Excerpt from SHE "Highway"

 We should not assume things without concrete
evidence. It only results in endless discussions. Does it not?
My experience says it does. So my brother and I were
driving down to the highway and he asked me, “Now what?”
So I was like, “What, What?”
‘You know, your life, what have you decided to do next?”
he asked.
At that particular instant we were passing a movie theatre
and as I mentioned I was under the impression that my brother
was only killing time, so just to infuriate him I said, “I am
thinking of joining the film industry”.
Now, being naïve to medical science, I don’t understand the
elastic limit of human eye. But I swear to God my brother’s eyes
were thrice their natural size. He did not need to mouth the
“What?” I could read it in his eyes along with the expletive F
word. But he did mouth the “What?” and I replied with my
“What?” He kept looking at me.
“You think I am not pretty enough?” I was enjoying this now.
“I didn’t say that” he replied a bit shyly. “But I supposed
you would do something respectable.”
This is what I meant when I said I got insight into his
character. He must be kidding.
“You think it is not respectable?” I asked. “People die to meet
film actors and just for your information it makes you famous
too. No one knows what Aishwarya’s or Sushmita’s brother does
for living. Maybe he is picking stones somewhere. (I did the
brother comparison thing just to annoy him.) On second
thoughts, that could make headlines. But you get my point? The
profession has fame, money and respect.”
“Not to mention, Lust.” He added with a wry smile.
This was war now and everything is fair there, Clichéd but true.
“Oh ! that’s the part of being famous. It’s a double edged
sword.” I threw in.
“Right, that’s what I meant. I bet no one lusts the brother’s
of the film actors you mentioned. That speaks something about
the dullness of their profession.” He added. Score 1-0
I was not going to give up.
“So are you jealous of not being lusted at? I am sorry but
little chances of someone lusting at your overgrown stomach”
(I told you this was war) Score 1-1
“Jealous? You must be kidding. And just for your
information. My stomach is a sign of prosperity.” He defended.
Score 1-1
“I doubt the army thinks the same”. I replied. Score 2-1.
“I am 33, alright and really sorry if I don’t fit into your
Barbie world.”
He snarled and I won. It was like giving up on
his part. We were in the last two minutes of the game and he
had accepted that any effort now was futile. He was Newcastle
without Owen. I was Man U with Ronaldo. He had no chance.
That was the end of our discussion. I kept looking out of
the window for the rest of our drive. The drive was indeed
scenic. For some time, I was lost in it all. Monsoon had arrived
and the rains had beautified the natural charm of the place.
..... I could not help but smile. My brother was still mad
at me for my earlier comments and he maintained a tight lipped
profile with all his concentration on the road. I was in a dream
world though totally bowled over by the scenery.
“If it’s a dream, don’t wake me
In this heaven just let me be.”
I sighed.
“What?” My brother exclaimed.
“I am quoting.” I said still looking out of the window. I could
see from the corner of my eye that he was looking at me with
quizzical expression.
“Who?”
“Myself.”
“What?”
“Is there a rule which says I cannot quote myself?” I asked
instead.
“No, but you’re not old enough to start quoting.”
“You and your prejudices” I sighed and turned my face away
from him to look out of the window. He kept driving and I kept
enjoying the landscape.
“Why do people get so ridiculously poetic and sentimental
in natural surroundings?” he asked.
“I don’t know about people, I am just enjoying myself
and the poem just crossed my mind. Why are you being
cynical?”
........“So complete it”. He said as we walked in the café and
seated.
“Complete what?”
“The poem.”
“I thought you just said it is idiotic.”
“Yeah, but you said you enjoy quoting, so complete it”.
“I said I was enjoying the scenery not that I enjoy poetry,
which by the way I do.” I corrected him.
“Complete it”, he repeated. I thought he was making fun
of me. I remembered our childhood days when as a fourth
grader, mom would make me recite the multiplication tables.
I would always get stuck at 13 two’s are 26 (I remember adding
13 twice quickly). My brother would be reading a thick book
and he would be laughing at my predicament. Bet he was doing
the same now but I won’t let him dampen my high spirits. I
had to show off. It was the outcome of 23 years of quiet dumping
of the volatile substances; I won’t take this humiliation lying
down now.
It happened naturally, my voice took a high pitch note as
I recited the poem. I was speaking louder than I usually do.
“Such is my bliss that I fail to see,
You’re surreal, you’re a fantasy
If it’s a dream, don’t wake me
In this heaven just let me be
Let me be lost, and never be found
To Walk away with you, spellbound.”
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