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*Caution: This is going to be a very long post. And a boring one at that.*
I sat by my window the night before last, a star came forth and a lost cow wandered slowly by into the dark. A tiny little light flickered on my cell phone. *Warning Sign...I missed the good part then I realized.....Come on in…I’ve gotta…I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones....When the truth is, I miss you..*. Stop messing with my head Chris. The cell beeped again. Poor thing has stood by me for well over 6 years now. Yeah, I know, too long a life for a mobile. Next Track. * Love; I hope we get old…I hope we can find a way of seeing it all …n I’m so easy to please*. Screw you Mr. Martin. Shut Down.
So there was this strange message from an unknown number, ‘I’m gonna make you fall in love with me in the next 10 minutes’ and I hope-against-hope hoped that maybe A was messaging using one of his friend’s cell. Love takes a backseat when you’re pursuing MBA from FMS. MBA is cruel, yes, but definitely not brutal. D told R about me n A and how we haven’t spoken in the past 3 months. R said, without the slightest hint of doubt in his voice, A is cheating on me. And I said I don’t care. I deleted the message and switched on my mp3 hoping to reconnect to my strange peaceful state that comes complimentary with boredom and solitude.
Mr. Burt Bacharach had decided that he won’t spare me any peace either *what do you get when you fall in love…I’ll never fall in love again*. Next Track. * Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be close to you* Thank you Karen Carpenter. And the 7-year old, almost-dead cell managed to vibrate. Call from the same number. Cancel. Call again. Cancel. When it buzzed the fourth time, I decided to take it.
Hello
Oh hey! That’s not Sahiti
Of course it’s not.
I’m really sorry to have bothered you. Thought this was my girlfriend’s number.
You don’t ‘think', you KNOW your girlfriend’s number, I screamed. *wonders whether A remembers my number*
Yeah, I’m sorry once again.
Click. The line went dead.
The cell beeped yet again. ‘Can’t a girl finish her song?’
So, Mr. I-dunno-my-girl’s-number has messaged.
“Hey! I know I’m stepping the line here, but its 0050hrs and we aren’t asleep yet. Can we talk for a little while? It’s ok, if you don’t want to.”
Oh, another over-sexed--under-laid loser sitting in some godforsaken NCR suburb hoping to have phone sex! I knew it’d eventually lead to that, but I decided to take the plunge. ‘Cuz whatever be it, I could hang up anytime and at the max, he could do, would be to irritate me for a couple of days. Hoping that this could be the lone adventure in my perennially monotonous life, I messaged, ‘fine by me’.
So he called. And we got talking. He’s 24 and hails from Agra. Started his business at the age of 21 and has a turnover of 76lakhs today, is madly in love with the aforementioned girl who walked out on him a few months back. So he took a part time job with Airtel, as a calling agent, just so he could get hold of all the possible numbers. And has been trying the wretched numbers for all these bloody months. He knows there are a thousand new connections being issued every other day. He tried to sound happy, but failed miserably. I told him he was being outright stupid to which he said, ‘I know, but I just want to know that she’s out there, warm and moving. I NEED to do this’. I wanted to go awww, but Slumdog Millionaire held me back.
So we talked.
We talked about everything.
EVERYTHING.
We talked about his past and mine.
And about how we share a past with a million others out there.
I don’t know whether he agreed with me honestly, but he conceded that Madhubala will forever remain the most insanely gorgeous woman to have walked the planet. Madhuri would come a distant second. And Aishwarya will continue to suck.
We talked of hopes, dreams, deteriorating Bollywood, how stupid English movies sound when dubbed, brown bastards in UK n the Desis in US.
Of pain, and how at times, it’s important to have a wound. Just so that when you watch it heal, it’s comforting.
Both of us liked telling time the military way.
We spoke like achievers. And then sounded like total losers.
Both of us agreed that Cadbury Dairy Milk, when savoured properly, gives you a high and takes you where Mary Jane fails.
He played Jihad (Slayer) on his lappie and I head banged.
We had the war of the sexes. Why men don’t listen and women can’t read maps?
He turned out to be a connoisseur of fine arts. I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur but I definitely am an admirer of Indian classical dance n music.
We talked about how today’s Indian youth proudly claims, ‘yaar main toh sirf English gaane sunta hun’ when ‘all’ his playlist boasts of is Aqua, Backstreet Boys, Ricky Martin and my-ass-is-insured J.Lo and he doesn’t have a clue of how Pandit Jasraj, The Beatles, M. S. Subbulakshmi, Sinatra, Ustad Bismillah Khan, Armstrong, Floyd, Freddie Mercury etc sound.
We spoke of career and of friends.
And how the former just plain kills the latter. I told him how much I hate ambition. How much I’d hate to leave my friends behind and go to US. I told him of D, Y, Ri, A, T, Sh, S, how much I love them and how much they mean to me. And he told me (quite like a philosopher), ‘very few get to live their dreams. Don’t let that go. Live It.’..and I loved him for that moment :)
We laughed.
Then he said, ‘marry me’!!!!!!!
I went err..?? And we laughed more!
Sometimes, a stranger becomes your best confidant. I thought I felt weightless.
We spoke for a god knows 6 hours.
Maybe the best part of this entire thing was:
1. Not one bit of me (maybe even him) tried to stop midway.
2. It was very non-sexual.
3. We were like each other. We just needed a good deal of talking to get it out of the system. Talking, without the fear of being judged and tagged.
4. He proved me wrong that men think about sex 24X7.
We don’t know each other’s names. And I like that.
Its been 2 dyas and he hasn't called/messaged. I don’t know whether he’d ever. But he promised to wish me a Happy Birthday. And wishes needn’t be ‘said’. I promised to let him know when I fly.
I don’t know what I am on his cell phone, he’s ‘Mars’ on mine.
And I gave Coldplay another chance:
There's gold in them hills
There's gold in them hills
So don't lose heart
Give the day a chance to start
DAMMIT! They get it right ALL the time :)
PS: I know Div, you're gonna scream at me for being me and talking to some random stranger in the middle of the night..but trust me donk-ey..it felt blissful :)
PPS: Danke Go-phish for helping me skip names, in style! :)
