Aditi was not the hottest looking girl. She wasn’t exactly hot. She was what defined that thin line between being sexy and being beautiful. She was beautiful. Not very fair. Not the wheatish of matrimonial fame. The green eyes, the done eyebrows and colored hair to go with a face that was so perfectly and generously carved. That rare healthy female whose metabolism was so perfect that her friends were jealous of her liberty to hog food when they all looked anorexic.
She was a rebel, wasn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever known a girl like her. When was the last time you saw her?
Aditi had an open mind. She was a student of all forms of art. A huge fan of J.K. Rowling and George Lucas, her heroes, however, were Indiana Jones, Anil Kumble and Sirius Black. Aditi played tennis till the age of 14 and wanted to become a pro. She had a recurrent injury that forced her to quit, a regret she held forever. She was musically challenged but a better listener than her peers. Aditi was into rock while her friends drooled over Backstreet Boys. The only genre of music she loathed was heavy metal. She worshiped John Lennon and AR Rahman. This was her favorite Rahman number.
Did you listen to Kryptonite by Three Doors Down? Oh my God, Adi, I am so addicted to it!
Aditi was fearlessly independent. When girls always took the rick, she preferred the buses. She was the first in her circle of friends to learn to drive. She was aggressive on the road and stumped some guys with her knowledge of directions. Aditi only offered lifts. She never took one herself. Aditi’s parents knew her and never bothered about her the way parents bothered about their daughters. She was free to come and go anytime. Aditi was a bold girl afraid of insects, fire crackers and huge men. Nothing else gave her the creeps.
Mind blowing yaar! But why does it even matter to me? It’s like my parents gave me some vaccination when I was young, and how much ever I have, I don’t get high but end up playing a caretaker to these passed out girls.
Aditi was not known for her diplomacy. She was rude and spoke her mind no matter who she was talking to. She had no respect for elders who disregarded her opinions. She loved herself more than anyone else in the world and challenged people to hurt her ego. And if anybody tried doing that, she hurt their ego back. You could never take Aditi for granted. Those wounds never healed. She guaranteed that. She could be disarmingly sweet and cunningly intimidating at the same time.
She is such a pushover man. He mouthed some profanities and she comes crying to me. How naive can one get? I don’t even understand why I am helping her out. I considered giving that guy a high-five.
A certain Leonard Shelby, flawed but sensible, said – “Memory can change the shape of a room, it can change the color of a car. Memories can be distorted. They are irrelevant.” Aditi may not be irrelevant. She can be changed and played around with, in your mind. If you close your eyes, she’d still be there. Aditi remains such a memory. Of past, present and future. Yes, it is a distorted memory. And that will change only when the “it” becomes “her”. Remember Aditi?
Hey, this is Aditi. You’re a volunteer on this floor, too?