Skip to main content

MAYA - PART 2

 ...Why? How? But she could have...

Psychedelic Maya, was she? Did drugs prove her undoing. She was a free spirit after all but then, not the likes I knew of. A heightened sense of self and her environment overpowered all her other instincts. So how could she? 

Since Jaipur, we had become good friends. A few misadventures aside, she enjoyed and thrived in Delhi. We went places, rather, I took her places where she never would have been in her wildest dreams. The Delhi of earthy delights, the bizarrely rich and dreadfully dirty lanes, the spiritual Delhi and the intellectual Delhi, the Delhi of spices, aromas and street-sides, the one of annals of power and malfunction. We were riding the wave of life.

But Maya's crests and troughs were much bigger. She lived in two worlds. Curiously she disappeared for days. According to her it was required as the Israeli embassy suggested, ordered and advised. One time, she resurfaced after exactly two months. I used to pick her up from the embassy after each such hiatus. "A government order for government official's daughter". 

One mystical summer morning we were on the outskirts of Delhi, returning. She made me stop the car. Maya got out with her backpack and said something confounding. "Prashant, I need to leave right now. There are things which I cannot explain. Certainly not now. Just know this. If I enter Delhi, I may have to go back home. That I don't want to do."

"Unexplained but most definitely not unintentional, I leave you with the hope that you will receive a phone call either from me or about me. Bye for now but, know that not all questions will go unanswered."

I did receive a call, almost three years later. It wasn't from Maya.

Next I remember sitting in a bus going towards the hills.

I had followed my addled brain to discover that Maya was the daughter of a senior Mossad operative. Her father was sent places on secret missions. Being the only relative alive, Maya also lived a secret and detached existence. She visited the embassy often to talk to her Dad. Never in person. For security reasons she also stayed in close observation of the authorities.

Like a hibernating polar bear she came out to live and thrive like any other free soul. She was allowed to live normally with spells of 'abnormality'. India was her sanity, embassy life were her episodes of insanity.

Just like a person with seizures, chemo or depression.

Only in Maya's case, death was never foretold, forecast or forebode.



She had drifted into a hippy existence, normal in the Parvati Valley, abnormal to most, yet normal again against her other life. She died, poisoned. Was it the enemy, her caretakers, herself? I gave up guesswork months ago. Not because I didn't care, I still do, but it is no longer important in the larger sense.

What mattered was - her undoing was none other but... ME. Partly or I think so. Apparently she had been warned of this proximity to a commoner's world through me. The final instruction to that effect, in front of me, was to leave right as soon as the call ended, that day, on that journey back to Delhi. 

As she had left note, I was supposed to take over all her belongings. 

That was all that I gathered from her embassy. 

I was not so shocked to learn that Maya's Kasol home, her purchases were all done in my name. She lived as maybe a friend, a sister, my wife or a girlfriend? Again, not important.

I was her every connection to the believable world and yet never connected to her unbelievable world. 

There is a weird collection of things in my house. For that friends and family visiting me laugh, ridicule and mock me. So much that I would have cried or hit back, if there once was a world with no Maya. Her belongings was my consolation prize for involving a girl I met by chance Up in the clouds. Not Water, as she had explained, but Maya - the Illusion.

So I just... !








Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Coffee Guy and His Meant-to-Be

Multitudes are ablaze inside as I navigate the day.  The song and dance of the frenzied emotions which take on the veil of calm & ease is extraordinarily stifling. The body shrivels, launches into a fit of despair and yet what the world sees is a happy individual at work with collected poise. Carrying this commotion-filled body in deceitful exterior in a relatively less chaotic weekend traffic, the holiday sees us in a cafĂ©. No sooner do we reach, than my sister is already into the laptop, while I open my book casually soaking in the atmosphere. I note a couple settling down; one diagonally in front of me while a girl sitting behind me, next-but-one table.  The day is still young for the coffee shop to begin its fast chores. The blank gossip emanating from the couple's table is too blunt to affect any interest, so I too dive into my book as my sister was already in her work which is when things started happening. Enter this guy, who completes the couple behind me and as one mig

In-Person Stories (Part - Whichever I Recollect)

I wanted to publish a detailed account of a dear friend's wedding. So I copiously took some notes while going through the revelries, being very much a part of them. Or so my concerned friend thought! But those painstakingly gathered observations got lost with time, people and life. Majorly disappointed, I thought of giving up on writing this self-anticipated account of a much awaited event in our little lives. I never thought my straight friend would be considerate enough to take a partner.  Not that he was a misogynist or a misogamist. On the contrary he has gone out of his way to make women feel at ease, whenever he came across one. In casual parlance, he sucked up to people (read girls), especially if he ever got to know one. Even to the discomfort of his friends like me. He had attended the most number of family marriage functions as the rest of us put together and does so still, dutifully. Although he was, as they say, never 'matrimonially inclined.' But some trickery,

No New Post!

No new post is worthy of being posted. They warned me of this. Writing, especially for the sake of writing is bad choice.  But, I went ahead anyway.  "How much of a flimsy idiot are you?" I stay transfixed. I have no reply to the following. What stuns me is not the argument they put forth, but the lack of answer/reply on my part. I know there is a reply in me somewhere. A good one. But it doesn't surface. Why am I writing a post? Who cares? Even if they do, how does it matter? In fact, I have been sloppy with my writing many a times, so why wouldn't anybody else be with their reading? That too, when they might not even be readers.   "Now, let us explain", explained these friends. "If    someone does open the link to your post (assuming someone actually does!), they will see the length of the post. Length might be a good thing, but definitely not in this case. A glance at the page is motivation enough to move ahead to a different picture, the next video