The Abhorjade

My name is William Francis Abhorjade junior. Born and raised in the streets of Vasco I grew up to be what I always wanted to be. It does not matter what I was, what matters is that I gave that up. Why you ask? Well, that’s an interesting story but promise me you will not judge me or declare me a lunatic. It happens sometimes with people who are passionate, people like me who prefer choosing their priorities not by their brains but by analysing with their fucking hearts. I use the ‘F’ word, pardon me for that, only for my heart. Yeah that stale three pound pumping organ of mine which has ruined me. Although, there is this nonchalant breeze that prevails inside me, it tells me I shall die with a weird smile on my face. I will have no regrets. So, before starting the story let me be very clear, I have no regrets, so there is no point feeding me with your lectures. Many have come and many have failed for I have not shook from my stand, a stand that has changed me for a lifetime.

It was in a waterhole somewhere on the Vasco-Hubli highway a few years ago that I had decided to taste alcohol for the first time. Not that I had never wanted to taste it before, but today it felt like the best opportunity. She had left me after all. Now, you will ask me who the heck is she? Well, let’s just call her as ‘she’, let’s not name her and insult what I still possess for her. A stack of unused emotions that is potent enough to bring down all the lame jesters in this world. I ordered the finest scotch in town and the waiter knew from the way I ordered that I was a newbie. Within no time there was a crystalline glass in front of me filled with a golden tranquillity filled liquid. I gulped it in one go. I could have gulped anything that day as I had gulped the indifference by the only person that mattered to me. It felt like there was a volcano about to erupt inside me. Scotch was not so good after all for amateurs I guessed. I felt my jaws being pulled down.  I imagined it would be the same way my hopes on her would pull me down all my life. I asked the waiter to repeat my order. My hands had started vibrating like they were having orgasms, my eyes were weary and my senses had started doubting themselves. I had started doubting myself as well, what was life without ‘her’?

Half an hour later, I was on the street after having tipped the waiter generously. I was sweating and I had no clue where I was supposed to go. I checked my wallet. A train ticket, I checked the time, I had already missed the train. I remembered I had left home three days ago. I laughed at myself and looked around. The blaring horns and the luminous lights were too much to take. So was life, it was too much to take, the constant introspections on where I went wrong? Everything was too much to take. Fortunately I had the sense to find a lodge and check myself in.

I stood near the window of my room having ordered a few more drinks. I do not remember how much alcohol was inside me. Perhaps I was inside alcohol. It was a delusion I was not ready to decipher. Hysterically I had a gun in my hand. I still cannot figure out from where I got it that night. Hence, you should never drink alone especially for the first time.  I placed the gun on my forehead and tried to gain some sense that I had lost. There was no point in living with the remorse of what could have been. A lot of people say she really meant everything to me. Fact was, she fucking did mean everything to me. I bent over towards the window grill and placed my thumb on the trigger. I badly wanted to pull it, so that I could be pulled out of my agony. A hundred rupee note was on the floor staring at me as I looked down at it in an attempt to pull the trigger.

M.K. Gandhi was staring at me through the note and smiling at him. He was the last person I needed to laugh at me. He whispered the Gandhi’s talisman in my ears.

“Whenever you are in doubt or the self becomes too much with you apply this to yourself. Think of the weakest man you have seen………………………”

I do not remember precisely what happened after that but I was back in vasco the following day. Yes, I was hurt but I was never a coward enough to kill myself. Yes, I loved her but never a loser enough to give up on her. I decided to keep my side of promise to her. ‘I will leave everything I have if you ever leave me’ she had smiled and said that will never happen. It did happen and lived my promise. It did not matter to me if she kept her promises, whether she still loved me or if she even cared about me. Fact was and will always remain, I did. And it was my decision. I had no right to influence her if it did not come to her naturally. Yeah, people laugh at me, they think I am must be mentally ill but I am not. I have just accepted what life threw towards me without leaving my stand. I am proud of that. How many of us can actually do that? How many of us are privileged to love someone knowing there will never be anything possible? How many of us are human enough to stick to promises?

For you it might be bizarre, for me it’s a way to tell her that I never stopped loving her and even in her absence I continue to do that never expecting anything from her. Also, I have one person to thank. My father, I am sure it was him from the heavens who put some sense into me and not M.K. Gandhi.

My name is William Francis Abhorjade junior and I stay in vasco leading a peaceful life with my seven dogs and the garage next door which sustains me.