Deja Vu

It was quite a better evening than he was used to this summer. The weather was pleasing, she had sent a bunch of his favorite white roses, the watchmen had saluted him in the morning, they had repainted his cabin to a fresh yellow and the last meeting of the day got cancelled. He drove out of the parking, received by a hoard of black clouds. The most painful signal of his drive was green and welcomed him to a smooth pass. There was something with the world today, he could sense it, a conspiracy.

He put on the car stereo and called her up. She would be on the local train at this point of hour. This was their way of spending some additional quality time together – listening to music together while traveling separately. Starting with Eagles, moving to Bob Dylan, then to Guns n Roses, then Floyd, then to Mohit Chauhan, the playlist was one of the very few they would enjoy. The choice of playlist would tell her what kind of mood he was in. He could always imagine her reaction to the choice and the expression that would have come out when the first song started. It was like having a wonderful conversation everyday without seeing each other, without even talking; only that there were just a handful of such conversations to choose from, just as many as the playlists. But today he played Deep Purple.

She texted. ‘Is everything ok?? Reply only when the signal is red.’

‘I love you!’

‘Even I love you sweetheart! But tell me, is everything alright?’

‘How much time it would take you to reach?’

Beatles.

’15 mins. Why don’t you tell me what has happened?’

‘See you at the bench near the coffee wala.’

Black Sabbath and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan did the honours before he took the ticket from the parking boy. As he started walking towards Central Park, it started pouring heavily. People rushed out of the park from all possible exits. As if the stage had been vacated for the big performance to begin. He continued to walk till he reached the bench. Even the coffee wala was nowhere to be seen. His vibrant blue shirt amongst the shining green grass towered by dark clouds sprinkling shining droplets – an amazing romance of colours. He spread his arms wide and looked straight up in the skies. There was a strong thunder, acknowledging his arrival. He closed his eyes, his eyelids also getting a chance to bath themselves in those moments of magic. He was drenched and using those wet eyelids as a big screen, he started remembering the beautiful snapshots of his life. There was a smile on his face that said it all. He put his earphones back. The call had not ended and he knew that.

‘You there Anjali?’

‘Turn around Vikram’

That beautiful face in a bright yellow suit. She completed the jigsaw so gracefully. His arms closed around her. They stood there for a minute and a half – smiling radiantly – until she made his arms spread out once again. She played Robert Miles on her phone and moved behind him, her arms over his arms, her palms over his palms. They could sense the unity of their souls – that were dancing to the same music, the same rhythm. Their eyes were closed and remained so until the song ended. There was a sudden end to the rain, as if it had completed her part. The clouds drifted apart, there was sunshine and a dazzling rainbow. She removed their earphones, came in front of him and sat on one knee.

‘Would you marry me Vikram?’

He smiled. ‘Again?’