Mitra Samal
My friends think that I am a writer of sorts because I have published some of my poems and stories. However, I regret writing something. It was a writing escapade gone awry.
Nandini joined our school in the ninth grade. She was an average student but had beautiful features that made her look very graceful, even in a school uniform. Many boys had a crush on her and would follow her home every day, often travelling an extra mile to be at her bus stop. If she wanted study notes, they would compete to give her theirs and offer to provide free tuition after school. She always said no to the latter but accepted the notes with a generous smile. In a physical training class, the boys gathered to watch her play basketball. Being tall, she was good at it, and they left no chance to applaud her. A few even made their applause seem genuine.
Naaz, Rosalin and I were seated in the audience. I kept glancing at Manoj, but he was also busy watching Nandini. I had a soft spot for him for many years, but he never seemed to notice me. Maybe he was unaware of my existence, like most boys are with average-looking, nerdy girls.
“I bet she enjoys it.” Rosalin said all of a sudden.
“Who enjoys what?” I asked, coming out of my trance.
“Nandini enjoys the attention of boys.” Naaz said gravely. When Naaz says something seriously it gains weightage, because she rarely does. Naaz, Rosalin and I had been inseparable friends since fifth grade.
We heard someone say, “Hello Anuradha.” It was Rajesh, the athletic dancer and football player of our school. While the boys had a newfound crush on Nandini, many girls had an age-old crush on Rajesh. Except for the three of us, who judged him because he was flirty.
“Yes.” I said coldly
“They call you Anu, don’t they?” he said with a practised flirty smile.
“What is it Rajesh?” I was giving him the signal that it won’t work on me.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He wanted me to come down from the pavilion because he had something personal to share. Both Naaz and Rosalin looked sceptical. I was confused too, but I agreed, thinking it wouldn’t take long.
“Tell me now.” I said calmly, when we were a little away from the crowd, though I was dying of curiosity to know what he could possibly want with me.
“So, you are the writer of the class. I have read your poems and stories in the school magazine, they are great!” He said, trying to sound impressed.
“I know you haven’t Rajesh. Come to the point please.”
“Okay, here’s the thing. I want you to write a letter for me.” He said and looking at my frustrated face added. “For Nandini. I want to send her letters. I want to win her heart.” It was the nineties and letters were still in fashion.
“Do it yourself dude. It’s none of my business.”
“Please Anu, I will pay you. Twenty rupees per letter.”
“You think you can buy my words!” I said irritated.
“Think of it like you’re writing for a magazine, and they are paying you. How cool is that!”
The argument went on for a few more minutes. I told him that I wasn’t a fool who would fall for his trick, but he pleaded and assured me that he was truly in love with her. After pondering for a while, I finally said that I would do it if he paid me double the price and that I wouldn’t write more than five letters in total. He gave me a hug and thanked me wholeheartedly.
“You’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, girl.” Rosalin said when she heard about the commitment I had made to Rajesh.
“I am not doing it for free. We can have ice cream every day!”
“Well, that’s entirely another problem.” Rosalin was furious.
“Let her do it. I don’t think it will drag too far. Just don’t write your best letter.” Naaz said with gravitas and that was that.
I was supposed to hand him the first letter by the weekend. But how do you write a love letter when you have never truly been in love or dated anyone?
A movie featuring Amitabh Bachchan was playing on the TV. It was an old one that I had seen as a kid and didn’t quite remember. He was singing and dancing while courting his sweetheart. I kept watching the movie, captivated by the passion and longing for someone, and how they lived happily ever after.
After a while, I sat down to write, and the words came flowing naturally. The realisation dawned upon me that I might have written my first love letter, and it was for someone else. If letter writing was a profession, I would be remarkable at it. Finally, I addressed it to Nandini and signed it off as Rajesh.
Rajesh’s face lit up when he read it. “This is so brilliant, Anu. I hadn’t expected it to be so well written.”
“Doesn’t sound like you though.”
“Oh, let her fall in love with me first and then she will accept me for who I am.”
“Good luck with that! Hope it works for you.” I said and asked for my payment.
He handed me two twenty-rupee notes with a smile that shone in his eyes and pootled away happily. After the physical training class, I watched from a distance as Rajesh talked to Nandini and handed her the letter. She hesitated at first but took it when Rajesh insisted; I knew she wanted to.
“What have you done!” Rosalin said. She and Naaz also saw what I saw.
“Whatever I have done, let’s just have cutlets for now.” and I ushered them towards the bus stand.
Over the next few weeks, I wrote a couple more letters. After the third letter, Nandini responded by giving Rajesh a yellow rose with a Dairy Milk chocolate. He was on cloud nine, though I warned him that yellow just means friendship and he shouldn’t be too confident. However, he was too elated to pay any heed to my words.
***
Rajesh seemed to be in a bad mood one morning. He said he had seen Nandini being quite chummy with Manoj the day before. That broke my heart as much as his. After all, Manoj was my crush.
“What’s wrong?” Rajesh asked, “You seem hurt too. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” I hadn’t realised that Rajesh was staring at my face for quite some time.
“Oh, it just feels as if I have failed you.” I tried to sound convincing. Nobody knew about my crush except Naaz and Rosalin, of course. We had no secrets, and they always thought this crush would pass, though it hadn’t yet.
“No, you haven’t, you helped me. Just write a final letter and if it still doesn’t work, I will move on.” Rajesh said with a sad look on his face, and I agreed to do that. I had to write a terrific letter now so that Nandini didn’t stray further, and I had to do it for ‘us’, not just Rajesh.
That night, I went home and wracked my brain to come up with something dreamlike and poetic. Then an idea struck me: what if I wrote a poem about eternal love? If I could create something even remotely close to Shakespeare’s ‘True Love,’ which was being taught at school, it would make sense. So, I thought of Manoj and looked at the full moon outside my window, and then the lines started flowing. The initial lines of the verses were:
If you become the rain
and pour from the sky
I will let each transparent
drop paint me with hope
I continued writing and ended the poem with the following lines:
our union will create
a small storm, that will
ascend towards the infinite sky
There it was lying before me, the paper on which I had perhaps written my best poem, or might I say the best letter so far. I titled the poem ‘Union’ and signed it off with ‘For Nandini by Rajesh’ at the end. I even sprayed a bit of my mother’s rose perfume on it before placing it inside a pink envelope. Anything to win back the first crush of my life.
I handed it over to Rajesh the next day and waited for his update. Nothing happened, the day passed uneventfully. At the bus stand Rosalin sensed my restlessness and inquired, “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, everything is fine. No worries, really.” I answered.
“Whatever it is, you can’t hide it for long.” Naaz said, and I knew she was right.
The next morning Rajesh showed up quite early to school and he approached me with a smile, the one that shines in his eyes. He had a bunch of red roses in his hand. Naaz, Rosalin and I were standing in the corridor; the classrooms weren’t open yet.
“I read your poem, Anu. It is just like you, very truthful and passionate.” Rajesh said. I could see he was struggling to find the right words.
“So, you’re going to give it to Nandini with those roses. Not a bad idea.” I said.
Rajesh was silent for a while and then spoke, “These roses are for you Anu. They are red, not yellow. Where will I find a girl like you, who is good at maths, writes poetry, and not to mention, has such a big heart.” I was surprised to sense the seriousness in his voice.
“What do you mean, Rajesh? All this is for Nandini so that she doesn’t hang out with Manoj.” Then I quickly corrected myself saying, “Okay, I am sorry but most of this was for money and a little fun time with friends!”
“So, you have no feelings for me? Is there someone else?”
“No, and there isn’t anyone else.” I tried to sound earnest.
Rajesh stood there for a while, staring at my face. Those few moments felt like a prolonged period of despair. Then he turned and began to walk away, throwing the roses into the nearest dustbin. I felt something—a feeling somewhere between guilt and despondency.
“What have you done!” Rosalin said.
“Told you not to write your best letter dear.” Naaz added and she was right as usual.
I didn’t see Rajesh for a week, and then one day, I spotted him with Nandini in the school cafeteria. He was giving his flirty smile, and she was walking with him, drooling charm. She held red roses in one hand, and I could see the pink envelope in the other. So, he did give it to her after all. Things should have been fine after that, but strangely enough, they weren’t.
Relationships clouded by attraction don’t last very long. After a few months, Nandini was hanging out with Manoj again. Manoj still didn’t seem to be aware of my presence, and like me, Rajesh was heartbroken too. I often saw him looking at Manoj and Nandini as if that was the saddest thing in the universe. Occasionally, our eyes would meet, and I would look away. For the first time, I regretted writing something.
***
Anu, Naaz and Rosalin first appeared in “The Mischievous Three.”
Mitra Samal is a writer and IT Consultant with a passion for both Technology and Literature. She mostly writes poems and short stories. Her works have been published in Poetry Society (India), Muse India, Borderless Journal, Madras Courier, The Chakkar, and Kitaab among others. She is also an avid reader and a Toastmaster who loves to speak her heart out. She can be found as @am_mitrasamal on Instagram.
Featured photo by Aline Viana Prado (Pexels)
