10^th May, 2014

It would be easy to call me selfish or self-centered. After all, the first letter of this story is an ‘I’. And perhaps I colored this story to suit my dreams and needs. But I am neither conceited nor prejudiced. I know that I am lucky to have witnessed what I did. This story or statement of facts is more than just pains and pleasures of growing up. At core, it is about unexpected and true love. Love that lasts forever, Love that is pure, and love, that is immortal.  How and why I came to be a part of it? Sheer good luck.

18th January, 2010.
Mumbai

In the ‘city that never sleeps’, no one paid attention to the ambulance rushing to K J Hospital ignoring the traffic lights, its siren blazing. Even the ER was relatively quiet. The interns looked on hopefully as Ayan Singh was rolled inside on a stretcher. Then he started crying in pain and the men accompanying him waved off the interns. He was not an ER case but a transfer, a relativeof some super-specialist perhaps given how the usually complacent channels had worked overtime to get him here.

Ayan pressed his stomach hard, hoping it would relieve some of the pain but no luck. His painful moans andthe creakywheels of his stretcher woke up the people sleeping in the waiting room of Floor 7. The relatives of gravely sick and terminally ill had only just gone to sleep and resented being denied their only break from long hours spent waitingon their loved ones. Some watched him with resentment, aware that the nurses or ward boys had not been as quick on their feet when they had brought in their near and dear ones. Others sighed in despair and prayed for him. World was becoming a cruel place, they felt, too much pain and without any reason.

‘What happened?’ The nurse at the reception nudged her colleague.

‘Who knows? Drug overdose, alcohol poisoning or another one of those rich brat’s misadventures’ her colleague shrugged.

‘At least, it’s not an STD. Otherwise they wouldn’thave sent him here.’ The first nurse laughed.

If Ayan was still conscious, he would have vehemently denied any wrong doing and hated the nurses for being so cynical or casual, whichever way you prefer it.

Floor 7 was divided into five portions, one ICU and four attention wards which housed equally unwell patients who were just a step away from the ICU. The nurses and ward boys were used to the constant moans of pain, cries for painkillers and occasionally, non-stop screams from individual rooms as patients tried to voice pain that could not be put in words.

Though pain was hell bent on becoming Ayan’s constant companion, he was still to sign away his rights to fight against it or give in to the despair he felt. As long as he was awake, he would do his best to trump the rebellion within his body. But there were moments when consciousnessslipped from his hands and his pain would find a voice.

What had happened to him? Did he have an accident? Was a hero, tragically wounded in a war? Was it, in fact, an STD horrible beyond imagination?

Your guess is as good as mine. I accompanied him for dozens of trips to doctors, specialists, super-specialists and even a jaad-phuk baba that a relative had highly recommended. After all this time, no one really knew. His body was giving up for no apparent reason. The best guess was colorectal cancer but the treatment made no impact. So, his oncologist referred him to K J Hospital – pulling all the strings to ensure that the top most doctors in the field were on Ayan’s case.

15th March 2009.
Puducherry

The Lone Wolf, as Ayan was jokingly nicknamed, was nothing like the crazy guy from The Hangover. Ayan loved to travel and often, alone. Seated in a Volvo, he was waiting for his first sights of Puducherry. He loved the quaint town – the small shops, the quiet beaches and sense of destiny. He was about to undertake the most significant journey of his life. He needed some calm and perspective. The dreamer was about to become a doer.

He could not contain himself as he checked into the hotel. Despite the harsh sun, he hired a scooter and set for Auroville. He drove around without any purpose till it was too hot. He stopped for a cold coffee and listened to the tourists and residents of Auroville talk.

As he made his way to the scooter, he stopped and looked at the tiny shop, overcrowded with knick knacks of assorted colors.

Shoved in the back of a shelf, I perked up with the innate optimism that I was ridiculed for in the shop. I watched him run his hands over the jholas, incense packets on the table out in the front. I waited for his attention to wander to my dark and dusty corner of the shop. To this day, I am not sure whether he heard me or it was just luck when he turned to look at me.

For a second I thought it was the latter when he started from the top shelf, taking out journals and handmade paper sheets. My smile started to wane a little and then, he touched my spine. In that one touch, I knew he was a kind man. His touch, just a gentle caress, was appreciative and a little reverent. He pulled me out and wiped away the dust that the shopkeeper had let accumulate on me. And his rough hands on my black leathered cover felt so warm that I felt loved, like I had not been in years. For my owner, I was just another means of making livelihood, and he did not even care enough to know if I existed or not. But then, as soon as Ayan picked me up, my owner began to praise me like I was the best out of the lot, which I apparently wasn’t. I wondered where it all came from, but then, I realized that it was just a business strategy he was using on his customer to get rid of me. Like I ever wanted to be with him, Blah! I knew that to Ayan I was not a blank something. There was a light in his eyes and a secretive smile on his lips, like he could foresee his entire life etched on me.

Ayan asked my price and then, paid the amount to the shopkeeper without bargaining. The shopkeeper and I, both, were surprised.

I was surprised because no one ever not bargained and the shopkeeper because he wondered if he should have quoted a higher price. Maybe Ayan was a rich brat, I could see the disappointment in the shopkeeper’s face. Did I mention that I was also an observer of human nature? Given the years I had spent in the dark corner, I had to do something. The chances of Ayan being a cruel task master were less. I just hoped that I was not a gift, especially to a kid. Those guys are the worst, last but one in rank actually. Worst are those who waste words, writing lies or pretending in the absence of real knowledge or feeling.

My fears were put to rest an hour later. In the balcony of Room 306, Ayan took me out of his back pack. His movements were slow – the way he opened the newspaper covering me, touched my black pages – feeling my rough texture, and breathed in that fragrance only a leather bound journal has, something dreamy and sweet. Later on, I discovered that he was addicted to books, novels, and journals - new or old. It was a good vice to have but it bugged me to have him pay attention to others. I am a little possessive. After all, I knew him best at that point. When he brought home another book and lost himself in the tales it told, it would eatme up inside. I died a thousand deaths in those few months I spent with him; his apartment being a huge, disorganized library of sorts. I mean, how could he? I was his dream, they weren’t.

12th January 2010.
Mumbai

Dr. Brinda Tejpal, a renowned oncologist of K.J. Hospital was looking at the reports of a breast cancer patient who had opted for a breast implant, following the footsteps of Angelina Jolie when her phone rang.

Setting the reports down, she answered the phone with a slight smile.

“Baby, did you check on the patient I told you about? Ayan?”Santhosh aka Mr. BrindaTejpal as his wife liked to call him was all business.

“Good morning to you, too!”Brinda replied, half in jest.

“I married the most beautiful and intelligent lady on the planet.”Santhosh changed track.

“Let it go. You can’t even compliment your wife properly. About Ayan – he was brought in last night. I am going to see him in a little while and I have asked Sakshi to assist.” She refused to play game.

“You are such a sweetheart, Brinda.” He said, softly.

“You can stop now. When you want something, you are not very subtle, you know?”

“You don’t dig subtle.”Santhosh replied “I stalked you for years before you agreed to marry me, remember?”

16th March 2009.
Puducherry

        A dream becomes reality only when you make persistent efforts, devote yourself in entirety to it, and patiently wait for the outcome. It was on 16th March, 2009 that Ayan began working on his dream by writing the first chapter of his life on me. At first, he just sat by the window, looking at me and outside the window at regular intervals, unable to write a single word on my blank page. Unable to put life into me, he lit a cigarette and ordered a coffee.He took a deep drag and let out circles of smoke, and the mere thought of coffee kicked his brain hard enough to recollect something from his past. Some ‘things’, I would say, some pleasant, some unpleasant.

Between the sips of coffee, he started. His handwriting was neat and clean, appreciated by many and envied by a few. Once he had started, there was no stopping him. Musings about his mum and dad, his best friends, the games he played as a child, his first love and so on. When he looked up next, dawn was breaking. After a quick refill of coffee, he put up his feet and read what he had written down so far. He was not really satisfied, but something was better than nothing. The blue hued words against my soft pagesfelt like a victory to him and he smiled ear to ear. His happiness was now, mine. Seeing him smile made me feel satisfied and keen to know more. But the very next moment, he held his stomach, and cried out in pain. Later that night, I went through every word he had written. He was ill, I found out, very ill. How did I miss all the signs, I berated myself. Ayan slept uneasily in the dark, unaware that I was heartbroken.

18th January 2010
Mumbai

Drastic weight loss, excessive rectal bleeding and unbearable pain were the least of Ayan’s problems right now. Although the doctors had not said a word about preparing for the worst, he believed that he would not survive for long. That is why the leather bound journal was with him in the room on Floor 7. He had fought with Santhosh to ensure that no onetook his journal away. But today, he had no energy to think, let alone write. Dr. Brinda checked in on Ayan and decided that surgery was their only way out. Looking for another opinion, she paged Dr. Sakshi Gupta, her colleague and fellow oncologist. She had already forwarded Ayan’s file to her the previous night. They exchanged quick words by the elevators and Brinda asked for an OT to be prepped at the earliest. Sakshi promised to keep an eye on the patient and update Brinda in her office.

On opening the door of the room, Sakshi could not connect the patient file to the heavily sedated person lying in the bed. She recognized him in an instant. She had known him all her life. The only difference, the once handsome face was shallow and all bones. The jutting jawbones, the dark circles under his sunken eyes. He was more of a body of bones, devoid of flesh. He had lost a lot of hair, common amongst patient with his treatment background. The Ayan Singh in the files could not be the Ayan in front of her. But he was.

In shock, tears rolled down her cheeks and all her training was forgotten. All the good times and the bad she had spent with Ayan flashed in front of her eyes. Her sobs turned louder. Forgetting that Brinda was waiting for an update, she rushed to her office. There she tried to compose herself but to no avail. Half an hour later, Brinda entered her cabin. Though the tears had stopped, Sakshi was in no condition to operate. Brinda, thankfully, did not ask any questions and paged for another doctor to assist in the surgery which was due in two hours’ time.

14th February, 1999.
Ahmedabad

   The farewell function at St. Thomas Pre University College was phenomenal but one very important person was missing from the senior’s class.  Ayan was still on his way.Crisp white shirts and blue denims were his obsessions but then they suited the tall man well. He turned off the AC of his car and rolled down the windows. The hot air rushed in and brought back feelings of nervousness, terror and a painful-but-sweet anticipation. The fragrance of roses filled the car. In a hurry, he rolled up the windows again – he needed the bouquet of roses to be perfect and fresh.

He was excited and worried and scared, all at the same time, just because he was about to confess his feelings to his best friend, Sakshi.

He rehearsed the lines he was going to use in order to express his feelings for her. His oratory skills were admired by everyone, from the students to the lecturers, and even their principal, but at present, he had lost faith in his remarkable debating and rhetoric skills, because this was not any debate or elocution competition but an exam that could change his life, forever. The closer to the school he reached, the faster his heart beat. It threatened to jump out of his chest. When he was in spitting distance of his school, he applied his brakes, and considered confessing his feelings to her again. He was hopeful and anxious at the same time. And then, he smiled into the rear mirror. Who could say no to this adorable face, he grinned and drove into the school parking lot.

The function almost over, students were hugging each other, shaking hands, and flooding the school with their tears of departure. Ayan avoided the crowds because he did not believe in crying over the wonderful memories, at least, not in public. The moment he spotted the girl with the brown wavy hair in a red lace top and a black skirt, he waved her over to the parking lot.

“Where have you been, Ayan? You missed the entire function.” Sakshi was carrying a lot of gifts and her year book.

“I am on time.” He replied, fiddling with the solitary rose he had pulled from the bouquet.

“In what world do you live? The function started at 4..” She was interrupted by Ayan who had gotten down on one knee and held out a rose for.

“I love you, Sakshi.” There, he had done it.

A million thoughts rushed through Sakshi’s mind. She did have a strong crush on him. But they were best friends, the kind you could compare a married couple to without all that sex. They thought themselves too young for such decisions though everyone around them weredoing it. But she knew that she could not accept him. Not at the moment, at least. Was it because she didn’t want to lose her best friend? Was it because she had fought with her parents the previous night that she wanted to study further, amount to something and not be married right out of school? Was it because Ayan and Sakshi came from different parts of the country – their culture, their practices were completely different? Was it the fear that a whiff of a love story would end her younger sister’s education?Was it the fear of her uber-orthodox family losing face in the society?

She had a dream, a dream of being adoctor, a dream for which she had to fight every day at home. She also had dreams of being Mrs. Ayan Singh, someday. But today, she had to choose. She struggled to find the words. To tell Ayan that she had responsibilities too. That she was not as carefree as him, that sometimes things weren’t as simple as a yes or no. So, she just walked away, willing herself to not cry and trying to convince herself that everything would be fine. But it wouldn’t be. She had hurt him and men, even the ones in love, don’t know how to handle rejection.

Ayan felt like an idiot. She called him a couple of time but he never answered. No one can feel the ecstasy of love or pinch of heartbreak quite like a teen. And they were just teenagers. Both hoped that with time, they would find true love and their soul mate. They didn’t consider the possibility that the flame, in their case, would never dim.

19th January 2010.
Mumbai

       As the sedatives began to lose effect, Ayan began to gain some consciousness, and finally woke up to a weird mask over his face, which pumped oxygen into his lungs and helped him breathe. An IV on the back of his right hand pushed glucose and medication into his weak and powerless body. Still he dared to hope, to dream. I knew that because I knew his story, because I had been watching the pretty doctor sitting by bed for a good hour or so, and also because I eavesdropped on their conversation.

A second or two after adjusting to the light, his eyes fell on the lady sitting close to him. He didn’t know whether to believe his eyes. Was it a hallucination brought on by the morphine? The clear, glowing skin and the brown wavy hair, a little shorter now, the same ebony eyes and the deliciously full lips. The face was that of an angel he knew but the lady looked a little sad. He reached out and she took his hand. With one touch, he was back on earth. It was not a dream. She was HIS SAKSHI.

“Sexy Gupta,” He called out her nick name, his voice weak.

“Singh Chana,” She smiled, for the first time since the previous night.

He smiled, faintly, but it was a genuine one. The one she always fell for. The one, she had craved for since so long.

“This is so weird. I mean, one fine day, I wake up in a hospital which is almost 2000 Km away from my hometown and the only girl I ever loved, or the only girl I still love turns out to be a doctor there. Whoa.” He speaks, with a lot of pauses, because he finds it a little difficult to speak with the restrictive mask.

“Not just a doctor, but the doctor treating you, Mr. Singh,” She retorted.

“Ah, a dying man’s dream comes true, I guess.” He joked, as he removed his oxygen mask.

“Shhh...Dare you ever say that again?” She kept her finger on his lips to shush him up.

“Was I wrong?” He asked, without any malice or hope. .

“Shut up, will you?” She hit him gently.

“You always ask me to. Unfair.” He laughed.

“I love you, Ayan.” She said, out of the blue.

It had been caged inside her heart since 14 long years. Yes, she had fallen for him four years before he fell for her. It was much later in life that Sakshi had realized that she was never going to live by her family’s diktats – marry a boy they had chosen, give up medicine. So she followed her heart. As luck would have it, her parents came around. Sakshi had tried tracking Ayan but he had disappeared off the face of earth. Time and again, she cursed herselffor not taking the leap when he had asked. Now finally, she had found him.

“Is this happening for real, or am I dead? What medicines can give me this dream?” He asked, sincerely.

“You moron, I freaking love you.” She said, holding his hand tight.

“I love you more, idiot.” He shook his head and fell back into his drug induced slumber.

I felt happy and sad at the same time. I was happy because his love story was taking a new turn, and there seemed to be good days ahead of him, but at the same time, I felt like I wasn’t important to him anymore. I wondered if he would still consider completing the half-written story which he believed, would be his masterpiece. I wasn’t too sure about it.

Over the next few days, Ayan started to improve. He was keeping food down and color returned to his complexion. Sakhi wolf-whistled as he got his hair shaved off at the hospital salon and insisted on getting a patient discount. The oxygen mask was no longer needed. After a small walk around the ward, Sakshi helped him back into the room.

‘I made a wish many years ago.’ He caught hold of her arms.

‘What happened?’ Sakshi looked at him in surprise.

He bent towards her, and planted a peck on her cheek. The next few minutes were spent with her cute face in his palm, and her lips unifying with that of his, like they were always meant to be. The pleasurable kiss lasted barely for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity for them.

I felt a prodigious joy overtake my confused emotions as I saw the two of them kiss each other. I blushed throughout their kiss. Yeah, if books could blush, right?

Her pager beeped, and he could read her facial expressions and say that she had to be someplace else at the moment.

‘Don’t leave me, Sakshi.’ He said, gingerly.

‘I wouldn’t. Never again.’ She replied, and there was remorse in her voice.

‘And pardon me if I ever do.’ He smiled, a sad smile, indeed.

‘Don’t you ever say that?” She shot back, furiously.

‘You look more beautiful when you get angry, Sexy Gupta. It’s like anger beautifies your beauty a thousand times.’ He managed to make her smile.

‘And I believe you say such unpleasant things to fume me with anger, and enjoy gaping at my multiplied beauty.’ She smirked.

‘You’re so right!’ He exclaimed.

‘I have always been,’ she laughed.

‘True that, my Miss Right.’ He said.

Her every waking moment was spent in Ayan’s room. She met the friends he had made along the way, people from the non-profit he worked with and even his parents. They had a lot of catching up to do. Whether it was regret of wasted years or to live while he had time, I don’t know.

‘What’s the big secret? Nursestell me you sleep with it under your pillow.’ Sakshi asked him one day, pointing at me.

‘Ha ha, I am sure you have read it already.’ He half-said and half-asked.

‘I don’t read other peoples stuff. Privacy and all that. Of course, you are a stranger to all of that.’

‘Well, you should. It is amazing what you will find…,’ He started but she cut him off.

‘Wait, let me guess. Is that the masterpiece you claimed to write someday when you were sixteen?’ She asked,her eyes big with disbelief.

‘Not bad, but it is far from something you would call a masterpiece.’ He bleakly replied.

‘I will be the judge of that. Can I, like, read it now?’ She asked.

‘Why not?’ He grinned.

And she sat by him and read each and every word written over me. As she turned my pages, she smiled and laughed and cried, because the half-written story over me had all that was needed to connect a chord with the readers, and well, another reason for her to connect so well was the reason that it was all about her. The moment she read it, she knew it was his masterpiece, indeed.

‘So, when are you planning to complete it?’ She inquired.

‘I only hope I would live long enough to complete it.’ He morosely replied.

‘Shut up. You will live, and complete it. Have you found any publisher yet?’ She demanded to know.

‘Not as yet.’ His response was dejected.

‘Don’t you worry. I am sure the publishers would be fighting over you.’ ‘I am no DurjoyDatta or John Green.’ He replied, pretending to be sad so she would kiss him again.

‘You expect me to believe that. You are Ayan. Ayan Singh. Heavens will fall before you let anyone tell you they are better than you at something.’ She said, encouraging him.

‘Love you,’ He said, hugging her tight.

10th May, 2014

What is so great about this love story? I fear nothing except for the fact they made the most of what they had – the good, the bad and the ugly. 2011 saw them get together, fight, make up, despair over and then hope for Ayan’s health. Ayan’s love story ended on a happier note. But what about her?When Ayan passed away two months later?

Sakshi lost a part of her again. This time the pain was more acute. She was his wife, his lover, his friend, his doctor and his one great hope. It felt like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. Nothing made any sense and she could not focus at work – the one thing which had driven her all her life. Dr.Brindacovered for her gracefully and waited for Sakshi to come back.

There were nights, she just held me tight, and wept, like I were Ayan, and not his belonging. After all, I was his dream, and perhaps the only source to keep him alive. But how? I was incomplete.

A month after his death, she went back to work and got busy. When she was not working, she was sleeping. When she was not sleeping, she was working. But every now and then, she would take me out of her purse and stare at me, as though I held all the answers.

Till one day, something happened. Leaving work for home, Sakhi caught sight of the name plate on her door.

Mrs.Sakshi Singh, it read.

She pledged to buy Dr. Brinda a box of chocolates the very next day. In one second, everything was clear to her. She laughed out loud; she had found a climax for his dream. For his masterpiece.Driving home, she picked up a bunch of roses on the way. At home, she set the flowers in a vase and got to work. No bath, no dinner, no breaks. She just sat by the kitchen table and started to write. Somewhere around ten the next morning, I started to worry. My pages were coming to an end. Sakshi took her remaining leave and set base in the kitchen. She wrote, re-wrote, and scratched out entire chapters, typed, printed, read and re-edited. On Saturday, she was finally done. A pile of printouts bound by clips sat next to me. All her thoughts, I was happy to note, she had put inside my cover.

The journey to every home and computer screen in the country took longer. Publishers would take forever to reply and reject the manuscript without assigning any reason. After too many rejections, she felt the pessimism returning, seeping inside her body, hindering her from even trying to make attempts any more. Then that she found out about Readomania in a newspaper interview of a bestselling author. It was her last resort. She blindly submitted the typed version of me to Readomania.

The ‘yes’ got her dancing all over the apartment, surprising her parents who were in town for a visit. Four months later, the cover picture, the blurb and editing were finally done and the book went to print. Within a week of its launch, the book became a bestseller. Within a week! There was something about it.

I was ecstatic because I had seen the pain which people endured in the making of it, and now, it was time for them to smile. I was sure as hell that Ayan would be smiling from wherever he was. The secrets of life, small pleasures and joys that we forget about – he had left them behind in a leather bound book so that others may have hope and reach for the stars. If you want to know what the secret to life is, what is love and how to chase your dreams, buy the book - ‘The Masterpiece’ by Ayan and Sakshi Singh. I am not spilling any beans.

Tiny hands grab me while Sakshi prepares dinner. Karthik, I smile. He looks exactly like his father. I am almost overcome with emotion as he tried to read the words his father wrote. I am not sure he understands but then he smiles and flips the page. You never know, may be the boy took more after his father. I am just happy that for him and Sakshi, I am just as much a part of Ayan’s journey as his words.