Urvija Gulati

Diary @ 17

An old piece from my diary for the people that matter.

September 13, 2023
4:00 am
I was lying in my bed, eyes open, probably chatting with my girl friends who had come over to wish me.
That’s when his tiny hands turn the doorknob and he swings in with the door as he forces it open. As soon as he enters, he screams, “Jiya Didi!”. I sit myself up to acknowledge his presence but fail miserably as he throws himself over me and curls his cotton arms around my neck, tight enough to choke me. His thin legs fit right into the curves of my waist and we lay there, still, for a little while. Then obeying his sisters’ orders, he wishes me again, “Happy Birthday to you Jiya didi!”. It was probably the thirtieth time he had spoken these words that day. The other twenty nine were chanted repeatedly, without a pause, like a kids’ choir with words overlapping each other, the previous nightfall when my cousins had rung me a midnight videocall.
Its so strange how little unexpected things end up being the highlight of your day. I had imagined yesterday several times before yesterday began. I already knew that my highlight of the day would be HIM wishing, or as I had realized by noon, HIM forgetting…
But a surprise party! That really long note on someone’s WhatsApp status posted right at midnight hour like this midnight was awaited forever, like I was important! My parents, doing just the ‘cool parents stuffs’ to leave me with a night worth smiling for and worth smiling at. And my family, undistinguished by the roads that separate the roofs over our heads. Yeah, I know what’s worth caring for. I’m a better person today, maturer than the kid in me.
Today, my heart knows who’s worth gambling for.

I hope you forget me.

I hope you forget me.
Like the skin off your hands as if they never touched me.
Like the dust on your trophies and graduation scrolls, wiped clean.
I hope you forget me.

But when you perform titration again,
I wish you’d remember my shaking hands,
The pink turned flask and electricity in first touch.
I hope you forget me,
But whenever Taylor Swift is brought up,
I wish you’d remember the night I explained to you
The folklore triangle.
And how you were too skeptical about comparing us to James and Betty
’cause you wouldn’t compare me and you to someones who ended up breaking…
So, I hope you forget me.
But if you ever visit Mumbai again,
Take a moment to recall
The videocalls, and pictures, and the ‘love you, miss you yaar’s.
And whenever you stay awake till dawn,
Please remember the 4 a.m.’s of knowing each other more,
Remember how you waited 20 mins, for barely ten of being together again.
Remember that weird hug and your lips on my hand.
Please,
Remember my birthday.

I hope you forget me.
But if someone ever asks you
About teenage rush and your first love,
I don’t care what you tell them.
But I hope mine’s the name that strikes your head.
I hope you smile a little and then forget me again.

But I promise I’ll remember you.
Your skin, your arguments, your ego.
Your smile, your chapped lips and chocolate cake excuse.
I’ll remember your feet, your hand on my back,
And that millisecond of your shoulder under my head.
I’ll remember reading the same line over and over again
And the ‘afraid of solving a question before you’
because with you, I don’t think straight.
I’ll keep my hair loose,
And I’ll remember the look in your eyes
The smirk on your face when you were looking over at me
And I could tell, you were not thinking decent.
I’ll remember you so that I’ll never have to remember anyone else.
Never give so much of me that I lose myself.
I’ll love again,
But I will never love this much again.

So seriously
I wish you forget me
But I hope you remember us in pieces,
Like an old dusty jigsaw that doesn’t crave to be completed.
I wish you forget me
Because I admire the power oblivion holds.
And how it’d make you smile again like it was the very first time you met someone.
I wish you forget me
But I hope I stay in the back of your mind,
In the albums that won’t disrupt your new life.
In the polaroids we clicked in our minds,
And in the camera rolls that you’d open once in a really long while.
But when you do, I hope I still make you smile ❤

~Urvija

The long route.

The melancholic view of the sky is cut by the green shed over my head. The platform is dusty but I’ve been sitting here for a while now. A metro arrives every few minutes, doors creak open, some people walk in, some walk out, and the doors shut, but I stay frozen. I have earplugs in but they are silent too. No song makes sense anymore. Even the lyrics that could quiver me to my bones feel meaningless.

I don’t wanna get up. Because I know if I did, I’ll take the long route home. Again. I know I’ll travel an extra station just like he used to. And I’ll climb those very stairs again just to stand on the floor that witnessed our first hug. I’m dumb. I’ll do it again for the sake of summer times, for the holding hands, and sharing glance, and the butterflies.

Another train came. Doors creaked open and shut. Strangers disappeared and new ones appeared. I still don’t wanna get up. I just wanna sit and wonder if he too gets off at my station and pretend waiting for 4:15 pm. Pretend waiting till I arrive, just like he used to. Wonder, if he too, just sometimes, climb those stairs again and relive the hug. If he still leans against that railing and wish he could stare into my nervous eyes again. He says he still loves me, but ‘circumstances’ exist. I wonder if he loved me the way I died in his tanned skin, and his eyes, and his cheekbones and the fondling feet under the computer table.

Another train came. Doors creaked open. I walk in. I’ll probably take the long route. I do it every single day. But I know I’ll never give someone so much of me to take a long route again.