AnS - Part V

Mumbai is bursting at the seams. There are 15 million people, maybe more, that call this city home. Everybody has a story. The raaste ka mochi - he sits there stony eyed, 200 meters from the next one, sews-up your errant shoe expertly and sullenly demands Rs 3 for it, the auto-driver - an arrogant breed, he nonchalantly dismisses your pleas to take you to your place of work (which is unfortunately neither too near, nor too far) in the same breath as the bomb-blasts, aiming to maximize his daily-wage-earning, the secretary - part of a fiercely protective gang, she marks her territory on the train and in the office, is immaculately coiffed and harbors strong sentiments on loo-usage and her boss’ antics, in that order.

Everybody has a story.

Khyati met Ashutosh over chat. One of those Yahoo messenger chat rooms. It was no accident she was spending so much time online those days. She was working on a digital marketing campaign for a youth deodorant brand.

Ashutosh was just one of those random pings, and somehow they hit it off. It helped that his chat id was not Loveforyou_82. Also, that he was 27 and had a successful textiles business. They chatted back and forth over a period of two months and towards the end of it, she found herself sharing most of her daily struggles, agonies and successes with him. He was always very patient and reassuring. Enough premium cannot be put on these particular qualities in a world where nobody has the time to stand, let alone listen.

When they had decided to meet; she had been a little nervous - this was just not her thing, but the date had gone exceedingly well from the start. He had turned out to be this tall nerdy-looking guy, with great hair and an engaging smile. He was, of course, bowled over by her. She was what you would describe as in-your-face sexy. Not just the way she looked, even her personality - spunky and loud.

Numerous dates - after-office-dinners, late-weekend-night-coffees and eventually, breakfast-in-bed-mornings - later, he had told her that he was married.

One always has a list of Dos and Donts. In times of crisis, they are as impotent as the erstwhile minister for homeland security.

Khyati had screamed and ranted. His defense was clichéd - trapped in a loveless and joyless marriage, she being the only thing that kept him going any more - the usual. Khyati was not the sort of person to get influenced by sentiment; but she did.

We are an optimistic race. We are an egoistic species. It’s one and the same thing.

When Sayanee returned from Europe and learnt about these developments, she was stunned.

Love has many forms - it heals, it makes better people out of us, it gives us company; it also sometimes makes us so blind, we don’t notice that the landscape has changed, the grass grows a bit thicker and the birds chirp no more.