THE LAST CIGARETTE

I wrote this, a couple of days back, in one of the utterly boring classes that I had to attend. I hope my boredom do not reflect in the phrasing of this long, winding epic-scribble.

THE LAST CIGARETTE

It was the second summer of love for me.
The scorching sun set fire to the bitumen-heart of dusty streets.
I was having my second shower of the day, of sweat and grime.
Profusion had its example now.
My favorite deodorant losing efficacy every moment
Slowly in unseen muted vapors.
I felt an uneasy calm haunting me,
Bullying me around the bylanes of Southern Avenue.
Alone.

"We need to talk", she had said last evening.
As if it mattered to me.
My eagerness for stealing a tryst knew,
Impulse made urgency inevitable to her.
Still, this time, deep inside, anxiety breathed.
How bad could this be?
Many storms had left us tempered and bruised.
These two years had been the 'ride of our lives'.
Sail through, We will. I knew.

Eyes used to siesta drowned into a sea of images.
The air, thinning in a moistureless mirage,
Carrying tender promises of solemn togetherness brewed.
Promises of a more humane evening beckoned.
'An Appointment'.
I smiled at myself.
Far down the dreary road, spent souls prayed for relief, paid for water.
Summers in Kolkata, surely, did not promote love.


I was a defiant zombie. Charmed with love, kissed with death.
Still, I moved.
In a single minded motivated motion.
Where? I did not know.
I was waiting for my answers. When would she come?
It was about time now.
I could smell the sweet lavender of her talcum in my dreams.
Soft, soothing, reassuring. It was her only perfume.
Her tresses made careless riddles at me,
As occasional sighs of stale air teased them silly.

Leaning against a rusting post, I lit up.
Curls of white smoke, in their sinuous ascent jeered at me.
They were with her now. Traitors.
She hated tobacco, smoke and fire.
I loved all of them, within a single delightful wrap.
Smoke made her eyes red,
As red as the setting sun we were audience to, sometimes.
Today, she was late. Unusual.
My loneliness bought me courage to protest my wait.
I rehearsed my lines to get even.

She knew my patience hated being tested.
Now, I could see her down the lane.
A light sky blue on her, cooling my eyes.
Distance reduced with her every step.
I had already forgotten my lines. My rebuke vanished.
There was no playful annoyance in her eyes,
The look of a Duchess miffed at disservice.
Her eyes were unadorned today,
Naked with an emotion unknown to me.
What could it be?
She knew how I loved kohl on her eyes.
How I could stare at them for eternity.
She always tossed those loving gazes of lost meditation
Into the water of the lake.
They sank, gasping for breath.
I could only sigh. She laughed.
She said it was late. Always.
And left.



Today, she glanced between my fingers.
As familiarity emerged in her eyes.
A blend of distress and discomfort.
Confused, I took another drag at my stick.
Simmering in a telling sacrifice for me,
It could provide no wisdom today
As I grappled for answers.
I waited for that known sweep of disgust
Emanating from her sleek fingers,
Grounding my prized 'India King'.
I waited for that familiar look of hurt
To reflect on her hazel eyes.
Nothing like that today.
Did tolerance penetrate her?
More sheepish every second, I guessed.
Silence dawned. Love waited.
Words trickled in a crisis now.
I walked. We walked.

In her eyes I saw a storm,
Nestling its fury, exploding inwards.
She spoke atlast. She was leaving.
Far off lands held more promises.
Promises of progress, higher seats of learning.
My world swung in a blur. And kept swinging.
How I loathed my nursery rhymes now.
How I hated quantum physics.
That cruel idol of 'Education' had its revenge.
And wasn't it sweet.
My helpless eyes looked up
A bead of pregnant emotion had gathered cloud
At the corner of her eyes.
I could never see her cry. Never.
Something snapped within me.
A deluge of emotions arrived in abandon.
She cried. We mourned. Hours flew.

She whispered, "We will meet".
My skeptic Gods did not comply.
The boulevard was replete with memories.
As we walked in silent vigil
We trampled them, muting their voices.
Forever.

Our walk was labored. Long and viscous.
Still, it had to end.
Roads never went on forever. I knew that.
Our last walk together. Perhaps, this was.
I put the last cigarette to my lips,
Waiting for her to throw it away.
One last time.
How I longed for her hand to move,
One final delicate stroke of disdain.
The last act of loving offence, I thought.
She stared back at me
Her eyes the colour of a pallid evening -sky,
Denuding me of all my strength and weaknesses
For the first time ever
With trembling, unsure hands
Bleeding with guilt
Stiff with shame
She held the light for me.


WRITTEN IN THE LANGUID BOREDOM OF A CLASSROOM………………………