Girl at the bus stop - Part II

I try not to appear too thrilled at the prospect of having a coffee with her. Inwardly, I am beaming like a little kid who came across an abandoned ten rupee note. I pause a moment as if to evaluate whether my busy schedule can accommodate a cup of coffee. Then I say, “Sure, where to?” She points across the road and says, “Over there”. I shrug and we start walking towards it. I think of a hundred ways to start a conversation but cannot zero on one. She seems absorbed in something and does not talk either. We cross the road amidst blaring horns and the mad rush of vehicles. She holds my arm lightly and my heart beat doubles. She releases it as soon as soon as we are at the other side of the road and for a fraction of a second, I am stupidly sad that the road is not wider.

“My boyfriend once said that I can cause traffic jams. Now, I know, he was lying.” “What?” I am flabbergasted. She smiles, revealing her lovely teeth. “I said somebody once said I can stall traffic at my will.” “You said your boyfriend had said it”, I say accusingly. I try with all my might to force a smile on my face, but it simply wouldn’t come. She shrugs indifferently. “My ex, actually. It lasted very short.” “Oh, I am sorry”, I manage to lie. She lifts her eyes, “Oh, don’t be. I am not. He was an annoying prick.” “So, what about your current boyfriend? Hope he is a gentleman.” I congratulate myself for phrasing it so intelligently. Surely, she would have to reveal whether she is with someone or not, now. Predictably, she says, “Well, I don’t have one now”, she shrugs again. Before I can say something, she continues, “So the lady is on prowl again.” We both laugh.

I guess that breaks ice and over the coffee at the road side, we start talking more uninhibitedly. I gently enquire about her family and she rolls her eyes. “Nosy, aren’t you?” I give my sweetest smile and manage to find out that her father is in some government service (I forget the specifics), her mother is a homemaker and she has an elder brother who works in Delhi. We finish our coffee and she thanks me for my company. “Oh, no formalities please.” I say magnanimously and she smiles. This brings our small date to an end.

That night, as I lay down mulling over the day’s events, strangely, I cannot think of anything else other than her. She definitely is the girl of my dreams. Calm, confident and self assuring. Wow, what a girl. And, she surely must like me too, the probability of it being towards the north of 99%. Else, she would never have asked me for coffee. I convince myself that she did it only to get an opportunity to talk to me. To know me and let me know about her. Else, she could definitely have had the damn coffee in her office, if she really wanted it. What could be the motive behind her rushing to the bus stop in spite of a ‘splitting headache’, as she had put it, and then wasting 15 minutes in a shackled tea stall on the side of the road? To talk to me, of course.

And that gripping of the shoulder while crossing the road. How can I forget that? She had said that she was born and raised in Bangalore. Said that she spent close to two decades of her life in that city and also knew all the prominent food joints and discos of the city. She must have crossed busy roads millions of times before. Why then, did she need to hold on to me?

And that short talk about her boyfriend. I remember a little incident in my office, a couple of weeks old. In a conversation with my boss, he had asked me whether I have a girlfriend or not. Though in not so many words, I had made it very clear to him that it is none of his business. And here she is, confiding in an almost total stranger, about her love life. Why would she do it, unless for an ulterior motive? Surely, both of these incidents relate, don’t they?

Am I in love? It sure looks that way. And the million dollar question is; is she attracted to me? She sure is, screamed the whole of my heart and a part of my brain. Yes, she is; I convince myself again. I could see that in her eyes, in the way she was talking to me. Oh, we have a cute little love story. A love story that started in a sultry bus stop of Chennai. Leading to… who knows? I decide to get closer to her. Find out more about her; try to make her accept me as a friend, the best, if possible. Maybe, start seeing her too. And finally propose to her.

I will first ask for her phone number. Will call her this weekend. Invite her to a movie. Better, call her for a shopping spree. No girl can resist it. Yes, that’s it. Will get her phone number tomorrow.

Suddenly, a wave of euphoria sweeps over me and with the image of the girl at the bus stop before my eyes, I become oblivious of the world around me.

Girl at bus stop - Part I

“You too are late today”, she says. “I know”, I reply. “My boss wanted to talk to a client just when I was about to leave and I had to stay back for it. How was your day?” “Fine, today I finished my piece of code and released it for testing. I hope the testers get kind. Else I am screwed”, she says. I cannot think of any suitable reply so I just say “Good”. She starts to say something else when the bus numbered 60 is spotted. I also notice it but pretend as if the bus never existed. “Ho… you are lucky. Here comes your bus.” “Oh, lots of people inside. I think I will take the next”, say I. “No, silly. The people standing inside are getting down. There are even seats available. Bye and have a good time”, she sings gaily.

I try to smile at her, curse the bus driver and make a deliberate slow walk hoping that the bus leaves before I get in. But the bus conductor sees me (bad), recognizes me (worse) and blows his whistle indicating to the driver to stop (worst). I board on the bus, turn around and find her smiling and waving at me. I too do the same and settle down beside a window.

I had first met her six months ago. It was my first day in Chennai and like all the people in Chennai who don’t speak Tamil; I was having a horrendous time. None speak Hindi and few, English. I found her in the bus stop, arms folded, cool and composed, looking confident of anything and everything. She did not look like a Tamilian and with the earphones on, was probably listening to FM radio. I asked, “Mount Road, bus no.?” I did not want to speak good English as I found that it embarrasses people who are not fluent at it. She removed the earphones and said, “That is ok, I speak English.” I said, “Oh, I am sorry. I just wanted to know which buses go to the Mount Road from here.” “60”, she said. “There are also a couple of others but I am not sure. Plenty of 60 s on the road, though. Look, there comes one.” Impulsively, I turn around and made a dash for it. Only a little later, I realized I did not even thank her. How mean it must have looked. I thought I would make it up if I meet her again.

It was again around a month later when I met her again. I was there in the bus stop desperately trying to shake off a guy who wanted me to buy some Tamil books. It was then that she appeared. “Mount Road, bus no.?” she said smiling. “Hey, hi. How are you? Long time, no see?” I greeted her like an old friend. I did not really intend to be so informal but the words had come out tumbling. “Doing good. So you recognized me?” she said. “Why, of course. Did not see you for quite some time. Were you out of town or something?” I enquired as politely as I could. “Actually yes. I was in Mumbai. Was working at the client site for a short while. So, got used to Chennai?” she asked.

I weighed upon the question a little. If I say no, I could take the opportunity to ask her something about Chennai and our conversation and acquaintanceship might grow. On the other hand, if I say yes, I might appeal to her as a confident and a capable person. I decided to take on a middle path and diplomatically said, “A little. Actually decent enough, but not very well though. So you are here everyday?” “At almost the same time. Between 7:00 and 7:30.” She seemed quite outspoken and looked comfortable. I liked her attitude. Her poise and grace. Her self assuring manner. No unsolicited bashfulness. Yet, so Indian. No airs or hint of arrogance, yet cool, calm and so confident of herself.

Over the next few weeks, I met her more often. I started looking forward to our brief meetings. Each not more than five minutes at the most. Some days, I missed my buses to meet her. Would wait for 15 – 20 minutes for her. Every time we met, it was always I who would have come to the bus stop first. Nevertheless, I was happy, took her for what she was, a stranger girl in the bus stop providing my otherwise boring, insipid life with a little life and romance.

Today is the first day when I find her in the bus stop before me. Is she waiting for me, missing a couple of buses in the process? The thought, in itself, is so heartwarming that I smile. I do not have a way of knowing it for sure so I believe it is true. “So, what’s up? You look great today”, she says. I smile and say, “You too”. She winks and says, “I know”. Then a brief silence as we both watch a fat policeman stop a mid size truck before asking for papers. I start to think hard. How do I proceed further than ‘Hi, how are you? How was your day? Bye.’ How do I get to know more of her? Abruptly, “Say, would you care for a cup of coffee? I have a splitting headache and I am badly in need of caffeine.”



(To be continued...)

A bed of roses

I travel back in time. I am a sixteen year old, now. Papa comes to home from office. I am in front of the idiot box not really enjoying the interview going on with some artist. Papa winks at me when he catches my eye and I know he has a gift for me. He takes out a book from his briefcase with the triumphant air of a magician conjuring a rabbit from his hat. I snatch the book from his hand and am thrilled to see that it is the book I had been pestering him from days – the latest Robert Ludlum release. Old times were wonderful. Why can’t I remain at sixteen forever?

I travel back some more. I am a ten year old now. I am elated today. My 5th grade results are out and I stand first in class. Papa is out of town and I badly miss him. Mummy takes me out in the evening for a treat. We have an ice cream and a cola, a rare privilege for me as I am not allowed to have that in normal circumstances. She then takes me to the park. The Deshpriya Park. I spend about half an hour there, chasing butterflies and swinging on an old rusty swing. We watch an Amitabh starrer, eat outside and I have a sound, snoring sleep with full of lovely dreams. Oh, why can’t I be 10 years old till eternity?

Fast forward to today. I am middle aged, slightly obese and diabetic, doing a thankless job in a worthless life. When was the last time I smiled? When was the last time I laughed so much that I thought I would burst? My boss at work does not care for me, my parents are too old to be bothered with my troubles, my children are too young to appreciate what I am doing for them and my husband… Ah, my husband.

We are together for almost 15 years now, married for about 12 years. He has always been a warm and a wonderful person, a good husband and a doting father to our children. I never had a problem, an issue which I could not talk to him over. He is a kind, sympathetic and understanding soul. A man faithful to his job and faithful to me.

Then; when, where and what actually went wrong? Why am I not happy and in love with life anymore? I do not have an answer. I am not even sure whether something is really erratic, or am I being irrational. Hmm… confusion playing its best.

Sheila, that is my younger, just started going to school. She is all what a four year old is – bubbly, cheery, fussy and gibbering most of the times, even in her sleep. She is the apple of my eye and I adore her. She is sluggish in the mornings when she has to get ready for the school. Our maid, Rakhi, has enough experience on her hands to handle Sheila but my child insists that I should be the one to attend to all her chores. Every morning is a nightmare for me; waking up Rakhi at 5 AM, for she tends to oversleep; instructing and supervising over the preparation of breakfast and lunch; waking up my husband, all the way trying to resist his early morning charm.

There was a time, now it seems another age, when we used to spend at least half of an hour in bed after waking up, every day. Raj used to joke that a bunch of Australian researchers have proved that sex is the healthiest way to start a day. It burns up all the surplus calories of the previous day, which otherwise, are accumulated into unsaturated fat. Other times, we used to cuddle and talk. Just talk. What a glorious way to start a day. Now, talking has become so rare that I think blue moons are more common.

After this, comes up the most difficult time of my day; have to wake up the children. My eldest, Aryan, is an eight year old and already quite handsome in a devilish way, just like his father. He has inherited his father’s hazel eyes and along with it, a fiercely independent nature. He likes to do everything on his own and scowls quite violently even when I, occasionally, need to correct his shoe laces. He does not let me comb his hair or wash his hair.

On the other hand, my Sheila never seems to be able to do anything without her loving mommy. Right from the Good Morning peck till the Good Night kiss, she insists that her mommy is with her all the time. She seems to be taking delight in my instructions, my holding of her and even in the howls and shrieks that I give her. Occasionally, when I go to school to get her home, she proudly shows me to her friends and says, “That is my mommy”. I can sense the envy with which the other children watch us; God alone knows what she tells them about me.

I try to spend as much time as it is humanly possible, with Sheila. I cannot go to her school everyday to feed her the lunch nor to bring her back to home after school. My work does not provide me that luxury. So, Rakhi fills up for me. But after coming back home from work on the weekdays, and during the weekends and occasional holidays I get, I try to spend as much time as I can, with my children. Aryan does not like me doting on her. Though he does not say it, I think, he thinks that others will think sissy of him. He prefers talking about cricket and football with his father or playing with his war planes. At times, both father and son settle on the couch watching a Harrison Ford or a Bruce Willis movie. But my motherhood does not allow me to leave him while attending to Sheila all the time. It is a four way game between us in our family, Sheila constantly demanding my attention, I trying to include Aryan too, Aryan fleeing to his macho father and Raj patiently asking me to attend to Sheila while he takes care of Aryan.

Sometimes, I wonder, why cannot Aryan have an ounce of Sheila in him and vice versa? Then, I would not have such a hard time balancing between both of the children. Both Sheila and Aryan have exactly opposite demands of me and with my limited time and patience; I find it very hard to meet them. Many times, I have tried talking with Raj over this. He does not even seem to think of it as a problem. “I remember the tough time I gave to my mother when I was a child. He is my son, isn’t he? What more did you expect out of him?” he would say with a wink and a dismissal wave of his hand.

Office used to be a place where I longed to go, even on a Monday morning. I had worked very hard all my initial years and have risen fast up the hierarchy ladder. Now; the work is tough, responsibilities are higher, reprimands are severe and the pressure unbearable. My boss is a typical Prem Chopra (a baddie in Indian cinema during the 1970s) sort of a guy. If the office gossip is to be believed, he is very kind, almost paternal to an unmarried girl; but is as lecherous as one can be towards a married female. Though, till date, he has not made any definite move towards me, he sure drops hints from time to time. No report of mine has ever been accepted without a change. Sometimes, he wants statistics to support a claim that I make. At other times, he wants me to delete the numbers that I add as an annexure. “Statistics is like a bikini”, he would say, “They show what we don’t want to see and hide what we want to.” Every comment of his has a sexual connotation, is vulgar or aimed at the nudity of women.

It is almost every day that he tries to make me stay late in the night. Every evening, when I am winding up things, he remembers something so very important and urgent that it needs to be done ‘right away’. I try to remind him that it is already late and would do it first thing the next morning. He would smile and show his crooked teeth and say, “Procrastination is like masturbation, darling. In the end, you are just screwing yourself.” I wonder where he gets all those quotes. Having nothing better to do, I guess, he searches for them all the day, typing ‘Vulgar quotes’ or ‘Proverbs with sexual connotation’ in Google.

All of this seems very amusing to Raj. He laughs till his belly aches and he cannot laugh anymore or till I threaten to kick him in his balls; whichever is earlier. Once, when I urged him very desperately for a suggestion on how to deal with it; he had said, “Why don’t you resign, honey? You know, you don’t have to work. I earn enough to sustain us in comfort. You can give more time to the children and watch them grow. You will not have too many pressures to juggle with and life will be easier for you.” I remember blasting him for that. I had raved and ranted for more than 10 minutes non stop. Reminded him that I am also as much educated as him. My parents also had big dreams for me, just like his. What about my career, if I resign? Am I to remain a typical housewife and keep depending on him, financially, for the rest of my life like a typical housewife?

Raj had not said anything during my continuous harping. Neither did he try to stop me. When I paused to catch my breath, he had quite simply said, “It was just a suggestion, sweetheart. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to.” Though I was a little sorry about it sometime later, the ridiculous simplicity with which he gave me his ‘suggestion’ as if I did not have brains to identify such an obvious solution; had maddened me.

Never again did Raj venture to give his idea of a solution to my problems. On the other hand, never did he give me an idea that he is least interested to listen to me or to spend time with me. It is as if he neither has a will of his own nor his preferences. He seemed to exist for the sole purpose of pleasing me. I still discuss my problems with him. Oh wait, did I say ‘discuss’? Discuss is supposed to mean a two way talk, right? All right, I stand corrected. A more accurate sentence is – I still talk over my problems with him. And he is still a very good listener, as he has always been. But he does not offer me any suggestions on how to deal with them. All I can get from him is something on the lines of “Oh, poor you”, “I feel so sorry for you”, “Don’t worry, things will change for good,” and so on.

If on a Sunday afternoon, I want to go out; he just asks me where I want to go. Then he acts as if he has been waiting all his life to go there and then we simply go. No debates, discussions, arguments, counter arguments on where to go, where not to go, and the reasons for the same and so on. He still winks at me every morning, when I wake him up, and holds my hands suggestively. There are times when I relent, and there are times when I irritatingly shake his hand away. He is always quick to grasp what I mean and almost always does what I want him to do.

What exactly is my problem? Why can’t I be happy with the life I have? Seriously, what is wrong with my life? A very loving and doting husband, a husband that a girl can only dream of, but only one in a million gets; two lovely children; a plush bungalow with a maid servant and a chauffeured car, all paid by the company where my husband is working; a decently good job in a fantastic organization with a six digit salary for myself… and still unhappy. Why exactly am I so pathetic?

I, no longer, have time for my friends. I seem to find time and energy to visit even the marriages of close friends and relatives, only with utmost difficulty. At times, when I am not able to do so, I convince myself that I have never liked either the bride or the groom or a parent on either side. An occasional drink or a movie with a friend has become so rare. Except for Sweety, who is still my best friend, the others have even stopped calling me for one.

I am annoyed with Sheila because she wants me to be with her all the time. She adores me, dotes on me; still that does not help it. I want her to be a bit more independent of me and stop crying for me all the time. I guess, that is a tall demand from a four year old, but that still does not stop me from wishing it. I don’t like when Aryan does not need me much. Of course, he loves me. But why can’t he be a bit like Sheila at least on some occasions? I have a vulgar boss at work; surely this is a problem for many other women as well. Why am I being so sensitive towards it, then? Instead of looking for an effective way of countering it, why am I over reacting to it? A good job will definitely have its share of pitfalls too, won’t it? And Raj… I don’t even understand why he is doing that he is doing right now. Is he just giving me space in my high pressure life? Or did I suck out all the happiness of his life and made him miserable? I frankly don’t know.

Why have I become so fussy? Why am I demanding more and more from a person till the point they stop giving all together? Why am I looking for perfection in all the relationships? Is it really because of all the pressures that I have to handle at work and home, as Raj delicately hints, sometimes? People say that motherhood is the noblest and most difficult profession. Maybe, I am not made to be a wife and a mother. Or maybe I am not a capable woman to handle work, husband, children, friends and so on; all at the same time.

Many times, I tried to talk to Raj over all this. But I could not muster enough courage for it. I am frankly afraid of what he might say. I do not dare to know what he thinks of me and my situation. What if he thinks that I am suffering from some personality disorder? I feel it is better to let the matters rest and live the life as it is, instead of confronting Raj and then face the worst.

With no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and not knowing what to do to better my life; I continue to live. Hopefully, things will change at some point of time, for the better. With hope galore, I look forward to that day and to that miracle.

My Story - Part 2

Vishal is surprisingly warm and polite when I meet him. He suggests we meet somewhere to discuss on how to go about the assignment. I mention ‘Library’ and he smiles. “Library is not a good place to discuss, darling. Ms. Gupta is going to roast you alive, if you talk in her castle.” I look questioningly at him as If challenging him to come up with a better choice. “Café Coffee Day at 6 PM, today. And please don’t be late. I have an appointment to keep at 7 PM.” He neither asks me for my consent, nor my availability. In fact, he does not leave me any room to vote or voice for anything. So I just nod; feeling, and possibly looking dumb.

I wait for him for over an hour when he finally arrives at 6:40 PM. He, sort of, ramp walks to my table taking as much time as possible, all the way, smiling and taking sadistic pleasure out of my discomfort. I grit my teeth and try a plastic smile which refuses to come.

When we finally got up to leave at about 9 PM, we had talked about everything except the assignment. Rather, I talked and he listened. He asked me questions about virtually everything. Right from the first memories of my life to my first boyfriend, I found myself confiding in him on all. What I thought about the college, my classmates, the professors, my parents – how I sometimes feel stifled and suffocated in their over protective demeanor. To this day, I cannot find a logical reason as to what prompted me to do so. I had never opened up so much before anybody ever before. I always had boundaries with all the people I knew. And somehow, I completely trusted him and confided in him. Put words to my innermost thoughts and feelings to somebody who was a complete stranger. Worse than that, to somebody who I thought I hated. Maybe part of me liked him, maybe it is because I had not had a decent conversation with anyone in days or maybe it is his kind, gentle and understanding way that goaded me. I did not know that and I did not care. He had been a very good listener, nodding and punctuating at just the right moments and bringing out the feelings in me which even I was not aware that existed, till that point of time.

“It was great, knowing you and getting to chat with you”, Vishal says. Sub consciously, I start to search for a tinge of sarcasm and instantly rebuke myself for being so cynical. “Same here”, I say. He offers his hand and says, “Friends?” I take it and smile, this time honestly. He drops me at my hostel and mockingly blows a kiss at me. Then, without waiting for my reaction, he leaves. For the first time in days, I feel warm and cheerful. I like the feeling that I am experiencing and I like him.

This date, if I may be bold enough to call our meeting as one, helps me a lot to regain my lost self confidence and esteem. I begin to enjoy the college and my life became fun filled again. I keep meeting Vishal on and off in between classes or in the cafeteria. He is always polite, though not necessarily friendly. Our chats were limited to a ‘Hi’, ‘Hello’, ‘How are you’ and so on. He never prolongs the talk and though I want to, I never seem to be able to do so.

And then, I stop bumping into him all together.

After very careful and discreet enquiries, I find out that his GRE has drawn very close and he will come to college again after taking the exam in Bangalore. I don’t know why, but I start praying for his high score.

My prayers are answered when reliable sources inform me that he has secured 1560 out of 1600 in the exam and he will make it to the top universities of the US. I am very happy for him and make a very strong mental note to congratulate him, the next time I see him.

We meet, in Barista this time, a few days later. This time, our meeting is not pre-planned. We, in fact, meet accidentally. For some reason, he is all alone with a chocolate cake and an iced tea, when I walk in, along with my usual set of friends. My eyes lit up as I spot him and before I can put on a more appropriate expression, he catches my eye. He smiles, friendly actually, and gestures me to join him. Shamelessly, I desert my friends and go up to his table, pull a chair and sit down.

I remember every single moment of our ‘date’, that day. Every single minute. Every thought which had crossed my mind. Every small incident during those three hours in Barista. It was on that day that Vishal had proposed. He had proposed and I had accepted. Why will not I? For what reason?

We start with his recent success in GRE. I congratulate him and he had thanks me, a little too profusely as if I am the reason for his good score. The conversation flows freely and he talks about his dreams, aspirations and goals. He is very optimistic and full of hopes of making it big in life. I admire the way he is, so passionate about his dreams, his career and his life. So full of life. Maybe it is his charm. Maybe, his wit. Maybe, his personality. Whatever is the reason, I feel incredibly drawn to him. I don’t take much time to think when he let his heart out. I did not need to. It is, without doubt, the biggest decision I have ever made in all my life. And, the best decision I have ever made in my life. The decision I have never needed to regret, not even once.

There is not a twist in my story. My life is not an Oscar Wilde story, however much the readers may like it to be. Neither it is sad, poignant, or thought provoking. Life has been kind to me and God, merciful. It is four years now that Vishal and I are happily married. We are expecting our first child in a couple of months. All through these four years, Vissu has been most understanding, considerate and good to me. He is the best husband any girl can dream of. And I think I am really lucky.

My Story - Part 1

He is the prince of my dreams, my obsession and my mania. Just a word with him, a sight of him, a feel of his breath, his touch; and even the most depressing times turn cheerful in an instant. He is my retreat from the cruel world. Oh, how safe and protected I feel when I am in his arms. I can forget the world and all the hardships I am facing when he talks to me in that smooth mellow, a la Johnny Walker voice. I can spend an eternity leaning my head on his shoulder and listening to that voice of his. God knows how many countless hours of my life I have spent that way.

I still remember our first meeting as if it has occurred only yesterday.

It is my first day in college and predictably, I am very nervous. I must be very naïve, perhaps ‘stupid’ is a better word, for; I approach a group of seniors to ask the whereabouts of the first year computer science engineering classroom. Before I can realize what is happening; I have sung a song and have saluted half a dozen ‘Sirs’ a dozen times. I am also asked to frog leap across a flight of stairs and as I stand there, pondering on what to do next, a light tap on my shoulder startles me.

He is lean, tall; with an angular face, aquiline nose and a two days’ old stubble. He is in a crumpled tee, faded low hip jeans, a Nike waistband and a red baseball cap. The first thought that comes to me is that he is super sexy, cool and ultra confident of anything and everything. He is also chewing gum and I can not but marvel at his fine set of teeth. They are very orderly and even the faint traces of nicotine on them seem to add on to his charm. He gives me a re-assuring smile and I am instantly comforted and begin to feel braver. I smile back at him, a nervous and polite one, and look accusingly at my tormentors.

“What is going on here?” he thunders. The tormentors’ jaws drop and they seem bewildered at his unexpected arrival. He glares hard at them and not getting any answer, turns to me. Something tells me that he is not on their side, maybe his voice or simply because I want to believe it. Before I can check myself, I blurt out, “I am being ragged.” “Is that true?” he asks in a tone that sounds menacing, at least to me. Not waiting for an answer, he turns to me and asks in a gentler tone, “Your first day in college, miss?” I smile and nod in affirmation. “Which department?” he asks. “Computer Science, my rank in the entrance exam is 18”, I say with a tinge of pride, not bothering to disguise it. “That’s wonderful”, he says smiling broadly. “Come, I will show you to your classroom.”

He begins to lead the way and after managing to shoot a look combined with hate and triumph, at my tormentors, I start to follow him. As I catch up with him, I say, “Thank you Sir, this is very kind of you.” “Oh, come on, that is nothing”, he says with a dismissal wave of his hand. “By the way, I am Vishal, computer science, third year. “I am Priya”, I offer my hand and he touches it lightly and smiles. “I guess we will meet in some courses, then”, I say. “Yeah, in some labs too”, he replies absent mindedly. This, for some unfathomable reason, makes me very glad and I begin to look forward for the same.

We cross the stairs and turn around a corner into a narrow corridor. I struggle to keep pace with him. Though he appears to be a bit on the thinner side, he seems athletic and quite handsome in his own rugged way. I notice that nobody bothers me anymore when he is with me, though there are curious glances from time to time. We are now directly opposite to my tormentors, though on a different floor. I throw a furtive glance at Vishal. Hmm… Vishal, interesting name. Vissu is a nice nickname to that and I smile at the thought.

I am completely lost in my thoughts and do not anticipate his halt. He stops abruptly and I bump into him. He turns back and says in mock seriousness, “What is the matter with you, lady? Do you have to follow me even when I am going to take a leak?” Peels of laughter shake the whole area and I suddenly realize that I am in front of the men’s restroom.

As I stand there, red with embarrassment and humiliation, unable to decide what to do next, Vishal crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He looks at me triumphantly, as if he has won a lottery. My brain screams at me to run away from the place, to turn tail and flee; but my legs refuse to obey. In the same mocking tone, he says, “Now darling, you are not supposed to complain to strangers that you are being ragged. And baby, once you are here, your rank in the entrance exam does not count anymore.” Slowly, I gain control on myself and with hot tears running across my cheeks, I make my escape from there.


Over the next couple of months, I slowly adjusted to the occasional ragging, and writing the lab reports and records of the ‘Sirs’ and ‘Madams’. The events of the first day in college and Vishal had terrified me so much that I constantly avoided everyone like plague. I never had a real conversation or interaction with any of our classmates too. College was no fun, as it is supposed to be, without any friends. I missed my old friends and my school desperately. What a fun filled life, I lived there. Why could not I have been there forever? What made me join engineering, of all the courses available? Why did I have to choose this college, of dozens of colleges available? Life has become dull, monotonous, terrifying and totally devoid of all the fun.

And then, one day, I thought I will have an attack.


Mr. Pravin Kumar Awasthi is a tall and robust looking man with big black curly hair and a huge moustache. His eyes are always blood shot and he appears to be perpetually in a bad hangover. He has a loud booming voice and he holds the entire college in terror. Everyone, including the principal and the management, it is rumored, is petrified of him. As luck would have it, he is our professor for English.

During an English class, one Friday afternoon, Mr. Awasthi is giving weekend assignments, and as always, his assignments are meant to be done individually and not in teams. As for me, I am asked to prepare a list of 500 most frequently occurring words in the questions of exams like CAT, GRE, GMAT and so on. Though I have a vague idea of what these exams are, I must confess that I cannot comprehend on how to go about it. Bewildered with the tough task ahead, I sit down and make a mental note to go and see Mr. Awasthi later and seek his advice.

I meet Mr. Awasthi later in the evening, on that day. He makes it very clear that his assignments are never altered once they are assigned. In case I find it tough to complete, I am free to take assistance of some senior, for instance – Vishal Bharadwaj, who is going to appear for GRE this year. “A very bright lad, I am sure he will help you”, he says. My heart sinks, hearing the dreaded name again, but I manage a smile and walk out of his office.

My Love, My Life - Part 2

We first met in the college canteen when I was in the second year of my engineering. She has just joined the college at that time. She had inadvertently said ‘Good Afternoon, Sir’ and I had nodded without looking at her. But there was something in her voice that had first attracted me. I abruptly turned and there she was. In a red salwar kameez, she looked lovely.

I think it was about a year later; she proposed. We were quite good friends at that time. We were sitting in a Barista with a cold coffee each, and her friends walked in. She had appeared shocked; apparently she did not want us to be spotted by them. But they anyway saw us and came to our table. Though inwardly beaming, I was surprised when she started talking about me as if we had been together for decades, in front of them. She had addressed me as ‘Honey’ and ‘Darling’. Later, when I demanded an explanation, she had said that she always liked me and it was then that she proposed. Only after a couple of more years, I came to know that the ‘chance’ meeting in Barista between us and her friends was pre-orchestrated.

She was always like that. Highly unpredictable. Her mood swings too, were very volatile. But I still loved her. Must say, with all my heart. She was a very ambitious girl. In fact, the most ambitious I have ever known. She always had exceptionally high hopes. Always planned to go higher and higher. Scale up new peaks. And she would never bask in her glories. By the time she had achieved a goal, there would be tens of others lined up. She always used to say, “Enjoying a success is sweet. But that brings complacency. Complacency destroys a human being. Instead of relishing the taste of success, we should work towards the next”.

We had detailed our life together for the next fifty years or so. During the first five years after college, our focus would be on our career alone. Climb higher and higher, faster and faster, up the corporate ladder, earning both money and experience. Then, get married and start an establishment of our own. We had gone into the smallest of the details, and came up with the blueprint for our entire lives. Then, how can this go wrong now? Was there a problem which threatened us so bad that all of it had to change so suddenly and drastically? And, if there was one, why did not she want to talk it over rather than deciding something on her own?

Life is a race, dear; she had always said. Emerging victorious is always about making choices. Make the right choice at the right time with the right set of people. This is what keeps a winner and a loser apart. So that was what I had been to her all the time. Just a choice, isn’t it? Am I just extrapolating and being paranoid? I don’t know. But this seemed to be making lot of sense at the moment.

Strangely, now, after a whole day, I am not angry. I am not disappointed. I am just disgusted. Disgusted with the people around, disgusted with their mad rush to be somebody / something in life, disgusted with the place called world. I no longer want to be a part of this world. I want to be a non-entity. I want to cease existing. Not a very courageous person physically, I am surfing the Internet for the least painful way of doing it. God willing, I would come into this world again as a more practical and lesser emotional individual. Amen!


THE END

My Love, My Life - Part 1

Why am I not born deaf? I would not have heard the terrible news. Why am I not retarded? I would not have comprehended what is happening. Millions of people die of a heart failure every day. Oh please, sweet lord, the omnipotent one, can’t I just drop dead? Why am I being made to suffer like this? Can I carry on the arduous task of ending my own life? Why haven’t You given me the courage to do it? What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to react? Do I need to find solace with my friends? Will they laugh at my face? Or will they be kind and sympathetic? But what do I need sympathy for? Am I really in need of sympathy? Or is it just that I am over-reacting? There must surely be something about this, let me think. Did I ever get so upset in my 27 years of existence? When my grand father died 5 years ago, yes, I was upset. Truly and terribly upset. Had been quite close to him, he was a good old man. But I had her then, on my side, to look after me, to care for me and to see me get going again. Now that she herself has given me a jolt, whom should I go to? Whom should I confide in? Everything is so conflicting. My brain is refusing to take in the pressure of thinking. Yes, I have lost the sense of thinking clearly. Was I weeping? I don’t know. But my co-workers in the office had become silent. So silent that I was able to hear my thoughts. Or was I thinking aloud? Was I talking to myself? No way to tell. How could she do this to me? Wait. There must be something wrong. This cannot happen. I was in office for 14 hours at a stretch and this probably impaired my hearing. What actually did she say? What did we talk? Let me recollect.


She calls me when I am in the weekly meeting with my team. Reviewing the team’s performance over the past week, coming up with areas of improvement, patting the backs of the super achievers, a kind word or two to the rest – I must admit that I am a little busy. I cut the call and dial her number as soon as I can find time to squeeze in a smoke. With a lit cigarette in hand, I start the conversation with my trademark ‘Hi doll’. She starts with a ‘Sorry’ for not being in touch lately. I know she will say that. It has been more than two weeks since we talked and she has not responded to my innumerable calls and smses. I remember attributing this to her busy schedule and deciding to give her a little space and time instead of pestering her to talk with me.


A little blah blah, the usual stuff and she says that she has something important to talk about. I sort of shouted ‘WHAT’, in fact, loud enough to alarm my co-smokers. I also remember arguing a little childishly with her – “What is the matter? How can you do this to me? Does he earn more than me? Is he more handsome? Have we not clearly planned what we want to do this year, the next and the year after that? Focus on your career, you had said. You always had high hopes. You wanted us to be entrepreneurs. You said that we would be employers rather than being mere employees. Have I gone wrong somewhere sometime? Did I, anytime, give you a feeling of insecurity? Are you joking by the way? Trying to take pleasure from my discomfort?”


I throw a flurry of questions. An avalanche of unanswered ones. She does not say anything. Not a word. There is an absolute silence from her side – enigmatic and unbearable. I say HELLO thrice before hearing her voice again. She says,” I am sorry, but there is nothing to talk about. Can’t you see; I am married now? I am somebody else’s wife. Can you hear that? I thought it is better that I call you up and inform about my marriage rather than somebody else doing it. I really don’t need to justify myself nor should you go raving about it. We can always be good friends, like we were, once upon a time. Good bye.” An audible click and a million dreams shatter. Good friends. Was it all that we were to each other?


I am still not able to comprehend what is happening. I cannot help run all the good times we have had over the last five years. In the process, I also try to retrospect if something has always been wrong between us. Surely, I must have faulted somewhere. Else, she will definitely not do this to me. I hate giving her the benefit of doubt, but, I cannot help it.