How She met Him

While waiting for Him, She read in a book She had picked up, ‘Every broken relationship turns into a story.’ This should have been the first sign. She was too busy laughing and chatting as Delhi glowed in the golden glow of the winter sun to notice any signs. They had met for lunch. Her eyes had widened when He had said, ‘Eating is a waste of time.’ Her first reaction was to scan the room for hidden cameras. Her first thought, ‘Is this a prank? I keep saying the exact same sentence to my friends.’ Before She had gathered her wit He had said something else. And She had replied with more laughter, interspersed with a few words. The waiter had already visited their table twice to remind them that food needed to be ordered. Reluctantly, they had paused the entertaining conversation and ordered small portions of Chinese food. They spoke about school, family, and friends. They shared stories of car accidents. She grudgingly admitted to herself, His story was more entertaining.

He spoke of his love for driving. She could not stop herself from talking about books and movies. Each bragged a little and at other times tried to come across as humble. The waiting staff at the restaurant hovered around at their table. The table was an embarrassment for the chef I guess. Their plates had hardly any food and the serving dishes looked like they had hardly been touched. After nearly half and an hour later, they were ready to leave the restaurant. They did the ‘cheque dance’. She insisted that She would like to pay. It was after all only fair since He had travelled for more than 18 hours just to meet Her for lunch. But He had scored more points by arguing that paying for lunch was the only chivalrous act He was capable of. He had won among more laughter and the staff at the restaurant seemed more than happy to see them leave.

Following their lunch, they walked around Connaught Place, one of Her happy places. The nip in the air even as the sun shone brightly after what seemed like months but was just a few days ensured that the walk was pleasant. They continued to talk and laugh. She was amused with the fact that there had not been a single moment of awkward silence or nervous laughter. However, there was no dearth of hearty laughter. They had teased each other with a familiarity that only old friends can experience.

They completed a round of the Connaught Circle. He walked her to her car. They shook hands and she told him, ‘It was really nice meeting you.’ She smiled on the drive back to her house and then smiled some more late into the evening when she met her friends for a small party.

How She Met Him: The Jump

She raised herself on tip toes. Stretching her right hand to the maximum height, she knew she could not be taller than this. But she tried to get in one more inch, anyway. You could tell that the strain had begun to hurt her. The muscles of her thighs were as tout as they could be. Any medical expert would have told you that just a fraction more of stress and her muscles would tear up. Her legs had begun to tremble. But her resolve was not shaking. The right hand, stretched in the air, was just centimetres away from the intended target. Being in that position for longer than her body could take and the staring match that she was engaged in with the stone wall ensured that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Despite her years, standing like this, she looked like a school student punished by a teacher for creating a ruckus in class. Like a stubborn child, who wanted to prove to the teacher that a severe punishment was not enough to tame the wild personality, she continued her endeavour to stretch beyond the limitations of her height.

Sweat started to drip down her spine. The black t-shirt that had seemed like a good option in the morning, when she had slung her camera bag over her shoulders and left her house, was now sticking to her like second skin. The denims seemed to have absorbed all the humidity of the day and had turned into a stiff version of themselves. Had she known earlier that the desire to touch would engulf her to this extent she would have given more thought to her attire. However, at this moment nothing mattered but just her goal—to feel the cold, yellowing stone under her fingers.

He was there, jogging like he did daily. The rhythm of the jog worked like a mantra to invoke the ruthless strategist in him. Every day of every week, except on Sundays, he would take the circuitous route that seemed to run along the ruins of the tombs like a silk ribbon wrapped around a box holding an expensive gift. The rhythm reminded him of clocks and he liked to believe that he was a machine—solid, predictable and dependable. Being a machine helped him distance himself from emotions which in the past had on several occasions got the better of him. When dealing with the thirty- something-himself, he was like a strict class monitor, who believed that the honourable thing was to maintain order even if it meant losing a few friends by altering the course a little.  Even if he felt like taking a different route on his morning jog sometimes, he resisted the temptation and continued on the path like, you guessed it, a machine!

However, today was different. He had been thinking of something and had changed the route without even realising it. He could not remember what was on his mind, as he stood, resting his hips on one of the broken stone walls of the ruins. He could not even recollect the moment when he stopped staring in the vacant space and started looking at that girl who was trying to achieve the impossible. He did not remember when he had started rooting for her success. When his casual stance had changed and his body had tensed as much as hers. He had concentrated all his energies to ensure that if he had to, he would will her to touch the stone she was aiming at. It was important to her, that much was clear by the effort she was putting into it. Why it was important for him that she touched the stone was a mystery.

She had come to the monument with the aim of clicking some photographs for a project she was working on. She had stood there staring at the calligraphy on the walls that had been built hundreds of years ago. Oblivious to the crowd of early morning walkers and photography enthusiasts around her, she stood looking at the walls for what seemed like an eternity. She did not know how to read the language of the inscriptions but the need to understand their meaning had consumed her in a flash. No logical reason could explain why she felt that she would understand the meaning by merely touching the calligraphy on the cold, yellowing stones. But only the fulfilment of this need made any sense to her at that moment.

He could see her strain. He was also battling, battling very hard, the urge to go near her and help her achieve what seemed impossible. Something had connected him to her. He was yet to see her face but he was attracted to her. He was sure that she was not even aware of his existence. But that did not matter. He knew he was strong. She seemed strong willed. They would make it work. Their combined energies would help her become at least an inch taller. She would touch the inscriptions on the stone.

Even as he willed his energies to her, she let her hand fall. She suddenly stooped low; her hands nearly touching the ground; knees bent. Like a rocket launching into space, she launched herself in the air. He followed her with his steady gaze, almost as if giving her momentum. To him it looked like everything was happening in slow motion. The tip of her finger touched the embossed calligraphy on the wall. She emitted a sound that was neither a scream nor a laugh, yet both. That sound was beautiful to him. Mid-air, she flung her head back, a big smile on her face. He too smiled and took a deep breath realizing for the first time that he had been holding his breath for the jump. His eyes closed as his smile widened. There was a loud sound. People froze in their paths for a few seconds. And before he knew it, he rushed to her side. Helping her up, he took her camera bag from her and took out the water bottle for her as if he had himself packed the bag for her.

The excitement of touching the calligraphy inscription on the stone wall and the fall left her a little bewildered. She followed his lead and let him help her without any questions or hesitation. Her reverie broke when she heard him ramble, almost to himself, “I’m sorry. I closed my eyes and lost contact. Then you fell. It’s all my fault. I’m really sorry.” Despite her bruised knee which was now starting to bleed and the aches that had started to surface, she burst out laughing and said, “I’ll forgive you after a cup of coffee and few painkillers.”

Broken

The latest anthem by Lady Gaga was playing in the background, while men and women were talking to each other, some in polite, smile infused tones and others putting the loud colours of the décor to shame by their roaring laughter. She, she realised belatedly, was already a part of the group of women who were in the mood to party. The sophisticated women had decided to play a game of innuendoes earlier than usual this evening. She synched her laughter with the group as she did not want anyone to ask her, “How are you? What happened?”

The ploy was working fine. She was laughing right on cue. She was looking good and she seemed like she belonged. One of the boisterous ones was busy building up a story, which everyone standing with her in sort of a group huddle predictably knew would end up grossing them out enough to break the group. When none of the women in the group were looking, she stole a moment to scan the room to see where she could be safe from questions once this unholy gathering broke up.

Maybe it was destiny, maybe serendipity or just a stupid accident. He found himself, once again, as the centre of attention in the group of sports enthusiasts at the party. They did not discuss the latest betting and spot-fixing scam that had taken the country by storm. They were the true blood cricket nerds. If the cricketing scene in the country was drowning in murky waters, they would turn their eyes on the test match happening in another continent between countries that were thousands of miles away from their tri-coloured waving country. Their high was the scores, catches, style of bowling and batting techniques. Winning and losing was just a minor part of the game for them. Today, they wanted to relive the Indian victory of World Cup 83. They all picked his brains, albeit in a very orderly manner, like true gentlemen.

He knew what he was talking about. He recreated the magic the stadium had witnessed that day with his words. It did not bother his audience much that he was not even a month old when the game had been played and the honour won. They hung to his every word. He generally enjoyed recreating matches, with details like, Sunny’s right collar had a patch of dirt after that dive at the boundary or the sweat on Kapil’s temple glistened like a jewel, much like the cup he was to pick later that day.  He was saying the words, like a rehearsed script, but today his heart was not in it. He felt unsettled. Why, he had no idea.

The two saw each other at the same instant. Both knew they needed to talk to each other. Both felt an uncharacteristic hesitation. The women’s group broke with a chaotic chorus of “Ewww!”  “Yuk!” “Ufff!” Across the room, the sports geeks were laughing, back-slapping each other as if they had just won a match themselves. Meanwhile, they took deep breaths, made a resolve and walked towards each other. She smiling the confident corporate smile she had mastered over the last five years of working in the various media roles and he grinned his boyish grin which came to him effortlessly.

They came face to face. Her confidence faltered a bit after looking into his deep, dark eyes. She lowered her gaze. He picked on the nervous energy and decided to make her comfortable by sticking to the convention. He asked her, “How are you?” He regretted the question, just for an instant, when he saw her meeting his gaze and her eyes wide in astonishment. He realized she was deciding if he ‘really’ wanted to know the answer or was he being polite. He said, “I really want to know.” The sincerity in his voice convinced her. She made a feeble attempt at stifling a sob. Then she broke down, tears flowing from her expressive, fear-stricken yet ready to face the world eyes, before she answered him. He came forward, held her by her shoulders to give her some support. It took super human effort to control his urge to hug her, to physically protect her from all the sorrows that plagued her. After all, she had not even spoken to him before this day. She composed herself, sniffled a little and cleared her throat. She did not attempt to mask her vulnerability. With honesty that was clearly filled to the brim, she replied, “I’m broken.”

And they lived happily ever after.

#3 How She Met Him: The Wait

Delhi was still reeling under the evil spell of summer. The evening sun was bright and orange, akin to the last flicker of the candle flame before it nears its demise. The whiff of the earth from the plants watered by the gardener engulfed the gigantic red brick structure. The long green plants swayed to the soothing tunes playing in her head, while white marble statues that adorned the corridor seemed to wait for something to happen. She sat smiling, playing with her red chhuni, and enjoying the cool breeze that caressed her as she waited for him.

#2 How She Met Him: Platform No. 5

Every MB I had read, every love story I had witnessed. Nothing, nothing had prepared me for that scorching hot January of 2006. Away from my homeland----Delhi, I was with my boss waiting at the Madurai Railway Station Platform number 5 for Vaigai Express to arrive.

I had often imagined how it would be to live inside a bubble. My three days in Madurai had given me quite that impression. Everyone around was busy talking in decibels that could seriously injure your ear-drums but I could not comprehend a single word----man it was frustrating. I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the crew members from Delhi. My simple logic for the so awaited arrival: I will have more people to talk to.

As the great Phoebe of the Friends hexagology had once said, “If you keep watching the door it never boils.” The train remained true to this dictum and decided to test my patience to the optimum by delaying its arrival for another 45 minutes. Waiting at the platform my boss and me had discussed at least 50 books and 500 people we really liked and hated respectively.

My fantasy of falling in love was about to realise, I could sense it. Talking to the person, we were on the platform to receive, I had had a gut feeling that something spectacular will happen. I had been in touch over the phone for the last two days re-confirming the scheduled arrival, name of the train, coach number and other such mundane details. But the distinct flavour of Delhi that his voice had brought to me miles away in Madurai had surprisingly replenished my energies. I was looking forward to meet him.

Seeing him for the first time was the realization of all my teenage fantasies where a typically MB hero would sweep me off my feet just purely on the merits of his being. He was not conventionally good looking. Generally not what a girl is looking for at my age. The hair that covered his crown were streaked white. He wore a cap for most part. Was a very casual dresser. Not a typical prince charming. BUT…but…He exuded raw charm that I had only read about. His every move, his manners and mannerisms only reinforced, mind you in very strong measures at that, his ultimate being. Judging him a good person was not difficult at all. In fact, one look at him and I knew he was a well educated and a learned man… He had something about himself that just…just made me instantly Fall In Love with HIM.

*A pure figment of my imagination, with a little reality thrown here and there.

How She met Him...

The day to fulfil Her fairytale had come. Excited, nervous and jubilant at the same time She was enjoying the sensations of butterflies in Her stomach. Within an hour She would be face to face with the boy who had over the month made Her feel beautiful, special and out-of-this world. He had been charming, witty and humorous. Since the first time She spoke to Him a smile was fixed on Her face. She looked beautiful when She smiled, Her friends told Her initially. Later the same friends opined that the grin was silly and bordering on irritating them specially when all of them were busy worrying about probably the biggest exams of their lives. Exams, marks and career did not matter to Her anymore. Her life was just 2 steps away from perfection. Today She was finally going to meet the man who made her feel like a woman and a week from today She was sure to clear the interview, a mere formality, and study in the best institute for learning the nuances of film-making. There was nothing more She could ask for. Her life was complete. She was in love and Her career promised to take off. Nothing could go wrong or come in the way of Her happiness.

She decided that over-dressing was not Her style. Moreover they were not going anyplace 'nice'. It was just a casual date. She was not programmed to dress shabby, so She carefully selected a black cotton top to go with fawn cargo pants. The shoes had to be sports considering Her first bike ride was pre-decided. He had told Her in no uncertain terms that She should be prepared to have a good time on a long, a very long bike ride. She had never been on a motorbike before. The speed, the openness and the risk scared Her and at the same time sitting pillion with Him excited her. The day had magic written all over it. She was certain. In fact, She had never been more certain about anything in Her life.

She boarded a bus to reach the meeting spot the two had zeroed in upon after long discussions the previous night. The sultry July afternoon was unable to dampen her spirits. Instead in Her hearts of heart She actually believed that the weather was beautiful. Contrary to the cliché that boys reach early and wait for hours together for the girl, She reached earlier and was waiting for Him to arrive. He did arrive but they were unable to spot each other. He called Her. Thank God for mobile phones. He said, "I am the guy driving the Pulsar bike who is just entering the street of the market." Her heart skipped a beat as She saw a very shabbily dressed guy with his long hair tied into a ponytail on a Pulsar bike take a turn from the corner where She was standing. Within a fraction of a second She had decided that She would run back home, never speak to the guy and never ever go on another blind date in Her life.

She was still on phone and He said, " Hello! Hello! Are you there? Listen I am standing at the panwala's shop outside BigJo's now." She was elated and within a second, Her minute-old resolutions were abandoned. She ran towards the spot to see Him, just hoping that He be better than the horror She just witnessed. The Gods above had answered Her prayers. He was dressed in blue denims, a pink shirt with purple stripes across. Though as a rule She did not like men who wore pink but She decided to make an exception in this case. Short, gelled hair, spectacles that covered the small eyes, which shut completely not just when he laughed but even when he smiled. She was happy beyond words to see a decently dressed boy rather than a wannabe artistic type loafer, waiting for Her and giving Her a smile of recognition and mischief at the same time.

DISCLAIMER: any resemblance to any person living or dead, real or fictitious, inhabitant of Venus or Mars is not deliberate, rather just a malfunction of the sub-conscience.


**** My fictitious mind has not been able to come up with what happens next. So till the time I conjure up the perfect ending for the day tell me what do you think would have happened or should happen?