Scene 1

One of my attempts at creating atmosphere. How do you like it?

The city had long since settled down, lending to the pearly sodium lamps that lined the Raj Path, barely hours earlier shrouded under a diaphanous veil of dust and smoke, a surreal clarity that seemed almost magical to behold; hear closely enough and you could almost hear the silent, murmuring sighs of the evening relapsing into the night. The astral necklace of yellow that embraced the boulevard flickered every now and then as if in silent assent to the hypnotic impression of a sheer capriciousness that the vista seemed to radiate, like the undisturbed, undulating surface of a serene lake that, with the slightest human touch or by the mere indolent descent of a dry, desiccated leaf , would dissolve into a thousand asynchronous ripples, taking away with it, the star speckled skies and the flamboyant moon that found rest and respite in its silvery expanse. The somnolent breeze meandered through the tableau, causing here a torpid feline to curl up closer to its mother, whistling there through the crevices of an improperly barred gate, playing a rhythm of its own with the staccato of the catch striking intermittently against the half fastened bolt. It caressed the trees lining the street with its fingers, the oh so gentle fingers, causing every leaf to revel in its moment of personal attention that it afforded even as the mild rustle of the dried brown umbrage added its own unique tune to the masterful symphony that seemed to permeate the landscape. Indeed, if one were to assume that that moment in space and time was one of the rare trysts when the realms of reality get entangled in the meshes of another more ethereal dimension, and that any moment now it would vanish in a sparkling shower of shimmering magic dust he wouldn't be too far off the mark.

To my Valentine

Blame it on the mellow season or the inevitability of my approaching flight from the confines of this place, on the propitious date that shall be upon us in a matter of days or on the bounteous moon that is shining with more than its usual fervor tonight. But in indicting them for the genesis of this letter , you will be gravely mistaken. For the instigation of this communique lies deeper in the mists of time, the mists that part deferentially under the intensity of your radiance so very often, yet so much darker, dreary and desolate for the rarity with which your countenance has been kind enough to exhilarate those who pine for that one glimpse of the face, the face that, a millennium ago, could have set sail a thousand ships. I do not profess to be an authority on romantic magniloquence but I could, in that first fleeting meeting of the eyes, Oh those eyes!, I could understand the helplessness that Byron envisaged when he wrote those immortal lines:

Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,

And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will

Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot

To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.

And ever since that one propinquitous moment, it has been impossible to restrain the flights of imagination, extraordinarily vivid in all their brilliance during promenades through the copper-hued drizzle of dried leaves, transmuting into something so surreal when you breeze in silently as I make my way past the crossroads, the lonely forlorn figure trudging through the white clouds hanging from the tranquil boughs above. And even as I walk ,engaged as I am, in the oft repeated and severely practiced conversations, all confessing to the irreversible enchantment , some professing undying love , the fraction that is still grounded in physical reality bitterly yearns for that elusive next encounter that providence has planned for us. The impulsive thought of forcing its hands has, not infrequently, crept up on the bleak, tempestuous horizon but as often slinks back just as it seems that the sun will finally come out. The perennial winter that I find myself in, though, is not ungrateful in this state of limbo, for the ethereal promise manifested in you. And you seem to be an enigma too pure and divine to desecrate. Better to pay unilateral obeisance to the flawlessness of the deity than to drag her into the dirt of human existence as a mortal being.

And so have I fallen , as is said colloquially, truly madly deeply in love. Not with you. The pedestal on which you are is as forbidding as the figure in repose on it is alluring. But an idea of you.

And this letter is addressed to that idea.

Yours ensorcelled,

DJ

Billy recovers his poise

With a quick surreptitious glance over the landscape making sure that there simply was no dignified way of making myself scarce- one of the brambled hedges lounging on the roadside looked promising but I daresay my Violet velvet jacket would not have taken too kindly to breaking bread with spiny what-nots - and squaring my shoulders for the assault ahead, I donned my "Ho there" face and beckoned the lost soul.

"Ho there! Ruddy nice morning we are 'aving, eh?", I said.

"Uh huh."

"I concur wholeheartedly , my friend. Not at all like the late November ones that makes you think you were serving time in a gulag winter camp and they had forgotten to issue you your regulation orange jumper suits."

"Uh huh"

"You are right! It does remind you of that song. Now how did it go. If i remember correctly , it starts from the fourth high tenor

tum tiddly tum sunshine tiddly tum

to the 5th scale in baritone

tiddly shining Sun toom toom

concluding with a flourish

toom Sun shines toom tiddly tum tum.

Excellent song, that. Eh? "

"Hmmmm."

Canny objective observers as might be found buzzing around in the Hostel Quadrilateral when this exchange was going on , might have noticed an uncanny feature of our conversation. Even though ,I, for the sake of the greater good and all that, tend to collar any spoken interaction that I might be a party to, I do concede at least one word to the opponent for every four that I throw into the pot. But this was way beyond the not-so-fine line that separates a Dialogue from a Monologue. I half felt that I was rendering one of Shakespeare's soliloquys while the other contract actors on stage carried on with scarce regard for the literary merit of what I had to say on the subject of Sunshines, suns and mornings in general. Something, as they say, was afoot.

It was common knowledge that Billy had been very recently and equally unceremoniously dumped by that inexcusable piece of a girl that went by the name of Perry. But this diagnosis for his new found reticence failed to cover all symptoms . For break ups(and experience had taught his coterie well) usually gave a fillip to his usual prolixity and a dumping more often than not found our pal ready to recount his tales of woe at the drop of a hat, , to anyone who cared to listen with him(Billy,not the unsuspecting, hapless one lending his ears) invariably playing the Wronged Saint, the Mr. Nice Guy, the Chivalrous Knight and in one case, the Hunchback of Notredame. Long story that!

"Billy".

"Uh huh."

"Man U got their collective behinds kicked by Arsenal."

His eyebrows raised by a sixteenth of an inch.

"Oh. I see."

That was the last straw. Immediately grasping the urgency of the situation, I decided, prevailing over my better sense of self preservation , to get to the bottom of this mystery and calling for two restoratives from the canteen boy got down to brass tacks. I mean, what is a friend if not in need and as I saw it , if corrective actions were not taken with promptitude, things would deteriorate beyond redemption. I silently oversaw the proceedings as Billy downed the twins simultaneously and sighed. It was a deep resounding sigh, from the deepest darkest trenches of his heart, that proceeded from his lips, heard even, as is sometimes claimed to have been heard in the neighboring district, causing innumerable fatalities among a visiting flock of Pelicans that were caught smack in its wake .A sigh, in fact, that could make Karan Johar wallow in despair and in a frenzy of inspiration, go and shoot a black and white movie.

"Out with it, my man. You seem a tad off your game.", I bespoke.

Another sigh. A long brooding one.

"I hope you have learnt your lesson. Girls are nothing but trouble. You remember that TShirt PK was wearing the other day. Apparently , there is even a mathematical proof for the same. Very elegant one too. I must say, for all the tribulations that the fairer sex causes, there are times when I would rather pick A. Extinction of Human Species over B. Being manipulated by a piece of Rib. Toying around with human playthings, throwing scraps to the queue of slavering hoi polloi and when they finally leash one, teaching them tricks like Shopping, buying Shoes and causing general nauseousness all around. And for what? They rub their pets behind their ears and watch their tails go wag themselves crazy. Human rights violations, I say! And whats gone and whats past help should be past grief and all that."

I was just warming up on the general topic of "Why girls should be banned" , a topic on which I had had a treatise published in an international refereed journal brought out by free thinking men all around the globe, when Billy , still with that dreamy faraway look in his eyes said,

"Nice, one of yours?"

"Nah! Some bloke from the middle ages. Apparently he survived the Plague."

"Tell me JD, have you ever been in love?"

You know, one of those sitcoms where there is unsolicited laughter every 10 seconds on the most inane and sometimes non existent jokes. I could hear them over the crickets. Recovering my poise, I combusted.

"Is it still her? Does the heart still ache to hold her close to your bosom? Was not the dagger that she plunged through your heart enough ,when she snipped off your jugular when you weren't looking, tying that noose around your neck while tying the knots and so courteously fastening the anchor to your feet when you went swimming in the vast ocean of love, commitment, honor and chivalry? "

"Who?"

"Perry. Who else?"

"Ahh,Perry. That abominable atrocious pipsqueak. Speak not of her to me, for enough of her I have had. Truly fine a day it was when we parted rags for no longer could we have been together."

I could see that he was distressed at her name for he had slipped into Yoda tongue again but I was thankful that he had got over her. But then again , the droopy eyes, the lolling tongue.

Already!

"Already?How long has it been? 5 days?"

What followed was one of the squeamiest, disgusting bilious load of mush that ever were spouted from human lips. I have often heard of these modern day critics oozing praise for the exhortations of love that once flowed forth from protagonists of romantic poems authored by the Tennysons, Byrons and Wordsworths but I would bet my bottom penny if those chaps could even touch the heights that Billy surmounted that day when he unveiled his new Flavour of the Month. I am forced, keeping in mind that the readership of this column likes to keep its food in its rightful place, to snip off the more lyrical parts of the monologue and reproduce its paraphrased version below.

Billy gushed thus:

"

"

I called for a restorative ,on the ice and it was only after they had safely made the trek down the alimentary that I was able pull myself together.

"Billy, I hate to break this to you, but she already has a boyfriend."

Billy's BreakUp

Disclaimer: Any resemblance , real or imaginary, to people living or dead is most definitely not a coincidence.

It was a good morning.

Mountains were dew-pearled, my pet snail, Roger was on the thorn ,the lark on the wing. All in all, the sort of morning when God comes out of his house, sees all’s pippin’ with the world and goes back to heaven, fresh milk delivery in his left hand and the latest Cosmopolitan issue along with the daily newspaper curled up in his right. The sort, in fact, that would have sent The Boatman of the river Styx to take the day off and go springing from bower to bower , Communists hugging George W bush like a long lost brother who ,on his part, would snip off to the closest orphanage to kiss little kids’ foreheads . If, on such a buoyant morning , I put down the feeling of impending doom to a concerted conspiratorial attack of last night’s dinner and the 4 shots of Caribbean’s strongest- whom I had sent down to investigate the riotous upsurges from down below, immediately after- a graceful murmur of “ Perfectly mot juste , my dear DJ. We understand”, should immediately conspire among the citizenry. The joint operations by Messrs buttered bread and cream-and-sugared coffee cleaned up the effervescent tingling of the aforementioned dark, hovering clouds of wars, treasons ,stratagems and spoils ,as poet Brown puts it, so much so that after ferrying a couple of revolutions full of people through the revolving doors of the cafeteria , the people who beheld me walking on the streets would have gasped in amazement if some philanthropic soul had informed them that I had no springs under my feet. “Gorblimey Guv’nor, You are mistaken about the Mister that has just passed away(Uncouth barbarians! Passed away indeed) . Positively leaping, I say, by as much as four and three-quarters of a feet in the air”. With such energy I made my way through the thriving throng that thronged three-tenths of the triangular thoroughfare.

Of course, it is expected by the more discerning of the audience , who are asphyxiating with bated breathlessness at the current state of things , that a disastrous denouement must immediately follow, for a good thing as this cannot last and that the peace of the tranquil street will be shattered by , if not a boisterous rally by the Uttar Pradesh Navyuvak Utthan Mandala to protest the recent hike in the wholesale price of White truffles ,then at the very least, a couple of philanthropic knife yielding gentlemen who would be kind enough to rid me of the antique watch that I have to lug around with me on my wrist day in, day out. In retrospect , I would rather have taken my chances with them, perhaps practice my newly acquired skill in executing triple steps and twirls in the arcane art of Ballroom dancing with my adversaries, than submit to the nightmare that followed.

I ran into Billy.

Inadvertently , of course. Ever since the bloke encountered his first dumping of the season , he had been haunting the campus hangouts , looking as cheerful as a prisoner on death row watching his hangman doing crosswords even as he is being led to the noose. Dare ask him a 7 letter ending in an E for “One you won’t find in a foxhole” and be prepared to lend him your shoulder for the better part of the next three hours(if you are lucky and he isn’t inclined to prolixity) while he pours out his Italian opera, all this time ,tucking into your stock of Cheese sticks and Chicken wings. And when the meeting breaks up , him being none the worse for the experience and you set back by a couple hundred quids, he invariably touches you for a Grey one to help him get through the testing times.

General consensus as to what led to the breakup varies. Some attribute it to the slightly apocryphal story of when he smuggled in his pet mouse, Monsieur TickyTock, into the girl’s dormitory ,who finding itself in alien surroundings, viz tidy cupboards, books arranged in order of their dimensions and the dainty smell of Chanel No. 5 wafting in the rooms , instantly went about setting things right, causing a not insubstantial amount of disquietude among the dorm residents . Used to order, discipline and world peace, the flurry of small furry legs on bare arms , kempt hair and the recently procured supplies of Thaggu’s latest (the city’s favourite laddus) seemed to exercise a strain far beyond what Adam’s rib was built to tolerate to and led to an immediate schism between the two love birds. The veracity of these claims is questionable since Billy housed no other known pets besides Mr Mac and the modus operandi of the disaster does not jel well with the iguana who used to be choleric the whole day if he didn’t get his 20 hours of sleep. I mean, Who wouldn’t?

Another school of thought , founded by Smart Alec traces the origins of the break up to the following alleged event the evening of 17^th September, 2009. According to one eye witness, the cooing lovebirds were nestling under a neon sign in the solitary Multiplex of the city, whispering I am sure, sweet nothings in to each other ears, giggling and being generally nauseous to the surrounding multitudes. The eye witness, call him A, much shaken by the ongoing goings on ran out for a quick sobering smoke and handed over the reins of observation to another by stander, Mr B. This person was more assiduous in his duties of Public Nosey Parker and continued to keep a shifty eye on the proceedings.

Time passed.

Time continued to pass.

There seemed to be no ebbing in the flow of pleasantries between the couple , completely oblivious to the queasiness their cuchy-cooing was causing until presently a free thinking stalwart of free society took it upon himself the responsibility to put an end to the marsh-mellow fair the whole mall had degenerated into. Rallying forth like-minded citizens, they congregated a couple of feet from the couple and according to Mr B, complimented the fairer half of the duo on the aesthetes of her anatomy, including but not restrained to the gorgeous curves, radiant physiognomy and lush flowing tresses of her hair. My friend Billy, being a socialist at heart, thought it was very kind of them to lavish his partner with such well thought out comments ,some which he thought had great literary merit and with a little bit of polishing and Old English, could be added to his already burgeoning repertoire of romantic missiles.

“Aren’t you going to teach those arseholes a lesson ?”.

I daresay women since the beginning of time have had this misconception of their partners being veritable Supermans who can dodge bullets, kick the crap out of any other male in the vicinity (no matter if the male in question looks like Hulk on steroids) and be generally up and about all the time. Bringing to their notice the ashen visage, the protruding belly and the balled up fists of fury holding on fastidiously to their Big Macs is an exercise in futility for the fair eyes are already shining with pride on their very own dashing knight in shining armour that hath come to rescue the fair maiden. They absolutely refuse to consider that the poor guy might be the New Age Gandhi with excellent ideals of “Ahimsa”, “Live and Let Live” and “Slapped on one cheek, set forth the other”, these being more the consequence of muscular penury than any real fondness for the MoneyMaker and an attempt on part of an objective observer to bring this to their kind attention has more often than not led to.... let’s just say, unpleasantness .

I daresay(yup, I daresay a lot), Billy articulated these points in some detail and was later seen slinking out of the mall, his face slightly aglow with the allegations delivered by his girl-fiend ,beg pardon, girl friend in full public view, the allegations being mainly concerned with the detection of what are commonly considered as his manly organs. And there and thus the matter rested.

Of course , a major romantic tangle doesn’t rest on its laurels . With two theories already doing the rounds, the third hypothesis made its appearance in a pot smoking session. This one was more lenient towards the defence counsel in the sense that it judged the recent altercations as being an amicable separation of the two sides due to reasons of mutual incompatibility. The story claimed that Billy had a confidential amorous relationship with Megan Fox while she mingled with George Clooney and his ilk, hence they parted ways promising to be good friends forever a la Jen Aniston and Brad Pitt. But you know how pot smoking sessions are. It’s hard to make out the truth in the smoke.

The Girl in the Library

26^th July, 2009

ToE : 1 PM

Just a routine jaunt to my favourite haunt in the campus. As expected, the place was silent as a tomb not because of any strictness in adhering to the “Keep Quiet” signs, quite conspicuous by their absence but because it would have been completely out of character for any person to come here when the semester had just started. Imagine the consternation if he/she was found out by their peers, immersed in a novel in the library, barely 24 hours after registering. Horror!

Nothing much has changed over the vacations. The guard on duty, roused out of his mid-morning stupor impetuously asks for an ID, happy to have found someone to heckle for no reason. He is a new one on the job, I see. Thakurji usually waved me in without such ceremonies. Well, he will learn over time. I see a couple of matkas in the corner(M.Tech students) going at it like rabbits( rabbits very sincere towards studies, that is). For them the year is usually one giant monolithic study hour and I can make out 3 very old timers poring over manuscripts like there is no tomorrow. They all as a rule, keep to themselves and its always awkward to smile at them while passing by; they seldom smile or even frown back for that matter. The books are all there of course, except those that have been listed as reference texts by the respective Course Instructors. They are the first ones to be whisked off in bulk by rampaging students and I suspect that they will fulfil their destiny of gathering cobwebs through the semester in somebody’s room while he/she plays Counterstrike on his latest laptop. Well, it’s our not to reason why...

But the rest is all there. Works by Spinoza, Landau, a solitary Wodehouse, Coffee table books on the murals of Ajanta and Ellora, a veritable feast for one who looks closely enough. The library seems to be the perfect place to be, to curl into one of the wooden chairs that would give a neck pain to ElastiGirl with a newly discovered Thurber in hand while the sylvan fountains outside blocks out the world from your consciousness. Ah... it is good to be back.

Found Nirad C Chaudhuri’s 1979 edition book “Hinduism”. My day is made.

27^th July, 2009

ToE : 7:45PM

Headed straight for my customary ‘workplace’ on the third floor. The hostel quad is witnessing unparalleled levels of ragging the freshmen. Needed some peace and quiet and 34 degrees at 90% humidity in a room isn’t really my idea of one.

A new entry. Usually you don’t see freshers coming to the library so early.,mostly because of the blanket ban on movements outside the hostel gates once the classes are over. And a female at that. Interesting. I steal a glance .Yes ,definitely a fresher . The dress code, the flinch on hearing footsteps that might herald the discovery of her blasphemy, the sigh when I had crossed, all there. Didn’t see her face in that millisecond glance.

I pitched tents 3 desks behind her and got down to the Adventures of Bertie Wooster and Reginald Jeeves in the county of Snodsbury-in-the-Bush. She had luxuriant brown hair knotted in a cute ponytail. Wonder what her face looks like. She had taken off her shoes. Clever move. Salwar Kameez with shoes are always incongruous and distinctive especially with Fresh-men and Women are being hunted by rabid squads in the days before the Fresher Party. She left at 10 so as to make it back to her room without arousing suspicion. Wonder if she made it back safely.

1^st August,2009

ToE:6pm

By binary search , I have isolated her time of arrival. She comes in at 6:30 and leaves at 10. I suppose she hasn’t met any of the squads yet on her way back. Good. Good. I look up as she enters, cast a knowing eye on her dress code, throw in a reassuring smile for free only to see her blanch. Seems like the smile is more evil than reassuring. Maybe my facial muscles have atrophied. But at least she knows that I mean her no harm as she slides her Reeboks beyond sight. I could have applauded her grit. Though she can do with some more humor in her reading. Dostoevsky isn’t very healthy to read especially in times like hers. Well, every man his own poison ,every woman her own eu de cologne .

2^nd August, 2009

Things brought to a head today. Gave her a nod and a smile to her. I see she wears specs and the physiognomy tends to the cute end of the spectrum but other details are still hazy.

3^rd August,2009

Feeling like Young Lochnivar galloping in from the East. Sat facing her today. Two overzealous sophomore girls pottered into the section and suspecting foul play, zoomed in on the prospective offender. Now there wasn’t enough number of people around to annoy if you raised your voice and that’s what they did. After a dialogue or two on the importance of interacting with seniors , they were going to embark on an exposition of the choicest abuses that you can hear from members of the IITK fraterinity when I stepped in. I didn’t of course physically step in,just cleared my throat from a distance to announce my presence.

The proceedings then became more muted but I could see the terror in her eyes. For some reason, I went up ,said she was studying with me and them shooed them away. There are some advantages of being in the seniormost batch of the college. You are assured that you are not messing with the wrong person at any point of time. No doubt muttering oaths of being deprived of fresh meat, the two sounded retreat. She didn’t say anything as I made my way back, nor did I.

5^th August,2009

Dropped off the customary half pack of ‘Polo’ on her desk. She accepted with a smile and said ‘Hi’. Strangely enough, yet to get my voice. Got 2/10 in a quiz in Mth509 despite studying for 5 hours in the library. I know I should start sitting somewhere else and I know equally well that I won’t.

Seeing that she had finished her Dostoevsky when she was out for lunch, I surreptitiously place my favourite Wodehouse copy, “Jeeves in the Offing” on her desk with a small note specifying when I want it back and slide back to my place. She is bewildered, I am sure, but then laughs out lightly and I can feel her sight boring into my back. I desist from looking back.

10^th August,2009

The date of returning has come and there it is. I imagine I can smell a tinge of perfume on it but specificity as to whether it is Chanel No. 5 is beyond my reach. Tucked into the book is a small note saying “Thank You.” And I see a copy of “Crime and Punishment” on the desk too. Not very promising ,I must say, when a girl give you a blighted book as that. Next thing I know, she would be handing around Khaled Hosseini’s ‘The Kite Runner’.

Addendum : Heard her speak for the first time. Completely different from what I imagined it would be like but in a nice way. Ran into her in the Shopping Center. She seemed surprised on seeing that I existed outside the walls of the Library. I thought of asking her, her name, but somehow the fascination of the mystery seemed too precious to destroy.

20^th August,2009

It’s mid sem time again. The time of the year when everybody suddenly remembers the Old Faithful and comes flocking back . reminds me of the old couplet:

!! Dukh mein sumeeran sab kare, sukh mein kare na koi

Jo sukh mein sumeeran kare, to dukh kahe ka hoye !!

I just hope i have been praying fervently enough through the first three weeks to get me through the midsems comfortably. Usually I am cool at this time of the year but I know something hasn’t been the same and I am as worried whether chapter 4 is coming tomorrow or not as anybody else. I see her sitting at the same place but this time she has her friends with her. She acknowledges me with her customary bright smile as do I , with my insides freezing simultaneously to render any and all dialogue impossible.

Reminded me of the fast moving montage of two people sitting at the same position in Central park, New York while the world rushed past them in a blur and the leaves of the trees turned from yellow to red to green and then brown and crushed on the ground. I think I have seen too many romantic movies.

Reminder to self: Watch Transformers: revenge of the Fallen as soon as possible.

24th August,2009

Back to the great Gobi Desert scene. She doesn't turn up. Probably out enjoying herself at the local Hookah restaurants with her wing mates ,just like normal people. Feeling alone. Absolutely no one in the building except the staff. Head back home for a day of watching Will & Grace, You've Got Mail, A Walk to Remember. WTH!

27^th August,2009

Saw her sitting as usual and exchanged our non verbal pleasantries . Looked like a guy had joined her for studies. Didn't like the looks of him, no sir. He had what novellas referred to as having the Shifty Eyes. Break a leg, moron, on the first opportunity that presents itself to you and the world will be a better place for it.

The leech leaves at 9. She too heads out for a cup of coffee. I take a swig from my flask and head out after her. Today, I will know her name,dammit! She orders coffee,black as usual. I place one for a cold coffee,strong and head out to the seating area making straight for her. Commanding my voice, I hum and haw while she looks with those beautiful eyes at me. Ggr..gaw..glug... it goes on. It seems it will never stop. My tongue is tying itself into nice sailor knots and the mouth is dry as the Great Australian Outback.

And then , the rum kicks in and I say , in a John Waynesque drawl, completely unlike my voice , " Umm... Hi , Do you have a name?". Stupid line.

A smile to die for. "Thought you would never ask."

Bingo!

Ode to the Important and the Compulsory

2 little orbs
and the faint print of a nose
pressed against the frosted glass
his little sobs
behold his friends who chose
to play in the rain, coming home from class
Even as he turns back
at the clarion call
of the Important and the Compulsory

Hand in Hand
they walk on the lonely road
in the moonless night, the yellow arcades
Quicksand.
A sliver of pain , a prick so cold
pierces his heart as he draws back the shades
Blinding out the scene
at the behest of the effervescent call
Of the Important and the Compulsory

Reflections
Distant memories of
lazy afternoons , curled up with a book
Daily fixations
in an era long lost
that melted away at a single look,
One of the many
sacrifices at the altar
Of the Important and the Compulsory

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 ?