Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Break up Letter

Dear Kelly,
Remember the movie ‘You’ve got mail’. Well as you must have realized by now, our story has been similar. Nowadays the term is online dating. It all started a few years ago when I received your first mail. And then began a lovely journey across the web…

It was a silent night two years ago, when you were suffering from a mental break down from the loss of your dear beloved mother that your good cousin Tara gave you my email address as a therapist who had helped her when she had lost her parents. In her case, I knew her personally but your ego made you want to talk to a person with no face but could be trusted. We started to write to each other.

You might have been a famous actress, the heartthrob of a million young men and the envy of a lot more girls. But you were always lost. Initially, it was your mother and then it was me who took control over your life and heart. Unknown to both of us, a beautiful love story was being scripted.

You were beautiful, smart, intelligent and all that is good in this world. You started ruling my heart and my soul. When I replied to your mails, it was always my heart speaking to you and my soul rejoicing at the thought of it. And pretty soon you realized that we shared similar feelings for each other. Well, long story short, we fell for each other. And god bless Tara who maintained her silence about my identity (though I doubt she spoke about my character in general).

I helped you get over your mother’s death and then once again you attempted the cinema. In your absence from the arena, your cousin Tara, the poor Tara whom your mother had started taking care of when she became an orphan at the age of 15, turned out to be yet another fine actress, fine enough to rival you. Tara was the only point of contact between us other than the www. We lost it but she was kind enough to maintain her vow of silence regarding my identity. We still kept in touch. You became a lovely puppet in my hands and you enjoyed it. Well, that’s what love is all about.

Then the media started announcing your downfall. And to make matters worse, it seemed that Tara was making the most out of your misfortune. Worst of all, she won the Oscar for a role you had refused. You never lost hope. You trusted me and we tried to fight back but in vain.

Now the situation is such that I can take it no longer. A relationship that has given me so much but I don’t see the point in continuing with it. And then there is Tara…

Yes, Tara.

The one, you and your mother deprived of opportunities, to make way for your success. The one who, later, rose to be a name in the world of movies. Once a friend of convenience for you but the worst rival you ever faced.

It is not that I am calling off this beautiful relationship because I am in love with Tara. Well, it would be true that I am in love with Tara if I am in love with myself. And I am in love with myself. I am in love with Tara. Because I am Tara.

You and your dear mother screwed my life by pushing me to roles to support you in movies. Well I could do nothing about it as you had the contacts. And then that woman died and you were out of sorts. I saw the perfect opportunity to get things sorted. You being a diehard romantic, I came up with a plan to make you die in romance.

This relationship gave me a lot. Hell, it gave me an Oscar. It gave me opportunities. It made me live a life I always wanted to. Each day I would get up thinking how to burn you alive. And now you lie there with a wasted life. An actress who has fallen from greatness to a small, lonely corner in the world with no friends and no future.

And I am happy that I have been the architect of your fate. I see no point in continuing to be someone I am not. I do enough of that in the movies. I would like to see your face when you read this final mail. But I am a busy actress and I do not have time for such trivialities.


P.S.: Did your mother not teach you not to speak to strangers?


No comments:

Post a Comment

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.