Protocol

Something very funny happened to my sister last night. It isn't something that would send a concerned brother yabba-dabba-do-ing around the house, in fact it is more likely to give him a fit, one of those apoplectic ones, with foam at the mouth added for effect. But analysed with sang froid; one of the 4 french doublets, the existence of which i am aware of; the event props up uncomfortable questions concerning the Life , Universe and Everything. And no, 42 doesn't fit the bill.

There isn't much in the story. Apparently , a guy in her college had 'seen' her studying in the lib and being more adventurous than most other guys ever are, approached her with the customary protocol of a stranger, greeting "Can i talk to you for a second?" and moving with extraordinarily blitz on to the next item on his agenda "Can i have your number?". I have it from experts that this Number is what people call, the nub of the matter, others call it the crux. Now the nub, anon the crux, it remains the axle on which the future of this 'friendship' exists.

My sister, knowing of my disapproval at her being accosted by random strangers in the night asking for a minute and then a number(and he didnt even know her name!), decided, for his own safety, to shoo him away by asking him flippantly if he was a first year student. This ,i am sure, stung where it hurt, for he was clearly in the same batch as hers and the subjects they took intersected partially . At this point, I must commend the guy for not completely breaking down and getting lost with his drooping tail stuck between his legs; rather he rallied ho, stammered an incongruous reply and politely informed her of the facts of the matter and where he came in, the status as it is. What finally caused him to slither away and dissolve in the grimy glare of the yellow sodium lamp was the slightly bemused smile that was frolicking on my sis' face all this while, the prolonged stare and the all important plugging the flow of conversation, already reduced to a drizzle, and now further accentuated with a chorus performance by the ever present crickets. It took a full 15 seconds of this concentrated coupled cooperation of the facial muscles to make the guy finally realise that he was on sticky ground, if not a morass in the Lands of Mordor. Seeing the position untenable and finding an audience unreceptive to his enlightening and intellectual questions, he decided to call it a day and slunk off ,no doubt in search of a restorative, an effect my sister has grown quite adept at having on people,especially juvenile infantile asinine arses including yours truly. I remember there were days when i looked askance at the house for not having enough beds or spaces under them to hide and escape from her roving gaze . But i deviate.

The kind reader by this point is certain to be thinking: "This is a jolly good story and i am sure the author has been assiduous in his reconstruction of events for our sake. But the point still eludes me. Maybe we missed it during that boring section when he went off on a sub-tangent to his tangent as he is wont to, every once in a while." And thinking thus,might embark on another more intricate reading of the whole thing, an exercise in futility since the Point is yet to be elucidated.

Alright, keep the ripe tomatoes in your grocery bags, for now. No need to get all worked up on such a beautiful day.

From the perspective of a brother , the whole thing couldn't have gone any better. The boy learnt his lesson, and no doubt his hostel will be ringing of the legend of My sister's eye and How a boy is doomed , come he closer than 3 furlongs from it. This urban legend should keep off buggers for the next 2-3 weeks until the message is lost in the mists of time, known only by the discerning elders who nobody listens to and some fool of the clan hazards on another quest for a taste of the old Iodine.

Its the boy's perspective that i am concerned about. Cast an impartial eye and you will comprehend that he did nothing wrong per se (That's right! I know Latin as well . Well ,Snatches of it at least). He was sufficiently diffident, hesitant and looked like there was nowhere where he would rather not be than there, if you get my drift. Now it isn't as hard for me to imagine that at any other time and any other place for some other girl , I would be found rooted in the same situation, stuttering my way in professing my desire to 'know the number'( a phrase used for want of a better one). Or the Gtalk ID :) And this brings me to the question:

What can you do in a situation like this and not be blown off like a weak autumn leaf ?