Cold Realisation

When you're on mountains, you're very close to cold and clouds. This realisation hit me as I entered Prem's room. He was sitting on his wooden table, probably a hundred years old, facing an open window and an almost white piece of paper in front of him. Clouds and cold had taken the liberty to invite themselves in the room, and my clothes were struggling to hold them off. I registered their protest with my voice, and Prem was jolted back to reality.

He turned towards me, and I wondered which was more blank—his face or the paper in front of him. On the top right of the paper was scribbled an address; a little lower to the left was written "Dear S_." I put 2 and 2 together and realised who he was writing to. I smiled and sat on his bed. With the intentions of toying with him, I asked, "Is there anything left to say?". You see, in this part of the country, it was common for young people to migrate to bigger cities in pursuit of a better life. I had done that already a few years ago, but I had returned. S_ was simply another youth in the unbroken chain of migrants, and with her, the future that Prem had imagined also left. Tragic, maybe routine, absolutely.

With the usual baritone of a spurned lover, Prem said, "I wonder how she's doing." Before I could come up with a comforting answer, he continued, "I could've left with her, but the thought of home held me back. I wanted to be her protector in the wide world, but I couldn't let go of the protection of known faces. I might have still given all this up if only she had asked me once, but she didn't, and I didn't ask. Since you have come back, I have observed how moving away has changed you; you looked battered when you came back through those doors." I wasn't expecting my self-image to get battered in the soliluque of a teen lover, but I didn't interrupt. He went on, "I don't know if I'm a coward or just content. Maybe I am a coward, pretending to be content. Or maybe one person was just not enough to tear me away from everyone else. But if she isn't so powerful, why do I still keep thinking about her? While coming and going to college, her memories play in my head like a podcast. I can sense a void, but I don't know how to fill it. If only I could articulate it, maybe it will get filled."

Like a wise sage, I retorted, "No amount of words can fill any void in oneself." "Maybe not," he said, "but I can put those words in this letter before asking her whereabouts and then post it!". Why, I asked. He smiled and said, "Because I want to be where she is. Don't ask me another why; I just told you I don't know. Now that she's gone, somehow I have realized how the desire to be near her is stronger than all my fears. It's not that I don't want to be safe; it's just that being safe without her seems moot."

Just as one might freeze on seeing a lion, so does one freeze when they see their desires. Not only was Prem proverbially frozen after saying all this, but we were literally freezing by this time. I got up from the bed, closed the window, and headed towards the door. I was smiling. "I'll get you tickets and contacts of some friends in the city" I said as I closed the door behind me.