Spring 2021 Contest Finalist

My Guitar, A Lonely Stranger and New Me

My friend and I drove to the wilderness of the Himalayas last year. And it was the best thing that happened to me after the lockdown was lifted. Not because I finally got the much-needed connection with nature again. But because I met a stranger on the trip and she unintentionally told me some truths about girls which completely changed my perspective. Although she agreed to tell me those only after she made me promise her something strange and unexpected.

Chopta is a beautiful hill station about 300 miles from Delhi. We reached it after an exhausting 12-hour drive and checked into a camp. Because of the pandemic, there was only one other group of four girls there. It was snowing outside. I took my guitar out while my friend rolled a few Himalayan joints for the night.

As I started playing, all the girls gathered around me except for one who chose to sit alone with the book at the edge of the cliff nearby. It seemed like she was absorbing the beauty and silence. She wasn’t interested in mingling. And that’s what took all my attention.

I was playing by heart but my mind was on her. I couldn’t help but notice her again and again. Her aloofness attracted me. I played for a while and then all of a sudden kept the guitar aside. The girls pleaded to play once more. I politely rejected their request and made my mind to go to her.

But the small voice inside that very mind instilled doubt in me. In psychological jargon, that voice inside our head is called “Inner speech”. It told me that she isn’t sitting even with her friends, why the hell would she want to talk with you.

I dropped the plan, lighted a freshly rolled joint and played the trance list on the portable speaker I was carrying. When a really good joint hits your brain, it makes that voice paranoid and sarcastic at the same time. As I got high, that voice again told me, “Ah, fuck what she may or may not think. Let’s go to talk to her.”

Walking towards her, I saw she was reading one of my favourite philosopher- Nietzsche. I was so overwhelmed that I said to that voice, “I am going to marry this girl”.

“What?”, she exclaimed slightly turning her face back.

“Did you say that out loud?” the voice asked me. I don’t know I replied. Unfortunately, I was so damn high that I thought I have said it only in my mind.

“Say something. Fast. It’s getting weird” the voice said to me.

“I was saying Nietzsche is my favourite philosopher”, I added pointing at the book.

“He is hard to understand”, she said as she closed the book.

“Aren’t we all the same?”, I responded while making a ‘may I join you’ gesture with one hand. “The philosophical answer,” she moved in to make room for me “Quite expected from a Nietzsche fan and a guitarist”

“Oh, you heard me play,” I said as I sat beside her.

“I have ears”, she replied. “Oh, she’s feisty,” the voice said to me. “You play well,” the girl continued.

“Pass her the joint”, the voice again told me. “No, shut up” I replied. “Huh, Pussy!” the voice laughed.

“Want some?” I immediately extended the joint forward.

“I haven’t smoked ever”.

“Sooner or later, everything happens for the first time in everyone’s life” I replied as I pulled it back for a drag. “Told you it was a bad idea”, I said to the voice.

“Convincing power of philosophical answer is amazing,” she said extending her hand towards me for the joint.

As she inhaled the smoke, she started coughing. “You’re going to kill her”, the voice chuckled. “Slowly,” I said to the girl, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint”.

“Mind if I ask why to choose the company of self over friends?” I asked as she continued taking small puffs.

“I came out of a long relationship recently. Wanted some ‘me’ time”.

“Ohh hoo, single girl”, the voice said in a high pitched tone.

“ Seems like you aren’t over him yet”, I asked. She kept silent. “Awkward silence”, the voice said and laughed.

To prevent the situation from further getting awkward, I weighed in with my personal stuff.

“It’s okay. I myself am not over someone. But I don’t think she misses me the same.”

“Girls miss you more than you think they do” she added, “They just don’t let it on”.

“Is that so?” I asked in amazement.

“Yes,” she replied. “Tell me more,” I turned towards her curiously. “On one condition,” she turned towards me “Promise me. You won’t ask my name. You won’t look me up ever after this day on social media.”

The voice said to me ask her how would someone look her up without the name. But this time, I didn’t say it out aloud.

“Deal,” I extended my hand without giving a f*ck about the reason behind the promise. She shook it. “Attaboy”, said the voice.

“I just hope I am not sitting with a serial killer,” I said extending my hand towards her, asking her to pass the joint. She laughed.

“Not in a mood to kill today,” she said convincingly.

“At least we should give each other some name?” I said.

She agreed. “I’ll call you Mr Guitarist”

“And I’ll call you Ms Mystery” I passed the joint again.

“Continue what were you saying about missing someone”

“Girls miss you more than you think they do”

she continued. “I have blocked him from every social media.” I kept quiet.

“Oh, was the breakup that bad? ask her”, said the voice. And I did.

“It’s not about bad or good,” she replied, “It’s about missing someone. I miss him, then I stalk him on social media and that makes me miss him even more.”

“But now, unblocking him and then searching him to stalk is a tedious task” she continued, “I still miss him but stalking used to make it much worse.”

“Never knew there could be something positive in getting blocked by someone on social media,” said the voice. I turned my face straight towards the mountains. I was absorbing the truth she unknowingly revealed.

“Want to hear more?” she asked noticing the silent satisfaction on my face.

“You will relate to this one,” she said to convince me.

“First pass the joint,” I said and curiously turned towards her again.

“Has any girl ever sent you a song?” she asked. “Yes, many times. My best friend sends them quite often,” I replied.

“When a girl sends you a song, pay attention to the lyrics”

she said. “Always do one thing,” she continued, “Whenever she sends you a song, ask her which is her favourite lines, And that’s what she wants to say to you.”

“Quite possible,” the voice said, “Lao Tzu says passivity is the secret of girls. They speak without saying anything.” Again the truth stupefied me.

I took a twig from the ground and scribbled “You look perfect tonight” in the sand as she watched patiently.

“This is the favourite song of my best friend,” I told her.

“But tonight, this is for you. A guy sending a song to a girl means the same”. A broad smile descended her face.

“Small gestures move girls more than big ones”

she said. “I think small ones matter more even in big events,” the voice said to me as I turned my face up at the stary sky.

“Seems like there is a story” she nudged me with her elbow. “You again said that out loud. Gawd you’re out of control”, I told the voice angrily.

“I celebrated her birthday on a random day after the pandemic because she is one of those who like celebrating their birthday more than anything”, I added.

“..and she is?” she interrupted me. “My best friend,” I replied. “okay, okay continue”

“She was thrilled seeing all the decorations I did for her, but what moved her to tears was a small poster of her favourite actor. She told me that she wanted that poster about a year ago and I remembered that.”

“Girls remember small things you do for them” she added.

“I’ll also remember this writing in the sand forever. Let me take a photo” she said as she took out her phone and started clicking it with different angles.

“Wait,” I took the twig again and added “To Ms Mystery” on the top and “From Mr. guitarist” at the bottom. She looked at me with the most magical smile I’ve ever seen.

“You must be from some small town?” she asked. I became a little conscious. “How can she say that? That’s an insult”, the voice said sarcastically.

“Why?” I asked her.

“It’s my personal observation that the small town guys are more romantic”

“Oh, that way. Yes, I am from a small town. You guessed right.”

“Small-town guys know how to show love”

she said while checking out the clicked pics on her mobile, “And as a girl matures, she chooses small towners over city guys.”

“There is a secret to it,” I said. “What?” she kept her mobile aside and turned towards me.

“ Small towners do not limit their love to one being. They shower it on everyone — pets, neighbours, friends — equally.”

“Oh ! she’s listening carefully. Continue speaking. Say anything”, the voice said.

“People think if their partner shares love with someone else” I continued, “then he or she will have less left for them.” Her eyes sparkled. She put her elbow on her leg with her palm propping up her chin. I continued,

“But It’s the opposite with love. The more you share, the more it grows” She nodded in agreement.

“People of metro cities cheat more often because they cage their love and it explodes all of a sudden into cheating.”

She became silent. I didn’t speak either. As she tried to speak, her voice became shaky, “I cheated too” she said and a tear rolled down her cheek to her palm. She didn’t move.

“Say something. She is crying, dude!”, the voice said to me.

I had nothing to say that could make her feel fine at that moment. So I shook off the ash from the joint with a finger and took a long drag.

“The old you cheated. She’s long gone.” I added exhaling the smoke out. She chuckled at once and streams of tears started flowing down her cheeks. She lifted her face up, wiped the tears with the tips of her fingers, first from one cheek and then from the other.

“There is a saying on tears,” I said. “And What’s that?” she asked in a sobbing but firm voice.

“Those people are the strongest who wipes their tears on their own”,

I replied. “This will be the big revelation of the night from my side,” I said to lighten up her mood. “Like a return gift?” she asked wiping her nose with her palm.

“Yes, A Guitarist always pays his debts” I quoted Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones in my own way. She laughed hard.

“Nicely quoted”, the voice said.

“Can I ask you something?” I said to her. She nodded. “ Why the ‘Not telling or asking the name’ policy?”

“Because I really want to know your real name” I added.

“If we exchange names,” she said, “We’ll probably meet again. We will add some bad memories too in some course of time. And that will overshadow this memory.”

I kept quiet. “Give me some counterpoint, fast”, I said to the voice. It also remained quiet.

She continued, “ And I want this to remain a wonderful memory, nothing else.” I got her point and chose not to force her to tell her name.

“Will you sit there or spent some time with us too”, one of her friends shouted.

“Jealous girls”, the voice said to me. I agreed and smirked. “No, they’re just want to spend some time with me as well, she said.

“You again said that out loud”, I said to the voice. “Let’s get out of here”, I told the voice.

We both got up together. “After you,” I said,“ Ms. not so Mystery anymore.” She smiled and we walked to our tents.

The next morning when I woke up, their group had already left the camp. As I thought of her, I saw a piece of paper kept under the water bottle on the table outside.

I opened it. It read, “Thank you Mr Guitarist :-)” Reading that made my day. Still, I decided not to keep it because she didn’t want anything other than last night’s memory. As I was about to throw it in the valley, I noticed something written on the backside as well. I flipped it over. There was written, in beautiful curvy handwriting, “From Ananya”.

She told me her name. I didn’t know what it means. Heck, I am not even sure the things that fascinated my high mind were actually interesting or just seemed interesting because I was high. Whatever it may be, I’ll never forget what I felt with her. The music, the moment, the sky and the stars of that night — all were magical. And Ananya was the magician.