The Girl - VI

Reflections

“You what!” the fever pitched exclamation from across caused all nearest neighbors to skip a morsel at the dinner table, even as he watched the puddle of paneer-soaked rice drip off the guy’s spoon.

“It was an application for Prof Shastri…”, he replied humbly, several scales down on volume and tempo, amidst growing reassurances that only his best friend was privy to the little secret.

“You of all people running errands for some girl on a Sunday afternoon! Who would have thought Mr. Rainman would ever become the Mailman?” unacknowledged sarcasm drenched his voice.

“It was a one-time thing and you don’t know the first word about her”, he exclaimed pushing his unfinished plate away. Lately he thought neither did he but he needed a strong sentiment to leave a rare consumable meal at the hostel mess. Quickly devouring the paneers he had saved for last, the concerned friend followed.

“Oh really, like the one-time you compromised your no-lending-policy for novels for her. Or like the one-time you missed the Sachin 100 when you were busy finding your way to the college canteen just to fetch her misplaced umbrella! This new brand of your love-infested-insanity is sickening you, and to what use, you can’t even talk to her on the phone!” he said before slurping up water and gurgling out the last bits of rice into the sink. “Disgrace to brotherhood”, he grimaced wiping his lips, not allowing his friend and room-mate to get away as often.

“It’s better than how you make it sound in ways I can’t explain. Besides what’s wrong in helping a friend. I would have done no less for you” he tried to defend, as they reached the common room where the latest Bollywood chartbuster playing in the old TV set had gripped the short-lived attention span of the gaping engineers cum budding movie buffs.

“Nothing, but I would never sweet-talk you into spoiling a Sunday just so I can have the easy way” he reasoned. “Listen- Friendzone is the shittiest place a girl can put a guy in. It’s on the You-are-so-special Avenue right by the Feels-like-love lane but you’ll never see the No-Entry crossing, and beyond that is absolute curfew. So you admire her curves on the first introduction but wait till later meetings show up new angles.” This time the thought guided word-play was spot on. “See, I got to rush for this class now”, he said mounting a hand on his shoulder, “but remember- living with a broken heart isn’t dramatic. It makes you look like a douche, a big sick douche”. 

He spoke with an unwavering tenacity he thought his friend could never possess. For a moment he felt like Siddharth under the Bodhi tree, gaping at the old TV set, looking at the trepidation of the singing hero who was playing a rockstar caught between fame, alcohol and his girl in the latest blockbuster that had redefined love for the entire country- suicide. For a moment he felt like him- minus the fame- before an inspired sense of revulsion carried him out of the place- What a douche. Singing in the rain isn’t romantic. It makes you look like a douche, a wet cold douche.

It wasn’t often, lately, that he had experienced a heightened sense of well-being despite the girl or her soul sucking-nerve wrecking apathy to the numerous custom-made text messages he had so out-believed himself to send her or the heart stopping-mind numbing indifference she showed at times when he went out of his way just to catch a glimpse. But she was a woman, she had the right to change her mind, any-freakin-time.

He unlocked his room and lied down on his bed, staring above at the old ceiling fan doing useless rounds, as if relentlessly chasing the air that never so much as cared. ‘How am I any different?’. Her face, her smile and her words emanated from an empty corner of his brain and ricocheted off of his mind. Meditation is hokum. The thoughtlessness that followed was bliss. 

No one grows up with a right to be loved. It's a privilege you earn for yourself. It doesn't come naturally. You earn it. And very often, love comes. And love goes. And love comes back. And goes again. And so on.

For just this while, he could ease her out of his conscious and truly let go. For just this while, it was enlightenment in progress.

The Girl - VII