It was fine Saturday morning as I remember. Trees were
shedding leaves as I was walked through town. Ron Pope was singing I was praying that you and me might end up
together… on my phone. After ten minutes of walking I stopped at a book
store to look at some books. I picked up a title by Murakami from the bulky stack
of books sitting on different shelves, arranged systemically. I was skimming
the book’s blurb when a scent drew my attention and distracted me from my
reading. The smell diffused and lingered as it drifted down my throat, making
me gulp down an ounce of saliva. It tasted manly. I found myself thinking. As I
turned, hoping to find the right person, I saw a man approaching from my right
side.
Oh god, he is coming
my way.
He was tall. His physical build was hardly the kind to
attract people but something about him hooked me, like an energy flow. I felt
connected to him and looked in his eyes. They were almond shaped, as mysterious
as the depths of ocean. They glimmered and glowed. A shiver shot down my spine.
‘Umm….can you spare some time? Could you help me out a
little? I need some help. No one seems available. I felt like asking you in
particular’, he said much like a soft whisper.
I looked around me, knowing very few people were in the back
of the store. That early on a Saturday
morning most people would rather be warm in their beds, sleeping in, than
wandering around a bookshop. I tried to look normal and betray the nervousness
I was feeling deep down.
‘Su…sure, why not?’ I said, and trembled as I felt my voice
breaking.
‘Are you from around here? I mean, I am new in town, only
here for a short time and don’t have enough time to go through all the books. This
store is huge, and I, I need a book… Could you please show me to the fiction
section?’
Fiction? Fiction and
guys are like winter and ice-cream. I can’t imagine both at a time. He must be
a big reader.
I walked him towards the fiction section. Our walk was
short. He walked gently with large steps. Mine were comparatively smaller and fast.
His breathing was silent and slow, but quickly came to match my faster breaths,
in a common rhythm that seemed to form a sweet tune - ‘thak-thik, thak-thik’.
‘This is what you asked for…fiction. The entire world is
here.’
‘Thanks…thank you…You
like Murakami?’ he said looking at the book I was holding.
‘No, I don’t like him - I am in lu-uve with his works.’
Silence fell between us, except for my heart that is, which
was beating so loud that I was almost sure he could hear it thumping in my
chest. I could count the beats with ease, a stethoscope would have been wasted.
One, two and maybe five. The moment was not one of those
awkward-what-to-do-moments. Rather, we were there, but lost together in another
time and space.
‘Any particular reason? I mean, why do you love him? ’
‘Why….hmm...He is different and I feel connected. We live in
different parts of the world yet I feel he knows me, knows me somehow and
writes about me. Like you know, he has been there in my life. Like he’s seen through
what I’ve done and where I’ve been. Sometimes it touches me, in such an intense
way. Well, he sort of messes with my mind and…..gets me to think and think more.
I have read many authors but it feels like no one has successfully left the
impact he has.
‘Yeah, I feel that way too...but not as much as you.’
‘Really? You do? Have you read him? I mean, you like
fiction, but I didn’t see it coming.’
‘Four books in a row. I liked him too. The way he writes
makes me feel, umm….how to put it…..yeah, that’s it! Empty and shallow. Partly
because of the characters he has created.’ He smiled sideways.
There he knows how to
smile.
One, two, three. In
just three seconds, a moment, a click in time and something like a flash of lightning
passed, a thunder bolt hit right at my fist-sized heart. A nice well targeted
shot it was. My blood rushed up, down and throughout. My heart rate soared,
beating faster and faster. Actually, it skipped some beats, I think. More than
words; something that words are not enough to express and explain. It was huge
and vast. If as they say, it was love at first sight, then I would go back in
time so I could feel it again, all over again.
He looked up and down for books; so good his focus was.
‘Dreams…Do you believe in dreams turning into reality? Tell
me about your dreams. I don’t know but I feel like it’s the right thing to ask.
Don’t get me wrong, I swear you are in safe hands. It’s okay if you don’t
answer.’ He said all of a sudden, looking upright.
‘No, its fine…My dreams…mine..? Okay, but it needs to be
fair, so tell me yours too in return.’
‘Good god…’ he said, mocking me.
It took me a while. I began, ‘There are lots of dreams. But,
I have this one dream, from a long time back. I dreamt of becoming a writer,
probably in ten to twenty years. I am dying to write something like Murakami’s,
you know somewhat inspirational, motivational or something that connects people
that makes them feel special. That sums it up pretty much.’
How did it come up? How? I don’t know. I just blurted it
out, like my lips and mind were in sync. Something my girlfriends don’t know which
I shared with an hour-long stranger who came out of the blue. That dream was beyond
me and my imagination yet it was me in bits. Part. Me. Such is my dream that
even after a year it is unknown to others but not to him.
‘Whoa…..that is a bi-ig dream. I am sure you’ll make good on
it’
‘Thank you. Now,
you…What’s yours?’ I asked.
‘Dream, hmm, I never seriously considered… I asked you
because you look like someone determined and capable of doing something’, he
said tossing the book in his hands back and forth.
‘So you are telling me you don’t have one? That’s unfair!’
‘No. Let’s make it fair then. I am a talented day dreamer
and an even better night dreamer. I am dreamless when I am literally awake.
That doesn’t mean I am hopeless. I have this bizarre dream of settling in a
countryside doing farm work. This is what I have dreamt. There you go, I
shared.’
We were so into our talk that we lost all sense of time. And
did we talk. He said he had never had our
kind of talk, or shared that way with anyone. He didn’t realize time could pass
by easily. A step closer to confession and several other steps were made as
he walked to the door bidding me good-bye. He turned back and smiled. That was
the last picture I had of him, the last I saw of him. I close my eyes now to
capture him, try to picture him. Blank. Blank. I can’t put together how he
looked. We didn’t introduce ourselves. We skipped giving names. The first thing
two strangers would do. But we didn't.
I hope we meet again,
soon he said then. It took a year. Now, he is here standing right beside
me, looking and smiling his precious smile, wearing the same scent that I
adored so much. Some people talk about love at first sight but I guess for us
it was love at first scent.
