Chapter 14

Thunders rumbled non-stop, the deep angry growls of the sky raging over the city. As if someone tore the clouds with knives, they bled in water, flooding the streets of Vepery pretty quickly.

“You might know or heard very often that the God of Rain is Varuna Bhagwan, but did you know he is not really the God of Rain, but it is actually the Indra, the leader of the Devas?

Varuna is the God or Controller of water bodies, like seas and oceans, but Indra is the one that controls the rains from the sky. He is said to be the God of war and weather, and is associated with storms, rains and sky. and It is believed that Indra controls the rains in order to help agriculture.

He wields a thunderbolt as his weapon, and is depicted as a warrior mounted on his gorgeous divine elephant, Airavata.”

Sheetal was reading through random rain based scripts she had written down, while waiting for the rain to slow down.

She often marvelled at the magnificence and intensity of the literature and art that is most often seen as just a part of a religion.

As humans, we do so much just to keep ourselves engaged and entertained.  We observed, realised patterns, created language and art, structured civilizations, and even defined what’s beneath the ground and beyond the skies. The same humans devised rules, we drew boundaries, divided people, conceptualized race, creed and religion.

Everything is well defined, yet everything is a mystery. Everything is important but nothing really matters.

But amongst all the gamble and chaos, to each, their own problem of that moment is the biggest. Sheetal was no exception.

She came to Chennai this morning, reaching home well after Sharini had left for school. She had texted Sharini letting her know of her arrival, and got a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

She then proceeded to get ready for her day and headed straight to the bus stop. The air was dry and fuming. The quick trip to the radio station left her drenched in sweat, and she felt thankful to be able to get off the bus.

She probably should learn to use the scooter and get herself a license like Sharini always says.

Speaking of Sharini, she was worried, confused and angry, all at the same time. Let’s just say last night’s phone call did not go well.

Soon after Sharini left for Chennai on Monday, Sheetal fell into a turmoil of her own. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted a “them” to exist, a relationship with Sharini, she wanted to experience the love as is, but she did not know if she deserves it anymore. Because she wanted more.

She wanted her family’s approval, their recognition. She felt like she would be nothing if her parents would disown her.

For so long, she had thought that something is wrong with her, that she is sick to even think of a friend in a way more than a friend should.

Ignorance was indeed bliss. When she did not know that people of the same gender can be together, she had nothing to lose, nothing to worry. She would have stayed best friends with Sharini, would have gotten married to someone her parents would find, would have been content with living in a apartment close by her best friend. Maybe.

Yeah.

Maybe.

That would have been ideal.

But now she hated everything. She hated her knowledge. She hated her awareness about her own sexuality. She hated that it was her best friend who made her feel things she shouldn’t.

She had hastily called Sharini last night, claiming that she hated the latter.

“I hate you, Sharini! I hate you so much!”, she had sobbed into the call.

“Who are you, huh? Who gave you the authority to affect me this much?”, the shorter blabbered on, without letting the other utter a word.

“I hate that you have been there for me, I hate that you make me feel this way about you.”

“And I hate myself because of you. I hate myself for being this way. I hate myself for lo-”, she broke down, trying to suppress her hysterical cries. Sharini had stayed mum all the time, heaviness clogging her throat, constricting any words she had. Or maybe she didn’t have anything to say.

“I hate you for sharing the same emotions. Had it been just me, I would have just lived with the guilt of breaking your trust. Now I have to live with the guilt of breaking your heart.”

“I hate you, Sharu, I hate that I love you. I hate that you love me too, and I hate that I can’t do anything about it.”

Sheetal was breathing heavily in between her sniffs. She wanted Sharini to say something, anything. But all she heard was a rapid heartbeat.

Sheetal watched a kid who sat across her now, extending a cheese ball in her direction, a confused look on her face. She had gotten so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realise she had been staring ahead unknowingly, and the kid mistook her to be looking at her snack.

She smiled back, gently shaking her head in no, and ruffling the kid’s hair.

The rain didn’t seem to stop. The skies had enough and more tears left in them, the lightnings decorating the dark clouds, thunder steadily roaring like music. Maybe she’d have to stay here the night. She couldn’t hire any auto or taxi due to heavy demands all around the area. No rapido or ola came to her aid.

Soon enough, Sharini skid to a stop at the entrance of her radio station, drenched in the rain, with a helmet perched on her head. Before she knew it, Sheetal was running down the wet stairs, seeing the teacher struggle to balance herself on the vehicle.

“Are you crazy??! Why did you ride in this thing all the way here? Come, let’s get inside the building!”, Sheetal ushered the other, all the while helping her to park the scooter.

“No, Sheetal, climb on, it is better to go home. The flyover is not too bad, we can make it in half an hour”, the teacher argued, refusing to let go of the other’s hand.

Sheetal sighed, she did not have the energy to argue over the gusts of winds pushing the rain on them. Her saree was sticking to her body, the dripping water starting to irritate her skin. Wiping her face with her hands, she wore the second helmet on her head, and carefully piled herself onto the seat sideways, her hands securely closing around Sharini’s midriff as a muscle memory.

The winds had died down, the rain continued to pour rather softly in the background. The keys jiggled and the door creaked, the absence of words between the two girls helping amplify every foot step.

Sharini speed walked to the bathroom, freshened up and changed into a fresh set of clothes, the first set of tshirt and palazzos she could find. She was exhausted and it showed. She flopped onto a chair with the grace of a drunk elephant, throwing her head back, eyes closed, and the towel thrown over her face.

Some seconds ticked and then she felt it. A pair of hands gently tugging the towel away from her face. The yellow light from the side bulb pierced its way through Sharini’s eyes, making her squeeze them in desperate measures to shun away the brightness.

Sheetal started to dry the teacher’s hair with the towel as gently as she could, her whole being itching to find ways to remove the creases on the latter’s forehead.

She gently massaged her fingers into Sharini’s head and kept moving her fingers in soothing circles. In a mere few minutes, she felt Sharini relax in her hands, and a gentle smile crept up her face.

Once she was done with the hair, she moved on to pat dry the teacher’s ears and neck, until the girl stopped her. She held her hands in position, eyes still closed, “What are you doing?”

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