Work Text:
Aman is standing by the window of their 2BHK flat in Delhi, deep into the night, when nothing but the moon wakes. He has got work early in the morning but somehow falling asleep feels harder and harder, each day.
Kartik.
His roommate is fast asleep with face half buried in an oversized pillow that would swallow him whole if it becomes sentient on some woeful day. Aman averts his eyes as the growing ache in his chest is proof enough of his undignified musings.
Wrong. This is wrong.
He must not give in. How long has it been? 30 years? A lifetime, one might say – a lifetime of opportunity to train his mind the right way. But Kartik does not make it easy. A sudden brush of hand there, a pat on the back – as if his roommate can hear his internal debate loud and clear and he has chosen a side.
Try. At least, give it a try.
Kartik’s every “unintended” touch urged Aman to lean in and say yes. But he fears, it all might be a ruse. Kartik would just laugh that cruel laugh, his mind plays each time Aman veer towards his touch to make it last a little longer.
You fool! You really thought? Haven’t you learn anything from your past?
Aman can’t. He can’t stand the thought. It eats him up from inside. No Kartik would not do this. He is different, he is good. But then the ingrained scientist in him speaks up with its telltale voice of logic,
Wrong. This is wrong.
Sometimes, Aman raises his voice – when he is alone in his lab. He would make himself believe that Kartik wouldn’t ever hurt him. His soul is the purest, not tainted in any way. Oh Kartik! He is the spark that lights up his darkest passion, et iris and all. The heavy reluctance to get dressed quickly when Kartik is in the room – but it’s the heat isn’t it? When he puts his arms around the smaller man’s shoulders while sipping on his beer on a lazy Sunday, Aman’s eyes trails the perfect curve of his jaw. It’s beautiful –yes that is the only word that comes up again and again in his limited subconscious.
It’s beautiful. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.
And Kartik, would stare, Aman is surely mistaken but he sees want in them. Kartik’s iris dilate with an innate need, his eyes, repeatedly dragging down at his lips. Is Aman beautiful enough? Is Aman enough?
Of course, Aman would make an excuse to re-fill their popcorn bowl and escape, lest he lets himself get trapped in the sweet-talk. The disappointment radiates from Kartik and it burns Aman’s skin. It burns deep. He feels his roommate’s eyes on his back for sometime before he vanished in the kitchen and grabs the granite table to steady himself.
Wrong. This is wrong.
What is this inexplicable fondness, this unspoken desire to be with, it’s scary, it’s disgusting, it’s painful, it’s luring. Sometimes, the light catches Kartik’s nose ring just right to shine on Aman’s eyes – even that fucking piece of metal urges him to give in.
Try. At least, give it a try.
But even Kartik has his scars, like cracks on a old wall. When Aman picks up his dad’s phone to say, “Hello papa,” Kartik moves out of the room silently. And Aman can guess why that is. The gashes, just below his neck might have healed but the phone calls are akin to salt on fresh wounds. Aman never asked, he knows better than to do that.
Some days, Aman can barely breathe. The sheer need to fulfil his desire overtakes whatever it is that stops his hands from holding the ones he wants. Every inch of Kartik seems something beyond perfect. The power, the promises in his sculpted thighs, his arms is something that Aman would worship till the end of days. This hunger, this...this sudden rage of determination scares Aman. And this predisposition is certainly not inherited. Nobody in his family had the audacity to love like they had nothing to lose. His parents had decided to bury their loves for....for what? What if they had the courage to do what they couldn’t? Aman wouldn’t be here, would he? He would’ve never existed. And so would’ve been his vile proclivity. Maybe Kartik would’ve been happy with someone who would’ve been braver in his expression of reverence.
Kartik was writing something, listening to, Love Story by Taylor Swift for the 100th time, when he looked at Aman to give him a random smile. He did not smile back. Kartik’s smile was lost on him, the sorrow limpid in those hazel orbs,
Try. At least, give it a try.
Those nights, when Kartik would have a sleepover at Devika’s, Aman would spend nights looking at the unmade bed of Kartik –sheets hanging loosely, pillow on the verge of falling down. He could have made it right but he wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t dare touch the sheets. His brain plays his buried fancy like the half burned footage of a forgotten silent film – Aman and Kartik, laying together, skin to skin, laughing at some bogus joke, hand intertwined, hearts beating in unison. Oh the delusions! The grandeur of a madman, of a utopian future of sweet disorder mirrored in ruins of an after night. For now, Aman would live in his cavern, his personal decorated cavern of shame and terror.
Aman did think of returning to his home. Leave all of this and just run back. He stays for Kartik. The neighbourhood they live in does not accept Kartik, to say the least. The resident goons of the locality have been encouraged fully by the reign of the dishonourable political party. When Kartik leaves for work, he gives Aman one of his sweetest smiles, and wave him goodbye before putting on his pink headphones. Aman manages a half hearted smile before fixing his eyes on the thugs, looking at Kartik in the dirtiest way possible. Aman’s blood boils. He is scared to leave – what if he leaves and nobody is there to keep an eye out for him and then....
The fear chills his spine. No, he would live through his hell, he would live through this to protect his lo...his roommate.
Wrong. This is wrong.
Yes, it is but it is necessary to save a life.
Aman was alone in his lab, turning it upside down, looking for the litmus papers, he misplaced. How could he be so damn careless? It was only when he threw out two of the fat files filled with notes of random experiment, that he found what he was looking for. Aman looked around the lab, only half satisfied, realizing he would have to clean up the mess he just made. Without the litmus, he was stuck at the crucial stage of the trial he was performing. He picked a purple strip and dipped it in the solution. It turned blue with immediate effect, the shade of blue of Kartik’s horrible blue sunglasses.
No, no, no he can’t go there now. He has got work to do! Alkaline, the result is alkaline. Alkaline enough to cut down his acidic hypothesis.
“Love is not a chemical imbalance, Aman!” Kartik was shocked that his roommate’s concept of love was so ....scientific.
“Oh but it is Kartik, it is! You see there’s this part of the brain called....”
“Wrong! Love comes from here.” Kartik placed both his palms oh his chest, right over his heart.
“But the brai...”
“You cannot define love, Aman” his tone, wasn’t teasing anymore, it was grave serious as he went on, lost in his own world.
“It can’t be touched, can’t be measured, it’s not a thing, it’s a feeling. It’s paradise on Earth with its own version of hell. Love is right even when it feels wrong. The soul aches for the touch of its love. Sometimes the ache is soothed by exactly what it wants and sometimes it’s abandoned. The throbbing dulls but it remains, it remains for eternity Aman. Love is fate, not all are destined for. Some of those lucky ones, who cross paths with their fortuity, avoid it like death. You cannot avoid death, just like you cannot avoid love. There is no right quantity or right amount of love, it either turns you mad, or lets you live a thousand lifetimes at once.”
Aman felt like he was not on this planet anymore. He was in a different galaxy, where suns collide and it rains fire. But the fire is soothing to the skin. Under the fierce heat of the two suns, there is a temple of a forgotten mythical Greek God, who maintains the life-force of the unstable ecosystem. The God preaches neglected history that humanity had ceased to acknowledge since years. His crown bejewelled with the brightest rubies and the darkest shades of emeralds – seems dull against his phrases. As the solitary priest of the God scribbles hymns for him on the carved marble floor, his nails bleed but he cannot stop, he does not want to stop. The God stoops down to touch the dominie and he looks up from his scribbles. Perhaps the priest goes blind because you’re not allowed to look your God as the God places a crown similar to his own on the mortal’s head. They are both Gods now.
“Aman, you okay?”
“Of course, why do you ask? Oh look the pizza’s here!”
The doorbell rings and it’s pizza time in the ordinary 2BHK flat of a tedious lane in south Delhi.
Just like that.
Rajni’s phone call is what Aman needed. He picked up and said hello as normally as he could. He shuddered at the extra dose of saccharin in his voice.
“Don’t wait Aman. There is nothing wrong about this. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Don’t start again Rajni...we have talked about this.”
“No you talked rubbish and I listened. You have an hour to confess or I will do it for you.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Have I not done something like this before? You know me, brother mine. Am I bluffing? Would you rather take that chance?”
With an audible click, the call was over.
It was now or never, Aman. Rajni is definitely not bluffing. What’s the worst that could happen? Kartik would laugh at him? Been there. Kartik would ask him to move out? Fine, he can do that. He would ask Aman to stay away forever? He will survive that somehow, he has to.
There’s nothing wrong about this. It’s not wrong. This is not wrong.
And he wrong he wasn’t. Kartik launched himself in Aman’s arms, tears streaming down his eyes. Both were at a loss of words. The warmth spreading through their veins drowned every bit of negativity. At that moment, the world was theirs. They were invincible.
“Wait, wait, I have something for you.” Kartik said with a grin that matches the glee in his eyes.
“What? What it is?”
“It’s a surpri...oh fuck it! It’s a ring; I bought it to propose you.”
“That’s so stupid Kartik!”
“Shut up asshole! It’s pretty, see for yourself.”
Aman was standing at the doorway, while Kartik ran to his bike. Aman had never felt this content with his life, before. He was unable to look away from the love of his life, running towards him with a stupid ring to propose him like the protagonist in a cheap Bollywood movie.
Fortunately, Aman has excellent peripheral vision. He noticed those local goons coming towards Kartik with such vile grit that sent a shiver down his spine. He ran towards his love with all he’s got.
“Kartik look out!”
In a matter of seconds, Kartik was on the ground, on his back and the goons were running away as fast as they could. When Kartik fully opened his eyes, he saw Aman’s face, worry creased on his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes I am, are you....oh God Aman no!”
Kartik’s eyes fell on Aman’s, grey t-shirt, with a steady growing red stain. Aman would’ve fell face down if not for Kartik.
“Someone call the ambulance. Please. Aman please stay with me, it will be okay, I promise....”
Aman, himself was not in pain though. He was okay. His mind was not in chaos, it was calm. He had done what he meant to do forever. He confessed and that was all that mattered.
The wind carried his final words; maybe they will reach Kartik someday.
I tried, and it was beautiful.