Questionable Candour

Something that no one tells you about breakups is how you stop belonging to someone.

Sometimes the only real memory of a person you have is something they said. Oftentimes it's that one inconsequential thing that defines your entire memory of them.

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I first met G after we ended up in the same class at school. I'd decided I would jam to Sanskrit shlokas than sit through arduously long chapters in Hindi.

G had picked the same because Sanskrit had a reputation of being easy to score marks in. G was street smart and the kind of kid who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. With him around, you could do shit you'd never do alone because no matter how crazy it got, he'd have your back.

K was an year older than us and lived in one of the worst parts of the city back then. The kind your parents warned you about. We hung out with him because the guy had a great sense of humour and unmatched propensity for mischief.

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One lazy Friday afternoon, K insists we go check out a creepy farm that he'd heard about from his friends. The farm had an old house on the edge of it that no one lived in.

Rumours had it that a while back, a wealthy couple lived there. No one knew what happened to them except that one fine day, they were not there anymore. The house did have some tenants over the years. Some of them moved out within a week claiming they heard weird noises at night. Others only lasted only for days.

Now all this was probably bullshit and K had quite certainly made up half of it right then. But we did nod our heads pretending to believe it all.

I remember trying my best to explain why this was a bad idea but G had already made up his mind. According to him, those were just rumours and we had nothing else to do.

This was also the year when our parents finally gave in and decided to get us bicycles. Having a bicycle of your own when you're a kid in Coimbatore circa 2009, meant you had a license to roam around whenever you wanted.

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We met up at the rendezvous point the next day at around 6:30AM and the sun wasn't entirely out yet because it was winter. As we got close, G decides we should stash our bikes and go on foot the rest of the way. K went first, with me right behind him and G at the end, keeping an eye out for anything strange.

As we moved into the field, the grass was getting longer and longer. At one point, K suddenly turned to me and placed a finger on his lips. There was not a soul around for miles but I turned around and made the same sign to G.

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By now, I really just wanted to go back home.

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As we approached a clearing, K ducked down for some reason and we followed suit. One by one, we peeked through the grass to see if it's safe to walk through and it takes us a few seconds to get a proper look at what lied ahead.

I never thought I'd say this but I wish we'd seen an actual ghost that day. Instead, what we got to see were two grown men, squatting down to get their business done.

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Now, I for one, do not enjoy looking at people taking a shit. Particularly after I've had to wake up early, skip the usual glass of tea, and walk through grass taller than me.

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K let out a sigh, whispered "Karumam", and started taking slow steps in the opposite direction. I take a deep breath - which I then immediately regret - and follow K.

G does the same, pauses for a second as if trying to process what's going on, and then with a sly smile goes "Enna da pae-ah kaatrenu, paelradha kaatringa?".

We freeze for a second and then start cackling. K almost falls down from laughing too hard. I remember trying to cover my mouth with one hand while trying to cover K's with the other to make sure they don't hear us.

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G died two years after this.

He drowned when on a trip with a few kids from his neighbourhood. The funeral and the events that followed are still a blur. K and I were in touch for a while after that. But it wasn't the same.