AnS - Part VI

Sayanee could not sleep that night.

Khyati thought she might be pregnant. At first she had sounded devastated, but in the course of their conversation, Sayanee started sensing some bits and pieces of excitement peeking out from behind the old cumulonimbus. There was this thing about her. She made even the biggest of catastrophes seem like a badly dealt game of cards - at worst.

Ashutosh didn’t know yet. Khyati would break the news to him only if it turned out to be true.

Sayanee sighed and turned around in her bed, certain that would be of no use. Love? Does it really happen like this? Perhaps. Or maybe it is just an inability to deal smartly with sunken investments.

The next day at office, Sayanee mostly found herself whiling away time. She ended up making plans with her college friends for the evening. These were people who she had been extremely close to and they had managed to retain it over the years - it helped that they were all in Mumbai.

Bandstand - one of the most beautiful places in Mumbai. The rocks, the sea, the sunset. If you want more - the cafes and within the radius of a kilometer - the numerous eateries. The three of them had spent many an evening there - eating bhutta, walking along the promenade, looking indulgently on at couples in their little nooks - couples that probably lived with ten others in a two hundred sq feet hole, couples desperate for a little privacy, for the romance of being able to hold hands and cozy up.

There was a gentle breeze that evening. The sky looked foggy as usual.

“So Sayanee, kyaa haal chaal? Tu toh yaar milti hi nahi hai aaj-kal.” Complained Nimisha in her characteristic nasal drawl.

“Work Nimisha. You know how it gets.”

Jigna made a face and turned towards her. “You work too much darling. How is Aunty?”

“Haven’t met her since quite some time. Spoke to her day before. She seems okay.”

“How is Suyash Jigna?”

“He is the same old boring thing. He wants to get married ASAP”

“So? Kitni saal takk latkaayegi use?” Nimisha laughed.

“Abbe chhup. Shaadi and all is scary man.”

They all laughed. Typical Jigna. Never before had a gujarati household faced as much trouble as the Pareeks had with Jigna.

“What do you think Sayanee? Mera boy-friend hota toh main toh abhi ke abhi shaadi kar leti.”

“Tu toh kar hi leti. So what are your plans Jigna? Heard you were planning to write the CAT?”

“Yea man, let’s see. What about you? Abhi bhi wohi - aage nahi padhna chahti?”

“Kya karna hai. I am happy with the way life is going. I like my job and my colleagues. I like where I am living. I like my room-mate. I have my friends. More than enough.”

“Get a boy-friend first. And it’s not going to stay like this forever.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“Colleagues will leave, room-mate will move on, friends will get married with the first chimp they see, like our dear old Nimbu here, or die frighteningly early in a far-away bear-infested jungle, in search of the all-elusive romance of life , like me.”

All three laughed. The sun was looking like a giant orange on fire. The rocks were glinting - like black gold. Sayanee loved these times they spent together. The three of them had it just right. The masala, the madness, the candor - just right.

They walked into Barista by the time it got a little dark. After plonking themselves into chairs, Jigna looked around, gave a little start and waved out to someone. A man walked over from the adjacent table.

“Hey Jigna! Fancy meeting you here! We were talking about Bandstand just the other day.” He was tall, extremely tall, well over six feet. A giant really.

Jigna chuckled and introduced him as Leo, a guy she went to classes with at the CAT coaching institute.

“Are those your friends? Why don’t you people join us?” Said the ever-sociable Jigna.

Sayanee groaned inwardly. This Jigna was just too outgoing sometimes. She stole a small side-ward glance at Nimisha, who incidentally was staring at her shoes. Ah, for all her ‘boy-talk’, Nimbu had always been the shy one.

Two more guys came and joined the table. A round of introductions followed. Saurabh - chartered accountant in the making, interning at a Consulting company. And Amanpreet - working at a Media planning agency.

It took Sayanee a few seconds to place him. He was sitting there, looking a little uncomfortable. Both recalled their last rendezvous, aboard the crowded local train.

They sat silently for sometime. There was something about him. He looked pinched. How do you say it, anguished perhaps? Permanently.

“So where do you stay?” He ventured uncertainly.

“Andheri. Sher-e-punjab.”

“Haan, maine aapko Andheri mein train par chadte dekha hai.”

He had a strange accent. Not typical Delhi, but it left a taste of the North, especially after he stopped speaking. Like notes in perfume. The more obvious and volatile ones hit you first - leave you confused and then the subtler and heavier base scent registers, after the fickle ones have wafted away.

“Yes. Maine bhi.”

“Wo main us din hurry mein tha, isliye aapko thoda sa dhakka maar diya tha. I hope you are not angry.”

“Arre nahi, don’t worry. Locals mein toh normal hai.”

She smiled at him for the first time. This guy was like a child, a lost bewildered little thing in this crazy city. He eased up, visibly.

“You two know each other?” Jigna interrupted her own vivid account of the time she had followed around a co-worker for a week because she suspected him of theft, to butt-in.

“Not really. We took the same local train once. I almost didn’t let him get-off.” Smiled Sayanee.

Yes, life was good, she mused. The job, the colleagues, the home, the room-mate, the friends, even random strangers on the train. There was a calm and effortless way about it right now. Like the peaceful waters of an afternoon sea taking its siesta or the fishing boat floating gently along on it - sails down.

The Love-Hate

You
Miss her
But never want to speak to her
Ever again

She
Understands you like a dream
She also abso-fucking-lutely brings
The devil out in you

It
Is not love not hate
It is that crazy-dysfunctional-mutative human curse
I like to call the love-hate

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.

Say it I will

Conflict is a natural state of being. We are designed to be perpetually courting conflict. The same philosophy extends to complexity and pain. If there is no pain in his life, man will invent it. Happiness is much desired, but once achieved, is like an unstable substance that quickly reacts with something to become dilute, impure and a shadow of it’s glittering self.

Misery is stable, conflict is staple. From these, stem stories of great bravery, compassion and love.

One of the greatest ironies of life. Disharmony harmonizes.