Another fictional story

The phone rang continuously on the table next to his laptop. The popular number set as his specific ringtone for Shreya blared on. He ignored it as long as he could. Then, unable to take it any longer, he picked it up meaning to tell Shreya off or put it on silent. At that moment the phone stopped ringing. Just as he was about to set it down again, it rang again. Only this time it was a different ring. No popular number this, it was an old obscure tune hummed and whistled as if by amateurs. In spite of his busy schedule, a smile played on his lips as he hit the green ANSWER button. “I will be home soon”, he said into the phone. A “Humph!” was all he heard before the phone clicked shut on the other end. He couldn’t suppress a broad smile.

We were in college when we first met. It wasn’t supposed to happen really. We were both so different. He was a nerd. He believed in attending his classes and acing as many subjects as possible. He had a small group of guys he called friends and felt content spending his free time with them. I, on the other hand, was a floater. The whole world, or at least the whole college, I counted as friends. I could talk to anyone. And yet, I had no one who understood me well. So I floated around trying to find my spot. Academics were never my thing. I believed I could change the world and worked hard at it by indulging in all manner of non academic activities possible. Our worlds knew no intersection. Yet we met. At best it could be called an accident. Although the naive, romantic me believed it was destiny. We were both waiting in front of the staff room trying to get the attention of a particular professor. The professor didn’t actually teach me. I just needed his signatures on some petition documents I was trying to push through. He though actually studied the professor’s course. So as the professor exited his room on the way to the next class, we both swarmed him from both sides trying to get his attention. Much to his chagrin, the professor favoured my petition to the discussions of his favourite student. He looked daggers at me.

The next time we met was as accidental. Or like I said before, it was as fortuitous. We were paired up for assignments in a course we had to take in common. I wasn’t too excited when it happened.  But with time, we warmed up to each other. I realised we can actually work together without being at each other’s throat. We were friendly without actually being friends. And then came that moment when I think it all changed. He stood up for me.

The course was a compulsory one on Government and Political history. One of the assignments was a solo essay where I wrote a controversial yet thoughtful article on the history of communism in India. The other 60 students tore into me. Or at least the more interested 10 or 12 of them did. The professor for this course encouraged arguments. She said it helped people develop opinions and become more aware of their surroundings. But sometimes the argumentative back and forth would get vicious. And this time it definitely did. Surprisingly only one person stood up for my point of view. He did. And that opened a floodgate for both of us. We realised how much we had in common.

Having been content with his small group of friends before, he was no longer satisfied with their limited conversation. And I finally had someone who understood me. We couldn’t have enough of each other’s company. We spent all our waking hours with each other. The years of college went by quick. And it was graduation day.

The world felt our chemistry and talked about us. But somehow it never bothered us. It never occurred to me that we could be more than friends. That would have been blasphemy. So we just continued as best friends would. On graduation day and the after party, as was customary with us, we spent all the time together. We spoke till the wee hours of the morning of our individual futures, what lay ahead, the uncertainties, etc. And then as dawn peeked beyond the horizons and birds stirred in their nests, and as there flowed enough alcohol in our veins, he held my hand. It just felt right. It felt as if we always knew that would happen. We didn’t have to say anything more we just sat there and saw the sky lighten and the first day dawn when we were no longer students, but were supposed to be grown up.

The bell rang three times in a row and I ran to open the door. I knew it will be him. The moment the door opened he enveloped me in a bear hug. I hugged him back. I couldn’t be happier to see him. It had been almost a year since I had last seen him. “So good to see you”, he almost whispered into my hair. “Same here”, I grinned back and then turned around and shouted in the general direction of the kitchen, “Shreya, your husband is home”. Shreya walked into the room with a tray covered in food. “Finally”, she smiled and asked him playfully, “Happy to see your best friend again?” He nodded wordlessly.

It was a good dinner. Shreya was an impeccable cook. And he and I had so much to speak about that conversation never ebbed. I told him all about the last year –my travels, the places, the people I met, my future. And he told me about his new venture, the hard work he was putting in and the results that were finally showing. It was just like old times. We sat there and talked about the future, what lay ahead and the uncertainties.

I knew he had been worrying about me. The last time we had parted weren’t on the best terms. So when he saw me smiling and relaxed, he could feel himself relax too. His smile widened as the night progressed. He could feel the guilt slip away as he saw I had moved on.

It was 2 years after college and we were best friends. It hadn’t seemed possible in college that we could have gotten closer. But we did. We passed out of college and started working in the same city. We worked hard during the week and spent our weekends catching up of movies, plays, shows or just gossiping over dinner and drinks. We never spoke of the night of graduation day when we had held hands. I in my heart assumed it was a matter of time before he would ask the question. But I was in no hurry. So when he asked me for a take away dinner on a hot sultry June Friday night to his place, I didn’t think much of it. I thought we would probably just stay in and see a movie or two. So I was taken aback when post dinner he turned to me and said he wanted to talk. In spite of everything, I could feel a small flutter in the pit of my stomach. “I have something to say”, he whispered and took my hands. The butterflies in my stomach took wings. “My parents have found a girl for me that they want me to meet. They say she is perfect for me. And if I like her too then the marriage will be held this winter.” I sat in stunned silence. “Please say something,” he implored. But I couldn’t. I wordlessly got up, collected my purse and walked out. I took the stairs from his 12^th floor apartment.

A month later I handed in my resignation. Two months later I had encashed all my savings and borrowed a fair amount from my father. The following month I travelled to Europe to backpack across the continent. The trip lasted eight months.

He came to drop me off at the elevator. My dazzling smile as I entered the elevator soothed him. He felt relieved and knew he would be able to sleep undisturbed again. As the elevator door closed, he failed to notice my glistening eyes. He turned to return to his apartment, to his wife. The glisten formed a tiny drop and made its way down my cheek and past the smile.

[The story is a work of fiction and while many people may find resemblances, its only for inspiration for characters and not incidents in itself. Writing in first person is only a writing style.]

Sometimes annoying, sometimes endearing and a little quirky- Presenting to you the "Maximum City" (Mumbai Series Part 1)

Sitting by the window on the eleventh floor of my client's office, I stare out at the panoramic view. In front of me stretches out a thin strip of beach behind an even thinner row of trees. It is the world famous Chowpatty. This beach is a strange one. At the first glance you can make out more cars than people. There are even a few cranes (of the mechanical variety, and not of the avian type) dotting the beach. Following this, there is an expansive sea which looks grey even in bright sunlight. Along one side of the sea stand some of the tallest buildings in India. Arnav sitting next to me informs me that that area is Malabar Hills. The monthly rent of a 2 BHK (Bedroom-Hall-Kitchen for the uninitiated) flat there is apparently upwards of 1.5 lakh. That same line of skyscraper extend to my right to become an old respectable residential area. Beyond that you can see the clutter and chaos of the famed slums. This is Mumbai.

Mumbai has always had a place of prominence in my life, though mostly sub-consciously. This, I think, is absolutely understandable when you take into account that the strongest love in my life is for cinema. And in India you cannot be a lover of cinema without a special place Hindi movies (I am not talking of connoisseurs or pseudo intellectuals claiming to love only their Bergmans, Rays and Kurosawas). So along with my obsessive love for Hindi 'picture', grew my association with this city. Strangely enough, till my 24th birthday, the number of nights I would have spent in Mumbai was less than 10. The number of visits was 4.

Even in my final year at business school, when I knew my future city of residence would be either Gurgaon or Mumbai, I had always taken for granted that I would move to Gurgaon. All my day dreams of starting work, having a new apartment, having a car were painted around the dusty landscape of Gurgaon. Mumbai had not even entered the extreme edge of the radar. So when I got a call in early February asking for preferences, I was extremely taken aback when I asked for Mumbai. Although I claim to be a non-believer in such things, it almost seemed like this was destined and some outlandish powers were at work. And that is how I moved to Mumbai.

Everything post that kind of fell in place. I connected with one of my closest school friends who was in Mumbai and was on the lookout for a potential flatmate. We joined forces and decided to share accommodation. My sister got admitted to a college in Mumbai. A lot of my greatest friends from business school were also posted to Mumbai. And my other best friend from school also was in Mumbai doing her PhD. To top it all, I realised that I like rains (a Mumbai specialty, though my personal experiences are from Kolkata) more than the cold (a Delhi feature, and one of its best in my opinion). And so Mumbai became my home. 

Mumbai is a strange city. You have sky scrapers, the world's largest slums and some of the oldest colonies all rolled into one. You have Rolls Royce and Porsche plying the street running parallel to the train tracks for local trains, the favoured means of travel for millions of Mumbaikars every day. The street outside the house of India's richest man is wide enough to accommodate only 2 cars. The potholes under the wheels of a CEOs Bentley are of the size of craters on the moon. The crowd outside an actor's house for just a glimpse far exceeds that for a demonstration. And yet it all seems to tie in together somewhere, somehow. And that's how I got engulfed within the city too.

Now let me be clear that my relationship with Mumbai has been far from smooth. I was super impressed at how all taxis and autos went at meter rates and never asked for a penny more (if you are a resident of Bangalore or Delhi you will share my surprise). The drivers were courteous and helpful even. They had infinite patience on crowded roads and road-rage was not very common. But at the same time, they could be infuriating in their refusal to go. I mean, sometimes, they just refuse to go! And usually it has nothing to do with the destination. I have come across cab drivers reading newspapers or chatting with each other but not willing to move. I have seen empty autos that will whiz past at great speeds even as you flail your arms frantically in a bid to make him stop. I have experienced cabs willing to go only if I take a certain route. So this is the first peculiarity that I noticed about Mumbai's public transportation.

The next bump in my relationship with Mumbai has to be its traffic. Two hours on a regular basis just to reach home cannot be a very pleasant experience. And that too when the distance is less than 20 km. That's like 10 kmph. And this is not taking into account the days when it takes 3 hours. And this behaviour on the part of Mumbai leads you to devise interesting travelling strategies- insist on leaving at 5 and finishing the rest of the work at home, if work has kept you till 8 then loiter around longer till around 9-9.30 because roads tend to empty out a bit by then, be on good terms with people leaving near your office so you can drop in and spend the night on a particularly bad day (the corollary to this is carrying a spare set of clothes in your bag), be great friends with colleagues with cars because face it it's always better to wait out a snarl in the comforts of an air conditioned car with good company rather than alone in a taxi and finally the golden rule, be open to the idea of going back to the office and spending the night. The one essential that one has to have to live through these snarls is a sense of humour. Either that or truckloads of money to be able to afford a flat right next door to office and then hope your client site will not be at the other end of town.

But in spite of these hiccoughs, there's a lot to Mumbai to make you smile. Like the panorama from the ceiling length window of my bedroom on the 11th floor. I know some say its only factories. But at night, when the lights come on, it becomes like one of those magical areas and the fire on the chimneys looks like a fire in pitch darkness. And during a particularly rainy day when vision is limited, it feels like being in a mystical land straight out of history books. Or let's say when you take a walk by the beach at 2 am in the morning. There has to be something interesting about that. Or about the infinite nightlife. Or about having Randeep Hooda sitting on the next table to you in a cafe shop. Or being able to sit for six straight hours in Jehangir Art Gallery's coffee shop and spending only a couple of hundred bucks. Or going to watch a play in one of Mumbai's many theatres. Or just spending a lazy afternoon at home with a book or a friend and staring out into nothing with the background music of the rain.

While I know the ride will be rocky, all I can say is that it is one to be looked forward to. Like someone said about something else: Love it or hate it, you cannot ignore it. As the afternoon sun becomes way too strong, I am compelled to draw the blinds across the window. In a moment the view is gone. Yet it is not easy to leave the city behind just with the drawing of the blinds as a cacophony combining the sound of horns, telephones, hawkers and local trains waft in. The city continues to make its presence felt.

P.S.: The reference to Mumbai as the "Maximum City" has been taken from Suketu Mehta's book about the city by the same name. As an aside, the book is a delightful read.

The first meeting and getting to know you - How I met Mumbai for the first time, and then the second, third and fourth (Mumbai Series Part 2)

With some free time at hand and the blog having been untouched for months, I decided to write a blog post. While starting to write, coming across a topic was fairly easy. While there have been many new events in my life in the last 3 months, the one that came as my biggest surprise was the city I came to live in. Now, I am by no means a frog in the well (direct translation of Kupamanduk: a fro that lives his whole life in a well and considers the well as the extent of the universe). I have stayed for extended periods in three metros in India - growing up in Kolkata, graduation in Delhi and the post-graduation in Bangalore) - and visited a lot more cities across the world - New York, Paris, Singapore to name just a few - in fact even Mumbai. But nothing had prepared me for this city. But if I said that this was my first visit to Mumbai, I would be very far from the truth. I had, in fact, been to this city on four previous occasions (not counting the one time I came for house hunting since that is an extension of the permanent move). And it is those four times that I want to talk about here.

My first visit to Mumbai happened when I was still in school. My father had a conference in Mumbai and all of us (being Mom, my sister and I), came with him for a short trip. We stayed in the convenience of Grand Hyatt (my dad's conference venue and my first and only five-star stay during school) and while my dad attended his conference, the three of us moved around the city and acted exactly as tourists do. We went to Gateway of India and took a ferry to the Elephanta caves, then drove along the queen's necklace at dusk, went shopping to Colaba Causeway and Bandra Linking Road and had Gola on Juhu Chowpatty. At the end of the visit I felt like I had met the city, but was barely even introduced to it. Like the many people you meet at a friend's party and say hi to. You may even share a dance during the night. But the next day, along with the hangover, the image of the faces and mostly even the names fade from memory. I had touched base with Mumbai. But barely.

My second visit was in my final year of college. I was here for an interview at TIFR (I know it's a surprise given that continuing with Chemistry was never in my scheme of things, but it's called keeping options open) with Srinivas (I know it's an even bigger surprise for those who knew me during that phase). As different as possible from my first visit, we were put up in a working women's hostel in Bandra. The two of us were students on a short budget. So every morning we made our pilgrimage to Colaba on BEST buses (Srini and I had a fear for local trains bordering on paranoia). Food was frequently roadside. In 3 days we had had more Bhel Puri, Vada Pav and Gola than the number of potholes on Mumbai roads. And we saw the city on foot. Mind you, we didn't do the usual sightseeing routine. Rather we walked. The February weather was perfect to walk about without much strain. Srini was also an avid photographer (and I am sure he still is) and so we walked the streets of south Bombay with its old Portuguese architecture and quaint charms. We went to St. Xavier's college where I had a friend studying and did an extended tour. We also went to the Chowpatty, walked along marine drive, went to Juhu Chowpatty, bought 7 pairs for Oshos (a pair of slipper-like footwear made of jute with a brightly coloured velvet strap and border, and all the seven pairs were not for me but rather for my entire gang of girl friends in college) and generally walked the interesting cobbled streets of Bandra. That time I saw Mumbai for what it is. I walked through the slums and walked past the high rises. I sat on the rocks bordering the sea on the TIFR campus, which was a beautiful oasis of green at the southernmost point of Mumbai's concrete jungle, and lapped in the beauty. I ate at dingy restaurants and seedy hotels. And yet, I felt like I had finally touched the pulse of Mumbai, even if it was for a second. It was like Mumbai and I had had our first meaningful conversation.

The third time I came to Mumbai was in just after my first term at business school, for the finale of the Johnson and Johnson Case Study Competition, which my team of four had managed to crack. It was a moment of glory for us. We were flown in for the competition and were put up in Dadar in the hotel attached to the Institute of Hotel Management. Of course the greater part of the day was spent in the confines of the boardroom at J&J as we made the presentations of our life. And we had flights to catch early next morning. But that trip introduced me to a totally new aspect of Mumbai, one I had heard a lot about but had not witnessed before, in fact barely witnessed anywhere. It was the famed Mumbai nightlife. The evening started, I remember, with me, Kartik and Isha going over to Leopold's. Leopold's was always a dream. And once there, it was another dream to order their long tube of beer (it's an alternative to the pitcher only more interesting. It almost looks like a gigantic test tube, which to this Chemistry graduate seemed like a hilarious method to serve beer). What we hadn't factored in then was that the fourth member of our group wouldn't join us there and Isha was a teetotaler and was to leave pretty early. So, the onus fell on Kartik and me to glug down the beer and in record time too. Those days, I was not a great beer drinker, and so let's just say that the beer had a greater effect on me than beer is supposed to have or would have now. But of course, Kartik was far from satisfied. So we made our way from Colaba to Juhu in a taxi to a bar and cafe with a pool table and very late hours, where Birla was waiting for us. It's a different thing that I don't remember the name of the place at all. But it was that night I learnt the basics of how to play pool. I also had some amazing chocolate mousse cake. Finally, well past midnight (would be around 2), we were joined by Isha and the four of us went to Juhu Cowpatty for Chaat and Gola before calling it a day and going back to our hotel for an hour long nap. Oh, and did I mention that we came second in that competition and won around 75K among us? But that was the trip where I was introduced to the lighter side of Mumbai. I had learnt to have fun with the city.

But whoever told you that the city was all fun and no work, didn't have his facts correct. I was soon introduced to this in my fourth trip to the city. I came here during my internship between my first and second year at business school. My primary client site was Pune, but for two of the days my team had to work out of Mumbai. As per tradition, the client took care of accommodation. But contrary to tradition, it was not at a swanky hotel but at a service apartment meant only for the top managers with the client. This apartment was on the seventh floor of a building right on Worli sea face, with nothing between the building and the sea but a small private park belonging to the building and a few metres of rocky sea-line. The building was called Samudra Mahal and each apartment was a 3 BHK unit. Each apartment also had 2 associated people for cleaning and cooking. That night I found out that the flat next door had been sold less than two months earlier for Rs. 36 Crores. Now, many of you will say I was short changed by being kept in a service apartment as opposed to a five-star. But since then I have stayed in multiple five-stars in the line of work and I can vouch for it that the hotels just do not match up when it comes to personal touch that apartments can give you. The beds are as comfortable, the view even better and the food completely tailored to your taste and healthy too.  But it is the work that took me completely by surprise. The day started at 8.30 and work never ceased before 11. And in the three days I was in Mumbai I saw that this work ethic extended well beyond just our team. I realised while Mumbai knew how to party, it worked hard too. I had met the worker bee in Mumbai.

While I don't claim to have a full understanding of the city and its working. In fact far from it, I think the city will remain an enigma. I do believe that those first four meetings with Mumbai did open some windows for me. And those visits also served for a first impression that has carried onto my move to the city.

Centuries... Or is it seconds?

I was playing poker tonight, same as almost every night in the last three terms. Painstakingly, over many many games, I made a tidy little profit. Basically I multiplied my buy-in by about 4 times. And then I played one hand, a big hand, and lost all of it in one go. It took me a few minutes to lose all that advantage. I barely broke even.

So what is the point of this diatribe? Well it is simply this, it occurred to me that creation usually takes a lot of time and painstaking effort where as the destruction is often immediate. Now, I am not trying to get all existential here, but it is true, isn't it? I mean, how old is earth? And all it may take is one meteorite strike (albeit a giant one) to annihilate the planet, right? Maybe that is too theoretical. But lets just take any city. It often takes centuries for a city to reach its modern, bustling state. And a nuclear holocaust is all it will take to raze it to the ground.

Forget the big picture. Lets just look at small, everyday things. Last month I was attending a cousin's wedding in Puri. While there, my small nephew started building a sand castle by the beach. Now this boy is just above 4 years old and in true Dennis the Menace style, absolutely impossible to repress. So when he actually sat in one place for half an hour, it was a great relief for all of us. And just when he was putting the finishing touches to his master piece, his one and a half year old brother came and sat down plumb in the middle of the structure. It took a fraction of a second. From creation to destruction in no time at all.

Forget innocent kids, unaware of their actions. We do it everyday. Not too long ago I spent the better part of an afternoon writing a story. I actually considered this story quite good. Now this is when I still used to own a highly unreliable Compaq laptop (nothing wrong with the company, the fault lay entirely with my own technological expertise). Now these were the days when I didn't believe in/understood the importance of back up. Well, one thing led to another, my computer crashed, there was no back ups and no data could be retrieved, and I lost that story (along with many others) in a matter of one rebooting (equating a few minutes).

Not just physical things, this is true for relationships as well. It is strange how once too many times one argument or one issue can ruin long term friendships. Sometimes, a simple move to a different city can ruin something that was once supposed to be permanent. And sometimes, a simple change in the tag- the name of the relationship- can cause the relationship to crumble like a card castle. I am not being a pessimist here. Not all friendships or relationships have to go like that. But it happens more often that we would like to acknowledge.

So anyone who reaches this far will wonder whats the point of this piece. I guess its nothing. Or I guess its just realisation. But what should one learn from it? Do I stop making/creating/building just because it may come down in less than a minute? So I was watching this television show where as part of a competition this guy made a glass pyramid tower using 84 wine glasses. And just when he had completed making the task, the second part of the task required him to pour a bottle of champagne down the tower to create a champagne fountain. And just as he had almost completed pouring the bottle, one small shiver of his hand caused a change in the balance of the champagne being poured out. The entire tower tumbled and almost all glasses were broken. He shrugged his shoulder and moved on to an alternate challenge.That challenge he aced. One never knows, does one?

The Nouveau Blog

Woke up third day in a row with a scratchy throat. The viral was still showing resistance. I realised it would be another "quiet" day for me. Now, for a talkative me, not being able to speak is like the worst punishment I can give myself. Soon, started getting bored. Couldn't go to a friend or call anyone since my voice has left my side for now. Couldn't walk since the anti-biotic induced bitter taste in my mouth has prevented me from eating anything substantial in the last three days and has rendered me weak. On top of that, a very good friend of mine had managed to offend me immensely last night. So, when I finally woke up, hungover with medicine, alcohol (in cough syrup) and sadness, I decided it was time to change.

Now, I know change is the essence of life. Nothing is ever constant. Blah blah blah. I looked around me in eager anticipation; wanting to change the first thing I could. Within 70 seconds I was disappointed. Making physical changes to either the room or to me would be too much of a stress. So I had to resort more "virtual" changes. Hence, the nouveau look. Comments on the visual look and feel are welcome.

Another Fictional Story

The following story is written in a non-linear narrative style. It was just an attempt at experimentation. If it's difficult to follow I shall put up a simplified, linear version.

She tried hard to control those tears in public. She succeeded. Those large black eyes brimmed with tears. But she didn't let the world see it.

She was an only child. She was not just an only child of her parents but she was the only child in the entire extended family. And like most such single kids, she had her share of pampering. But she was a strange child. It was impossible to know what she thought. She lived in her own imaginary world.

She could hardly wait to be alone. Even as she stood with her back to the door of the restroom, she dissolved into tears. It came as a flood.

Even while she grew up, she never threw tantrums. When something hurt her she just drew into her shell. She found it difficult to make friends. Instead, she spent hours reading.

She met him purely professionally. She'd met hundreds of people that way. She didn't know it'd be different this time. As in-charge of recruitment, it was her duty to chose people she thought was competent. And she found him competent.

Through primary and secondary school she was revered. Never loved, just revered. She was the one who had answers to everyone's problem. She could make teachers postpone or even cancel tests. She could solve petty fights between friends. She could sort out issues of jealousy. She could be the best shoulder to cry on. She could advice a broken heart. And through it all, she would remain above it. No one ever saw her show extreme emotions of any kind- she never showed anger, was never overjoyed and never cried. She was known and admired by everyone around her. Yet, she never had any friends.

It all started the way it always does; the break at the coffee shop, the innocuous after office drinks, the occasional party at a colleagues, the gossip near the cooler. And somewhere in between the harmless banter and shared frustrations, they became friends.

She'd been dating Shekhar since her Post Graduation days. He was her senior and though she never felt any particular love towards him, she had realised by then that she'd be disappointed in any relationship she undertook. Her problem was that she'd been alone too much. Her problem also was she expected too much out of any relationship. Having failed before, she decided the best thing for her was this compromise.

High school changed her life forever. There she met Purab. Purab touched a chord somewhere within her. He, for the first time, seemed interested in what she wanted. He, for the first time, seemed interested in her, the person. He taught her it was ok to be happy when chosen as the class captain and it was ok to be sad when she received her first fail grades. He taught her it was ok to smile and laugh and even cry. He brought her alive.

Shekhar was an Investment banker. He hadn't asked her to marry him yet. But they both knew it would happen soon. It wouldn't be a romantic, candle-lit affair. It would be a practical decision taken with cold precision.

People around them were confused as to what they thought of each other. Some thought they were romantically involved. Others thought they were just overtly sociable. Most thought they were great friends. She thought so too. From meeting up as part of the entire team to the more intimate friends group and finally to meeting one-on-one for coffee and conversation, they grew close. They could share the small joys and pains of life with each other. They could discuss work. They could discuss films. They could even spend hours discussing things they wouldn't even remember later.

High school was a bed of roses for her with Purab. They were never a couple. They were just best friends till they reached a point where people just assumed that they were a single entity. And with the rest of the world, she started believing the same. She assumed that they'd just be together through life. And then high school ended. She joined college nearby whereas he flew out of the country on a full scholarship. He promised her they'd keep in touch. They did. But the frequency kept dwindling. And then they didn't anymore.

Fate had its own games to play. A new project came up and they were staffed together. This just meant more time together. They spent longer hours in office. Sometimes weekend too. At other times, there'd be chatting on the phone. It would always start as work. But they never noticed when the transition was made and the conversation shifted beyond work and reach life itself.

After her fiasco with Purab, she became weary. But unfortunately her heart had learned to open. So when earlier she was content, now she felt something missing. She slowly drew into her shell again. That was before she met Aryan.

Shekhar finally brought up the topic of marriage. She knew it was inevitable and never particularly felt anything about it. She was just waiting to get it done and over with. Like another of those things on her to-do list. But when he did bring it up, she wasn't so sure any more. For a fleeting instance, his face crossed her mind. She felt a longing she hadn't felt since her college days.

Aryan was in every way an opposite of Purab. He was caustic and sarcastic. He was cynical, narcissistic and rude. But when he though the world wasn't looking, he could be quite caring. And towards this broken girl, he felt a special connection.

The both of them were working late in office that day. They had a deadline that week. After finally deciding to call it a day, they ducked into the all-night coffee shop to grab the missed dinner. Sitting there, maybe through the tiredness of the day or maybe the pensive mood he was in or maybe just because it was that solemn time of the day, he told her he liked this girl. Her name was Chandra and she was a new joinee. She had noticed how Chandra had become popular with the guys around. But this she hadn't expected.

When Shekhar asked her, it was more by way of formality. In fact, they were driving to see a film when he asked her if December would be the right time for the wedding or would she rather have it some other time. As she looked out of the car window at the rain swept roads of the city, she realised what she was doing was wrong. She didn't love him. Thats when she turned around on her seat and told him she doesn't think she wants this and calmly asked him to stop the car. Then she proceeded to alight and take a passing auto home.

Aryan would do small things for her that helped heal her wounds faster than diamonds or love songs could have. When she missed class, he was there to give her notes. When she was bored, he would walk to the tea-stall across the gate from college. When she would fall asleep in the library, he would wake her up before the librarian could spot her. He made sure she remembered when she had a test and made her study for it. He improved her grades. He made her do something she was good at but had given up on, writing. He encouraged her and soon turned out to be her biggest fan. Without realising it, she was soon dependent on Aryan.

She knew she was wrong to expect him to say anything to her since he thought she was engaged to Shekhar. That evening she intended to tell him that she'd left Shekhar. And just then he told her about Chandra. He went on to ask her for help. She couldn't refuse. He was too good a friend.

Shekhar kept calling her. She refused to take the calls. Relentless, he came to visit her but she refused to see him; or to reply to his many messages and mails. She knew Shekhar deserved some answers but she didn't know if she could provide them just yet.

Even as his attraction towards Chandra increased, it was clear to everyone who knew them that Chandra just wasn't interested. Additionally, knowing him so well, it was clear to her that Chandra wasn't even right for him. But when she tried to tell him, he brushed her off. Blinded by love, he was sure of winning Chandra over. She felt helpless. She decided to let fate take its own way.

With increased confidence, she started doing better in her exams. She even started topping the class. That's when Aryan became aloof. She sensed a growing distance and begged him to tell her what was wrong. But Aryan steadfastly refused. At last when she realised, she purposely messed up her exam for Aryan. He topped. But he looked at her answer sheets and found out the truth. And now with his ego more bruised than ever before, he just refused to talk to her again.

They were at an office party that night. He kept making a fool of himself over Chandra. People egged him on but laughed behind his back. It hurt her to see him that way. She went to where he was standing with Chandra and her group of friends and tried to pull him away. He just brushed her away. Insulted, she turned around to walk away. But swallowing her pride she went back to try again. This time he just turned around and asked her to leave him alone. Then he nonchalantly went back to his flirting. Quietly, she turned away.

After Aryan and Purab she had decided that she will never again take a chance. She would not risk her heart but play it safe. That's why she decided on Shekhar. Shekhar was dependable and stable. And he would never want her to love him with all her heart. That is all she needed to keep herself from greater pain.

They were in the office pantry that day. Everyone was ribbing him about his great night and his flirtatious ways. Without realising the malice, he smiled in a self-satisfied way. And then he saw her. Looking at her in the eye, he blamed her for trying to take him away from his love and playing the spoil-sport, especially when he was making such giant leaps. He accused her in front of all present of sabotaging his chances with Chandra. He continued relentless even as she used all her self-control to not cry just then.

Once in the rest room stall, the flood gates opened. She cried hopelessly and uncontrollably. She cried for a long time. And then for quite some time after that, she just sat on the floor quietly. Then she quietly stood up and washed her face of all tear streaks. She patted her hair in place and applied liner to replace the layer just washed away. She smiled a bleak smile at herself in the mirror. It never reached her eyes. Then she took the phone out of her bag. Even as she left the rest room, she placed a call through to Shekhar. December was acceptable to her.

Trepidations of a romantic

I am an incurable romantic. I think thats my biggest botheration. I even have a theory behind this. I think my romanticism stems from watching too many movies and reading too many books. And even there, my choice has always been the romantic-comedies or epic romances. Even the music I like would be love songs and ballads. And into this strange neo-reality I live in, throw in my desire to be a movie maker one day. So as a 'wannabe' movie maker I often imagine my future movies. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that each of those turn out to be a romance. So, all these things together, has made me reach a stage where, even at 23, I do not understand what is a "real" romance.

This incurable romantic in me has led to multiple problems in my life.

Firstly, in the true spirit of innumerable chick-flicks and rom-coms, I can't see a cute guy without losing my heart to him. Of course it doesn't help that I never blip on their radar. I mean, their radar is usually tuned into the hotness quotient of girls (not something I claim to score highly on) or tuned off completely. I mean, seriously, there are these guys who completely burn you with their intensity and make you swoon. And they do it with complete ease, with tremendous nonchalance. (As an aside, all those guys who are dying to make women fall for you, let me tell you women love men who doesn't seem to try at all.) So, getting back to the point, these guys who are cute, who are successful (success brings an allure) and who appear to know it but couldn't seem to care less about it makes my heart skip a beat.

Secondly, the best friend syndrome. I mean, how many times have we (assuming you watch rom-coms) seen the girl hanker after an un-gettable guy when the man of her dreams has always been next to her. I mean, its a staple of these movies for the girl to finally get the man she craves and then realise at the last moment that the guy she really needs is right next to her. So, having seen countless such movies (must be more than 100 at last count), I now preempt this situation by looking around. And just as I start to go weak in the knees over this super hottie, I jump a step forward, look around and decide which is the friend who is actually meant to be my hero.

Thirdly, in real epic-drama style, I love men who are chivalrous but chauvinistic. By the way, please note, I am all for women's empowerment and equality. Its just that my favourite hero of all times is Rhett Butler. And what he brought to the table was chivalry and chauvinism, two sides of the same coin actually (just my opinion, no intention to hurt anyone). So when I find men who do small things for you... well who wouldn't like it!

Talking of Rhett Butler, fourthly, I also love men like him- tall, dark, powerful, strong (I know its totally different from the chocolate boy hero of the first point or the quiet guy of the second point, but then who said I have to like only one kind of men?).

Finally, the incurable romantic in me has led to expectations of roses and candlelit dinners and lovely surprises. Now, any sane person will tell me that it doesn't happen in real life. I mean, the rare candlelit dinner is a possibility. But violin in the background when he looks deep into your eyes? Really? Or a single red rose everyday? REALLY?

So, analysing the situation, I realised that the problem was more deep-rooted than earlier thought. I mean I'd DIE if a guy was to give me a flower everyday or hold the door for me all the time or pull my chair out for me or stand up every time I had to leave the table! Thats like so seventeenth century!

Having gone around in a circle and arrived back at square one (as an aside, that sounds like such an oxymoron!) I started to think exactly what did I want. Who would be my ideal guy? I don't think he needs to be all that good looking or chivalrous. Yes it was important for him to be sensitive and also understand me. Basically be a friend. And have a similar bend of mind so that we could take the important decisions in life together... And just then, somewhere in my mind, a tiny voice (like one of those two tiny fairy and devil things that exist in everyone) whispered, "There you go look for an ideal guy again." I realised that I truly am an incurable romantic and that was to be my biggest botheration.