Smita Kaushik became author by chance and is now pursuing it by choice. Her first novel Let’s Get Committed, not only created waves among the young generation, but also pitched some notes with others as well. Though her forte lies in romance with a hint of comedy, she sometimes tries to lay hands on philosophy. An ex-DPSite, she did her graduation from KIIT University and is currently based in Hyderabad. Always a creatively inclined person, she has excelled in different art forms like contemporary, madhubani and Warli painting and has won many national-level art competitions. For fun, she likes to watch rom-com and read novels. Contact her at: [email protected].

The girl who never loved me back...

Smita Kaushik

General Press

Published by GENERAL PRESS 4805/24, Fourth Floor, Krishna House Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi - 110002 Ph : 011-23282971, 45795759 E-mail : [email protected] www.generalpress.in © Smita Kaushik All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publishers.

First Edition : August 2012 Sixth Impression : March 2016 ISBN : 9789380914244 Purchase our Books and Books online from: Amazon.in | Flipkart.com | Infibeam.com Published by Azeem Ahmad Khan for General Press

Dedicated to Finding Love…

Acknowledgement This novel is very close to my heart and bears glimpses of my life, of what I experienced, of what I observed, a few random stories I heard and the several lessons I learned. There were various people who contributed towards this, some known and some unknown. Few people who don’t even know that they have enriched my life, my thoughts and thus this story. They all can’t be named but they sure can be thanked. First, my parents for their everlasting support. My siblings Annu, Tiku and Moni for keeping me on cloud nine and for their ever continuous encouragement. Kartik, Gayatri and Kaushal for their avid publicity. Bhaskar Mitra, Lipsa ma’am and Srikant sir for their motivation. My friends Sasmita, Manas and Manisha for hearing the subsequent parts and giving their overwhelming comments. Soumyahsree and Ananya for being such adorable flat-mates. Kimmi for typing the chapters from my diary. Pallavi for being my best friend. Niti Dave for being so generous. Ajay Anand and Arpita Baggie for keeping the LGC group alive. KIIT and the people for their everlasting love and support. Ashish for appreciating me to such an extent that I start feeling that you have been bribed. My maternal family for finding about the novel and ordering it. Shreya Chatterjee for the incredible editing she has put in. Azeem Ahmed from General Press for his support.

Most of all my precious readers, who solicited me with their fan mails and comments to keep me going. God, for making me believe. Last but definitely not the least, Utkarsh for being there.

Lost in her Shadow As truly said by someone “The love that lasts the longest is the love which is never returned.” Walking by these empty lanes, I see myself fading away… Yet I know… Somewhere deep inside of you, you loved me back and it was true… I tried to say, I tried too hard… Each moment I missed, a moment of love… Now just left with memories back when, A lonely man trailing the solitary lanes… Love was there and love will be… The flames will burn in the air it breathes. Even though you never loved me back, I’ll love you for eternity. You’ll never know, how much you mean to me… I didn’t know how to confess what my feelings are; If only I could know, if the doors to your heart were ajar… I would’ve poured out what I felt back then. And those times have passed… Just left with memories back when, Now a lonely man trailing the solitary lanes… It was too late then, you were gone… But this day I have so much to say, No time to dream, nowhere to sway. Just one chance to tell you that is all I need… How much I loved, for you I lived.

And here I am, forever yours to stay… Yes I mean forever, for that I will try, Hope you will come one day to pass me by. Sometimes I feel, I am a bit too late… Too late to feel this way… But I will try it again some day… And then I fall back… And think of the times back when… We were young and we were friends. And as time has passed, things have changed, I am still in your love, but you have moved away. —Dibyajyoti Chowdhury I have been writing since my childhood days and have a great interest in poetry as well as writing stories and personal accounts with an emotional touch… mostly based on experiences and random thoughts. (Winner – The Girl I Last Loved poem contest)

Preface We always question destiny that it never gave us the chance on love… But isn’t the real question whether we gave ourselves that chance?

Chapter 1 43 Present Day… Mumbai Darkness all around. Vision getting blurred. It takes some time for the eyes to get adjusted to sudden darkness or brightness. Just like in life, we are always taken aback by sudden pleasure or pain, the same feeling of breathlessness, why does it always surround me. I am gasping for air and not getting much success. Someone pushing me from behind; in turn I am pushing the one in front of me. You’ve to impel others to get what you want; you can’t blame others as everyone including yourself is doing the same. I can feel the adrenalin rush. Everyone has to run as they have a place to reach, a place they call home – a home where someone is waiting for them, who will be worried if they are late. But me, I am just getting dragged along the crowd as I have no place to reach, no place to call a home, no family to wait for me. Look at the irony of the situation – life is making me smirk at my very own misery! It’s really funny, even if you aren’t making any effort to move on, you will, as time never stops. You feel nothing much is going to change but it does, slowly and gradually without you ever noticing. People who are important will cease to matter six years from now if they walk out of your life at this point. You won’t forget them but you won’t even recall them every ‘now and then’, even if it was the person you were once ‘madly in love’ with. You may still be in love with that person, but other things will get in your head and your lover’s memories will be locked behind a door you would rarely visit. 13

14

Smita Kaushik

The time progressed a minute or few and I was out of that overfilled passage. Huh! It’s Friday, so I am travelling by locals. It feels great to be around so many people whom you don’t know at all but you can somewhere relate to their lives. A great place to identify yourself with several emotions, which either you can’t feel or no longer have the ability to. I used to come here as a kid. Dad used to bring me here for a walk and get me my favourite cutlet which Bansi bhaiya used to make around the corner. That was till he got transferred to Lucknow… and then he never returned. Everything has changed since then but nothing seems different. Except a few more lights, a few extra waiting seats, increased shops, more betel stains at nooks and corners. Increased security in an attempt to prevent another 26/11. Finally, jostling young crowd running between different tuitions and home, under the pressure of cracking various competitions – bearing very few seats. Making my way further, having just missed the train, I was lucky enough to get a place to make myself comfortable. It’s a way of regarding the situation. Here it’s my weekly luxury to travel by locals which I am still enjoying even after missing my last train. However, for those whose travelling by locals is a compulsion, missing the train can be akin to annoying, something adding to their misery. I stretched my arms and glanced around. There were three young guys in their late teens, standing closely in a circle. All of them dressed in funky vibrant T-shirts and on-purpose tattered jeans, vibrant slippers; big dial watches, spiked hair. I reflected back at myself. I’m suited up, black and grey, Rado watch, well-set black shinning hair. Is there such a thing like young at heart? But I was more than relieved that I no longer carry a student bag. One of the three boys lighted a cigarette and took a very comfortable puff. After two to three puffs, he passed it on to his friend. During its lifetime, the stick kept on rotating among the three of them. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering those good old days. Now I smoke sixteen a day and it’s not even near to the fun we used to have puffing from a single stick. I have absolutely no idea why smoking or drinking bring guys closer. Although hard to grasp, but it’s a truth. Most of the colleagues with whom I am acquainted, I met them at the smoking zone itself. Besides, it’s



The Girl I Last Loved

15

something that serves my loneliness well. Since the past few months I am quite content with my career growth. So I was able to take this immense leap in slicing down my intake from more than thirty-eight to sixteen as a New Year resolution. What started as an infantile attempt to feel like an adult, is my most eminent companion now. I smoke to reward myself. I snap a deal, I smoke. I complete a report, I smoke. I survive yet another day of this purposeless life, I smoke; but most important of all, it feels like being with a friend. When it glows in the dark, it assures that I’m not alone. Being in a station gives the very same feeling to me. All these years I have witnessed various flavours of life here. A kid taking blessings from his parents before leaving home for the very first time. An innocent newlywed bride with all her expectations and fears upon entering her new-found world. Children running after vendors; parents running behind them. Lovers hugging each other while parting ways. Lovers passing smile on spotting each other amidst the entire crowd. Some promising new-bees leaving for work, hanging their laptop bags in one hand and newspaper in other, which probably they will read before reaching work. Some tired fellows unwilling to begin yet another day. Few satisfied faces reflecting they have embraced life in its every form. People coming. People going. Several unexpected convergence. Several unwanted divergence. So many people, so many eyes – holding so many dreams, hope, anger, pain, desire. Those wondering, awaiting eyes! Those eyes… those eyes that confirm you are not the only one with unfulfilled desires, you are not the only one who has assimilated this unusual mixture of emotions. I have always been attracted to trains, especially the ones departing. I can’t reason out why it gives a sense of wellbeing. Watching them leave reminds me one day I can refuse to be what I am. One day I can run away to a very distant place where I’m unknown. There is always a start somewhere else, if not here. “Oh! I am sorry,” a stranger who just spilled half the contents of her bag over me uttered. My thoughts or rather my repeated thoughts were interrupted.

295