Echoes & Epilogues

"Since when do you call yourself a writer?" I asked.

"Since when do you call yourself a musician?" She replied.

"I'm a music enthusiast, not a musician," I replied with a smirk. Her lips curled at one end. It was her signature smile back from days when we were more familiar with each other. She sucked the straw emptying her glass of butter fruit juice in a gulp and still sucked making funny noises. Some things seldom change, I thought.

"Some things don't change at all, do they?" She asked as if reading my mind. My surprise must've been visible like the glimmer of sunlight caught in a sliver of a mirror.

"What?" she asked, a soft chuckle accompanying her words. She beamed like a fortuneteller after successfully predicting a jackpot in the lottery.

"Nothing. I was just thinking the same thing. Somethings don't change at all." I replied somberly.  

But thinking of it, she had actually changed a lot. Not just in the 8-year-long gap of severed contact, but even before that, she changed like the hues of the setting sun. Each shade more mesmerizing than the one before, yet subtly waning into darkness.

I could still relive our moments under the derelict water tank that stood in our locality, symbolizing whatever water tanks symbolize. It was kind of an Eiffel Tower of my locality, serving as a hotspot for kulfi-walas as the population of school bunking kids was high there. It also functioned as an important landmark for lost travelers and delivery personnel. The sight of it instilled terror in the hearts of many kids including me, as it reminded us of impending homework and upcoming exams. Our school was located right next to it. Interestingly some kids would decorate the smooth vertical rock that stood beneath the water tank with flowers, and call it the water tank god.

Sitting under the tank and eating a kulfi with her was an unparalleled pleasure. Our personalities complemented each other just like the warmth of the sun and the chillness of the tank. I was always clumsy and timid, I couldn't maintain a conversation for more than a minute without making it awkward. She was totally outgoing and tenacious. She would read at least 2 books a week, and I could only sit and think all day long about which book to read and eventually lose interest in reading. She was the kind of person who could make people listen to her and follow her. Everyone loved being around her and naturally, so did I. 

"If you are not going to drink that give it to me." She said pointing to my still-full juice glass. I looked at her pensive eyes behind the half-rim spectacles, then at her empty juice glass, and then at her smile.

"No Way!" I laughed but ended up giving half of my juice to her. Damn that smile, I thought to myself. "So, what kind of a musician, sorry, music enthusiast are you? Do you compose music? or do you play for albums?" She asked in an attempt to ease the awkward silence. "I practice violin. I have played for a couple of albums, but they were for friends' YouTube channels. I mostly teach violin to kids and some IT professionals to whom art is nothing but mere recreation." I thought of asking what she does or where she works, but something stopped me from asking and I kept drinking my juice. My mind once again started drifting back to the water tank diaries. Meanwhile, she finished the drink once again and was looking at me. Her gaze felt like it penetrated right into my mind.

"I'm thinking of doing a master's. Maybe in screenwriting for television. I haven't decided where yet, but definitely overseas." She said and once again I didn't say anything, just looked at her. I was wondering what should I say? should I ask her why is she telling me that? or should I say that's great!? I could see she was expecting a reply but I couldn't decide what to say. "All the best!" I finally blurted, making it even more awkward. I didn't know what she was expecting me to say, but I'm sure all the best is not what she wanted to hear. Her face fell a little. I knew I had to say something, but I couldn't. Words betrayed me, and I felt disappointed with myself. The only thing that kept coming back to my mind was the water tank.

"I'm currently working at my uncle's publication. As an editor." She paused hoping I'd reply at least this time. I tried my best to look happy and managed an "Oh!". She continued again after a pause, "It's mostly avuncular stuff, pretty boring. I just do it to earn just a little and I also get a lot of spare time." "Do you think of me during those spare times?" I thought to myself. "You're not as excited as you used to be, you know?" She finally told me what I knew for sure she'd. It was my turn to beam like a gambler betting on a winning horse, except my bet was that the losing horse would definitely lose. I giggled.

"Maybe so. A child's excitement on seeing a butterfly is their desire to be colorful and have wings like them. We all feel excited about flying because of the idea of freedom associated with flight. But are we really free? Could we ever be free? I wonder!" I replied. "That's so deep! I thought I was the writer and you were the musician." She said and we both started laughing. It was pure bliss to laugh like that and to laugh again with her. We didn't have to check the watch to know it was already time for us to leave. I was pretty sure what was on her mind now because it was the same thing in my mind too. Will I get another chance like this? Will we ever laugh again together? Knowing that we both had the same questions in our minds and also neither of us knew the answer to it, we chose not to talk. We sat there in complete silence, just our smiles echoing on the other's face.

"Thanks to the water tank god we met today." She said. "The water tank and the god were demolished soon after we passed out. Students were bunking classes to sit under there, apparently!" I replied. "Thanks to the water tank god, it wasn't demolished before we passed out!" We both left laughing.

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