Pining Of The Pink Sapphire

The clock tower at the high school nearby chimes exactly 11 times. The night sky turns a shade darker. I am laying wide awake on the couch in my top-floor apartment in Chennai. The silence is annotated only by the summer rain, tap dancing on the asbestos sheet covering the open portions of the terrace above. Sleep eludes me, just as many other things in life – love, happiness, acceptance. I may be using different words, but all of those conjure just one image in my head. All of those emotions embodied in just one person. The memories feel fresh enough to torture me, and yet distant enough - as if it were from a past life.

I’ve tried to let go. I’ve tried to move on. But I know a part of me still yearns to be with someone who can embody those things again. To distract myself, I open the dating app on my smartphone and start swiping across random beautiful faces. Barely a few swipes in, a wave of resignation sweeps over me. I may still hope to find love once more, even be happy again, but… acceptance for who I am? That’s asking a lot!

I put the phone down and look at the photograph my mother had left for me on the side table. Looking back at me from this 4”x6” ultra-premium matte paper is this young man with a prim and proper, crew-cut hair style, a clean shaved face, and deep brown eyes. The horoscopes have already conveyed their approval. The families have ticked off their list of expectations from both sides. But they still need my decision – the rubber stamp to seal this arranged ‘sale’ – the only kind in the world where the goods sign off on their own transaction.

I have 24 hours to let my mother know if I am agreeable to spending the rest of my life with him. Twenty-four hours to decide whether I want my fate inextricably intermingled with this gentleman. Twenty-four hours to sign off my own warrant for life-long imprisonment to a fate neither of us fully understand? Or perhaps to sign a release from my current predicament, an escape from the darkness within my head? I close my eyes in the secret hope of shutting everything… and everyone… out. But that beautiful face, that exciting convention, that fated evening at the night club, don’t leave me alone.

***

I am unable to tell if I have been asleep for a few minutes or a few hours because I’ve woken up with pretty much a vague memory of all the thoughts that were troubling me last night. The alarm keeps going off on my cell phone – a rude reminder of a new day, for more of the same. My mother is already up, bathed and fresh, performing her morning puja, praying to the Gods for a “normal” happy life for me. Normal as she defined it. As society defined it. Meaning, conform to the majority and do as the mainstream do. Not be an outlier. I’ve tried to be normal. I’ve wanted to be normal. I’ve never really succeeded.

I sneak to the bathroom to freshen up quickly, get into my track pants and running shoes, and try to rush out for my morning jog before my mom could…

“Aparna, Stop!”

…do that. Sigh!

“Good Morning, Amma. You look lovely today. What did you do to your hair?” I don’t know how I do it, but there it was – my usual jolly banter that everyone around me is used to. Completely hides the turmoil in my head; no one has a clue!

“Nothing new, di. It’s Friday today, puja day and I’ve just washed my hair just like every other Friday. Now stop beating around the bush and tell me… Did you look at the photo I’ve kept for you on the table? Did you see his profile on matrimony.com? Do you like him?”

“Ma! Thought you gave me till the end of today for me to make up my mind. Please don’t rush me, okay?”

“Ok, di take your time. Speak to your friends. But please say yes, OK? – I have a feeling this is the one. Just don’t screw this one up too. Here, have this coffee before you go for your jog.” 

I just nod silently, gulp down the warm coffee and break into a sprint down the spiral stairway. The only thought running in my head:

“This is not the one, ma. You will never be able to find the right one for me. You will always be looking in the wrong direction.” I don’t tell her this of course, but gosh, I so badly want to.

***

The sky seems clear and it looks like the Sun might be back today after a week-long hibernation. I sprint out of the gate without pausing to close it back. I do not jog… I run! I run non-stop for 30 minutes. I know I am not really running away from anything, but I wish I could. May be I should be running faster so the past would just fade away in the background as if it never existed, and I might just run into the arms of a new, unseen, future. I might be someone new. I might become someone else. Not what everyone wanted me to be.

It started drizzling again.

But the past never really lets up, does it? I slow down to a jog and eventually slacken into a casual walk, weary with the heaviness of memories that refuse to fade away. It is always around me. Everything around me takes me back, not forward. I see a young, petite girl, somewhat plump, but not unattractive, no taller than 5’2”, dressed in a tight salwar kameez, walking with an umbrella tilted ever so slightly towards the front in a way that her face is not easily visible. There is something about this deliberate act that makes me quite curious and I try to catch her face as she walks past me. She is quite good looking, has flawless skin and a very cute smile… no, wait… She’s blushing! She’s giggling now. Ah! There is the answer! I see a thin, white wire going up all the way to her ears, down to a black phone on her hand. I wonder what magic, romantic words her boyfriend has been whispering in her ears secretly. Has to be a boy, for sure. I had no doubt of that. I know no boy can ever make me giggle like that. I’m usually the joker in any pair. I tried to remember the last time I made someone giggle like that.

The drizzle continued, ever so slightly threatening to break into the rain.

I continue walking, back and forth across streets running parallel. I have no more energy to run and I do not feel like stopping. I hear the rumble of a Royal Enfield Bullet from at least two streets away. I see them now. A boy riding the bike, and the umbrella girl riding pillion - hands outstretched, head bent back, looking up at the sky, no… with eyes closed… She opens her eyes and with graceful, swan-like movements, hugs the boy tightly on the chest, resting her head on his shoulders, rubbing her cheeks against his stubble. That feeling! Somewhere in the depths of my mind’s abyss, a cloud of envy floats through a dark sky full of painful memories.

It starts pouring heavily and within a few seconds, I am fully drenched. A depression had formed in the Bay of Bengal apparently. A depression in the peak of summer. Who’d have thought!

It looks like I’ve wandered off several kilometers away from home. I decide to take an auto-rickshaw back home. The rain doesn’t leave me an option in any case.

***

I had slept for 5 hours that afternoon. This I knew only because my mother wouldn’t stop lamenting about it.

“A girl in the marriageable age sleeping for 5 hours is not good at all! What will happen if you do the same in your in-laws’ place? And how many times have I told you not to sleep on the couch? That’s why you are so tired today.” I hear utensils being rolled around rudely at the kitchen sink, bearing the brunt of her anger towards me.

“Ma, what time is it?”

“It’s at 6 pm already. It is not good to be in bed beyond 6 pm. Get up and help me get ready for dinner.”

“5 more minutes, ma…” I pull a pillow over my head to shut her out.

“Aparna, this is heights of irresponsibility. If only your Dad was around, I wouldn’t have to deal with all of this alone. Once I get you married, my responsibility is over. I need an answer from you at dinner.”

I wish to go back to sleep and hibernate for a very, very, very long time.

***

The dinner table is very quiet. I sit silently, swiping my phone under the table. Mom is sitting at her usual place – the corner of the table from where she has a line of sight to the large TV in the hall, catching up on the evening soaps. Neither of us wants to get the inevitable conversation started. I knew it would be my mom who would break the silence as usual and ask me if I have made up my mind. I of course had, but my decision is not what she wants to hear.

“Aparna – let me just tell you one thing. I don’t know if you are in love with someone and hoping to marry him. If you are – you don’t need to tell me – just forget about it. Okay? You are free to reject the boys that I find for you. You are free to take your time to decide. But if you expect me to accept someone from outside our caste - It’s not happening. Okay?”

My mother, like most people, is obviously someone who thinks all sapphires are blue and all rubies are red. She’s never known that sapphires in nature come in all hues – green…, yellow…, orange…

“I will consume poison and die rather than see you married off to someone outside our caste. I am just not built to withstand the wrath of society. I cannot handle it. Sorry! Okay? I’ve battled society enough, trying to raise you alone.”

Now, that was sharp. Empty threats am sure. But I am not built to handle those. She will never be able to understand. She will never be able to support me against society.

“Okay, ma – I’ll marry this guy, okay? Happy? Are you finally Happy?”

I just walk off with my plate to the wash-basin, clean out my half-empty plate and lock myself up in my room.

I crumble on the bed, open my phone, click on the secret folder, type in my password and start looking at pictures of her – this petite, slightly plump, attractive, bundle of joy, no taller than 5’2” with soulful blue eyes. Pictures of us. Just two girl-friends hanging out, at the mall, at the cinema, making duck faces, enjoying the azure blue Baker beach in our bikinis, but then there would also be some others… me riding a Harley, with her in the pillion, an odd butch-femme couple at the International Bear Rendezvous in San Francisco, kissing right under a bright red billboard sign in Newport Beach that proclaimed “Homosexuality is a Sin!” There are more, but I can’t bear to look at them any further as dark memories flood my eyes quickly.

She was taken away from me abruptly when a man named Donald Gay, angry at what his surname now meant, and claiming to be told by God to find and kill homosexuals, purchased a machine gun and opened fire at the ‘Bear Club’ – a nightclub at Richmond, California catering to the Bear and Ursula sub-culture in the gay and lesbian community. She was killed while waiting for me. Love, happiness, acceptance – taken away from me for no good reason. She, who taught me to accept myself for who I am. She was killed because of who she was born as, for what she was.

Did I mention that sapphires in nature exist even in pink, which is only a few hues shy of red, but is still not a ruby? But pink sapphires continue to be sold as rubies and buyers are none the wiser.

This part of me has to lie in the past, go back to the closet. I have to transform into someone that my mother expects me to be, someone that this society can accept. I have to become that person.

Ping! My thoughts were distracted by the sound of a notification from my phone.

I wearily picked up my phone and in an instant, my legs went weak, my head became light, I caught myself stifling a smile and a huge weight was lifted off my chest. It was a notification from the dating app, where a petite, plump girl all dressed in pink had swiped right on me! I became comfortable being a pink sapphire all over again!

The rain outside had stopped. The sky had cleared up. The clock tower at the high school nearby chimed exactly 11 times.