You come across so many people in your lifetime. Everyone touches you in different ways – most just pass by like sporadic trees on a train travel and some share random parts of the journey as co-passengers, rubbing off tiny bits (Well mostly chunks bigger than you really like to admit) of memories, learnings, personalities and their eccentricities on you. (Especially typical cuss-words used by them and their peculiar habits like using your foot for pressing the cistern handle)
Once in a long while, you bump into someone who enters your life like a blizzard, racks up all your senses, topples all your preconceived notions of life (Not that you would have many if you are anything like me), catapults you to unprecedented euphoric highs you never experienced before, and then departs just as suddenly, leaving behind a deafening lull, with ruins all around and a vacuum gnawing at your core. (A better metaphor would be of being abruptly thrown flat on your fat bum, driving the goddamn wind out of your lungs and hurting you at a very wrong place…ouchh!)
You try as much as you want, to rid yourself of the memories of stupendous moments, happenings and deeds (read sins & crimes) you indulged into, the torturous torrent doesn’t cease. (More creepy the deeds, more the torture)
Popularly professed methods like burning the damn cheater’s photograph & souvenirs, as so gloriously showcased in Kareena-Shahid starrer ‘Jab we Met’, and flushing it down a commode may provide temporary relief but post the curative act, the hauntings come back with a vengeance, with guilt of destroying the memoires (read trophies – all photographs & things of an ex are cherished trophies for sentimental reasons…or even to boast about among friends) adding to the weight.
Gyrating and jumping like a hunky-the-monkey after gulping down a few vodka shots with your junkie friends on ‘breakup-song’ ft Anushka-Ranbir doesn’t help either. You can shout out profanities and obscenities but it doesn’t really take the edge out of the spike of rejection wedged deep in your heart. (Spike wedged in your heart…that’s gross…eeeks!)
When you are almost consumed by the void left behind, though it’s difficult to really say whether it’s the loss or the insult of having been dumped that hurts more, and when the futility of it (read – the running around, spending your complete salary/pocket money on roses, chocolates, eat-outs, movies, and expensive gifts including that huge ugly obscenely expensive monster-of-a teddy bear, of course not to discount the eventual explosive mind-numbing sex you get as a payback – all gone just like that… you actually visualize all these going down the flush with the burnt photograph) smacks you straight in your face, a tiny voice from somewhere deep inside you asks – “Was it worth it?”
And your broken spirit raises its head out of its almost deceased state and squeaks – “YESS! Every shard of the amatory liaison unequivocally betides to be equivalent in virtue to the aggregate of passel of aforementioned abscessy vestiges.” (Which in english simply means – every bit of the love is always worth many such wounds. Wonder why a mangled spirit tends to bring out the Shashi Tharoor in you!)
It is at this precise moment my friend when your mind wakes out of its deep slumber, pats you on your back and grumbles – “That’s the spirit my boy. Now let’s get moving and find another chick!”
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