HE-SHE-HIM-HER-I-Phone

Mumbai_train

He: At that very moment, he must have wished his life were a cliché. Maybe because that would at its very core mean that his life had meaning. The quality of that meaning might concern him, but in hindsight, his life would at-least have meant something. But no, his life wasn’t a cliché. His life was pointless. He had lost everything. He couldn’t bear to look down so he looked outside the window. Maybe he was hurting.

She: There was so much pain that she wished she would die than endure it. Deep within, this pain was as if attached to some vein, pulling her heart through memories. An unseen tug, a nervous pang of gloom, a feeling of detachment as she scrolled through those pictures. She couldn’t bear to look at them yet she couldn’t look away. She was heartbroken. Maybe she didn’t want to be herself anymore.

Him: Nobody wanted to be him right now. He himself wouldn’t have wanted to be him. Him was screwed! Him didn’t know if to tell the truth or to lie! If criticizing someone’s gift was bad, he had gone a step further. He destroyed her gift. And that too in a fit of rage! And now he had to put up a brave face as if nothing has happened. But from the corner of his eye, he could feel her glare, burning a hole into his bravado. She would make him pay. Maybe he was petrified.

Her: She couldn’t believe her eyes. He couldn’t do this to her. Not again! She would make him pay. She felt cheated. He had betrayed her. She had given him something out of love, which he destroyed in anger. They had repeatedly warned her that he wouldn’t change. That he wasn’t just moody & irresponsible by nature, but by DNA. But she didn’t believe them. She wouldn’t let him off so easily this time though. Maybe she wanted revenge.

I: An I-phone had fallen and the screen was cracked! Let me start from the beginning. It was almost midnight when I had gotten a window seat in the train facing He, She, Him and Her. They didn’t seem interesting enough to have a conversation, which is why I had decided to try my hand at sleeping. But of course drama doesn’t stop just because I am sleeping. Soon mid-dream I was woken-up with a sound of a sharp clang and a collective gasp. “An I-phone had fallen, the screen was cracked” was what I heard from whispers as I opened and rubbed my eyes.

But the act had happened and now a gloomy silence hung around in the air alongside the ambience of the train’s clickety clang. Not a word was being said. There were guilty gazes that avoided my eye and angry faces that looked away. But I intended in reading the faces of He, She, Him & Her, and finding out who suffered this great loss (it must be at-least 20,000 rupees if it is an I-phone). But even as the train rolled into the station, the melancholy four before me looked equally morose. Easy to read, hard to pinpoint.

“There is so much pain around that it makes it easier to hide pain”, was what I was thinking when a passenger occupied a seat next to me. He must have looked at me and realized that I was in astute ponderance. In-fact at that very moment, I was juggling with these above ‘maybes’ to come at a rather sadist, yet somehow fulfilling conclusion. But little did he care…

He tapped on my shoulder and brought me back to earth, just by saying, “Sir… I think you dropped your I-phone. Maybe the screen is broken.”

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