It had been over two years since I met AJ. It was in a work setting. It was the most ordinary of interactions - I had something to be done; he got it done. And that was it. Or so I thought. But he called.
We know precious little about each other. There is no sparkling conversation, just short telephone calls. He had asked to meet for coffee, but it did not work out. He asked again a few days later. This time I told him quite bluntly, "You had planned it earlier...I suppose there is a problem..."
"You can say I am intimidated...no, not really, a bit apprehensive..."
I have always been polite. But, instead of reassuring him, I said that I was not interested in knowing anything personal about him. What I did not say is that I do not want him to know me.
I don't want anyone to know me. And what do I offer him anyway? He has never expressed an interest in my opinion on any subject; he has never mentioned my writing. All that he has ever said is that he thinks I tend to leave a lot unsaid...even in response to mundane queries. Who decides what is mundane? To me “How is your health?” is not a mundane question. Yet he feels the need to talk.
The contradiction fascinates me. Here I am closeted in my hidden world and I become a 'people's person'. Strange…
Yet the sounds play:
"kis kadar roz kiya mujhse kinara tumne
koi bhatkega akela ye na socha tumne
chhup gaye ho to kabhi yaad hi aaya na karo
awaaz na do…”