The Stranger

             He stood there for a long time. Tired, worn out. Even though he was dressed in a designer suit, the look in his eyes mirrored as if the whole day he had worked out in the Sun doing some kind of laborious task. With slouched shoulders he remained standing at the threshold of the house for an eon. Then without saying a word, he turned around and got lost into the darkness.

            He came there every day at the same time. Who was he? I didn’t know. He sounds.... a bit strange. I’ve been watching him for months now. In my mind, I’ve even named him ‘Aayan’. Why Aayan? I don’t know. The day I saw him few months ago, I wondered about his name; and it was this word that rang the bell. It was a balmy summer night. Even though MET Dept. was assuring everyone that it would rain, but it never did. That night everyone was out for a stroll so that they could jointly complain Indra Devta for not listening to them when I saw Aayan for the 1^st time. There was something about him that stuck me. He went to the corner house, stood at the door for few minutes and then went back. The moment he walked away, it rained. So I named him Aayan- God’s Gift.

            Since that night, I saw him everyday. It was like a ritual. He stood before the door and after waiting for a few minutes, left. One day out of sheer curiosity, I hid myself to see why he came to that house every time but never went inside. Aayan came at his usual time. He touched the door. The way his fingers felt the door, the way his eyes closed were enough to confirm that the house meant something grave to him. He took a chit from his pocket and kept it at the door. Then without a glance back, he again vanished.

            Hurriedly I picked up the chit and ran to my room. I locked myself in my room and kept that chit on the table. If I had ever faced a dilemma, it was that night. I badly wanted to read the contents of the chit but at the same time my morals stopped me from doing that. But then this is Kaliyug. Morals don’t breathe for long. So, I unfolded the chit carefully. A quote was written in the most beautiful handwriting.

‘It is the hope that makes me knock and wait at the door of my empty house everyday hoping that someone would come and answer it someday.’

            I read it at least 1000 times that night but wasn’t able to decipher what Aayan meant. In the morning, I asked my mother about the house. The details too didn’t make any sense but then one thing happened out of it... Aayan became my obsession.

            Many a times while he left that house after paying the visit, I walked past him hoping that he would acknowledge me. Many times I tried to talk to him but it felt as if my voice never reached his ears. Day by day my obsession regarding him increased and so did the stack of the chits.

‘I poured the only pail of water I had, into the well, hoping for a rain.’

            Being a Literature student, I tried to understand his verses. But I think we Literature students are cursed. After reading a verse, our mind is able to decipher it in so many ways that we don’t know which one to believe. I became bold with every passing day. I wanted to ask him what did his verses mean? Why did he visit that house every day but never enter?

            I saw him every night and every time I felt myself being drawn to him. His salt and pepper hair, his puffy eyes, those dark circles, those strong yet tired hands... Oh how I wanted to touch him once! How I wanted to ask him what was troubling him. How I wanted to hug him and assure him that everything would be fine. But, I didn’t do anything of that sort. No matter how badly I wanted to, I just couldn’t he scared me. It felt as if he belonged to a dark place and slowly and steadily I was also slipping into that.

‘I don’t mind these one sided conversations, after all I’ve grown up speaking to walls.’

            The day I got that verse, I had decided that I would talk to him. In anticipation I waited for him at the door of that house. If for a second he was surprised to see me there, he didn’t show it on his face. That day it felt like I saw him for the first time. He wasn’t handsome at all, actually he was an average looking guy, but his eyes... I couldn’t look at him for a long time. He waited for me to leave, but I stood there with him adamantly. He took out another chit and kept it at the door.

            He turned around and saw me picking up the chit. Maybe he knew that I was stocking all his verses.

            “I’ve named you Aayan,” I spoke without thinking for a second. He didn’t react, just kept on walking. I walked with him for sometime but then stopped while he didn’t. It felt like his mind had a direction, but his eyes seemed lost... as if he was walking aimlessly.

            From that day onwards, I started meeting him daily. Why? I’ve no answer for it. He had become my addiction. Again why? Well... why do people start taking drug? Probably at first it is fascination towards it, that later on turns into a need. Maybe the need overpowers the brain that it is not able to justify between right and wrong. It was same for me. He was my very own Shakespeare, whom I wanted to know, wanted to ask the reason behind his brooding, his mysterious attitude... in other words, he was a verse for me that I wanted to decode.

            Those five minutes... well I waited for them desperately. In those five minutes I was face-to-face with the poet whose verses I read daily, still wasn’t able to comprehend them.

            “I want to know the reason behind your verses.” He stopped abruptly and my heart skipped a beat. Would I get to hear his voice? Would he be angry with me and scold me? He closed his eyes as if I was now a part of something that he had kept as a secret for long.

            “They don’t belong to you.”

            I was tongue tied not because of the accusation but because of the voice. It was angry and sad at the same point of time.

            “I still want to know.” I held his hand and made him face me. He looked tired. He sucked in air as if speaking every word was a tedious task for him. 

‘She wept for not being told, so did I, for not being heard.’

            I looked at him in confusion. “Don’t worry you are not the only one who hasn’t understood what I was trying to say. So, what is the use of telling you something, when you haven’t understood my words itself.” He tried to walk away but in desperation, I blocked his way.

            “I’ve to know. It’s important for me.” Why? I wonder why it was important for me? This guy was a total stranger. So what if he wrote verses that I couldn’t understand. Why I was so desperate to peel off the skin that he had been hiding from everyone?

            “No, it’s not. I’m done explaining things to people. Consider these verses as memoirs. You are the reader, comprehend them in any way. Think of me as a dejected lover, an unsuccessful man, a good for nothing friend or son, an emotionally unavailable man; I may be all of these or I may be not. If you think these verses describe me, they do and if you think that they are just random thoughts, you may be right too. Consider it as a project. The day you will decipher them, I’ll be interested in knowing the hypothesis.”

            He left me there... in the dark. It started raining but I remained there till the time my mother dragged me to my home. I couldn’t sleep all night. His verses were spread out on my bed. They were engraved on my mind. My psyche told me that he was a sadist, not because he loved to harm others but because he loved the fact that people want to decipher him but are not able to because of his dual personality. He loved seeing people vulnerable. My mind cautioned me to stay away from him. He was quick sand and I was being swallowed by him.

            I dreamt about him that night. I was running... running in a tunnel. It was pitch dark. At the end I could see light. I was running towards it with all my might. My legs were tired but I was still very far away. I could make out a figure. It was none other than Aayan. He was smiling. I stopped for a while but started running again. He smiled as if he knew I won’t stop running but would never be able to reach him. I woke up with a start. I was drenched in sweat. It was morning. The Sun had risen but I could feel as if it was still midnight. I pulled out the curtains to bring myself out of this darkness but it was as if the sunrays couldn’t reach me.

            I sat down perplexed. I took out my notepad and jotted few lines:

He was her midnight

Her black magic dawn,

Everything about him screamed to go home

And everything about him screamed to stay.

He was her midnight

Her black magic dawn.

            That night, I again went to that house and waited for him. He emerged from the dark and saw me waiting for him and he smiled. My inners shuddered but at the same time a relief swept over me as if it was this darkness I was waiting for. I knew he would enveloped me and probably nothing would be left off me. But right now I was a character in a novel and would behave the way the author wants me to.