Once I yearned for you to come to me like wildflowers when the field needs it. Suddenly.

Come, love, like the sudden rain on on an unbearably sunny day.

Now, I ask the rain, could you not become him and arrive suddenly? We could be one, without warning, like the rain soaking my clothes and hanging from my hair.

Your phone keeps ringing. You don't answer your phone anymore.

Neel: Guess which film I managed to get my hands on. Just guess…

Me: Glass of Rage?

Neel: Yes!

Neel: But no subtitles.

Jonai is typing…

Me: Spot on, huh. Glass of Rage at the film festival in 2001. It was impossible to find! I guess you got it off the Internet, illegally of course.

Neel: Of course.

Me: I know you too well. Too bloody well. J

Neel is typing

Neel: J I don’t know what I should do about that though. There’s such a long trail of heavy destruction behind us. J Putting in way too many smileys but I am not really smiling.

Sent at 12:00 AM on Monday.

Me: ??

Neel is typing

Neel: Just watched this movie called Amu by Jonai productions.:)

Me: Hmmm. It’s a nice movie. How could something called Jonai productions fail ;)

Neel: J

Neel: It’s been three years since we saw each other, ya?

Me: Listen, I have to run. Got work.

Jonai has logged out of chat.

Of all the things that remind me of us everyday — television shows, books, places, names, faces, terrible haircuts, shirts torn at the sleeves — the metro rides are the worst. I still brave the traffic and heat and dust over the metro-compartment time machine.

We’ve spent three years, stuck like an old vinyl LP that has stopped on some random phrase of a song, which suddenly has so much meaning on its own. Hammering the message into your mind with mechanical repetition.

“Darling you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go?”

My wedding day has always been a bit of a lemon in my mouth. The photos and videos have been locked away and I rarely look at them, lest the sourness rushes in, resulting in the inevitable finger-pointing between my husband and me. It's unfortunate that such a special day be thus ruined for anybody, but it's O.K. Worse things have happened.

At my wedding party, my mother's face looked painted pink. It looked like she was making an effort to look pale skinned while being deeply brown. Many comments were made-- all of them from my in laws and not all of them directly to me -- on my mother's appearance, her apparent eagerness to look "fair" which had caused her to look like a pantomime artist, her perceived lack of good taste and makeup skills. One random lady from my husband's family recently came up to me at an event and almost without context, said "tomar ma k dekhe monay hoyechhilo khub old fashioned, conservative, na? " (Your mother appeared to be rather old fashioned and conservative when I met her at your wedding, no?) I knew there was a translation for this, which read as, "your mother is not polished and sophisticated like us, no?"

I did not answer this woman at the time since it seemed to me that validating her question with any explanation will be an insult to myself and to Ma. I simply smiled and turned my face away. People who know me and my family, my friends for example, who have spent many many nights in my house-- with perfect freedom to think of my parents' house as their own, have been drunk and stoned, have burnt down our living room couch, have borrowed saris from my mother-- know my her as a woman who is anything but old fashioned. Fortunately for me, none of my friends have been people who considered speaking fluent English, or blindly imitating the West as a sign of progressive behavior. To shun all things Bengali in an effort to appear cosmopolitan has been scoffed at by my immediate and extended family and by my large and rather accomplished circle of friends. So, in these circles, Ma has neither been old fashioned nor conservative. She has simply been a middle class, educated, Bengali mother, who also happened to be a banker for 27 years of her life.

My family consists of three people. Ma, Baba and me. It's your atypical Indian nuclear family. When it came to the traditional Bengali wedding of their only daughter, these two people nearing sixty, my Baba and Ma, pulled off a wedding party with a 700plus guest list with amazing aplomb. The venue was perfect, nothing malfunctioned, services were payed for on time, the guests were received with a smile and a nomoshkar, the food was sumptuous and there was enough of it for everybody. No one went away with any complaints, which is generally the mark one aims to hit at any Indian wedding.

On the day of my wedding, right up to the time to leave for my wedding venue, Ma was working. Taking care of big and small details, while continuously supplying people who were getting ready in our house with whatever they needed--safety pins, water, hair clips. You know, the little things.

She wore her sari in the bathroom. Tied her hair without a mirror. She then put on her jewellery and her make up in the car on the way to the wedding hall. Looking her best was the last thing on her mind as she worried about things being even a little less than perfect on the wedding of her only child. And yet, her sari was exquisite, her jewellery tastefully matched, her thick, long, black hair in a simple but tidy plait falling down to her knees. Once at the venue she remained collected, gracious and charming, right up till the moment when her blood pressure shot up and she quietly, without a fuss, removed herself to a small room at the back, where she collapsed and had to be treated immediately. This was done so surreptitiously, that I learned about this much later and most guests still do not know of it. The wedding went on without any diversion.

In her youth, Ma had been a striking woman, tall and slender, with long thick hair, an easy smile and great taste in clothes. She turned heads at a lot of places and had many admirers.

And at 52, I would not hesitate to say that it requires a rare kind of beauty and charm to look as good as she did on that day, even with slightly off make up. Would you?

I was a very slow and stupid kid. I am a slow and stupid adult, but just more careful. So , I was standing in the balcony in my house in Salt Lake. I always put things in my mouth if I'm even slightly suspicious that it's sweet. Then I spotted something on the grill that looked like a homeopathy mediciner guli. Popped it into my mouth and then...ew ew ew..thhooo...thhooo

It was lizard potty. The black potty was right next to it, I hadn't noticed.

If someone tries to insult me by saying, "EAT SHIT!", I can say I already have.

"Chasmish! Chasmish! Beta, tum kahaan ho, beta..."

"Itna sannata kyon hai bhai?"

My whole face curled up like a burning piece of plastic and hid under the nose-bridge of my big black glasses.

Years later, when you said to me, "you look better with your glasses", I decided to believe you. From then on, I disregarded everything everybody had ever said to me and believed only this.

I look better with my glasses on.

Do you have a jiggly belly?

I do.

Do you hate my jiggly belly?

You probably don't, but I do.

Do you hate me?

You probably do, but I don't.

When RayRay becomes like boiling dishwater: Nasty and scathing. Mu. Ha. Ha.

B: And RayRay lost it! She was yelling her top off at him. You should have seen her!

Gorjuss: Oooh, let's not talk about this. How unpleasant. Why r u bringing it up?

RayRay: No no it's OK...I was merely yelling at the guy, Gorjuss. Not shooting him or instructing my brothers to shoot him, like M had suggested. I would have taken the advice if this was in U.P., but, you know...

Rawking (glorious indignation): Shoot him? You think shooting a man to death is funny? It's not funny at all (like she just said the most profounds thing ever pronounced after "Let there be light".)

RayRay: No of course I DO NOT! (fake indignation) For example, if you were shot to death right now I would think it would be a terrible tragedy. For other people. But, still.

Everyone laughed out loud. Including Rawking!

Only I didn't. Cuz I never forgive people who piss on my parade. But God knows the tide is turning.

The Wheel of Karma hasn't turned full circle though. The pain and humiliation you inflicted on me and my loved ones still makes me wake up some nights shaking with rage. Because of you the most precious memories I am supposed to have are so coloured by your hate that I try not to look at photos of that day, try not to think of that day, try not to talk of that day: that day which was supposed to be my biggest day.

When The Wheel comes full circle, you will be reminded of what you did, every.single.day. I promise.