Fireflies7 mins 21.8K 7 mins 21.8K
By the way, I am Varun, an eighteen years old whose mom still controls his life. I live in Mumbai and to be frank I don’t really enjoy studying. My father is a Doctor, a Cardiac surgeon to be specific. And my mom is an architect, or should I say she was. She left her passion to TAME me. She felt I needed her more. And I would accept that too. I always needed her. And I loved her very much too.
So we had finally reached our destination and I had forgotten all my century old friends as soon as we stepped into this heaven called MANALI. The roads were all covered with snow. The trees and every peak of big and small hills were covered with the white snow. It’s serenity and purity left me amazed at the view. It brought peace to my soul and replenished every molecule of me. Yes, it was MANALI.
Although ‘originally’ we are Punjabi, we had an ancestral house in MANALI which was recently renovated by mom. My parents had decided to spend their vacations here and after that their retirement. And now I wished to have the same plan. The house was surrounded by lush greenery and was in isolation from the main city, allowing only four more neighbors to accommodate into the place. It was double storey and had a beautiful chimney, like those that you would have seen in Hollywood films, usually from which the SANTA rolls down, sometimes covered in smoke and sometimes as clean as he could be (pun intended). It had wooden furniture and the rooms were warm and comfortable. Surprisingly it had a study too which had more than few books in it. The wooden floors were hiding beneath the carpets in most of the rooms. Mom had smartly clothed every corner of her room in whites, contrasting it with the furniture but blending it with the snow outside. And she would’ve killed dad as soon as he would spill his coffee while reading one of his Robin Cooks’ classics. Well, the houses’ beauty couldn’t be really described in words.
We spent the day relaxing, had warm food all day and then I drowned myself into the sofa in the hall reading my new book. So, as I was concentrating, I heard a soft voice tickling into my ears, and this is where Mishka entered my life. I quickly book-marked the page and ran towards the door, as I neared it, I started tiptoeing, and finally peeped through the tiny hallway. Mom was at the door talking to a girl, whom I could only see partially. But I could tell you only from that partial look that the girl was more than beautiful. She had lovely eyes which were turquoise in shade. Her skin was of the lightest peaches and her cheeks had a natural blush of the mountains. Her lower lip was more plump than the upper one which was nearly a fine line, and they were cherry red. She wore a 3/4th bloused sweater of deep blue color above a knee length woolen white dress. Her legs were covered with long boots. She gave mom a box. Mom took it and turned around, inviting her inside. I quickly pulled myself inside and ran towards the hall room. She was going to come right there and I wanted to give her the best of impressions. But I have a mom, remember? Huh!
She got her in and I looked up at her with an intimate look on my face. Smiling softly, confidently. My mom introduced me “This is my son, Varun, and he is very naughty. And he doesn’t study.” She said. “I have to chase him day and night to get things done you know, he is very lazy” she giggled looking at her, and the pretty girl giggled at me. I was totally annoyed by now. Till then she added the last line of annoyance “He has a girlfriend, God knows how she bares him.” My mom said and headed towards the kitchen. And I was like ‘What?!?!? How did she know that?’ I was thrilled at this knowledge that my mom shared. I still gathered courage to talk to her. And told her that I had broken up a few months ago.
I learnt that she lived in the neighborhood and was here to invite us for dinner. She was close enough for me to have noticed her and I can tell you she was one of the finest things God had ever created. Not a single flaw did she have. And while she was talking my eyes were stuck on her. I would shuffle my view from her adorable eyes, to her perfect lips, to those rose red cheeks, to that fine skin and back to her eyes in which the entire world could fit. I would notice her in pieces and then let her whole face come together at once. It was hard to tell how it looked better, because it looked ‘the best’ both the ways. Days were passing by and we were getting closer and closer. I would go out in the morning to fetch milk where my eyes would get locked with hers, then a little later both of us would meet and roam around Manali in her father’s spare car. We had been to ‘Jogini waterfalls’, ‘Hidimba temple’ , ‘Nature park’ , a few Buddhist temples and to the mountains where we I held her hand for the first time as we looked at the warming last rays of the sun which sometimes seemed to be filtering through the mountains and the other times through the trees. I squeezed her hand which was locked with mine in between my finger spaces and then gently rubbed it with my thumb. She looked at me as I did so, and then I brought our locked fists to my face and gently kissed it. She blushed, and kept her other hand on the union kissing it, I brought my other hand covering the entire structure and I too kissed it. And this turned out to be our style of loving each other after that.
The next day we went to the BEAS river. Amidst the sound of rolling pebbles and soft swirls of the creeks, where the birds chirped in unison, a passionate moment had turned us to face each other and I couldn’t help but kiss her. And that was the one of the best things I’d ever done.
We reached the car, she threw herself on me with double the rate of passion. We reached home to realize that our parents were out for movie, but we knew they would be back soon. We went to her house where I placed the car keys perfectly to their place. I looked into the turquoise eyes of my lady love which looked into mine impatiently. Mishka was always hyper-attuned and I admired that the most.
We both were like those fireflies closed in a jar, running short of oxygen.
Now, when I look at our picture hung right above the fireplace, when I see her flawless beauty in the picture, I miss her and I miss that passionate moment that lasted as a fresh love for the rest of our lives till she died, last year. And I miss her inasmuch that it hurts. But I don’t miss our love, which will be buried only at my grave.