Summer Paradise

I pushed my seat back a little and rested my head on the head rest, while burying my hands between both my knees. Scanty sun light and cold wind gushing in from the half open car window made me drowsy. I flinched at the feel of his cold hand gently tugging on my right hand, breaking it free from the warmth of my knees. A small tight smile curled up the corners of his mouth as he cupped my right hand with one of his, while the other stayed firm on the steering wheel.
I smiled and closed my eyes, nodding softly to the music blasting from the radio. The Who: Baba O’ Riley.

Don't cry
Don't raise your eye
It's only teenage wasteland

3 years ago, on a warm summer night, this is where we had started out from. This very car, this very song and this very road trip but with a few more friends. I let my mind drift back to his faded, paint- stained Led Zeppelin tee shirt (that was at least two sizes too big for him) and his prescription black horn rimmed glasses. He was quiet for his group of loud, prank-loving friends and had slightly longer hair which brushed his eyes. One night at a college freshers bash, Riya, a common friend, had introduced me to his group of five and it had taken me all of two minutes to like them. The chain of events escalated pretty quickly after that and in three hours, after the initial awkwardness had worn off, the six of us were already planning a road trip to Nainital.

It was the trip which had mapped out my life, not in a predestined, supernatural way, but through conscious (though spontaneous) decisions. Our relationship was much like that trip- unplanned, spontaneous and warm.

The exodus is here
The happy ones are near
Let's get together
Before we get much older.

A sudden gush of cold wind brought me back to the car. Shivering slightly, I pulled my jacket closer to my body and wrapped my arms around myself. He let go of my hand for a minute to fish for something under his seat. He pulled out a bottle of brandy and, after taking a small drag from the bottle, offered it to me by bringing it closer to my lips. I gently pushed away the bottle, shaking my head No. He shot me a quizzical look and looked slightly concerned. Unable to word it in any other way, I told him what I had been waiting to be absolutely certain of for three weeks. “I’m pregnant.”

I scanned his face for some clue. Anger, frustration, shock, disbelief… delight? His shoulders looked slightly slumped and his lips a straight line. He bent his head a little, his black beanie eclipsing his eyes. For a second, the thought of my father crossed my mind, and how he would greet the news. I could picture him in his study, enveloped in a faint aroma of old books and new documents, silently disapproving of everything.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and looked at him again. He lifted his head to look at me and then let his gaze fall back to the bottle. Then, with firm hands, he put the lid back on the bottle. I guess we wouldn't have much use of it for a long time now, he said, and rolled down the half open car window. With one swift move he flung the glass bottle outside, the sunlight reflecting from its hundred broken bits. Then he laughed his summer laugh, head slightly bent and nose slightly crinkled. He pulled me closer to him, his chin against my head and hand around my shoulder, tapping his fingers to the ending notes of the song.