It was a moonlit night as I lay in bed listening to Beethoven's
'Moonight Sonata', the wind blowing through my hair. I sit beside the window
and gaze at the moon. It's full moon today but for the first time I
decide not to write on the moon's eternal beauty but the story that for long I
had kept hidden in my heart. The story that changed my life...
Two scores ago.
I was sitting beside the window listening to the 'Moonlight
Sonata' on a full moon night with the collection of 'Lucy Poems' in my
hand. I was amazed by the love and companionship Wordsworth gifted Lucy Gray.
She was one lucky woman I thought to myself. I wanted someone to share my words
with... someone who would be as full of words as I am. A gush of wind blew my
hair and as I was busy brushing the hair strands off my face as I had no one
else to do it for me, I noticed that the newspaper lay on the floor. I leaned
on my bed to reach for it and that was when my eyes caught the advertisement
given by a person who was as crazy as I am... or let me put it in a different
way... as literary as I am...
I was a small paragraph that narrated his need of someone who was
interested in being his friend through letters and not the social networking
sites. I read it twice or thrice to actually believe that a person in the
twenty-first century was craving a pen friend. It excited me like nothing else
had in the past few days and I immediately sat down to compose my very first letter
that I would post. I head only written letters in the English Grammar classes
in school but was never priviledged enough to write it, fold it neatly, seal it
in an envelope and post it. And of course I never waited for any reply so
eagerly.
This is what I wrote:
Amar,
Maybe I should formally begin this letter as it's the first time we're
giving ourselves chance to communicate with each other. But on the hind side,
our objective is to become friends and formality has never pulled any person
close. I'm in a dilemma at present on my way of communicating so maybe I'm just
going to let my thoughts flow.
It's the 21'st century and no one today makes pen-friends. Well... maybe few
people like us do but I've never come across any until I bumped into your words
in the magazine that day. I loved your way of publicizing your need. It was
creative and it completed its job of letting people know what you
require.
"I'm in desperate search of a companion who is as filled to the brim with
words as I am and is willing to freeze the moments hence in pen and paper. A
likely soul is most welcome to pick up the pen and embark on a written journey
with me."
It read exactly like this and I cannot tell you how happy I felt
upon reading this. Yes, I am filled to the brim with words, not as much as you
are but a lot more than you perhaps. I'm overflowing. Would you also like to be
a platter to accumulate all my words and prevent them from getting lost?
-Aayat.
I had written and re-written this letter a dozen times before
posting it. It was 3:00 a.m. in the morning when I retired to a little slumber
and was up by six that day to post it. I slid it through that narrow cut on the
red and black painted, oval shaped container containing lots of official and
boring letters and it gave me a weird satisfaction thinking that it was only my
letter that had some emotions associated with it... some literary value...
something that had a binding force...
I checked my letter box every morning before leaving for college
and every evening when I returned. Many a rosy hour had I spent imagining what
the reply would read like. It was exactly on the next full moon night when I
returned from college and slid my fingers into the letter box that my heart
skipped a rhythm as my fingers tenderly touched something. With nimble fingers
clutching the envelope and a silent little prayer up to Jesus I pulled it out.
It was the REPLY!
I ran to my room upstairs and unfolded the paper with a wildly
beating heart. I ran my fingers through the letter and felt it. I smelled it
and breathed it in. It was the first time in my life that someone had written
something to me… only to me… someone had actually taken time to write for me…
It felt so special!
Thus began a journey filled with words and penned down in the
letters that travelled long distances only to make two hearts feel like they
had never felt before. I waited with the same eagerness every time I posted a
new letter and spent hours in the library composing a possible reply for the
next time. Added to my window side reading collection with Lucy Gray were our
letters. I felt blessed when I saw I could communicate by using a pen and a
paper and not the internet. I didn’t have to depend on the network for
connection. We were always connected.
Amar became an integral part of my life in a matter of a few
letters and some words with lots of feelings. He told me that he had started
listening to Beethoven at my recommendation and I had started enjoying the
tunes of Mozart. I also thought of Tennyson a bit more than I had previously
done while he informed me how he admired Wordsworth’s love for Lucy. Our horizons
expanded with each letter and life became a bit more beautiful each time we
found an envelope in our letter boxes.
“Aayat, isn’t it strange that so strong a connection can be formed
by letters? I find myself waiting for your letter like I never waited for my
job interview even. It’s weird how I feel such strong companionship with a
person I have never beheld before my eyes. But I still know how you look like.
I know how the edges of your eyes are and the curves of your lips. I can see
the strands of your hair fall across your face. I can see the earrings dangling
from your ears.
It is all so different and strange. But you know what’s even
stranger? I hear you speak to me softly in my ears when I read your letters.
Maybe your voice travels from afar and reaches me.
I believe… I strongly believe that when two hearts are so
connected, no distance matters. I can hear you from wherever I am. And I know
you can hear me too. Can’t you?”
This was one letter that touched my soul. It felt me and I felt
it. It was so endearing and so beautiful! He knew it well that even I heard him
in each of his letters.
My library hours were spent in reading and composing letters.
Coincidentally, it so happened that, mostly our letters reached each other on
full moon nights. I have always liked the full moon. But that one chapter in my
life has taught me to love it.
“Not only us, the moon also waits for us to receive our most
prized possessions. I’m sure the moon loves us and our friendship more than we
do. You know Amar, that apart from us, the moon is the sole witness to the love
that we share. We are mortals and one day our letters will stop.
But we will still go on. We
will be immortal till the time the world sees a full moon night.”
Every full moon night gave me a joy beyond expression. I lay in
bed glancing at the moon and listening to Beethoven; often reading his letters
and played at the back of my mind the evergreen romance of Wordsworth and Lucy.
A full moon night always meant the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ and his handsome voice
travelling from afar. Beethoven’s music and his voice were a combination that
created magic!
I smiled to myself and hummed Mozart in the shower. Sometimes I
even saw Wordsworth walking around. I believed I was going crazy and I was too
joyful to remember that such pure and effortless happiness is often
short-lived.
“You know what happened yesterday? I was reading Wordsworth in the
corridor and one senior professor of the English department noticed me. He was
surprised to find out that I, being a non-literature student was reading
literature. He has offered to give two hours of extra class after college on
anything that I would like to learn in literature. I was overjoyed.
I thought a lot the whole evening and decided to learn the
philosophies of Romanticism. The philosophies which had driven Wordsworth to
write those magical words and capture my heart forever.
He was overjoyed to know that I am interested not only in literature
but also the literary movements that had inspired the writers to create such
magic. My class begins from next week and I will let you know each and every
detail of this new adventure I have embarked upon.”
I shared each and every story of my life with Amar this way. Each
special story became even more special every time I wrote it down to send it to
him. Such was our bond. We celebrated the arrival of every letter and spent the
evenings with Beethoven and Wordsworth
mostly sometimes accompanied by Mozart and Browning. It was upon our letters
that we both decided to start reading the works of Sylvia Plath and “A Mad
Girl’s Love Song” became our favourite.
We also composed poetries over our letters and wherever we got
stuck, our creation was rescued by the other.
“Amar,
I had my first
class on Romanticism yesterday. It blew my mind. He was really impressed by
seeing my grasp over the language and my interest in the subject. I felt
blessed to be able to study with him. He is a very knowledgeable person. He
taught me a lot and I felt as if I was living in a dream.
Let’s do something a bit more literary.
“How magical would it be!
If with raindrops the moon I could see.
If peacocks could dance in the moonlight too,
If I could sail forever in the oceans, blue.
If stories could build over coffee,
If poetry could come like fruits on trees…”
Amar, be my partner in completing the rest of the lines?
Yours,
Aayat.”
Exactly on the next full moon night our creation was completed. As
the moon smiled through my window, I unfolded the white sheet and read the
words.
“Aayat,
“If letters could sound
In tunes and rhythms
If eyes could spell out words,
If heart could escape the
grasp of minutes,
And time not be the sword.
If souls could flee,
The clutches of death,
And live forever on…
If dreams could be yours,
And eyes be mine,
And hearts beat on and on…”
Forever your partner to complete every incomplete line.
Yours,
Amar.
I fell in love that day.
The moon smiled at me and I loved him more and more. Finally I
mustered up the courage to write to him… to put my feelings in words so that we
could freeze them forever.
On the next full moon night, everything changed. I never wanted to
look at the full moon again and even stopped reading Wordsworth.
I opened his letter only to glance at the words that turned my emotions
into a joke. I had remained just his friend despite all the poems and music. I
could feel with what heavy heart he must have written that he could not tie the
knot with me to make me his forever, but I felt drifting away from him. He knew
me well and guessed that I would not write back to him and he told me that he
would remember me as his friend for the rest of his remaining days.
Six months passed by and no more letters came. Neither did I post
anymore letters again. But nevertheless I didn’t stop writing to him. I wrote a
letter every full moon night and kept them to myself. I saw the full moon every
time it came but it never smiled again. The ‘Moonlight Sonata’ played in my
room but it failed to make me feel… until one day the last letter arrived…
I prayed to Jesus for one meeting with Amar… for his well being
and happiness… but I didn’t know that something terrible was waiting for me. It
was my younger brother who noticed a letter in the letter box and gave it to me
saying that it was from ‘Amar’. I didn’t believe him and went about my work
that day. When the sun set that evening and I was walking down the road by the
brook that I suddenly felt the unstoppable urge to read that letter. I reached
for my room and saw the envelope on my table.
It was from Amar. I looked out of the window and the full moon
smiled at me.
“Aayat,
If memories could come again,
And touch our souls like the rain.
If time could stop still,
And eternity we could feel.
And know where dreams come from…
If I could freeze our moments,
And change my end,
And rise again like the sun…
My dear, my heart has stopped,
But still does love
And in yours will it go on….
Yours,
Amar.”
I excitedly sat down to write the next poem for him and suddenly
the reality struck.
“My dear, my heart has stopped,
But still does love,
And in yours will it go on…”
It dawned on me why he didn’t want to bind me in marriage and make
me his forever. Because he was dying. He knew he wouldn’t live to see a forever
with me. But he kept back his love and his heart beating in me.
I received a letter from his friend on the next full moon night
who informed me that Amar was terminally ill. He had confided his love in him
and said that I had always been his and no death can separate us. He had composed
that last letter on his death bed and died with all our letters beside him.
I cried. I cried my heart out. But strangely a smile flickered at
the corner of my lips. The moon smiled through the window, Beethoven felt my
pain and I heard Amar sing to me…
“If souls could flee
The clutches of death
And live forever on…
If dreams could be yours,
And eyes be mine,
And hearts beat on and on…””
-Reva.
