As she came close and leaned over to land a gentle kiss on my forehead, beads of perspiration trickled from her body onto mine. They rolled down my cheeks and slowly dissipated within me, symbolic of the part of her that would always reside in my heart. As she kissed my forehead, numerous strands of her thick, dark hair formed a curtain around our heads. I had often found comfort from the deepest troubles when I ran my hands slowly through her flowing hair. In fact, her hair worked such a charm on me that I would start pouring out the most mundane thoughts to her. She was the perfect listener, soaking in all the love, hate or anger that my thoughts had to offer. Whatever trials, travails or tribulations that I encountered, she was always there... just as she had been there now for the past one week, waiting patiently for me to wake up and talk to her. When she got up and prepared to leave for the night, suppressing a sob every now and then, I longed to call out and tell her how much I yearned for the warmth of her hug.
The fact was that neither she nor the medical team on my case had yet realised that I was awake, well only technically at least. While my brain had been jolted awake a couple of hours ago, the rest of my body seemingly didn't follow and was still convalescing in slumber. No matter how much I tried, there was no response from the limbs. I could not even twitch my fingers or bat an eyelid to alert someone that I was indeed conscious. It was like one of those bad dreams that we all have of being buried alive! After Meher had left, dark thoughts began to creep into my mind - what if they do actually bury me alive, will Meher give up hope of my getting better, will I ever manage to wake up? More importantly at this juncture, however, I was puzzled as to how I even landed up in this soup?
I tried to recollect the chain of events which could have possibly created this mess. The last thing I remembered was feeling a bit dizzy when swaying and dancing in the ballroom. At that point of time, I had put down this dizziness to the couple of extra shots of vodka that were gulped down swiftly at the open bar, even though Meher had advised me not to. She's always right, isn't she? I should have listened to her alright! In my defence, though, there was reason enough to lay back and enjoy this indulgence for both me and Meher. Our law firm had finally begun to show some signs of bearing the fruit of our labours after several months of watering and nourishing the seed we had planted not so long ago. I had stumbled towards an unprecedented victory in a long winding trial while Meher had superbly worked her way to bag a couple of new clients who could pay off our bills and feed us for the coming years with the work they would bring in. The two of us had often sat late into the night contemplating shutting down the firm and returning to our old, unadventurous corporate lives. So when the green shoots finally sprouted, it was jubilation and bliss all around.
We had decided to meet up and celebrate with all the members of our firm at an upscale city lounge in Hauz Khas. There were five of us running the firm - myself, Meher, Kavya, Zafar and Vidhi - a bunch of friends from college. Amongst the lot of us, Meher and Vidhi were by far the better lawyers. Meher's oratory flair and eccentric determination, coupled with Vidhi's clarity of thought and presence of mind made for a very formidable pair which gave rise to a truck load of envy in all those who stood besides them as opposing counsel. Those opposing counsels had once been me and Zafar, albeit in the college moot court competition. My half-baked arguments had been battered by Meher that day with such grace and ease that I was swept off my feet and flung straight into her empire of love. Tidal waves of admiration would arise in me every time I saw her argue a case. She wasn't the stereotypical lawyer who is suited more to prime time television news debates than the courtroom. No, she wasn't one of those attention-hogging leeches who mistake passionate arguing with migraine-inducing scream fests, where looking for logic is as good as searching for a grain of wheat in a bushel of chaff. Meher was different, she didn't need to hog attention at all. Having built such a stellar reputation over the years, all eye-balls were always set upon her whenever she entered a courtroom. Hers was a practice of the art of advocacy, beautiful beyond intrigue in both substance and in form.
To be continued...
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