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Nineteen Years without Love: Memoir by Shaheer Pulikkal

The ripples of the gentle breeze touched me once more and passed me by. I was in front of everyone in the high school yard. This is where my love originates. From now on, it will be about love.

Light winds played several times between Wakodan hill and Pompra hill. At half past nine I saw three girls coming through the gate. At that moment I saw my love, the first time. I wondered if there was loving music or heart-warming dovecote.

Now the story begins. I have wondered a thousand times what the variable taught by the teacher during math periods has to do with life. But I did not get an answer then. Today I am forced to use variables. There are two reasons for this. One might not want her to mention her name. Ninety-nine percent of my classmates do not know the name of the woman I love.

For now, let's call her Y. My main hobby was getting to school at eight in the morning and going to the office to buy and sift through the newspaper. But as I won from ninth grade to tenth grade, I slowly began to break away from that habit. Y studied in an English medium class. I am also in the Malayalam media. Her classes of eight and nine were in different buildings.

A December morning when the sky was beautiful. I had been paying attention to her without her knowing since the school opened in June. The tunes of love were sung silently a thousand times. I waited for her at the beginning of the steps as she came down from the third floor to eat and wash the dishes that day. The three hairs on her forehead, which were eager to unite in the light breeze, spread a smile on my lips. I forgot all I had to say to her at that moment. It was when you came in front of me that you smiled at the friend who was with her.

I forgot to tell you what Y was like. Red lips, beautiful eyes and a round face with them all carved

After that mid-December, my liking for her grew exponentially. I was so sad that I could not openly express my love for her because I was afraid to talk to girls for so long and was generally introverted. Yet I continued to love her.

Eventually, in the tenth grade, I decided that I could muster up some courage for myself. I was one of those lucky enough to be fed that day. Anumol's teacher must have seen my innocence when he said, 'Give it to the girls.' I am still innocent because I have not had the opportunity to be publicly defiled.

Everyone lined up in front of the media as it was delicious food. I started serving food to each of the girls. After a while I looked at the back of the line. ‘Hey she’s nicknamed’ my mind told me out loud.

Y came in front of me. I 'm not sure what to do with it. Instead of holding on to her plate, I grabbed onto her fingers. I pulled my hand back from her delicate fingers. The moment I leaned back with the word 'I love you', I had sores in my mind. Her look of astonishment cut my courage into pieces.

Days passed. The day I went to buy the certificate after the exam and the results, I saw her once again. The love that was spreading I tilted it in the same direction but she could not see it that day.

I could not follow her due to inherent fear or something. However, for me, Amrutesh (A) kept me informed of her details. He told me a few things, including that she had gone to study in Pala.

The reason why Amrutesh is described by the variable A is because he is the first letter of the alphabet I. So as the weeks and months passed, a message from Amrutesh reached me. ‘Dr All Facebook Account Started’. At the height of my happiness I jumped on everyone else on the cover and looked for her. And finally found. She had posted a photo taken from Irayam during the monsoon as her profile picture.

The events that caused me to think that I should not have done so now are unfolding. Her Facebook messenger said many times because of my love poems, 'One is gone, Mathan'. Eventually she blocked me and she deactivated her account.

Y is no longer on Facebook but on Instagram‌. Valentine's Day comes just in time to say goodbye. Also Valentine's Day is the day with Y. Because she was born on the same day.

There is a gray mind inside that accepts your neglect. Yet I wrote poetry for you, just for you. The stories I wrote were for me but the poems I wrote were for you.

He became a penitent soul

As a melody written in the genus

A goddess like morning

I fell in love

I fell on deaf ears

I wanted to sink

I'm sure you'll read this someday .Twenty years later, we are back together in the yard of Sabari Higher Secondary School. I want to see you happy that day between your husband and children.

Your negligence has hurt me. But it will dry up in the zeal of life. When I have nothing to think about, I'm going to scratch those dry wounds. Then your memories will flow out of it. I have a lot to remember.

I still have to be alone for the love I forgot to say and the love I lost when I said it. The iron bench in the middle of the tea garden, where no one enters, must have forgotten everything and looked ahead. Without hearing anyone's call from behind, without interfering with anyone's dreams.

Many years of loneliness. Nineteen years without love, to be exact.


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