It
was an unusual afternoon, an afternoon which signified a fresh new dawn
in my life. The summer rays tanned my supple skin making them pale while
I peeped out of the cab window to look at the passing trees. I longed
to have a sight of my apartment in that new city I was to be calling as
my home now. Soon, the cab driver screeched his brakes in front of a nine story apartment. I unloaded three huge bags of mine and looked into my
cell phone. ‘8th floor, flat number 802’, I reminded myself. The
watchman helped me with my bags and I walked towards the elevator to
reach the eighth floor.
I made open the door of my apartment and the watchman placed the bags on the dusty porcelain floor. I tipped him as he left and banged the door close. I looked around, the furniture was covered with sheets to protect them from the dust, the French windows were tightly closed not allowing the gush of fresh air to enter in, and the walls were covered with shabby spider webs. I took a deep breath and applied all my force to make open the French window beside the living room. It made a screeching sound and finally, I could feel the air blowing my hair away. I walked into the sandy balcony and looked at the beautiful city in front of my eyes. Hyderabad it was.
“So this is your new home, Aditi. A new city and a new life begin here, good luck.” I said and smiled to myself.
I changed into my pajamas and picked the broom and mop up to clean the beautiful dirty little house of mine. After the efforts of four long hours, I dropped myself on the bean bag as my body panted with pain. I looked around, the walls glittered with newness while the furniture got back their shine and the dusty brown porcelain turned bright white again.
Later that evening, I walked down my apartment to get some food for my roaring stomach. I walked to the nearest grocery store to get myself a pack of bread and butter. As I reached back to the elevator, I found it to be out of order.
“What the hell. It was completely fine twenty minutes back.” I said under my suppressed breath.
“The elevator goes out of order every now and then. Hopefully, the problem will be fixed soon.” A girl in her early twenties said while entering the stair way.
“You mean I have to climb up the eighth floor every now and then? You must be kidding me.” I shot up.
“I have to climb a floor more than you. Don’t worry; let’s accompany each other on those long stairs.”
“You look like a sports person. That would be easy for you.” I said looking at her tennis dress and racket bag on her shoulder.
“True that. I’ll entertain you with my talks and you’ll not know when you’ll reach your floor. Come.” She said and climbed the stair. So did I.
“Are you new in here?” she asked.
“Yes. I am from Mumbai. I am here for my new job. I’ll be working in an architectural firm here.” I replied huffing.
“That’s great. By the way, I am Zinath, an MBA student by force and a tennis player by choice.”
“Aditi.” I smiled.
“Aditi, nice name. I feel that I have seen you somewhere. Have we met before by any chance?”
“I don’t think so. By the way, tell me those must visit places of Hyderabad I should go around till my joining date approaches.” I said diverting the topic.
After a small chat, we reached to my floor. We exchanged numbers and moved towards our flat. Later that night, I was busy washing dishes when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the wall clock, it was thirty past ten. I opened the door to see Zinath grinning wide at me with a huge ice cream box in her hand.
“Ammi and Abbu are out for tonight, can I spend tonight at your flat, please?” she asked with sheer innocence.
“Sure you can. I am tired of talking to walls here, come.”
“Wow, you cleaned the house in a day? It smells awesome.” She said while looking around.
“Thanks. I am glad there’s someone to appreciate.” I said as I sat on the couch beside her.
“I remember that where have I seen you. You are Aditi Sen. Blogger of once upon a time fiction blog, ‘Aditi speaks’. Aren’t you?” she said unconfidently.
“Hmm.” I nodded reluctantly.
“It’s been three long years since you have disappeared from the blog. Shamita runs it. No one could ever know where you went, most importantly WHY you went.”
“That’s a long story.”
I made open the door of my apartment and the watchman placed the bags on the dusty porcelain floor. I tipped him as he left and banged the door close. I looked around, the furniture was covered with sheets to protect them from the dust, the French windows were tightly closed not allowing the gush of fresh air to enter in, and the walls were covered with shabby spider webs. I took a deep breath and applied all my force to make open the French window beside the living room. It made a screeching sound and finally, I could feel the air blowing my hair away. I walked into the sandy balcony and looked at the beautiful city in front of my eyes. Hyderabad it was.
“So this is your new home, Aditi. A new city and a new life begin here, good luck.” I said and smiled to myself.
I changed into my pajamas and picked the broom and mop up to clean the beautiful dirty little house of mine. After the efforts of four long hours, I dropped myself on the bean bag as my body panted with pain. I looked around, the walls glittered with newness while the furniture got back their shine and the dusty brown porcelain turned bright white again.
Later that evening, I walked down my apartment to get some food for my roaring stomach. I walked to the nearest grocery store to get myself a pack of bread and butter. As I reached back to the elevator, I found it to be out of order.
“What the hell. It was completely fine twenty minutes back.” I said under my suppressed breath.
“The elevator goes out of order every now and then. Hopefully, the problem will be fixed soon.” A girl in her early twenties said while entering the stair way.
“You mean I have to climb up the eighth floor every now and then? You must be kidding me.” I shot up.
“I have to climb a floor more than you. Don’t worry; let’s accompany each other on those long stairs.”
“You look like a sports person. That would be easy for you.” I said looking at her tennis dress and racket bag on her shoulder.
“True that. I’ll entertain you with my talks and you’ll not know when you’ll reach your floor. Come.” She said and climbed the stair. So did I.
“Are you new in here?” she asked.
“Yes. I am from Mumbai. I am here for my new job. I’ll be working in an architectural firm here.” I replied huffing.
“That’s great. By the way, I am Zinath, an MBA student by force and a tennis player by choice.”
“Aditi.” I smiled.
“Aditi, nice name. I feel that I have seen you somewhere. Have we met before by any chance?”
“I don’t think so. By the way, tell me those must visit places of Hyderabad I should go around till my joining date approaches.” I said diverting the topic.
After a small chat, we reached to my floor. We exchanged numbers and moved towards our flat. Later that night, I was busy washing dishes when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the wall clock, it was thirty past ten. I opened the door to see Zinath grinning wide at me with a huge ice cream box in her hand.
“Ammi and Abbu are out for tonight, can I spend tonight at your flat, please?” she asked with sheer innocence.
“Sure you can. I am tired of talking to walls here, come.”
“Wow, you cleaned the house in a day? It smells awesome.” She said while looking around.
“Thanks. I am glad there’s someone to appreciate.” I said as I sat on the couch beside her.
“I remember that where have I seen you. You are Aditi Sen. Blogger of once upon a time fiction blog, ‘Aditi speaks’. Aren’t you?” she said unconfidently.
“Hmm.” I nodded reluctantly.
“It’s been three long years since you have disappeared from the blog. Shamita runs it. No one could ever know where you went, most importantly WHY you went.”
“That’s a long story.”
I looked into her eyes; they were innocent as a new born baby. They screamed to know an untold story, how could I have resisted myself from those screaming eyes? I had to give up, I had to speak…
*****
“We are getting late,” Someone shouted from the other side and banged the door.
“Coming in two minutes,” I lied, as I had just turned on the shower to sprinkle my warm body. I felt relaxed with the hundreds of water droplet hitting my hair and then trailing down to my neck and then getting lost in the base.
It took me around 17 minutes to bath and put on my party wear. I opened the door and found Sneha sitting on the couch with Come-Aditi-I-will-eat-you look.
“Coming in two minutes,” Sneha mimicked my words in a pathetic yet funny way.
“What? I was taking a shower. I wasn’t making a maggi over there. Calm down! It takes time,” I made her calm with my joke and the puppy cute face look.
“Oh! Really and I thought you forgot to take gas stove in the shower.” She chuckled.
I searched for my stilettos and took few more minutes to put on the make-up. I was ready to go for the party. It was the birthday party of Sneha herself. Oops! I made her wait on her own birthday and even worst, I didn’t even wish her. The party wasn’t with the funny triangular caps and balloons and uncountable relatives singing “Happy Birthday to you” in a really pathetic tone but it was a party at disco with loud music cocktails & morons (read friends).
We drove for around 20 minutes and reached the location. I checked my hair again in the mirror, put some more glows to my lips and stepped out of the car. She parked the car, meanwhile I checked myself again and then we went inside.
Our pupils adjusted with the darkness inside. Morons (read friends again) circled Sneha and waited for their turn to wish her. DJ for a change played some remixed Happy Birthday music.
I allowed them to wish her and made my way to the bar.
“One Orange juice please,” I said and sat on one of the chair lined with the bar’s desk.
“And one sex on the beach,” said a stranger and took the vacant seat next to me. I looked at him and said to myself ‘A good looking stranger’
“Is that a drink?” I asked to confirm.
“Obviously it is… As there isn’t any beach in the disc. and moreover, I am not interested in making out with the male waiters,” He said in his I-am-so-charming voice.
I couldn’t resist laughing and my lips reflexes to ask “and what about the waitress then?”
“It depends,” he replied.
“It depends on what?”
“On the quality of drink she serves,” He cracked another joke and this time I managed to control my laugh, as I have to behave decent (at least in front of the strangers)
“By the way, it’s Kartik,”
“Aditi here,” I smiled, took my orange juice and walked towards Sneha.
-Dhristy Dasgupta (Blogger at Maple Leaf )
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