The Love Messenger

While associating with Ronnie Raj’s documentary, which he did about a renowned prolific Malayalam poet, I happened to listen to the poet’s recorded sound as explaining that every writer will face a creative block in his career. I was thinking about a Blogger’s block in my blogging life which has been preventing me from writing anything for the blog. Surprisingly, today I got a subject to write upon, which is actually the favourite subject of humans, the love. But, to rescue myself from the kind of embarrassment happened to me due to the publishing of posts like ‘Fragrance of Love’ and ‘My First Love’, let me first say that this post is not about my love, but about my friend’s.

While working in the Gulf countries, this friend acquired a few months’ leave from his company and came to his native place to try his luck in higher studies. Since tuition centre was in the city he came to our place where a gang of ‘full-bloomed youngsters’ were staying and where I met him. 

We had a very interesting time together as a gang, of which majority are in the initial stages of their professional career. Sometimes we played caroms till 2 O’ clock in the night making a sleep-loving young software engineer curse us all for not switching off the lights. Sometimes, we brought liquors secretly to the second floor without letting the uncle and aunt (the landowner and wife) know, but with the knowledge of their son, to celebrate someone’s birthday or a new job joy. (Somehow, I had acquired the image as a gentle drinker and thus eliminated from the risk of heavy drinking). Sometimes after one or two pegs, we turned on the music system in the highest volume and put vibrant steps on the floor waking up the uncle and aunt from their heavy sleep in agony and letting the neighbours go on with their sleep listening to the soulful music coming from our throats (especially mine ;)). The very next day we were threatened by our landlady that ‘this will not last long’ (she had identified my voice).

I happened to notice the happiness on the face of my friend every day after coming from his class. We had some casual talks and one day he approached me with a request to compose a sugary sms to be sent as a reply to a message that he received on his mobile. When he flattered me saying that since I was a writer I could write better than him, I helped by composing what he asked me to do. When I thought that the job was over, he again approached me to compose another beautiful sms as a reply to what he received as a reply to the former sms. So, the job continued with seemingly no end and only when he told me, I came to know that I was working as a love messenger between him and a girl he met at the tuition centre. 

So, their love flourished, as he had said. He daily described what happened between them at the tuition centre while the teacher was away for a few minutes. I began to habitually see a pink coloured scooty pep resting at our house’s parking space, which he used to take from his girlfriend during the lunch time to come to the house. When the classes were over, he prepared to go back to the Gulf. Let me say for your information that a marriage between them was almost impossible as they both belonged to different religions. And I think, none of them might have taken it as a serious relationship.

A few months after leaving for Gulf, he contacted me on phone. We had some formal greetings but nothing mentioned about the girl. He contacted me again and again and on one occasion I asked him about the girl and he said that he tried to contact her but she had changed her number. 

Yesterday, he called me again and after some formal talks, he directly entered into the matter of his old tuition centre affair. ‘Is he still thinking about that girl,’ I wondered though I had never seen her.

He requested me, ‘Buddy, the sweet memories of the days that we all spent as a gang there still stick on to my mind. Buddy, if you don’t mind, please do me a favour!’

‘What favour,’ I asked mercilessly.

“I tried to call her several times, but she has changed her phone number. Buddy, please go to my tuition centre. It is on the small by road that leads to the city’s popular TV channel. Before reaching that channel, you would see a two storied building on the right side and you will see a board something like ‘Lokmanya Tuition centre’. Please collect the phone number imprinted below that. I will call you tomorrow evening to ask you the phone number and I will try to contact her through my tutor. He must know her phone number”.

Today, after noon time, I started my ‘sincere bike’, and went through all the cut roads in the vicinities searching for a tuition centre, where two young lovers shared their romancing moments some months ago. At last I reached there and spotted a small board with letters ‘Lokmanya’ hanging on the second floor.

'So, it was the place which I envisioned as a closed lovely place while my friend was narrating about his puppy love,’ curiously I thought while writing down the phone number.

While kick-starting my bike, I also chanced to see two eyes watching me from the window of the Lokmanya tuition centre. The teacher of the institute. She might be wondering that why was this guy not visiting the tuition centre and inquiring about the coaching classes, if he really needed coaching.

('May be' continued) 
PS: Read the combined second part of A Decent proposal and this post Here