Tanhaiyan | neirohi

31. home

The screeching and scratching of the graphite tip of her pencil resonated in the room as she continued preparing her notes, unbothered. His ears irked at that sound, making his irritation obvious through the constant clicking of his tongue. The hands of the clock accidentally came into his line of sight. It was late.

Eyes fleeting over the girl next to him, he watched her study. Seemingly more interesting than the pie-charts he was working on. Shaking his head, he decided to focus on his laptop. This was due next Monday and he had plenty of time. Yet, he was thinking of some plans for the next week, a decision he took after a long time. An hour passed then two. Two in their late-twenties stay awake, life had to move on.

Eyes droopy, it was evident. Time to call it a day though according to the time, it was already the next day. He covered a yawn and shut the laptop, keeping it safe and sound inside the bag. Stretching, he prepared the bed. But no matter what, the young doctor who was in the phase of being an aspirant now, was not ready to tuck herself into the bed. Yet.

"Chipkali? Sleep. It's late."

"Five minutes, just five."

Five or even ten minutes later, she asked for another five minutes. This kept happening till the point all the sleep he had vanished, with a poof. Rubbing his eyes, he flicked the back of her head lazily. That got him a glare or a half-attempted one cause she herself was so tired. But then, she was yet to complete her target for the day. It was only now that she realized that perhaps, she got a bit too ambitious while setting the targets. Giving up, he leaned against her, head on her shoulder and locked his right in her left arm as she used the other one to jot down quick notes.

From the corner of his eyes, he read her notes, yawning the next second. "Neuro?" he asked, watching her attempt mcq questions side by side. She nodded, absent-minded. "What are you preparing for?" he asked, just to pass the time. Her eyes rolled at that, a hint of a smile pasting on her lips and she mouthed, "Mch entrance. Chamgadar, you can sleep. Shoo away."

"As in super-speciality?"

She nodded, not saying much. Question seventy-two was complicated, she skipped it circling the question number.

"So you are not going to be a dil ki doctor?"

She laughed at that, shaking her head into a no. The fascination she had for being a cardiac surgeon disappeared during her post-graduation. Her interest was somewhere else, to study the brain without touching the mind. His happy browns were waiting for an answer and she gave one.

"You want a dil-less doc like me to go for it?"

"Right," he agreed, "So how about we set up a stall to sell dils? Dil lelo, dil!"

Cracking a grin at that, she shook her head at his antics. The laughs died out soon as he nestled futher on her shoulder, making himself comfortable. As tired as he was, even if tomorrow office would be tough being sleep-deprived, he still wanted to stay up. Morning by the time he would wake up, she would disappear. It was these few couple of hours during the day, or rather night, that he could see her. Forget being with her, just see her.

"You might have wanted to be a cardiac earlier right? Otherwise why would you come to Birlas? I mean, they are known for that department."

"Yeah, I idolized your taiji a lot."

His head titled at that, catching her blacks. This was a new information. Understanding that he was looking for an explanation, she continued as she shut her books, "She came to give us a lecture in our coaching centre, when I was in eleventh, I think. I always knew that I wanted to become a doctor cause you know mumma ka..." she trailed off, masking her tears with sniffles as he brushed his cheeks against hers, "...but I guess it was Mahima ma'am whose words pushed me towards it. Becoming a surgeon, that is."

2.8 percent, no it's not your marks percentage or at least I hope it's not. That is the number of surgeons who identify themselves as females in the country. I'm throwing it as a challenge for all of you. Change the numbers. Can you?

Years back, Dr. Mahima Birla inspired fifty-five rebellious teens that evening. All competitive. The words, the challenge thrown had fired her up to crack her NEET. And even after clearing, those words made sure that she never lost her zeal towards her goal during her studies. Mahima Birla certainly knew how to make things go her way, for the bad as well as the good.

"Now? What about now?"

"Shameless of me to admit, but I still like her. A little less maybe. It's difficult to let go of things which you see or get fixed on as a child I suppose."

What she said had a lot more to do with her life rather than just Mahima Birla. He knew that. Stroking her skin, he lay sighing. Their hands wound around each other, just when he thought she fell asleep, her raspy voice spoke up.

"I don't want to work with the Birlas. Ever."

He looked down at that, at the girl tucked under his chin. Her nails gently scratched his scalp, a habit she picked onto. He knew what her decision meant. She shut her eyes, the humiliation hitting her back. Reducing her a to a bloody nobody, that's what they did. Forget, forget it all. That's what she was told. And that's exactly what she was going to do.

Move on.

Eight year old and twenty-three year old Aarohi Goenka from the temple stairs had to move on. No one could see it better than the man who held her in his arms right now. He had seen the broken bride before and now he could see the broken child as well. He gulped at the bare pain, the one which she refused to mask anymore. Or at least her jet black eyes did.

Her face dug deeper into his nape. His arms closed her in tighter.

Tears which should have been hers, were not hers today. The wetness stuck to her hair as he lost himself in her tangles. Losing himself while gaining the real him. The kid who was in rags and was picked up out of nowhere. It was the kind lady whose eyes shone, quite similar to his which connected them. As Manjari was not able to look away, she had decided. She was taking him home. Her sister had tried to stop her, they knew things won't be that easy back home. But if the younger one made up her mind, never was it that the elder one refused.

Reliving past was a terrible idea, for both of them.

"Harsh uncle used to call me good for nothing," he let out, in bits and pieces. "Bade papa," she whispered, her lips moving lightly against his skin. "Ma loved me a lot. Maybe not as much as bro but still, a lot. It was more than enough for me," she felt his small smile. "Mumma aur Akshu. But, it was never enough for me," came the confession, biting back her cries.

Everyone had someone. Everyone has someone.

Choking on the air he was breathing, it hit him sooner than it should, "I don't have a home." The whisper was truth. The truth. She looked up at that, catching his browns. It mirrored hers in every aspect. Hands cupping his face, she leaned down going for his lips. This time she was slow, they were slow. No rush. Tears brushing against each others. Who could trace its origin when everything mixed together? No one.

Pulling back, she smiled against his, "Neither do I."

Bit by bit and piece by piece, they shaped their homes, all by themselves.

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