Yaad-e-Naaqis

I sat on my bed one evening,
munching on puffed rice and potatoes
when my mind took me back to that memory
from many years ago.
I don't even know
whether it was four years ago,
or maybe five...
This will surely drive me crazy one day.
Damn, I'm supposed to be good with dates.

The brown table flashes in my mind.
I remember the scratches on it,
My friend talking to me about the origin of Korean.
Absent-minded, I bobbed my head up and down.
Throngs of people, smiles and frowns.
And then my eyes landed on one particular face.
If I had to describe it, I would say-
a rugged face,
a tiny scar on the left cheek,
and eyes that reminded me of a building under construction.
Incomplete, yet fascinating.
A lingering face,
A faint trace of a possible story that could've perhaps gone down in history,
now lay rusted
at the back of my head.

I also remember the shrill sound
of the bell at school.
Tiffins opening, chatter all around
and the sound of a voice
that I had once held so close.
We wore matching bands,
Black and red,
Held friendship in the palm of our hands,
And a lot of things that remained unsaid.
She had told me that day,
"I want to tell you something."
And just before she could say,
The end-of-recess bell took the moment away
I never got to know what she had wanted to convey.
Her voice always reminded me of the old cassette Nani used to play,
which would get stuck on the fourth line of the second stanza of the third song.
Every time.
Still, Nani would play it over and over again,
only for it to get stuck
at exactly the same place.
There was something about it.
Incomplete, yet beautiful.

The puffed rice in my bowl was almost over.
A thought suddenly took over,
of the summer vacations all those years ago.
I distinctly remember the smell of coconut oil
that Mom would ever so patiently
pour on her hands,
and her fingers would work their magic on my scalp.
The rhythmic, circular movement of her touch
that felt so much like paradise.
Invariably, someone or the other
would call to her
and the champi would remain incomplete.
Incomplete, yet satisfying.

I finish the remainder of the potatoes
in my bowl,
and a faint smile crosses my lips.
Some things remain incomplete,
And that's okay, honestly.
There's beauty in that incompleteness,
And also---
Actually, let it be.
You see,
just in case you haven't noticed,
The essence of the word itself lies
in complete.