Follow by Email

A tiny love story

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

“Will I find my dream guy?” 

“You don’t have to. He’ll call you” said the guy.

She laughed and hung up.

Her phone rang. It was him again.


“See, I told you he’d call” said the guy.

And that’s... How I met your mother

Soaking Pink

Friday, August 24, 2012

Soak. It won’t stop raining outside and the washing machine still says soak. I may have to dry these with the hair dryer again, I thought. And I really wanted that little pink top that was soaking beneath the layers of bed sheets and towels, washed and dried as soon as possible.

“Pink suits you” he had said. So obviously I have to wear pink for our first meeting, and I had only one pink top. Soiled from last week’s puddle fiasco. Still soaking. The machine made gurgling noises like a happy baby who just burped. Gurgle-gurgle. And I went through the whole story of how I’m going to get late tomorrow. Unexpectedly.

“Call after class, tell her the class got postponed, tell her it will take two hours more, go on your date or whatever, call again and say there’s too much traffic, after you’re done call her and say you’re leaving, reach home and go straight to your room” Were some of the breathless suggestions I got from my friends.

I tried it. Later, I ended up telling the truth anyway.

 “Are you freaking crazy?? You can’t be serious, no no no you can’t say anything, she’ll freak out, blah blah………” After a while it was just noise. So here I was, mentally rehearsing my lie and mutely watching my dress of destiny soak away to glory. Oh my God just wash it already!!!

It had been just ten minutes since I threw the top in there, but I had snapped already. I stopped the washing machine, fished it out and started scrubbing the brown spots with my fingers. Tomorrow my handshake won’t be as delicate as I hoped, but he’ll understand. I hope. If mom would see me now! I smiled imagining the expression on her face of she saw me on the bathroom floor, hands full of detergent, scrubbing clothes.

She’ll be suspicious. “Yeah, don’t do anything suspicious like you do. You’re a terrible liar, you get so giggly, you start sweating and all, so just dress casually, don’t war make up, keep it in your bag if you want blah blah…” The girls have always been breathless while they talked and the thought of me going to meet a guy made them even more so.

I scrubbed until my fingers burned, and rinsed it again and again. Slush is not easily removed from light coloured clothes, and there were still a few light rings of brown on the side of the baby pink top. I can’t just pretend that’s a design……. And I gave up.

So finally on the 3rd of August I went on a date with a dreamy guy, wearing something clean and blue.

“You look pretty. Green suits you” he said as soon as we sat down for coffee.

“This is blue” I gave him a weird look. But it didn’t matter. My pink top still soaked while we giggled and held hands at the coffee house.

And then came 4th August, when I happened to attend a Bloggers meet. Surf Excel spread itself all over the place chanting “Soak no more”. Well, what can I say Pink Top.. You were just not meant to be what I wore when I met my soulmate. 

Again, what's love?

Friday, August 3, 2012

(Valentine's Day is months away but these thoughts just don't leave me!)

Too many debates start with “What is love?”

One day, yet again
A weary conversation was led
Where suit-clad big shot said
Love is the purest form of emotion
Between man and woman
Wrong, once they grow up there is no more love

Said the young lady with a tattoo on her sleeve
Love is the hedonic electricity
Between cupid-stuck teenagers
Wrong, said the plump woman in pink
Until they grow up they aren’t in love
Well, you grew up. Are you in love?
Calm down ladies, now, now…
Why does love have to be for the opposite sex?
Said the gadget-loving, bike riding guy next
While the girl with the tattoo texted
Her temporary soul mate
That she’ll be late
Stuck with a bunch of love-less lunatics
“..Mother and child, brother and sister..”
The artist continued to list
The technical types of love
Desperately trying to be different
And enter
Two men, hand in hand
Wearing each a wedding band
And catch up on the debate
And the speaker, relieved, raises the question again
The question that triggered
A tiny war between generations
“What is love?”
Outside air conditioned room
Where debaters fly at each other
A puppy lies on the pavement
Its blood trailing from the middle of the road
Puppy crushed under a truck load
A puny little boy, also crushed
Looks back at his shed where under a half constructed building
Everyone is busy building
The tallest apartment of the city
Brick laying, cementing
The puny kid silently, gently holding
The half dead puppy
His little hands caked with
Dust from passing the bricks
Tears streaming down his blackened face
Whispering in his own blubbering language
“Don’t leave me my friend..
I love you so much..”
And the third time, again
Up in the air conditioned room
The calm one (still!) asks again
“What is love?”
Answer me now…