A tiny love story

“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.

"Hello?"

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

And that’s... How I met your mother

Soaking Pink

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 3^rd 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 4^th 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?

(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…

Escape

He stepped out of his office and ran towards his car parked across the road. His laptop bag weighed down his shoulders and he shivered in the cold. It was pouring, and despite all the things to worry about, he worried about getting his brand new car seat dirty. 

Seat. Sheet. Shit! He had left his file back at his desk back at the office. It rained harder as he ran back into the office. He pushed through the glass door and ran in when “Bang!”

He turned.

His car across the road looked like a red ribbon caught underneath the tree that just fell on it.

Of all the things to worry about, he worried about his umbrella in the car. 

(Monsoon's here folks! Enjoy the rain and be safe!)

Fate, and the shiny red helmet..

“The note just said ‘This is not working any more. We have to break up. I’m so sorry. I’ll miss you a lot.’ No reasons, no more talk. Just an abrupt goodbye was peeping beneath the shiny red helmet. it dawned on me that the best thing that happened to me ever, is getting over. We had drifted apart for a while and this was bound to happen. I didn’t want to see him so sent the helmet back with my note, ‘If it was meant to be, it would be. I’ll miss you too.’ Then I was crying and smiling ironically at the same time, thinking of how funny fate is. It all started with the shiny red helmet, and is now ending with the same…” I spoke dreamily as I stared at the broken pieces of the red helmet.

“Oh yes you never told me, how did it start?” Preeti asked me, cleverly changing the subject before I could start crying again.

“Hmm.. How do I begin? I was in the bus, going to college, and it was crowded. Only a privileged few were sitting, and as one of the ladies gathered her bags to get down, the other passengers waiting by her gathered around like vultures to get to the empty seat first. I am no saint, I glanced at the picture of the lady over the seat and slipped in...”

“was he one of them standing?” Preeti interrupted.

“if you want the full story then let me talk” I said and shot her one of my stern looks. She piped down, but I knew this kid will open her mouth again in a minute.

“anyway..” I continued “I took a book out and started reading. Serial killer story, I couldn’t keep my mind off it. Except when there was traffic and real life caught my attention. More than that, the red signal and the guy on a black bike right next to the bus, in a shiny red helmet. I looked down, he looked up and our eyes met for a second. I did not notice it till then, but his eyes were dark and chocolatey..”

“Is there any chocolate in the fridge?”

I got up to leave and Preeti pulled me back saying “OK sorry sorry… go on"

“Hmm.. where was I? yes, chocolatey eyes. Then I went back to my book, and I looked up at the next signal he was there again, the shiny red helmet. And we had our second eye contact. And also a smile this time. But at the next red signal when I looked up, he had taken a free left turn and disappeared into the traffic.

The serial killer was now prowling along the fence ready tp strike, and romanticizing was the last thing on my mind. The shiny red helmet would have been totally forgotten, but for the fact that I saw it again the next day, right next to the bus. We hear often of bus friends, bus stop friends, parking lot friends. This guy became my signal friend. Every day I looked into those chocolatey eyes and the day somehow got better. as he took his free left turn I would doze off until the conductor shook me awake at the last stop. Until one day, he did not show up”

“and you missed him….? Awww….. sho shweet………” those annoying faces made the kid look cuter. I ignored her interruption and continued.

Yes I missed him, but not for long. He was at the next bus stop, waiting. And grinning wide, as though saying ‘You were looking for me, weren’t you?’ I frowned and gestured to ask him ‘no bike today?’

And as though I invited him, he hopped into the bus and came to stand next to me! I stared at him blankly, when he thrust his hand and said ‘I thought you might want to see my face clearly. I’m Kamal”

‘I don’t even know you….’

‘Well, now you do! But my mother told me not to talk to strangers so will stop being one and tell me your name?’

‘Nidhi….’ I stammered, and he said ‘Ah ha..! I found treasure’

We were talking for just 15minutes but felt like we know each other. And two weeks later we were getting down halfway to have coffee.”

“wow… so forward!!” Preeti was gaping. Understandable, as she was 25 years younger and practically the next generation.

“Actually yes, it all happened quite quickly. He started dropping me to college, then we started going on real dates, and two months later he proposed.”

“aww..! He got you a rose?”

“Hmm no.. He gave me the helmet” I laughed. But the tears came down anyway. Preeti slapped her forehead and stomped out, grumbling “Mom… you’re completely crazy. I’ll get you some chocolate wait…”

“Can you not tell you dad about this……?” I called out.

“Not tell him that you broke the engagement helmet he gave you?? I can’t.. I love to see you both in all this emotional drama…” she groaned. “So how did you get back together?”

“About two years later I went shopping and I saw a shiny red helmet in the bag counter. The moment we came face to face we just knew…..”

“That he had to get a new helmet??” Preeti quipped and ran out of my reach, giggling.

Anyway, it all worked out somehow… I thought, happy tears still running down my face. Fate really works.

Story in a story

When the Kahani begins you could expect to enjoy a thriller with a few twists in the tale. But a few minutes into the Kahani and you really don’t know what to expect next.

Kahani (the story) begins with Vidya Bagchi (Vidya Balan), pregnant and wobbly, shuffling out of Kolkata airport and going straight to the police station, to lodge a complaint that her husband Arnab Bagchi is missing. It would have been just another missing person case until, one by one; all her leads prove that the person named Arnab Bagchi never existed. Vidya (or Bidda coming from the Bengali tongue) sets on a quest to find her beloved, with Rana (Parambrata Chattopadhyay ) trotting next to her, desperately wanting to help but puzzled about how to find a person who never existed. The story goes on to halt at dead ends and take sharp turns, entangling itself in a maze mingled with lies and crime, and treachery, and the unconditional love of a wife. It holds enough stories within stories to justify the title of the film.

Vidya Balan’s performance is top notch till the very last bit. She makes the character of a pregnant woman convincing enough, just like she did in her last film The Dirty Picture as Silk. Parambrata Chattopadhyay has performed equally well as the meek policeman who cannot stop caring about the pretty pregnant lady. Cinematography by Setu is impressive; especially using minor jerks in the camera work makes the ambience more natural, and also eerie when it is needed. Beautiful views of Kolkata city gearing up for Navratri celebrations, with Amitabh Bachchan’s voice singing Ekla Cholo in the background, give the film a colourful edge. Kahani is yet another terrific story, told by a team of brilliant story tellers. With no exaggeration or typical Bollywood masala, it stands among other films.

Kahani is a terrific story; one so fast moving, that once out of the theater you might have to jog a little while to shake off the inertia.

What a woman wants

On the occasion of Women’s Day, I respectfully demand the educational institutions to start a department for young men to study this subject! I am hundred percent sure it would work out! It is a marketable curriculum with academic advantages, and it better be a huge building with lots and lots of ‘seats’.

Actually knowing what a woman wants is not that difficult. It is one simple thing- every woman wants to be special. And every woman is, in every sense, special! That is why, the one sentence which makes a girl want to remove her Marie Claire high heels and throw it at a man, is when he implies that ‘all women are the same’. (In fact, nobody ought to make that comment or judge anyone, man or woman. Each person is different, and the world also has some very good people. The only proof is that Earth still has life on it!)

The formulaic story goes like this. Boy steps outside. He sees a pretty girl and falls in love. She has no such feelings. She rejects him. Boy is heart-broken. He blames the girl instead of gathering the pieces of his heart and moving on. (Intermission.) Boy goes out again. He sees another pretty girl. And history repeats. At some point of time this broken-hearted genius concludes his research with a declaration that ‘all women are the same.’

My point is, is beauty the only thing a woman has? I am sure every self respecting woman wants to be much more that just beautiful. She would want to be known as generous, smart, friendly, fun to be with, and so many more things! Because she is a PERSON, not a Barbie doll, to sit and be pretty! (And if you look closely, every woman is beautiful.)

It is so not fair to judge any woman by the colour of her skin or her physical fitness and decide that it is love at first sight. A woman wants to be made to feel special by listening to her talk. And knowing her fears and comforting her. By listening to her dreams and not laughing at them. By agreeing with her, and sometimes disagreeing too. Everyone needs a critique to improve in life, and Women are no different.

All a woman wants is to be treated with respect and dignity. A little bit of chivalry here and there would be welcome, but otherwise women want what everyone wants. To be loved and supported. Not just on women’s day, but every day. If that is so difficult, ask my father how to do it! Two women in the house and he has always been the perfect gentleman!

And to all the awesome ladies I know, HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY!!