Balaji and I

I was in LA 2 weeks ago. My in-laws, their family, Prince, and I were in a car going to Universal studios and my friend Nagendra called me (or I returned his call perhaps) and he told me, "Of course you know Balaji right? He is no more. He committed suicide".  I yelled at an appropriately 
shocked tone (I suppose) "WHAT ?". I think I kept saying "ayyo.. ayyo.. shit..., anyaaya" and other appropriate exclamations for about 10-15 minutes.

I called a friend of mine to get me the number of Vamshi (a friend of me and Balaji from NIE). She searched through my mail and gave me his 2003 number . I tried in vain. I called her again.. she, this time, realized her mistake and gave me the 2007 number..
 I called him.. Until then, I had not cried.. I cried a couple of drops..when i told him the news. 
Vamshi said, "Shit, why did he do that?". I could only speculate about what the reasons could be
from our chat conversations a month ago.

He asked me, "How are you holding up?". I said (I think, ), "I am OK. Nagen told me just now, and I am in the f***ing  Universal Studios, it is ridiculous".  He said, "Dont beat yourself up
about it. It is done, nothing can be done about it now". The day went on amidst special effects
of Universal Studios, among rantings about which house featured in which Desperate
Housewives' episode, fire, flood and earthquake effects. 
The blow was not bad. you know? I occasionally forgot about it.
I even laughed a bunch of times I think. 

In the evening, when the show was over, it came back again.. I called Nagen and we talked
about Balaji and why he could have done this, and that, how he might have felt, etc etc etc.
The typical (I suppose) postmortem (no pun intended) of a disaster. I said to him, 
"Nagen, it is such a shame, I feel so weird talking about him and his stuff with you.. 
what is even more embarassing is that such a close friend is gone, and I have not cried.. 
and it worries me that I am not affected by it as much as I thought I would be.
Not only that, I am even more ashamed that he is gone and all I can think about is,
how I am feeling, and how I am not feeling.. how self-centered does it get? ". 
He like a good friend, annointed my self-doubt saying it was natural to question yourself
and it is sometimes not possible to cry for friends whom you have lost touch with ..
but it is not self-centered.

The thoughts came in and went out occasionally.. I tried to remember how he laughed..
I got some other laugh.. it was not his.. I tried to remember things about him..
I was and I still think I am strangely distant from his going away. 

Once we came back from California.. one night, I sat and talked for hours about things Balaji did. when we were in college together.  He was an brilliant mind,
a confident person, excellent singer.. among many other things.
I sat on the floor, and sang that evening the song that he sang so perfectly,
still i did not feel much, but just a bit of sadness thinking that he is gone.

Yesterday, I had a dream.. it was actually a dream within a dream.
I dreamt that I was asleep and in my sleep, I dreamt that I was in Mysore.
I wanted to go to his house perhaps to offer my condolences to his parents.
when I went to his home, he was there.. I knew it was his spirits perhaps. he talked to me..
I dont remember for the world what he said to me. He made me go to the terrace of his house.
He patted to a corner on the parapet wall of the terrace, and asked me in his style, "kootko keerthi,". 
 I sat there balancing myself and feeling scared that I might fall. He talked a lot..
I dont remember anything.. but I do remember that he was peaceful.. may be even happy.
He pulled out from the attic a beaten up guitar. He started playing it ( I dont think he played any instrument other than occasional mridangam in his real life).
It was a strange guitar.. the moment he touched it, pleasant music started pouring out of it.
 He talked for a long while.. he showed me from where he had a view of  girls hostel..
we laughed.. I knew he was OK. He was not sad.. he was content.
I don't know what made me feel it, but I felt in my dream that everything was OK.
 I climbed down the stairs of his ancient looking house, ( I have never been to his house in reality)..
 and I came out without saying any condolences in his parents. 

It was already midnight in my dream-within-dream, and I was clutching my heart like I had something precious in my hands
 and I did not want to lose it and I was running among slums.. 
I saw some old-tired lady asking for help and another working-woman returning home refuse to help her.. and me making my way through clothes 
hanging on lines and walking briskly to make it to safety. 

Then I woke up from my dream-within-dream. I was still in the other dream mind you. Then suddenly, there was an avalanche of memories in my head. 
I remembered how he used to hold his first two fingers opposing his thumb 
and make scoops in air to prove an intricate point in his conversations. 
I remembered how the words at the end of his funny sentences would float over his nasal voice. 
Finally, at last, I remembered his laugh. 
I remembered how his brows would knit and there would be a vertical wrinkle on his forehead
 when he was  rejecting an idea for its stupidity. 
I remembered how he would add the name of the person he was addressing at the end of his sentence.
Some times, he would say "hangallamma" or something like that like a typical kannadiga.
I remembered how he had the most perfect set of teeth when he laughed.
And a straight nose capable of many emotions on its own.
How he rarely wore t-shirts, mostly stuck to shoes+half-sleeve-shirts+belt (Oh yeah,  he did have a dark-green plain round-neck t-shirt).
I remembered how he would blush when people called him Tommy and
teased him about a girl in the class.
How he would offer occassional loopholes for people to tease him. 
I cant recall all the things now, but in my dream, It was a deluge of memories. 
In my dream, I thought, OH SHIT.. I am going to be awake in a while and forget all this..
and I need to remember this .. this is his true memorial. I need to write it down. I remembered Balaji in all my honesty, and I missed him.

Then I woke up..