One moment

Or

Almost…

She smelt of lavender and shampoo, as she passed by my cabin. Who was she?

Few days later, I would know.

She walked into my cabin, the new java UI support coordinator. A plain red Benaras silk sari, thin golden zardozi border, the smell of fresh flowers, the tinkering of rainbow lacquer glass bangles, dancing dark kohl eyes and an innocent red smile.

I am forever fascinated by laughing eyes and beautiful smiles. The smell of Jasmine flowers -the most virgin smell- The tinkle of rainbow glass bangles - the loveliest music to my ears-The elegance of mother clad in Kanjeepuram -the picture of abundance in my mind.

“Can you help me with the support from Darren Brown - Telesyn?”

I just stared shamelessly. At the Goddess that stood in front of me.

She stood scared. Timid. Waiting for a response.

“I am busy now. Build is on. Gotto fix some breaks. I will help you after lunch.” I rumbled.

The smile vanished slowly; she managed a dim-bright, “Thank you,” and turned back to her cubicle.

I could almost hear her mind, “Appada! Enna bandha!” roughly translated to “Phew! Too bigheaded!”

I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid my eyes on. Lovelier still, when tears slate like drops of translucent wax from those dove eyes. You almost want to kiss those glass pearls that run down her sandy brown cheeks. Almost…

I would smell all the shampoos on the rack at ceedeeyes. I never found one that matched.

When we became more than team lead and java UI support coordinator, I asked her, “What do you put on your hair?”

She looked at me quizzically. “Johnson’s Baby Shampoo!”

I said, “No, it’s not baby shampoo, you use else”

She stared with one eyebrow raised. I burst out laughing, while she left the place bemused.

I dreamt of digging my face into those black straight long locks, the smell was as invigorating as reality.

She was married. Not to me.

We had a common friend. They were best friends. I was not…

She wept inconsolably, as he struggled his last in Apollo Hospital. He was HIV positive.

I hated to see her cry. I talked to her for hours.

What was she to me? I still haven’t figured out.

A lover.

A girlfriend I didn’t have.

The perfect girl I could take home to my mom.

A sister.

A friend.

A friend more intimate than the rest of the friends.

A friend whose feminine enamor enticed me to think of a girl of my own.

A girl who reminded me of my mom…

But she was married. And relations were sacred to me. She was sacred to me. Her married life was sacred to me.

She winced, as I photographed her with my new digicam, all on a red herring of trial. But she complied. Why?

She was as innocent as a white dove. She never nursed any misplaced emotions towards me. I knew she was in love with her husband.

But I was awed by her devotion to our common friend, her fight to help him fight his sickness. I was awed by her sincerity in our friendship. I was awed by the way she took everything to her heart. I was awed by the way she crossed her heart and swore to die for the ones she loved.

I was not a child to be confused so much. I presented her with a cd-man, as a farewell gift. She removed the gold ring from her slender finger and placed it in my hands.

“That’s not for you. It’s a gift to your wife, from me, when you get married. Tell her that I already have her in my imagination, in a red silk saree.”

I protested. She would hear none of it.

She left for US. We chatted on YM! I went onsite to Japan.

Someday, I wandered behind a churidhar clad girl in a wide boulevard fringed by restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques in Tokyo. Only to see a Japanese girl board a train at Tokyo station.

I wrote about that to her. She replied in her ever bubbly, effervescent way. I called her ‘bubbly chellam’. Meaning ‘Bubbly darling little child’.

If at all she had any subtle hints, of how much I was in love with her, she never let that rasp into our good relationship. She was too good to be true.

Almost…

Until one fine day, she asked me to stop sending her mails to her id. She said she would send me a new id and then we could continue.

That happened after many months. I called her in between, she never gave any reasons. She just asked me to understand. I let her be. I didn’t need reasons for a love so beautiful.

Could have been anything. Maybe her hubby read all her emails. Maybe he was offended by the way; she ignored my silent hints and still continued being my friend and well-wisher. Maybe she herself wanted to bring in a certain distance that would be safe for both her and me.

She keeps in touch with me- sparingly. But she does. Her mails and calls always end with a ‘Luv always and prayers for you always.’

A common friend once told me sometime in between, that her hubby almost divorced her. He suspected her fidelity. I don’t need to know the rest. I know it in my mind. I also know she is innocent. Her husband saw the silent signs in the mails that she refused to acknowledge or accept.

I have had no worse parting that this. I know she remembers me and sends me those silent signs. Signs and love, that needs no medium, no language, no traceable or readable mails or calls. That is when I remember her intensity. Her tinkering rainbow lacquer glass bangles, dancing dark kohl eyes, fragrance of lavender and wild flowers and innocent red smile.

One moment. One reason. One season. One lifetime.

Life is made of infinite little moments. An origami paper art of stringed puppet like ‘one moments’

One moment, where you lose the innocence of mind. Or a shard of a twinkling rainbow glass piece of love…

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