DECEMBER

 4:00 AM

December'94

Terrace, Shivalaya Apartments

Dear Sarene,

If I ever told my myself that I haven't been 'that' unfair to you, starting this letter proved me wrong, I have this entire letter planed out in my head, except the beginning. The fact that I had to contemplate the adjective to use with your name made me realize how empty our relationship has been. I'm sorry for this emptiness. I am sorry that I cannot write beloved Sarene, or my dearest Sarene or my lovely wife, Sarene. I am sorry for putting you through this. I am sorry I'm addressing this letter to you. But who else could I write to? I don't think anybody else care about my truth, you, probably do. And we made a vow to always share our happiness and sadness with each other, I'm sorry I only made you a part of my sadness. Ironically, after disrespecting all the vows I made, this is the one I choose to keep.

I don't know if you want or need to know the reason, I don't know if you should. But I want you to know why, for the first and hopefully the last time I want to be honest with you. Starting with, the winds are freezing, cold is getting a grip over my nerves making it difficult to write, I love this feeling, the feeling to feel something.

I wasn't happy Sarene, not in my job, not in our marriage, not in any aspect of my life. And I believe I've never been happy in my life, not even as a child, I had my life dictated so there were no mysteries, no adventures. And it never bothered me, not knowing what loving to live was, not knowing what having a happy life was about, I was fine, living. Then I found happiness, I was ecstatic, and not at all prepared to lose it, so gone, it left me devastated. It turned impossible to see hope, to see any reason to live. Yes, you have been a part of it, but we lived two different lives, together. I'm sharing with you in this letter, the life I lived.

You know I was sceptic about moving to Neemuch from Delhi when I was posted as an irrigation officer there. I never lived in a small city like that, it still makes me angry that Maa Baba forced me to go, even though I was 32 and married, 'it's a government job' they said. But turns out those were the best months of my life.

My first day at office was nothing different from what they show in documentaries about small towns, I was welcomed with garlands by male staff and bouquets by female staff, you know most of them, they are not important. Mr. Kajolan introduced me to all the people, and during our formal chi-chat, somebody politely knocked, it was Ved, a guy looking like in his mid or early thirties, he wasn't though. He brought snacks, samosa and all with sweets from the most famous sweet shop of Neemuch. Mr Kajolan introduced him as well saying 'this is Ved, sir, your driver'. He smiled bowed a little with his one hand on his chest the other at his back and in a timid voice said 'welcome sahib', I smiled, unsure what to say. He arranged all the snacks on plates with the peon and served everyone, I don't know why was I following his every move.

You met him next day, when he showed up at our house in a Bolero fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave. 'Namaste Sahib' he wished in such jolly way that had me furious, what was he so happy about, I just wanted to back to my bed, all the time while I was getting ready that morning, I was thinking of a way to tell him to not pick me from our house, that I will travel myself. I didn't, I'm glad I didn't. Part of my job included to look after irrigation system of the entire district and tours to tows and villages which were part of Neemuch. Personally, I preferred those tours, the long roads, silence, long hours, peace. It was better than working at office, delving into endless paper work, all pages signed with corruption, roads were better than being a part of everything unfair.

I thought of Ved as somebody who wouldn't stop talking, who'll keep preying into my business, but I was wrong, he barely spoke and whenever he did it wasn't without 'sahib' or 'sorry' or 'please'. It was after a month and almost twelve tours later that we started talking. We talked of random things, he told me about the locals, their stories, their lives, their sufferings. Something stranger for me was that he always carried books.