A conversation starter.

There’s just this inane quality in the way light reaches us. I’ve been thinking a lot about light these days. Both light, and lightness. The two seem so…inter-related, yet they could mean different things altogether.
Light. There is a definite confusion over what light is. When we were younger, we used to ask this riddle, ‘which is heavier, a tonne of cotton or a tonne of rocks’. In essence, what determines lightness? Can we really fly without an aeroplane? Is it possible? We could grow wings one day, you and I, and fly. I just need to find that formula I lost while on my way to adulthood. I feel happy. The last few months have seen ups and downs, sure, but I was happy more or less. Make that, the last year. The heart is a wild thing, that is why our ribs are called cages, I presume. I might like other people, that’s human nature but there’s a loyalty that even a pigeon feels toward the master. You’ll come back and I’ll return. It is this unending loop of infinite turns. I write well, don’t fall into the trap of words. You express yourself, or try to, as well as you can. But you get caught up in looking non-vulnerable. Men! I digressed…

In this book I read, life has been broken down into so many beautiful ways. It has no story, but yet, it manages to make one think. You should read it too, if you have the patience. I had to repeatedly go back to reading it, re-reading at times. It was difficult to grasp in the beginning but once over, it was exhilarating.
Yes, I am going to the capital, the place where you once lived, while the one person I really want to meet is not there. Such mean tricks. I want to go away from home and just spend a year writing and drinking coffee and getting high on tequila. I wish I was rich enough to be spoilt. If wishes were horses, I’d ride them like they ride those horses on Game of Thrones, cross the poison water, and meet you.

Oh, you’re online now.
It was nice to be able to write without expecting a reply. Rambling to a screen that replies to your thoughts, was at one point considered impossible. The magic mirror, they would say.

 

 

 

And, that’s how the cookie crumbled.

I’m not cool and I like it. I’m not hot either.

I’m awkward where I’m supposed to be cool. I don’t really know my stuff around the most happening pub, neither do I wear the hippest clothes. I don’t gulp down alcohol because it may be free, hell I have enough at home to be a drunk for a week and still be left with surplus. I don’t listen to songs which ask me to first take a selfie. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with instagram. I find twitter boring. I refuse to use hash tags and I would rather watch an art film in my native language than watch a flop Hollywood movie because it has machines in it.

But, I’m one of the first to visit a good website if it uses good words to frame the expressions. I’m the kind with a bookmark in three different books at the same time but read only one at a time. I gauge my men the way I gauge these books. I start several at a time but linger over the one I like and complete it. If I like it a lot, I don’t pick up another book for months, even if that book (chapter; good analogy?) was over. I’m the kind who’d wear high heels for five days a week or sneakers at a party and still be okay with it. I have only recently bought coloured trousers and the colour is teal. Mustard is really not my cuppa, neither is a red. I’m the kind who knows what good coffee tastes like but wouldn’t know jack between a lager and an ale. I like like the occasional nonsensical songs, but my play list has classy numbers. Well, most of them..
I click photographs because I want to. I look at them while sitting huddled under the duvet during the half-time of the world cup going on at Brasil. I don’t want the entire world to know what I ate for lunch and I have repeatedly been reminded to ‘instagram’ the image I took. And, then I oblige, sans any hash tags, of course. I don’t tweet because 140 characters couldn’t possibly be enough! I blog. I scribble. I draw.. I went 12 kilometers away to buy rosemary, thyme and sage leaves for an art work I’m planning!

I’m not cool by a lot of your definitions. I don’t smoke up. I don’t smoke. I can’t accessorise my outfits because I seem to look like a villager when I do, I guess, but people have claimed otherwise. I cut my hair short because I could not bear the heat and, that it was enough with the cliché of long hair on my head.

And you know the best part? Those things really don’t make anyone cool.
You’re cool if you’re cool. If you need beer to make yourself interesting, you have major issues. If you need beer to make me interesting, well, why are we friends again? My snap chat score doesn’t determine how popular I am. Hell, I had a display picture of Ozil and Muller on for three weeks and it got one like, and a slutty picture with my neck showing seductively gets 99? The world has serious issues.
I love my books and shoes and weird out-of-place-ness. I don’t care if I don’t look hot or even if I look ugly to you. If I think I am doing fine, I am freaking pleased and will trot out *toktoktok* in my favourite stilettos.

This is not a shove on those who do these things. I’m just tired of everyone judging themselves by these bars. So many kids feel like they just have to do all these cool things to be cool and hip and accepted and popular.
The world doesn’t really need to know where you are at this moment. Everyone’s seen that heart warming video, shared it too ironically.. bloody well time to practice it?

‘Coffee this evening?’

Hazy lights, fast cars and the drizzle. That’s all she remembered, that’s all that she cared about, that’s all she should care about. So then, why did her mind keep fleeting back to those hands? She had held them with so much fervour, she had felt so much in those fifteen seconds, she had squeezed them so tightly; like there was no today and like there was no one else as important as him, in that particular moment, that moment where time lost its worth.

Maya knew something had changed. She could recall the songs that played on the radio. She could feel his hair brush across her face. She could smell him; a mixture of alcohol and perspiration. She wanted to know every detail. She needed to every detail.

‘Listen, what if it is all a mistake?’, she asked her sister.
‘Nothing is ever wrong, when you remember how he smelt!’ Sanaya was busy filing her nails, without paying much attention to the apparently vague description Maya had offered.

Maya sank back into her bed and under the blanket. It was cold. Was it cold that night too? She didn’t remember shivering, at least not because of the chill. She shuddered. Who was he? What had he done to her? Was she right in feeling happy or was it a misplaced emotion?

She stared at her cell phone. He had texted over an hour ago, it still remained unopened. The last time she checked, he had sent a virtual kiss. Why?

‘Maya, man just have fun with him. He’s giving you a golden opportunity’ Sanaya retorted suddenly, taking Maya by utter surprise. The phone fell down, switched off. Maya hurried to take it off the ground and switched it on. She opened the message.
Meet me today?
Maya’s fingers trembled. She couldn’t.

She felt her heart reach her mouth. This is not fine. This is not fun. I don’t have fun. How can a relationship be fun when he’s already in a semi-relationship with someone who wasn’t her?

She rushed to the washroom. Cried. Washed her face and returned. Sanaya saw it happen but did not react. Maya silently thanked her for not asking what happened.
‘What is his name?’
‘Let it be.’ Maya didn’t want to take his name, for fear of making it real.
‘Wow. His parents sure loved The Beatles’
‘Shut up!’

Maya laughed and lightened up. She replied to his text message saying she would meet him that evening. In her head, she decided to say everything to him clearly, to his face; that she is the emo kind of girl, the kind of girl who falls for her benifit-buddy, the kind who fucks up friendships cause she falls in love too easily, the kind who needs love.
Sanaya begged her sister to grow up.

He never made it to the evening coffee, she slept through the night. He texted her a few more kisses.

The next week went by with random conversations. She never mentioned to him, what she had planned to. He kept playing the kiss card. She kept falling for him a little more, with each kiss. She went back to that night again..
Glazed eyes, the high of weed, the spilled alcohol, the broken glass and stripped off clothes. She remembered pushing him away, she remembered going closer. She remembered the feel of his hand against her body. She remembered getting up and leaving. And him following. And then, the drive. The shortest drive from one lane to the other. The most beautiful drive with the prettiest lights. 
Maya pinched herself, she went out into the drizzle and stood there till she was wet and till she could feel the shiver again. She looked at her phone. Had he messaged? She kept checking. She kept waiting.

Months passed by. Maya forgot about the night. She took it as an adventure. She was happy that it had happened and glad that it was over. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her, she wasn’t as hot as his fiancé and she wasnt as beautiful as his ex girlfriend. She didn’t even like the same songs, surely they couldn’t be a good match!
But she still waited, without expecting much. She was used to it, by now. The ones she liked never liked her the way she wanted them too. The ones who liked her were never good enough.

Months passed. She got one more virtual kiss. Her heart fluttered. An unknown number. Who is this? Who else, Maya, who else?
A tear rolled down her cheek. Was it a joke? Isn’t he supposed to be married? No he wasn’t. So? She can’t go through it again. Meet me. Okay, she decided.

He made it to the coffee shop this time, with tulips in hand, and lilies. He wasnt sure which she liked. She walked in, hassled, because of the mud and monsoon. He loved the rains. She looked at him, he held her glance. She moved closer. They kissed. This time, she felt it. She felt all of it and everything came rushing back; the night, the touch, the moves, the taste and it was wonderful. It was beautiful and yummy! He had touched her hair that night, he had felt her cheeks.

What happened, no fiancé? Could he not go through with it? She never asked him because she knew she did not want to know the answers. She was happy to be in his arms, she was happy he hadn’t left her. Sanaya was wrong, that kiss was not just fun.

He looked at her and told her just one thing, and the world as she knew it, changed.
‘That was for all the virtual ones I sent to you. Thanks for being such a sport! I never knew girls could keep their emotions away from kisses! Here, see the ring I’m gonna give to her tomorrow.’

That coffee they had together? It was bitter.