is good.
from: <[email protected]> _ 7 january 2013 _ 06:53
call me an idiot by all means, just see me wednesday. x.
call me an idiot by all means, just see me wednesday. x.
25.
twenty-fifth forwarded conversation
subject: »storm warning«
from: <[email protected]> _ 7 january 2013 _ 17:57
i've had an ache in my bones all day. and a scratchiness at the back of my throat. and am now running a temperature. so we might just spend wednesday night re-enacting the crimean war. with me being dying soldier, and you being florence nightingale. all of which is fine with me. but i thought i should let you know. so you can bring an appropriate costume. and a lamp, you know. x.
i've had an ache in my bones all day. and a scratchiness at the back of my throat. and am now running a temperature. so we might just spend wednesday night re-enacting the crimean war. with me being dying soldier, and you being florence nightingale. all of which is fine with me. but i thought i should let you know. so you can bring an appropriate costume. and a lamp, you know. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 8 january 2013 _ 01:10
i'm scared now. logged in to my mail account to tell you incident. might have told you earlier. went out with my ex once for a house party. his best friend's brother was there. told me not to hit on him. asked him why would i do that. he replied, he looks like rehaan and i know you have a crush on him.
i'm scared now. logged in to my mail account to tell you incident. might have told you earlier. went out with my ex once for a house party. his best friend's brother was there. told me not to hit on him. asked him why would i do that. he replied, he looks like rehaan and i know you have a crush on him.
26.
twenty-sixth forwarded conversation
subject: »worse«
from: <[email protected]> _ 9 january 2013 _ 11:19
now i also have a cold, in addition to the ache and the coming and going fever. there's no point meeting. i want to see you when i'm in a position to enjoy it. at least a little. and not when i'm gloomy and possibly infectious. sometime sunday perhaps? x.
now i also have a cold, in addition to the ache and the coming and going fever. there's no point meeting. i want to see you when i'm in a position to enjoy it. at least a little. and not when i'm gloomy and possibly infectious. sometime sunday perhaps? x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 10 january 2013 _ 09:50
as it happens, my mum's friend pomo who has a farm in punjab just sent me a whole carton of oranges. so if my skin is a funny shade when we meet, you'll know why. x.
as it happens, my mum's friend pomo who has a farm in punjab just sent me a whole carton of oranges. so if my skin is a funny shade when we meet, you'll know why. x.
27.
twenty-seventh forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »fixing«
from: <[email protected]> _ 12 january 2013 _ 19:33
so. today's the first day the fever hasn't returned sneakily in the evening, regardless of how well i feel in the morning. have been indoors a lot, and in bed a lot. can we meet outdoors, in the daytime? maybe 4? maybe take a walk? lodi / jahanpanah / nehru park / some such? hopingly.
so. today's the first day the fever hasn't returned sneakily in the evening, regardless of how well i feel in the morning. have been indoors a lot, and in bed a lot. can we meet outdoors, in the daytime? maybe 4? maybe take a walk? lodi / jahanpanah / nehru park / some such? hopingly.
28.
twenty-eighth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »morning«
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 10:55
mister t: no news off you - i must remember tiwariresponsetime is slower than i think. heading to daryaganj for a couple hours. will be back by 3 i imagine, and hope to have heard from you by then. then we can plan, possibly for while it's still daylight... hopingly. x.
mister t: no news off you - i must remember tiwariresponsetime is slower than i think. heading to daryaganj for a couple hours. will be back by 3 i imagine, and hope to have heard from you by then. then we can plan, possibly for while it's still daylight... hopingly. x.
29.
twenty-ninth forwarded conversation
subject: » ... «
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 14:52
no news. now i really don't get it. right, tired, going to nap for a bit. x.
no news. now i really don't get it. right, tired, going to nap for a bit. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 19:01
logged in a few times yesterday to check if there's a mail from you. checking email on a weekend is a pain for me. my phone doesn't allow swift response and login. thought i'd mentioned that before.
logged in a few times yesterday to check if there's a mail from you. checking email on a weekend is a pain for me. my phone doesn't allow swift response and login. thought i'd mentioned that before.
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 19:20
headed to india habitat centre from my gym's rajouri garden branch. have to pick up tickets for a stand up comedy show on the 25th, for my friends. can't book online. free after that.
headed to india habitat centre from my gym's rajouri garden branch. have to pick up tickets for a stand up comedy show on the 25th, for my friends. can't book online. free after that.
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 19:28
okay. drop by i guess. if you're up for it. whenever. 271 kailash hills, 3rd floor.
okay. drop by i guess. if you're up for it. whenever. 271 kailash hills, 3rd floor.
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 19:48
no, no - not pissed off at all, mister t. vague plans disconcert me, is all. i like to feel i know time and place and all of that in advance. then i organize the rest of my day accordingly. days filled with wondering what the as-yet-unmade-plan is make me feel very un-something. un-settled, i guess. that's all. also i was hoping to meet you outdoors and be able to do something. but that's neither here nor there now...
no, no - not pissed off at all, mister t. vague plans disconcert me, is all. i like to feel i know time and place and all of that in advance. then i organize the rest of my day accordingly. days filled with wondering what the as-yet-unmade-plan is make me feel very un-something. un-settled, i guess. that's all. also i was hoping to meet you outdoors and be able to do something. but that's neither here nor there now...
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 _ 19:57
i like movies. a nice one playing at select city walk. i'd really like to watch it with you tonight. it's at ten.
i like movies. a nice one playing at select city walk. i'd really like to watch it with you tonight. it's at ten.
from: <[email protected]> _ 13 january 2013 - 20:03
i'll see you at select city walk. barista. first floor. at ten.
i'll see you at select city walk. barista. first floor. at ten.
from: <[email protected]> _ 14 january 2013 _ 02:06
yes indeed, home a while ago. thanks. again. x.
yes indeed, home a while ago. thanks. again. x.
30.
thirtieth forwarded conversation
subject: »random lick«
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 february 2013 _ 14:24
it was my birthday yesterday. when do you want to lick it unlike an email envelope?
it was my birthday yesterday. when do you want to lick it unlike an email envelope?
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 february 2013 _ 12:10
well what do you know? happy happies. and speaking of which - i'd be more than happy to lick that ear right now, mister tiwari. and other bits of you as well while i'm about it. slightly crazy week up ahead though. visitors from out of town. i wish you lived close enough for little ten minute drop-in visits. drop-in lick visits. x.
well what do you know? happy happies. and speaking of which - i'd be more than happy to lick that ear right now, mister tiwari. and other bits of you as well while i'm about it. slightly crazy week up ahead though. visitors from out of town. i wish you lived close enough for little ten minute drop-in visits. drop-in lick visits. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 3 march 2013 _ 03:55
good morning, tiwariboy. yes they have. except for that visitor of visitors. boy from baroda, you know. who is here for a week more. x.
good morning, tiwariboy. yes they have. except for that visitor of visitors. boy from baroda, you know. who is here for a week more. x.
31.
thirty-first forwarded conversation
subject: »one of those messages«
from: <[email protected]> _ 11 april 2013 _ 21:06
greetings, stranger. have been away, up in the hills. am back in delhi. would like to see your face. more precisely: would like you to come over and sleep in my bed one night. if you feel the same way, get in touch. x.
greetings, stranger. have been away, up in the hills. am back in delhi. would like to see your face. more precisely: would like you to come over and sleep in my bed one night. if you feel the same way, get in touch. x.
the m-block market is set around a small square lawn. it must be past four by now, i think, hurrying around it to the coffee shop. a bearded boy waiting in front of it raises his hand when he sees me. hi, he says, when i get closer. what are you doing out here, s? i ask, a little embarrassed to be caught running, did you just arrive? no, he says, there's no place in there, it's packed.
we hug, and step in for a moment to make sure there are no tables available. the one free table is tiny, and pressed in by crowds, so we head to another café, which is as busy as the first. while s looks around, i try to catch the eye of a boy in a white shirt sitting by the door reading. he doesn't look up from his book. no, nothing here either, s says.
we consider crossing over to the other side of the market when we notice a new tea place nearby, part of a chain that neither of us has tried yet. shall we just go here? chai instead of coffee? s asks. why not? i say. it looks deserted. s pushes open the door and checks that they are open. we choose a table by the wall and settle in.
so how have you been? s asks. good, good, i say, and you? what's this new job of yours? he pulls a face, and waves my question away: i'll tell you later. we try to get a waiter's attention. i raise my hand, and s raises his. nothing. i guess we have to go up to the counter to order, s says. at the cashier we find a little sign saying self-service. i order a cold masala chai, and s asks for a hot lemon tea. or maybe not, he says, changing his mind, maybe i'll get a cold chai as well. they have some cakes under glass. i ask for a slice of the carrot cake. s is too full to eat, he says. the cashier will call my name when our order is ready. we sit back down.
s asks after v, my new boyfriend: how is he doing? he's well, i say, he's on holiday with his family. they're all down in goa for a couple of days. nice, s says, how long has it been for you guys, two years now? a girl fiddling with her phone a table away looks over at us. about two years, yes, i say. s raises his eyebrows. long time, he says, drawing out the 'o' in a way he sometimes has. i ask him how his back is doing. s has had back trouble for as long as i have known him. it's finally sorted, he says. an amazing doctor in baroda helped him with it. i hear my name being called and start to get up, but s says i'll get it.
s is looking well, i think to myself as i watch him carry the tray back to the table and we sort out his cinnamon from my masala chai. the tea has no sugar in it, i go and find us some packets. as i'm tearing one open, s says it's all at the bottom, you probably need to stir it. the slice of cake feels smaller on my plate than it did on the counter. it comes with an almost-weightless plastic spoon. i see i've only brought three sugars, and wonder whether s will want more then one. he is asking me something, saying you heard, right? about abhishek? i look back up at him. abhishek who? i ask. tiwari, he says. for a moment i don't know whom he means. arrey, your friend, abhishek tiwari, s says again. i haven't heard anything. but there is an awkward look on s's face - almost a smile, except it doesn't mean what a smile means - and, all at once, i know what he is going to say.
i don't move. i wait, keeping my eyes on s, holding the spoon motionless above the cake. as though staying still will somehow keep me in this moment, will somehow hold off finding out and everything that follows. the room shrinks down around me, and i sense i might be staring at s a little too fixedly. when we were together, he often spoke of being scared of my anger, and i wonder whether i look angry to him, now. then i hear a little sound, like a string snapping, or a sheet unfolding when it is flicked out over a bed. it seems to come from somewhere just above and to the right of my head at the same time as i feel it inside my stomach. and s says: he died.
my eyes shut. i open them again. when? i ask. a couple of weeks ago, s says. i'm sorry, you were in mumbai, i thought maybe you'd heard.
i hear myself asking s what happened, and listen as he tells a confusing story about a lung infection. a voice in my head is saying there must be some mistake, but i can't tell who is speaking, or who is being spoken to. a couple of weeks ago. a lung infection. when did i get back from mumbai? ten days ago, or less. how long since i last heard from abhishek? a month and a half? two?
i eat the cake, and sip the tea. i don't really know what happens next. s finishes his story, and starts to talk about something else - his new boss, a film they're trying to get made, the details are hard to follow. i listen and nod, and agree when i think he wants me to. the girl with the phone keeps looking over at us. the sofa s is sitting on is a brilliant green. the cake is dense and chewy, and tastes of cinnamon.
then s's phone rings, and he answers it. i look out at an old tree that is leaning slowly over to one side in front of the café. s puts the phone down. there is a pause. so, what else is happening? s asks. i make myself look back at him. i open my mouth to reply, but there is a sound filling my head now, a sound like rain, like water falling on water. it is louder than anything i can think of to say. and, as it grows, it begins to swallow down everything around me - s, and the café, and mumbai, and the last couple of weeks. i manage to say i'm sorry before i start to cry.
s looks around the room, and puts one hand on my arm. i stop crying, and i start to cry again. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, s says himself a few times. at some point the girl at the next table vanishes. i excuse myself to go wash my face.
the washroom is tiny, i feel i can barely turn around inside it. i wait there for a minute and come back to the table. can we step out? i say, i'd like some air.
we climb up to a park straddling a rise behind the market. a narrow track loops all the way around it, boxed in by hedges. he's gone, i think as we walk, he's gone. the sentence keeps turning itself over in my head - he's gone, he's gone, he's gone - a room i can't get out of, a locked door to which i keep trying the handle.
a dog thrusts his body through a gap in the hedge in front of us as someone looms up behind, a young man with grey hair, we part to make way for him. he half-nods at us as he walks on, his figure shrinking quickly down to nothing. i look around at the buildings and grass and trees. the world feels thin, flattened down, my eyes slide off its surfaces. approaching the end of the circuit, we come to some sagging wooden benches. s blinks slowly as he says: you want to sit?
we sit, facing a run-down set of swings and a see-saw balanced implausibly in mid-air. he's gone, the voice in my head says again. as if nothing has ever surprised me before this. as if, repeated often enough, the trap will spring open and something hidden inside the sentence will reveal itself. i try he isn't here instead, but the trap waits at the start of the sentence - the moment i use the pronoun, it has already closed around me. anything that comes after can only reach backwards to cancel it out. he. abhishek. he who was abhishek. he who was.
when we get up, i go over to the see-saw. i touch the plank, which immediately topples over onto one side. i feel a compulsion to balance it again before we leave. it takes me a long time.
s and i walk again, and sit again, on a stone bench under a tree whose long leaves hang down over our heads. you okay? s asks. i have swallowed a stone that fills my stomach, i am carrying an object i can't put down. i'm good, i say. i never imagined this would be the end of the story, i think to myself, and then, immediately after, i always knew this would be the end of the story.
s pulls out his phone and shows me videos of his niece in america. how old is she? i ask. three now, he says. in the first clip, she steps from one wooden block to another, in another she clambers over a rock on all fours. somewhere she is wearing a dress that s bought her. somewhere else she sings happy birthday, very sweetly, for s's father, whom she calls ababa. the light is fading. we walk out of the park.
32.
thirty-second forwarded conversation
subject: »thought«
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2013 _ 21:34
hello vanished. i feel like i want to make you pay for vanishing, but have no idea how to do that. x.
hello vanished. i feel like i want to make you pay for vanishing, but have no idea how to do that. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2013 _ 22:18
had shit loads of work. dad was diagnosed with liver cirrhosis, tuberculosis and some lesions that could have been liver cancer. thankfully cancer was ruled out. he's in bombay, at my sister's place. was there for work and to be with him. other than that, still looking to change jobs.
had shit loads of work. dad was diagnosed with liver cirrhosis, tuberculosis and some lesions that could have been liver cancer. thankfully cancer was ruled out. he's in bombay, at my sister's place. was there for work and to be with him. other than that, still looking to change jobs.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2013 _ 23:01
sorry to hear it. hope your job situation sorts itself out. hope all situations improve. x.
sorry to hear it. hope your job situation sorts itself out. hope all situations improve. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2013 _ 23:06
job situation may get better tomorrow, hopefully. dad's month and half long fever finally broke last week. now i'm undergoing some treatments. keeping my fingers crossed.
job situation may get better tomorrow, hopefully. dad's month and half long fever finally broke last week. now i'm undergoing some treatments. keeping my fingers crossed.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 july 2013 _ 23:59
don't know yet. awaiting test results. doctor has started me on antibiotics.
don't know yet. awaiting test results. doctor has started me on antibiotics.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 july 2013 _ 21:08
and do you know now, mister t? and are you feeling better, whether or not you know? x.
and do you know now, mister t? and are you feeling better, whether or not you know? x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 july 2013 _ 22:28
the test results are due tomorrow evening. feeling much better. going by the symptoms i strongly suspected gonorrhea. doctor thinks otherwise. he's put me on a broad spectrum antibiotic. and no, i did not have unprotected sex.
the test results are due tomorrow evening. feeling much better. going by the symptoms i strongly suspected gonorrhea. doctor thinks otherwise. he's put me on a broad spectrum antibiotic. and no, i did not have unprotected sex.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 july 2013 _ 02:46
i'm not even entirely sure what the symptoms of gonorrhea are. and if you did have unprotected sex, mister t, i wouldn't hold it against you at all. i think the always-safe-sex-brigade are a bunch of neurotics. x.
i'm not even entirely sure what the symptoms of gonorrhea are. and if you did have unprotected sex, mister t, i wouldn't hold it against you at all. i think the always-safe-sex-brigade are a bunch of neurotics. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 july 2013 _ 22:47
good that you don't. it's pretty disgusting. practicing safer sex got me here. i shudder to think of what would have happened otherwise.
good that you don't. it's pretty disgusting. practicing safer sex got me here. i shudder to think of what would have happened otherwise.
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 july 2013 _ 20:12
there's a perfectly simple solution: we meet. [let's.] x.
there's a perfectly simple solution: we meet. [let's.] x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 29 july 2013 _ 22:35
let's. also, it was vriksh's birthday yesterday. hope you wished him.
let's. also, it was vriksh's birthday yesterday. hope you wished him.
33.
thirty-third forwarded conversation
subject: »you disappeared«
from: <[email protected]> _ 17 august 2013 _ 12:10
your messages stopped abruptly. have a feeling sandip is back in town.
your messages stopped abruptly. have a feeling sandip is back in town.
from: <[email protected]> _ 18 august 2013 _ 09:08
i have no idea if he is or isn't. we're not really in touch. ...i was waiting for you to make a meeting suggestion. perhaps i should have made one? have also had loads of friends parading through town. and an exhibition showing some of my drawings opening this week. so lots of stuff to attend to. bas, itna hi. x.
i have no idea if he is or isn't. we're not really in touch. ...i was waiting for you to make a meeting suggestion. perhaps i should have made one? have also had loads of friends parading through town. and an exhibition showing some of my drawings opening this week. so lots of stuff to attend to. bas, itna hi. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 august 2013 _ 10:51
opens saturday, i think. wait, saturday? yes, i think saturday. at this place: http://www.jan-path.com/ x.
opens saturday, i think. wait, saturday? yes, i think saturday. at this place: http://www.jan-path.com/ x.
34.
thirty-fourth forwarded conversation
subject: »this is to let you know that i am«
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 november 2013 _ 21:26
still alive. and i trust you are too. hello, mister tiwari. x.
still alive. and i trust you are too. hello, mister tiwari. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 22 november 2013 _ 12:24
:) yes. and always thinking of you when someone mentions of anyone who likes to walk. i'm alive.
from: <[email protected]> 8 september 2014 _ 08:13
alive? been missing you.
:) yes. and always thinking of you when someone mentions of anyone who likes to walk. i'm alive.
from: <[email protected]> 8 september 2014 _ 08:13
alive? been missing you.
from: <[email protected]> _ 8 september 2014 _ 16:12
i think of you often. and i sort of assumed you were busy with other things. by things i mean people. and that i had been pushed to the back of your head. i'd be happy to meet. more than. let's.
i think of you often. and i sort of assumed you were busy with other things. by things i mean people. and that i had been pushed to the back of your head. i'd be happy to meet. more than. let's.
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 september 2014 _ 00:16
was busy getting my life in order. i might be suffering from a general anxiety disorder. i'm sure i am. need a doctor's prescription to confirm. turning an alcoholic trying to self medicate. you were always being thought of. didn't want to involve you in my shit. changing jobs too. hope to see you soon, sans the baggage. abhishek.
was busy getting my life in order. i might be suffering from a general anxiety disorder. i'm sure i am. need a doctor's prescription to confirm. turning an alcoholic trying to self medicate. you were always being thought of. didn't want to involve you in my shit. changing jobs too. hope to see you soon, sans the baggage. abhishek.
from: <[email protected]> _ 21 september 2014 _ 08:42
hope to see you soon. with/without baggage. baggage will always be with us. heavy or light. but time, it just keeps moving on. xx.
hope to see you soon. with/without baggage. baggage will always be with us. heavy or light. but time, it just keeps moving on. xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 september 2014 _ 19:14
this is turning out to be the most unexpectedly busy week in recent history. how's one evening next week for you? wednesday? thursday? friday? x.
this is turning out to be the most unexpectedly busy week in recent history. how's one evening next week for you? wednesday? thursday? friday? x.
35.
thirty-fifth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »to let you know that i've«
from: <[email protected]> _ 2 october 2014 _ 14:14
been in bed since sunday, with a bad-back-thing that pays me an annual visit. better now, and looking forward to heading out of the house, after recent prisoner-hood. re: tomorrow - can do anything that involves standing / walking / lying down. [ahem.] but not too good at the sitting-for-long-periods yet. you figure we can find a way round that? x.
been in bed since sunday, with a bad-back-thing that pays me an annual visit. better now, and looking forward to heading out of the house, after recent prisoner-hood. re: tomorrow - can do anything that involves standing / walking / lying down. [ahem.] but not too good at the sitting-for-long-periods yet. you figure we can find a way round that? x.
36.
thirty-sixth forwarded conversation*
[*single message]
subject: »do we have us a«
37.
thirty-seventh forwarded conversation
subject: »no news.«
from: <[email protected]> _ 3 october 2014 _ 18:39
faced with the choice of either sitting around waiting to hear from you, or else settling back to work, i've decided to do the latter. apologies - shall we simply reschedule, then?
faced with the choice of either sitting around waiting to hear from you, or else settling back to work, i've decided to do the latter. apologies - shall we simply reschedule, then?
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 06:57
please, let us. was waiting for an update from you. my bad, didn't message asking. :-/
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 06:57
had an off. didn't check my mail.
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 06:59
would you care to meet for coffee? i pay. you choose the place.
please, let us. was waiting for an update from you. my bad, didn't message asking. :-/
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 06:57
had an off. didn't check my mail.
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 06:59
would you care to meet for coffee? i pay. you choose the place.
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 october 2014 _ 09:53
of course let's meet. the question is when. today i've got one visitor after another, in from mumbai. tomorrow i'm spending the day with my parents. one evening next week? monday's tied up already. saturday i leave for himachal for a couple of weeks. x.
of course let's meet. the question is when. today i've got one visitor after another, in from mumbai. tomorrow i'm spending the day with my parents. one evening next week? monday's tied up already. saturday i leave for himachal for a couple of weeks. x.
38.
thirty-eighth forwarded conversation
subject: »so we«
from: <[email protected]> _ 24 december 2014 _ 23:03
didn't manage to meet in 2014. trust you're having a good end-of-year. and hope we'll have better luck next year. hug.
didn't manage to meet in 2014. trust you're having a good end-of-year. and hope we'll have better luck next year. hug.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 december 2014 _ 09:51
something tells me you're busy over the weekend. true? hugs and kisses.
something tells me you're busy over the weekend. true? hugs and kisses.
from: <[email protected]> _ 26 december 2014 _ 10:42
this weekend - yes. but all the weekends of 2015 - not so far. all you have to do is say which one you want... x.
this weekend - yes. but all the weekends of 2015 - not so far. all you have to do is say which one you want... x.
39.
thirty-ninth forwarded conversation
subject: »i think it's«
from: <[email protected]> _ 1 august 2015 _ 18:17
ridiculous, how long goes by without our meeting. or even writing. hello, long ago. i'm in nainital. and thinking about you. sending an only-slightly-wet hug. hope all is well. xx.
ridiculous, how long goes by without our meeting. or even writing. hello, long ago. i'm in nainital. and thinking about you. sending an only-slightly-wet hug. hope all is well. xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 4 august 2015 _ 16:37
only-intermittent internet here on the hillside. but at some point this month i'll be back in delhi. if you're about... x.
only-intermittent internet here on the hillside. but at some point this month i'll be back in delhi. if you're about... x.
40.
fortieth forwarded conversation
subject: »hi«
from: <[email protected]> _ 10 october 2015 _ 08:40
i want to see you. have lost a shit load of weight and look anorexic and unattractive.
i want to see you. have lost a shit load of weight and look anorexic and unattractive.
from: <[email protected]> _ 10 october 2015 _ 10:02
you could never look unattractive, handsome. and i want to see you very much, but i'm in mumbai - again, still - helping my friend vikranth. his show opens on the 21st. after which i have a week of work to do with some singer friends who are doing a little informal presentation of some opera scenes. i reckon i'll get back to delhi around the 29th or so. and hopefully spend a few days before heading up to nainital for diwali. shall we meet when i'm passing through? and if we don't manage it you want to take some time off and come up to stay with me in naini for a bit...? have you been unwell? what's been going on? sending a long hug. x.
you could never look unattractive, handsome. and i want to see you very much, but i'm in mumbai - again, still - helping my friend vikranth. his show opens on the 21st. after which i have a week of work to do with some singer friends who are doing a little informal presentation of some opera scenes. i reckon i'll get back to delhi around the 29th or so. and hopefully spend a few days before heading up to nainital for diwali. shall we meet when i'm passing through? and if we don't manage it you want to take some time off and come up to stay with me in naini for a bit...? have you been unwell? what's been going on? sending a long hug. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 11 october 2015 _ 09:09
fantastic. do. i'll write you as soon as i know when exactly i'm up there. i reckon it's safe to assume something like november 5th / 6th to nearly the end of the month... x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 5 november 2015 _ 10:34
hola boyo. just to say - in bareilly, and heading up to naini by early next week. intend to stay till the end of the month for sure. and possibly even into early december. all good with you? xx.
fantastic. do. i'll write you as soon as i know when exactly i'm up there. i reckon it's safe to assume something like november 5th / 6th to nearly the end of the month... x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 5 november 2015 _ 10:34
hola boyo. just to say - in bareilly, and heading up to naini by early next week. intend to stay till the end of the month for sure. and possibly even into early december. all good with you? xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 5 november 2015 _ 18:28
got fired from work. all okay otherwise.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 november 2015 _ 02:49
skinny and out of job. nobody cares anymore. i understand.
got fired from work. all okay otherwise.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 november 2015 _ 02:49
skinny and out of job. nobody cares anymore. i understand.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 november 2015 _ 08:23
boy-o: sorry to hear about job. but i wouldn't worry about it too much, if i were you. there are lots of jobs out there, and no doubt you'll find another. perhaps even one you prefer. your being jobless doesn't makes me care less about you - any more than your now-being-skinny does. in the meantime - feel free to come up to naini, and spend as long as you like. things are quiet in the hills, as i expect you know. but if you're happy to deal with that, i'm happy to have you around. long hug.
boy-o: sorry to hear about job. but i wouldn't worry about it too much, if i were you. there are lots of jobs out there, and no doubt you'll find another. perhaps even one you prefer. your being jobless doesn't makes me care less about you - any more than your now-being-skinny does. in the meantime - feel free to come up to naini, and spend as long as you like. things are quiet in the hills, as i expect you know. but if you're happy to deal with that, i'm happy to have you around. long hug.
from: <[email protected]> _ 6 november 2015 _ 10:48
i want to come up there for a few days. tell me the best way.
i want to come up there for a few days. tell me the best way.
from: <[email protected]> _ 7 november 2015 _ 11:39
so. either you get one of those big volvo buses that come all the way up to naini directly [there are night ones and day ones, i think, and the journey takes some 8 hours], or else you get to kathgodam [which is at the foot of the hill] by train, and then share a cab up. this is the address - clifton cottage, 110/1 ayarpatta, nainital 263 001. essentially, all you need to do is find your way to the 'naini retreat' hotel. it's very well known, pretty much anyone will be able to tell you where it is. right at their main gate + parking lot, there's a walking path that goes up the hill to your right, with a sign saying "clifton." keep walking up it [go past two bends] and you'll see a big house and a small. we're the small, clifton cottage. if you decide to get on one of the volvos, let me know what time it's arriving and i can come meet you down by the lake, where the buses stop...
so. either you get one of those big volvo buses that come all the way up to naini directly [there are night ones and day ones, i think, and the journey takes some 8 hours], or else you get to kathgodam [which is at the foot of the hill] by train, and then share a cab up. this is the address - clifton cottage, 110/1 ayarpatta, nainital 263 001. essentially, all you need to do is find your way to the 'naini retreat' hotel. it's very well known, pretty much anyone will be able to tell you where it is. right at their main gate + parking lot, there's a walking path that goes up the hill to your right, with a sign saying "clifton." keep walking up it [go past two bends] and you'll see a big house and a small. we're the small, clifton cottage. if you decide to get on one of the volvos, let me know what time it's arriving and i can come meet you down by the lake, where the buses stop...
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 november 2015 _ 11:04
after getting fired from my job on a monday, got assaulted by my flatmate on friday. gay bashed. recovering in agra.
after getting fired from my job on a monday, got assaulted by my flatmate on friday. gay bashed. recovering in agra.
from: <[email protected]> _ 19 november 2015 _ 20:49
mister t. i'm really sorry. i don't know what to say. if you want a change of air at any point, consider coming. if you don't feel up to meeting other people, or travelling, or any such, i'll see you whenever we're back in the same city again. sending every good wish. and a long hug. and a second long hug. x.
mister t. i'm really sorry. i don't know what to say. if you want a change of air at any point, consider coming. if you don't feel up to meeting other people, or travelling, or any such, i'll see you whenever we're back in the same city again. sending every good wish. and a long hug. and a second long hug. x.
from: <[email protected]> _ 23 november 2015 _ 01:31
lost my job on a my job on a monday, got assaulted on friday. bad week. my flatmate told me it was illegal to be me, which is to be gay, i replied with "probably you're a closet case yourself." was sleeping when he barged into my room and hit me with everything he had. didn't have time to react. suture wanting wound on the head, black eye and a bloody nose right now. guess i'll see you some other time. recovering in agra.
lost my job on a my job on a monday, got assaulted on friday. bad week. my flatmate told me it was illegal to be me, which is to be gay, i replied with "probably you're a closet case yourself." was sleeping when he barged into my room and hit me with everything he had. didn't have time to react. suture wanting wound on the head, black eye and a bloody nose right now. guess i'll see you some other time. recovering in agra.
41.
forty-first forwarded conversation
subject: »just to say hello«
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 april 2016 _ 01:07
hey, left delhi. for good. until i decide what to do next. been home in agra since december. not agra exactly. but definitely out of delhi. hope you're good.
hey, left delhi. for good. until i decide what to do next. been home in agra since december. not agra exactly. but definitely out of delhi. hope you're good.
from: <[email protected]> _ 25 april 2016 _ 07:51
damn. i'm really sorry to hear it. however little we saw of each other over the last couple years, i always liked the thought of seeing you again. and assumed it would keep happening. well, i hope you're doing good at the moment. and send a long hug. xx.
damn. i'm really sorry to hear it. however little we saw of each other over the last couple years, i always liked the thought of seeing you again. and assumed it would keep happening. well, i hope you're doing good at the moment. and send a long hug. xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 16 may 2016 _ 01:12
you've picked the one place i do my best to stay away from. although there's some small possibility of some of my drawings being shown in a gallery there in august. in which case i'll come down. what are you doing there...?
you've picked the one place i do my best to stay away from. although there's some small possibility of some of my drawings being shown in a gallery there in august. in which case i'll come down. what are you doing there...?
from: <[email protected]> _ 22 may 2016 _ 01:31
dad's chemo. all his doctors are here. trying to relocate to the city. will be easier. or i'm jobless and back in agra. god! i do not want that. love you.
dad's chemo. all his doctors are here. trying to relocate to the city. will be easier. or i'm jobless and back in agra. god! i do not want that. love you.
from: <[email protected]> _ 27 may 2016 _ 22:16
hope everything on dad's treatment front goes well. sending every good wish possible, also, on the relocation front. even if mumbai isn't a city i'd wish on anyone. long hug until we meet and it can be done in person. xx.
hope everything on dad's treatment front goes well. sending every good wish possible, also, on the relocation front. even if mumbai isn't a city i'd wish on anyone. long hug until we meet and it can be done in person. xx.
from: <[email protected]> _ 28 may 2016 _ 23:38
i really do not know. i'm broke and surviving on my mom, dad and sis. guess the news of my alcoholism has spread wide. not getting any interview calls. consultants are not calling me back and disconnecting my calls. cannot live like this. i'm going mad.
from: <[email protected]> _ 28 may 2016 _ 23:39
p.s. i love you.
i really do not know. i'm broke and surviving on my mom, dad and sis. guess the news of my alcoholism has spread wide. not getting any interview calls. consultants are not calling me back and disconnecting my calls. cannot live like this. i'm going mad.
from: <[email protected]> _ 28 may 2016 _ 23:39
p.s. i love you.
from: <[email protected]> _ 3 june 2016 _ 14:19
things will work out. you just have to wait. let me know if there's anything i can help you with. i love you, boy-o. x.
things will work out. you just have to wait. let me know if there's anything i can help you with. i love you, boy-o. x.
there is a photography exhibition opening this evening at a gallery in neeti bagh where my neighbour r works. when i asked s if he'd come with me, he said i don't do openings, but now another friend of his has messaged to say he'll be there, so s decides to join us after all. as we head back down towards the market, i am taken over by the thought of slowly forgetting what abhishek looked like. i have no pictures of him, i say to myself. i can send you some, s says.
we move down the line of auto rickshaws facing the main road. the first wants a hundred rupees to take us. the next asks for seventy, still too much, but we get in. at the last turn, neither s nor i can remember whether to go right or left, until we spot a couple of large guys in black suits standing around outside the gallery, and stop the rickshaw.
the bouncers have their eyes fixed on the middle distance, they pay no attention as we walk past. stepping inside, i see g moving around swiftly on her crutches, examining things in her attentive way. i stop to talk to her as s walks on.
g, a critic whose writing i admire, takes a moment to place me, then smiles and asks what i have been doing with myself. do you have anything new planned for the theatre? she asks. i tell her that i've been making drawings, and would like her to have a look at them. what medium? she wants to know, her tone friendly and confrontational at once. then some new entrants besiege her, and i edge away, looking around at the exhibits, keeping one eye out for r.
the exhibition consists of pictures taken in bangladesh thirty years ago when the mouth of a river was being closed off to create a large freshwater reservoir. the negatives, left on the top shelf of a cupboard in the photographer's flat, ended up damaged by water and attacked by termites, and the photographer - who is also r's lover - is displaying the near-abstractions that are the result. i look at the images, their surfaces now a mass of blisters and eruptions and hallucinogenic blotches of orange yellow and green. the original subjects - men walking across fields, a city bus, a lone boy standing by a haystack - can only occasionally be made out. the gallery text calls the show a meditation on time and loss. it speaks of the photographer's attempt to resurrect what it calls the corpses of his images, an act in which it sees a comment on the futility of the human attempt at preservation.
people are milling about everywhere, although the largest crowds are on the lawn outside where drinks are being served. the futility of the human attempt at preservation isn't uppermost on anyone's mind. i pass a tall boy in a flowered shirt who looks familiar. hey, he says, shaking my hand. hey, i say, shaking his. he is the brother, i remember when he walks away, of the equally-tall girl whose birthday party i attended last night. i spot z's sister-in-law looking a little preoccupied over by the door, and she comes over to say hello, what a surprise to see you here. s is nearby, chatting with a thin boy whom i don't know. he introduces him as a friend of his from play school. from play school? i ask. from high school, he says, heading off to get himself a drink.
the talk around me all feels unnaturally bright. i don't want to stay here long. i'll just find r, i think, say hello, and go home. r has been away in australia for a month promoting her new book - an account of her life with her older lover, whose show this is. looking round the room, i spot her in a tight group behind s, who is struggling to get out onto the lawn. i go over and she pulls me aside immediately. i'm so glad you came, she says, we have so much to catch up on. r has met, she tells me, an interesting man - no, two interesting men - down under, a philosopher and a photographer. and the philosopher, she adds, laughing, was handsome. and practices martial arts. s steps back in without a drink. it's too crowded out there, he says as he makes his way past us. and you came back nevertheless? i ask r. yes, she says, her eyes wide open, he has children with a long-term partner. my conscience wouldn't even let me kiss him.
i tell r that i'm a little tired, and am going to leave in a bit. some people are coming back to my place after the opening, she says, join us if you like? not tonight, i say, perhaps another time. i look around for s again. the friend he was expecting hasn't shown up as yet, he says, and he is going to wait a while longer for him, but he will walk me out of the gallery to say goodbye.
we go out past the bouncers, who are standing around looking bored and surly. how will you get back home? s asks me, you can't take the metro from here. i can get a bus from the ring road, i say. okay then, s says, somewhat formally, take care.
i set off in the direction of the bus stop, and halfway there i change my mind and head to the metro instead. it's further away, and, rounding a corner onto a stream of oncoming traffic, i'm suddenly exhausted, as tired as if i've been walking all day. i'm wondering where i can sit down for a while when i hear a voice calling out my name. i keep walking, and hear it shouted out again over the sound of brakes. i look around.
a girl is waving at me through the window of a car stopped in the middle of the road with a line of cars slowing down to a crawl behind it. it is my friend k, who lives around the corner. she'd said that she wanted to make the opening, but also had a party to get to where she thought she might bump into her ex, and i didn't expect to see her tonight. i hurry across the road, open the car door, and get in beside her.
hello darling, is it over already? k asks, leaning in for a kiss. no, i say, i left early. where are you headed? she asks me. home, i say. k gives me a quick glance as she readjusts her mirror and starts to drive. what's the matter, she asks, is something wrong? yes, i say, and start to tell her. oh no, k says, oh no. she pulls over to the side, and parks in front of a small white gate. the house behind it is dark. do you want to talk, then? k asks, reaching over to pull my head down to her shoulder. do you want to get dinner? what do you want? i watch the headlights of cars behind us as they light up the large leaves of a tree up ahead. i just want to sleep, i tell k. okay, she says, i'll drive you home. but i don't want to get home too quickly, i'd rather spend a little time among strangers. i'll take the metro, i say. what should i do? k asks. just drop me off at the station, i say, i don't really feel like walking there.
we drive over to the hauz khas station, and k stops at the side entrance. promise to meet soon? she says, and i promise. i go down to the platform, where i find a train waiting. only this one is headed in the wrong direction. the doors slide shut, and it vanishes into the tunnel. there is no indication of when the next train north is expected.
i look around me, picturing the long stretches of tunnel running under the city, and all the trains moving through them. close beside me on the platform, three boys are circling a tall girl with orange hair. all three boys have beards, and seem to take turns laughing. one hides his mouth with his phone every time his teeth show. as each disappears and reappears again, a voice in my head asks: where did he go? where did his face go? where did his arms go?
our train materializes soundlessly, coming to a halt before moving further up and stopping a second time. we climb aboard. i travel up seven stations to central secretariat, change to another line, and travel down six more to kailash colony.
walking back home from the station i stop briefly at the corner market to buy some bread, and then, at an ice-cream cart further on, the mango ice-cream that v, who is in goa tonight, loves. what is it, to miss someone? and what makes missing the dead feel so different from missing the living? as i turn onto my street, a dog i know comes up to nudge me, then runs ahead to my gate and rolls over onto his back. i crouch beside him, ice cream and groceries in one hand as i stroke him with the other, and he turns his head away at that awkward angle that suggests he's studying the sky. a long line of ants is filing past on the step beside me. one ant keeps circling, in an uncertain way, what looks like the mangled bodies of two others.
i let myself into my flat. the dishes i washed after lunch are dry. i put them away and boil water for soup. some crows are making a fuss in the neem tree outside. i go to the fridge for something and can't remember what i wanted, then, sitting down to my soup, i think: toast. i drop the bread into the toaster and watch the element start to glow.
i feel as if i've wronged abhishek in some way by not learning of his death sooner. i want to make something for him, even though i don't know what i'd be making it for. i want to remember him, though he has vanished, and nothing i can do will reach him. when the toast pops up, it is still white - v sometimes turns down the setting on the toaster when he is over. i put the bread back in again, and wait.
i didn't know much about him. he was a boy from agra. a copywriter. who liked to spend time at the gym. and liked to drink. and was losing his hair. and lived in a little ground floor apartment in saket, where he'd leave the door open on summer nights for the breeze. that's all. i'd hear stories of him getting into fights, now and then. and many people told me they found him threatening. even v, who only met him once, outside a club one night last november, recalled something strange and rude said unexpectedly while queuing for a cab. but he never seemed to care what anyone thought of him. and he was always very careful with me, almost as if he feared i'd break. we met on a gay chat site four years ago. we never spoke on the phone. we sent each other emails, and met up sometimes. that's it, that's all.
the first time the mejo kumar's sister met the wandering sannyasi, she knew he was her brother. what made her so sure? it was, she said, his way of looking at people out of the corner of his eyes. recognizing this, she says, she began to examine him more carefully, scrutinizing his features, eyes, ears, lips, figure, hands and feet, the contour of his face. getting undressed, i start to hear a sporadic chirping from somewhere in my flat, a cricket that i wander around looking for, turning lights on and off, until i discover it hiding in the kitchen sink. a couple of nights ago one trapped himself behind the washing machine and kept me awake till morning. i put this one in a jar and take it out onto the balcony. when i up-end the jar, the cricket leaps away into the dark. i step back in.
i sit down at my computer. z has sent me some documents relating to the bhawal case, which i decide to look at tomorrow. reading through the emails abhishek and i exchanged, i find that, in the four years we knew each other, we only met four times. it doesn't seem like much. it hardly seems like anything. i switch my computer off. i lie down, and cover myself with a sheet. i turn out the light.
the bhawal case dragged on for sixteen years, moving from a local court in dhaka to the high court at calcutta to the privy council in london, who, finally, issued a judgement in favour of the sannyasi. z, however, asked for her opinion of the man, was unequivocal: he was an imposter. either way, the ascetic never ended up taking possession of the prince's estate - the day after news of the verdict reached calcutta, he visited a temple to offer a puja, had a stroke on stepping back out onto the street, and fell unconscious. two days later, he was dead.
now i am falling, and thoughts drift through my head. my eyes opening and closing, my legs still moving. i raise my head and look around. i am in the middle of a group of boys bent over books, out on a rolling hillside. it is a class of some kind, i tell myself. perhaps, i think vaguely, i will finally learn how to read german. at the start of the class, names are called out. if you are present, you raise your hand. a light breeze springs up, rifling through the high grass. abhishek is out walking under shifting clouds. i raise my hand in answer to my name, open my book, and start to write.
i am in a long corridor lit by strips of fluorescent lighting, with doors that open out onto rooms on either side. i am walking through a grove of trees whose barks gleam silver and white all around me. i am trailing behind abhishek, who keeps vanishing and reappearing. there is somewhere up ahead that we are both trying to get to. abhishek is dead, i know, but his body was not burned, and so, i tell myself, he is still alive. i try the handles on the doors, but none of them will open. some doors have signs pasted on in large lettering that is disconcertingly hard to read. one that i can make out says memory, and another, over on the opposite side, is understanding. as we walk, abhishek gets further and further ahead of me until he vanishes among the trees. i call out after him, but he keeps walking, now. i write and write, but he cannot hear.
abhishek and i are standing on the bank of a little river. the sun shines dazzlingly on the water, whose dark green surface is marked by eddies that appear and disappear bewilderingly quickly. he looks back at me, and then he turns away and steps into the water. as he washes off the ash that covers his skin, i can see where marks on his body match those on mine.
a large bird is sitting by the edge of a calm lake under a clear sky. a body lies stretched out before me, and i am bending down to kiss it. a man with a beard, which has recently been shaved. as the surface of the water looms closer, i try to get a look at the bird, but it stays always just outside my field of vision. how long has it been sitting there? i ask myself. there is no way of telling. i lean further in, and hear a quick sound, like a large set of wings opening, and it disappears.
i open my eyes in the middle of the night and find him sitting up in bed, smoking a cigarette and watching me. abhishek. his features, his eyes, his hands and feet. the contours of his face. and then i close my eyes again, and he is gone. abhishek. abhishek. the water gets closer and closer. abhishek. i speak, but the surface never moves.