11-04-2020
I don’t remember how I met the two of you. At this age of yours, it is
not uncommon to see two girls together as the best of friends. I have a vague
recollection that it was not you but your friend who made friends with me. I would
have never thought of approaching you for meeting me up. It was only when your
friend went missing in action that we met (was she grounded?). Anyways, I don’t
remember if I approached you or did you approach me, or was it your friend who
planned for us to meet? Or did we just meet by chance? At the empty road where
people bicycled in mornings and some people took long walks. That road which
was elevated from the ground around it? On the left side of that road, there
was that lake. I often sat by the side of that road and watched that lake. That
day when you were coming to meet me I was watching by the side of the road,
that lake, with reflections of trees in the water. I remember wondering that a
meteor must have hit that part of that earth so many thousands of years ago
that water filled into that depression. The lake or pond or whatever, always
filled me with wonder. I remember gazing at the lake with my chin resting on my
knees. From the corner of my eyes I saw you approaching from the other side. I
remember being afraid of my friendship with the two of you (because of age
difference). When you came and sat next to me, your phone rang. I could hear
you indistinctly, walking to and fro and explaining something complicated to
your father. Was it about me? I couldn’t help but wonder. The fascination with
the lake was over for me by then. I sat up and dusted the back of my pants that
had turned brownish red sitting on the ground. You had hung up the phone. You
came towards me smiling. I like how you keep your personal problems to
yourself. Without exchanging many words, you took my hand and we climbed down
the side of the road, into the grass and empty field, with the lake on our
side. You took me through winded ways into an empty abandoned structure. Was it
a factory? A sugar mill? An ice-cream factory perhaps. It must have been a
hideout for the cocaine snorters. How did you know of this place? I couldn’t
help but wonder. You led me up the broken stairs into that dark crumbling space
where the fading sunset filtered through cracks in the roof and walls. It was
there that we found ourselves intact, connected, like lovers, with the weight
of the world thrown away into the wind. What was I, your teacher? In my laptop
I had photos and videos of a distant past. You made me show you my albums.
Photos of my friends at hostels, pictures of drunken parties and brawls. Photos
of puking youngsters and wet naked pants. You scrolled through the pictures of
my youth like a hungry maniac. And then you stopped abruptly at the picture I
should have deleted or kept hidden in some other folder. That was me wearing a
wig of white hair. Long hair, that fell over my shoulders, reaching till my
waist. I used to be clean shaven even back then. Spectacles I still wore. That
photo intrigued you. Without asking me any direct questions you looked at me
with those eyes. I ran into explanations. Umms, yeahs. I had a video too. Me
wearing that white wig, dressed like a girl, a drag queen, drinking vodka out
of a plastic cup, I was roaring a Pink Floyd song into the camera. My boy
friends around me. Popping up from behind my shoulders, smiling, just for the
picture. Someone was recording all of that. I was singing Jim Morrison. Pausing
to drink vodka from my cup. Me in my elements. Later when you rested your head
on my thighs, looking up with those cocaine eyes, I told you that it was a
picture of me from before the days when I discovered that I was a woman. Before
I knew I was transgender. I used to dress up like that for every hostel party
with my friends. That was my thing, you know. We never thought of gender or
anything so special back in those days. It was wild fun. Mock fucking and drunken
kisses. Me sashaying up and down in gowns, dresses and make up. It was just a
thing. Nobody mattered so much back in those days for doing these things. I
loved my white wig. It was my favourite possession in the whole world.
