The Summer of Absolutely Nothing

9.

Advaith and Asmita were back!

After three days of furious writing and staving off self-pity, the two of them showed up at my doorstep with big smiles and bigger hugs, lending to the sentiment equivalent of the return of the prodigal son. Several squeals of joy later, Asmita jangled a set of keys in front of me, and invited me to my first sleepover sans adult supervision. Her aunt was out of station for a while.

Stepping inside their aunt’s house for the first time, the structural changes wrought on the house above by my architect mother became starkly apparent. Their house still had the third bedroom (done away with in favour of the terrace), and hence the living and dining room were separate, in their bifurcated living space. The kitchen was a bit smaller, a long narrow room open to the dining room. Hence, the house fostered the illusion of being smaller, while mine got away with feeling open and wide. However it was tastefully and expensively done up, albeit slightly showily - a taste which would not accord with my mother, who was fan of minimalism. Comfortable stuffed blue fluffy sofa set facing the TV, a glass shelf mounted above it, wooden CD shelves below. Glass circular dining table, graceful arched chairs, and fancy lighting everywhere, the abundance of modern fittings clashing with each other. It was a house in which no child had lived, judging from the pristine white walls, the breakable ornaments and bric-a-brac which lay around in plentiful (the semi-tasteless knick-knacks one sees completing sets in furniture shops). Elegant, but slightly cold, alien.

It did however have a beautiful smooth walnut book-case along one wall, filled with level upon level of books, several titles of which interested me.

Their bedroom was much more comforting, a large room right under mine, with two single beds, a study table piled high with books and papers (none of it looked academic), a pretty dressing table hung with fairy lights with Asmita’s kajal, eyeliners, clips, lipsticks and lip-balms scattered haphazardly all over it, and a lot of general accumulated clutter, childhood relics, photographs and artwork which adorned the walls and shelves. A room less used over the years, and hence had not entirely moved with the times; I compared it wryly with my own mostly stark room, save a notice board with several pictures and photographs pinned on it (outdated, since nothing had been added since my departure to college), and an old Harry Potter poster on my wall.

Unwilling to soil the rest of the house, we scarfed down an early dinner of pizza (the only thing which can be easily delivered home) in the bedroom; however, after this, greasy hands and mouths washed, we moved to the living room to watch a movie; typical high school sleepover fare.

Advaith smiled, as he rifled through the CDs on the shelf, and said ‘I’ve got something you might like’ before handing me the flimsy plastic cover of a pirated CD. A wide grin cracked on my face.

He had found Perks of Being a Wallflower for me.

About two hours later, we sat back, quietly reflecting in our philosophical bubbles. The movie, while it hadn’t lived up to the book (they seldom do), was enough to bring the warmth the book did. Emma Watson made a surprisingly good Sam.

‘In that moment, we were infinite.’

I could imagine it all; a song coming to swell and the music just bursting, the wind whistling through my hair as the blur of yellow lights in the tunnel rush past. Bellowing the lyrics out loud, the cold night air filling my lungs.

Millionaires by The Script would be the perfect song. It seemed the right parts happy and deep, with lyrics which one could shout for joy.

The movie had thus induced a pleasant contemplative reverie for all of us; good thoughts leading to bad, as thinking always does. Asmita was the first to break the silence.