The One

I am not sure if I can use ‘she’ for her, it might downgrade her identity. I’ll use it for the sake of

convenience and since there is no word appropriate at all, including ‘she’.

She was no ordinary girl. She was a different creature altogether, the one I had always looked for. This

way of finding the one was more challenging than other ways, where people first meet other people and

then try to enforce harmony by employing compromises. My frame was already established and I had

looked for the blank space since I realized I had two eyes. My eyes were also the one who had sought for

a being like her, not my heart. This is the story of the discovery of the most perfect human being I have

ever seen. Well, I have not really seen her as such, but still, you will know…

She used to tread the same campus as I did during my first year in college. But she would hardly have

stepped on any road unnecessarily. She went to places only which she had to, it was decided since her

first day in campus. Her march to the lecture halls was well defined, like a planned military group’s. The

number of steps from her hostel to her seat in the hall was counted to the last significant digit and was

fixed; and she put them precisely on the same side of the road as she walked each day. Only one hand

swayed the minimum angle when she walked, the other used to balance her carry bag on her back. She

stuck her chin into her neck as if her eyes remained buried inside the ground beneath. She wore glasses,

the simplest that one could have. Her eyes fixed on her foot, the one which stayed ahead of the other

while she walked, stayed fixed until she sat down on her bench in the classroom, when she could no

more see her feet: the desk on the front blocked the view. Each step was firmly but elegantly placed on

a particular stone of the road all along the way and the stone was faithful to stay there, knowing when

the next time it would be stepped by the same foot with the same impact and waited for it; there could

not be aberrations of a minute, over months. She walked as though the road curved, rose and fell for

her, as she directed. Her pace was that of a rolling leaf in the wind: neither very fast nor very slow, but

constant- they rolled uniformly, trying unconsciously her best not to attract attention. Attention of

anything that could have noticed her: people, birds, trees, leaves, waters, winds and other stones

embedded on the same road. Her steps did not make a single sound. They danced magically as if in

vacuum. The stones in the road had agreed to the pact and they did not clap against her sandals either.

For people who did not intend to make themselves noticed to her, she did not exist either, on the road

she walked.

When she walked, the surrounding tried to complement her presence, not the other way, so that it

could match the perfection exhibited by a new creature in the campus. But it failed. The leaves fluttered

in the swinging winds, so that they could dance in the wind she had disturbed, but there was no wind

disturbed by her at all: her pace had promised to never disturb a single gust whenever she moved, to

never leave even a transient clue that she had just crossed the place. The huge buildings around shone

tall and straight, tried their best to make their own presence felt, but again without success. Everything

and everyone around her was trying the same: to make their presence felt to her. But she would not

look up. Not once, for all the months. She did what she did every day, nothing else in this world existed

when she was around, just her eyes, and her foot, to look at with her eyes. Her glasses protected her

eyes. Not from winds or dust, but from the briefest looks others tried to toss at her so frequently. Her

glasses were her veil.

Her eyes were the window of the outside world that opened into her. But access required her to look at

the observer as well. She did not need to shut her eyes, she moved them away. She allowed just her feet

and probably her sandals to peek into her, when she walked. Sometimes even the feet were not lucky

enough: she used to stare at the air between her eyes and her feet. One glance by a stranger could have

assaulted her to destruction. Such was the burden carried by her eyes. When in the class, she did not

look at the instructor, it was not required. When the instructor tried to look at the screen behind

himself, she used to give the screen a chance to see her, to know what was deep inside her. But the eyes

were faithfully back, staring again at nothing between her notebook and her glasses within moments.

She never looked much and that is a mystery. Perhaps she did not want the world around to spoil her

perfection by sharing looks: her looks were her most prized possessions. When talking to a friend sitting

aside, looking was not necessary, and besides, there was a fear of a look being stolen by a stranger as

her sight traveled past half the front part of the hall to get fixed at her friend sitting just beside her.

Everything else about her had to keep up to her eyes, her eyes were the only parts controlled

consciously by her. All other parts seemed to take orders from her eyes and confirm to them as strictly

as anyone could possibly be when alive. Her principles were like those of a dead human, resting in its

coffin. Her eyes had their own standards. They did not let others around to get a peek into her. They

were selfish of the creature inside and proud as well, because they belonged to such a human who was

the closest anybody could be to absolute perfection. Perfection in anything and everything: her gait, her

pace, her posture, her sternness, her breath, her voice and her movements. Probably also about her

decisions, her thoughts and her reason. But that is another mystery.

Her voice was the faintest that could be. It seemed as if they came out of multiple voice boxes and

underwent in an interference that cancelled each other out at locations past the ears they were hissed

at. No one passing by could have any idea of the words she uttered. They were precious too. For the

entire first year I noticed her, they were meant to be only for two other creatures in the campus: her

two friends. Both of them were girls themselves and I also believe that they were the luckiest ones ever.

Well to an extent, I was lucky too. But like anybody other than the two girls, I did not complete a glance

at her. Her stubborn eyes were too proud to check out the guy who was a real and possibly the only real

admirer among all of them around. I tried to catch a view of them when I had a chance, but like the tall

buildings and the dancing leaves, I failed too.

In the lecture hall, she used to sit on the same chair every time in the same manner, in every class. It

was like a rule to be followed, just like anything else about her, polished to perfection. Every move was

synchronized when she sat, like a rehearsed orchestra. Her hand with the bag moved forward with the

same elegance that her feet took position and her legs bent. She occupied the minimum portion of the

chair necessary for balance. Her spine stood straight, but her head remained buried, now in the

concrete below her chair, if not the constellations of stars on the opposite side of the planet. Her book

appeared on her desk eventually and her eyes took their position: in the air between her glasses and her

book.

The discovery I have disclosed is a result of my most sincere attempts at understanding the creature

who is the subject of this note. Like other people that existed in the other reality, I was out of her story:

her eyes were the fort that guarded her being from any approach. I had aimed at them at times, hoping

for good luck but to no effect. I used to take my position in a fixed place too, towards her right side

behind her and quite away from her. That was the closest I could be. I tried to keep that constant. Her

presence had made my classes to have a reason. I attended most of them. She attended all. When I

started off from my hostel, I knew she would be there, in the same seat today as any other day. I also

remembered about her fort that guarded her and the stern with which they guarded her identity. I had

to come to the classes. She was the reason for some days that I attended classes.

During the lectures, with her books, her glasses and the air in between, a pen used to dance between

her fingers. Sometimes it used to jot things that made sense. Most of the time, they moved in repeated

circles to make some shapes that hardly made sense to me. Though I could not make out the shapes

distinctly from the distance, I noticed her pen in mischief as other students did their own affairs around.

But her pen held up always: no one could notice her not making complete notes, even though they were

not really mandatory. The weird shapes came out on the back of the book though. I used to wonder in

astonishment why she did not make complete notes. She used to write a line or two at times but it was

in surges. Her not having interest in lectures was quite obvious. What was not obvious was the fact that

she still attended each of them. Not attending would have attracted attention too, by the way. Deviating

from any norm would have caused a spur and would have attracted attention. Lectures were meant to

be attended, so she attended them.

Her pen, books and the bag were the only things that caused imperfection to her exhibition. Her eyes

could not help when once her pen played mischief with its owner. The pen had remained faithful until it

crossed limits and it committed the sin. Before she could notice it, there was ink all over her fingers and

her hand. When her eyes discovered the attack attempt, they were infuriated. Nothing had ever tried to

disobey their commands. The pen had cheated on it. However, it was too late and the pen had done its

job. Her fingers were stained ink blue. The back of her hands were also spoiled all over. She had to do

something and hide it. She tore off some sheets of paper from the back of her book and rubbed her

hands to wipe off the dirty ink. She did it with regret as well as anger. Regret for not noticing it few

moments earlier and anger for the cheating by a mere pen. One sheet after another, the ink on her

fingers muffled from dark spots to a uniform tone and covered her entire palm of both her hands.

Rubbing her bright fingers caused the red of the beneath to peek from between the blue all over. She

could not prevent the flush on her face either. Her eyes grew vigilant. It was no less than a military

attack on the empire she used to carry.

We had attended lectures just during the first year at college, after which our paths differentiated; she

belonged to a different department than mine. During the lucky one year, there used to be weeks when

I did not notice her, but the realization came too late: when the next time my eyes caught her sight. This

was since she had done her best in not making her presence felt. One could be easily deceived about her

presence. It was not unlike her absence. She left no signs and clues of her movements and activities. Her

chores were carried out behind the disguise of obviousness, as perfectly as a task one does not do! It

was indeed the perfection associated with an undone task, an abandoned, neglected and comfortably

forgotten errand.

I had later realized that it was sad those eyes did not allow anybody in. What if someday she would have

to surrender to someone her eyes did not approve of? It would be difficult! I had myself dreamt of

participating in her perfection, in a manner she would approve. But probably the guards of her fort had

indicated that I was not up to the mark. I did not deserve a look from her. i had to explain this to my

eyes, saying a look could be completed only when it was returned, which needed to fulfill some

requirements. Thus, I had not really looked at her, since she never returned back a look! Moreover, I

myself accepted the fact that perfect things like her were only to be admired from a distance. Of course,

would you like to hug the mighty Sun?