Love Story
This is the much hyped up post. It is the best of all stories I had read of late. I recieved this as a forward and thought of sharing this. If the author happens to see this...Please drope me a mail...
This story contains a few tamil words...but on the whole u would definitely catch the soul of the story....njoi...
To be perfectly honest with you, I don't even remember how and when we met. It's not as unbelievable as it sounds. She was my friend's fiancée’s friend, and we had gone out together as part of the same group on a number of occasions before we actually said a word to one another. I guess we recognized each other's existence, and weren't exactly averse to talking, but just didn't feel like expending the energy to start a conversation, just to get acquainted.
You're probably thinking at this point: No meet cute? Aw, that's a boring way to start a story like this. Well, what can I say? I've led a pretty boring life. It didn't seem that unexciting to me when I was eight years old and bicycling on the same road as a Pallavan bus was an adventure comparable to anything Mark Twain had penned about Tom Sawyer. But then, that was long before I endured four dreary years in an engineering college in the middle of nowhere, and two more in the industry writing Visual C++ code. When the most exciting moment in your life is when you become module leader in a project for some damn toilet papermaking client in mid-western US, you begin to see the whole world in monochrome. So you go out every evening with a bunch of friends who are more or less in the same position as you are and look at everything around you in quiet desperation, hoping that something somewhere will jolt you out of this yuppie stupor you've found yourself in.
I think there's a word for this, something beginning with 'e' -- but for the life of me, I can't remember what it is. It's one of those fashionable French words that people like to pepper their conversations with when they want to sound erudite. Sometimes, you try to escape. The US is one option -- the land of opportunity and all that. There's the dollar salary and the kick you get out of finally being able to buy a copy of Playboy magazine, legally. And you're not alone there, either. They say you can't drive through the Bay Area for ten minutes without bumping into someone you knew back in school or college!
Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. After six months on an offshore project, I couldn't wait to get back. Frankly, I didn't see what was so different. My life was just as boring out there as it was here. Or maybe I'm just too easily bored! I was reflecting upon this little existential conundrum when -- don't bother looking up 'existential' in the dictionary. I have no idea what it means either, it just sounded like a nice word to put in, and that’s all. If you already know what it means, drop me a line, willya?
Anyways, I was reflecting upon this little existential conundrum when Raghav told us he was getting married. And I absently replied, "Sure, that's a nice way to beat boredom." Whatever it was he expected me to say, it couldn't have been that. And if I hadn't been in that mood, I don't think I'd have said anything other than "Congratulations! That's wonderful news, machi!" But there it was: Open mouth, insert foot! To my credit, I covered up nicely, grinning broadly after that so he wouldn't take it seriously, then did the usual handshaking and bear hugging. My comment was forgotten by everybody else except myself. Come to think of it, maybe they just wanted not to think about it. (See? I told you I was cynical.)
Anyway, that night I lay thinking about what I had said. I told myself that I had just been a bit of a jerk -- which it happens to everybody one time or the other. Then I started thinking about the real issue. What did marriage mean to me anyway? And love? What of that? As far as marriage went, I knew that my folks would begin looking for a girl in a year's time, and all I had to do was pick someone I liked and who liked me. Objectively speaking, I knew I wouldn't fare too badly on the marriage market -- I didn't have an H1B visa, but could get one anytime I wanted, and a lot of Tam Bram (Tamil Brahmins) families don't seem to look beyond that. I still had at least a year to go before that happened, so I could cross that bridge when I came to it.
At that point, I hadn't made any conscious decision to marry for love. In fact, if anyone had asked me about it, I'd have said, "Oh, please! Who would be so stupid as to fall in love with me?" Which is to say that I secretly wished, it would happen to me, but didn’t rate my chances too highly, and considered this response to be a good way of giving up gracefully and being a wise ass about it at the same time? I wasn't one of those guys who was painfully shy of girls and got all nervous around them. I had a few female friends, mostly from work, and we got along pretty well. Did I ever wonder about a more serious relationship with any of these girls? C'mon, who doesn't? I just never felt impelled to make any serious inroads in that direction. They were great people; good fun to have around, but there was no spark. See what I mean?
Put simply, if I had to choose between spending time with them and spending time with the bunch of guys I usually hung around with, I'd choose the latter. I had known these guys for years, and we had more in common. I wouldn't spend time with a girl just so it would develop into something more. It was that simple. A friend of mine had a nice little phrase for that: No strategic intent! So that night, I thought about all these things, and by the time I dozed off I hadn't had any flash of revelation. In a purely practical sense, that night was like any other night. I merely mention it because it was the night before I met Hema. My first real female friend. More than that, my first real friend.
Hema was Raghav's fiancée. He brought her to the restaurant where we usually have dinner, so he could introduce her to our gang. The first thing she said to me when we met was, "he tells me you're the moodiest guy of the group. Is that true?" I didn't consider myself especially moody, so it was news to me that my friends thought so. I spent the rest of the evening trying to decide whether to live up to my image or to consciously debunk it. She was smart enough to catch it. "It's easier living with a static self-image without having to be burdened with others' impressions of you, isn't it?" I have to admit that line took me completely by surprise. It was a delightful experience, talking to someone who could actually second-guess me like that. I decided not to respond directly.
"Do you always speak like that? Long sentences that look like they've come out of a book written a couple of hundred years ago?"
"Not really. To be frank, it took me some time to compose that sentence."
"It's a good sentence. How did you know I was thinking about what you said?"
"Wild guess”. I didn't believe that, or maybe I just didn't want to.
The conversation ran aground at that point, so after a little pause, I restarted it, asking her about her interests. We talked about all the usual things that people talk about when they get acquainted, exchanged email ids and so on and so forth. Then we went home.
Raghav was the first among us to get hitched, and through him, we all got to know Hema pretty well. We all had our share of female friends, but she was our first real 'buddy'. She was so free of hang-ups that we felt we could talk to her about anything at all. Not like a lot of other girls we knew with whom we had to watch our step all the time. Maybe it was because we got to know her as our friend's fiancée -- we all felt secure in the relationship we shared with her, so it was easier to move forward without worrying too much. Sure, we were initially a bit cautious around her, coz we didn't want to offend her and that sort of thing, but gradually, we opened up. Especially after she gave us a booze party on her birthday, without us asking. I don't drink, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. Each of us achieved a level of comfort with her, and regarded Manni, as we jokingly called her sometimes, as our close confidante. And among us, I think I was closer to her than anyone else, except Raghav. We shared very similar interests, for one thing. Then there was the matter of origin -- we found out early that we both came from the same native village, a place that neither of us had been to more than a couple of times. But most importantly, we both liked to verbalize things that most people would rather just experience -- that was the basis of our bonding. We liked to use long sentences -- we even went through this phase once where we would exchange whole mails, comprising just one long sentence, just for the heck of it.
Of course, if you had asked anyone in our group to write the above paragraph, he would've written at length about what he shared with Hema, and it invariably would've had the line -- "I think I was closest to her." Maybe it was just that we all were a bit overawed by the fact that we had our first really close friend from the opposite sex, and liked to think it was more special than anything else anybody else had ever imagined. But I don't think we felt competitive in this regard. Through her, our group expanded. Once in a while, she would bring one of her friends along, and gradually, her friends became our friends. Ordinarily, we would be a little more reserved around girls, but her presence sort of loosened us up. We became more confident in playing the game, so to speak. Plus, if we screwed up anywhere, she'd tell us later when the girl concerned wasn't around. I even joked about it once saying we should all hang L-boards around our necks. After a point, it became routine.
Our life was the same as before, only it involved more girls. I wasn't looking for love, but I could say I was less averse to it than before. Still, it was a monochrome life. No strategic intent yet. I asked Hema if one was supposed to go looking for it and she just said, "I don't think one is supposed to go looking for something when one doesn't really know what to look for." It made sense, so I left it at that. ~*~this is where my story started, in case you remember. What of that other girl, you ask? The one I started off talking about before I went off on this fishing expedition? Well, I'll tell you. Like I said, I don't remember when or where we met for the first time. It was a face I saw at a few of the parties we attended, and after a point, it became familiar. But for a while, I didn't even know her name, although we had spoken a few words to each other. It's one of my bad habits -- not only do I have a bad memory for names; I don't even take the effort to ask someone what his/her name is. I've carried on numerous conversations with people whose names I don't yet know. I do remember the time I wanted to know her name, though. It was one of those get-togethers we arranged every fortnight or so, usually on Saturday evenings. Dinner, drinks, sometimes a good movie on VCD.
It was at Raghav and Hema's place this time. A bunch of us were discussing the September 11 attacks and how America had it coming for a long time -- I said something like, "what America deserves and what Americans deserve needn't be the same." I went on to argue that most Americans were just normal people like us, going about their everyday lives blissfully ignorant of what was happening in the rest of the world, even if their Government probably spent their tax money fighting or financing wars in somebody else's backyard. "They're ignorant and they're fools, but that's no crime, last I heard," I finished with a flourish. Like most others, I loved the sound of my own voice.
"They elected the Government that spends their tax money in those wars, Ravi." It was her.
"They may be fools, but while that is not a crime, it is what allows their Government to have such a callous foreign policy. The ones who make these foreign policy decisions know they can get away with it, 'coz the man on the street can't even spell Afghanistan."
"Would you say that those people who died trapped inside the WTC deserved it?"
"Oh, come on, nobody deserves to die from an act of terrorism. But they deserve the Government they got. And therefore, they deserve whatever their Government's actions result in."
"Supposing you elect a good Government. And that Government happens to piss off some psycho somewhere, and he decides to fly a plane into one of your buildings. Do you deserve that? You're saying the Government shouldn't piss psychos off?"
"Do you think that's what's happened? Some random psycho getting pissed off?"
I spent a moment thinking about that. I realized that she hadn't fallen for my ploy of bringing in a hypothetical question that would give me a favorable answer, which I could then use to my advantage. But I wasn't beaten yet, so I decided to use the Rashomon Effect diversion.
"See, I don't know what happened. For that matter, I don't think anybody in this room does either. Maybe Osama thinks the US is responsible for his woes. The US might have a different opinion, based on the same facts."
"You may be right about that, but weren't you the one who said that what America deserves and what Americans deserve may not be the same thing? Now you aren't sure whether or not America deserves it?"
Damn!
Oops!" I grinned sheepishly. Junta around me had satisfied smirks on their faces -- I had run circles around them in many an argument before.
"So, those poor people who were busy making their multimillion dollar deals on the 75th floor when a plane crashed into them, did they deserve it? What do you say?" She was smiling as she asked me.
Sheesh, doesn't this girl give up? "I still don't think they deserve it."
"I don't either. But I hope at least this will cause America to be more careful when it comes to foreign affairs. That way, you won't have to see more of this sort of thing." I nodded sagely; inwardly thankful for the way she gave me a chance to end this with a serious expression and not a sheepish one.
"One sec, lemme get myself a drink." I excused myself, knowing that by the time I returned, the conversation would have shifted to something else. Sure enough, when I got back, a glass of coke in hand, they were discussing Govinda, and whether Coolie No.1 was better than Chinna Mappillai.
Soon after that, we all gathered in front of the TV to watch a movie. It was Kevin Smith's debut feature, a black-and-white movie named Clerks that he'd shot mostly at a convenience store with a handheld camera on a shoestring budget. The production values were pretty shoddy and the direction pretty rudimentary -- I mean, he just got the actors to stand together, pointed the camera at them from a distance and let them talk. But boy, did they talk! The dialogue came thick and fast, went in every which direction, and elevated profanity to an art form. For me, the best part of the movie was when two of the characters were discussing The Return of the Jedi. In it, the new Death Star is said to be under construction when it gets destroyed by the Rebel fighters. So, one of the characters argues, a lot of innocent construction workers on the Death Star got blown up because of a war they weren't part of. Then a third guy joins in with his two cents about how even construction jobs have political underpinnings, that aren't ignored by the people who take them up. When this scene was happening, I looked around me to see where she was sitting, and was pleasantly surprised to see her doing the same thing. We exchanged brief smiles and got back to the movie.
It's strange how something totally inconspicuous about a person catches your eye and becomes a kind of reference point. Lying in bed that night, I was thinking about her and kept getting reminded of a mole above her left eyebrow, for some reason I still can't fathom. I realized I wanted to see that mole more often. Yeah, sure. And maybe a couple of years from now, you'll even find out her name. My inner voice has a way of being sarcastic and uncomfortably accurate at times. I decided to talk to Hema the next day, do a little bit of research. She'll probably rib me like there's no tomorrow, but that was okay -- I'd never admit it to her, but I actually enjoyed being teased by Hema. I woke up late the next day with a splitting headache, and was finishing off my second straight coffee when the phone rang.
"Hi!" It was her. I'm normally not at my best when I've just woken up, especially with a headache, but my mind manages to surprise me sometimes.
"Who is this?" I had recognized her voice immediately, but she didn't know that, did she? This way, I could get her name. A regular Einstein, aren't I?
"Who do you think this is?" What's that line about the best-laid plans of mice and men? "If I'm not mistaken, it's someone who wouldn't mind terribly if some random Arabs flew a plane into the Empire State Building this evening."
Hey, my plans may not always work out, but I do have a quip for every occasion. "Oh, and what would this someone's name be?" I didn't actually say 'damn!', but I think I paused long enough for her to imagine I said it and start laughing. I heard a familiar giggle in the background.
"Could you pass the phone to Hema for a moment? There are a few choice epithet I picked up on the bus last week that I wanna try out on her right now. "More laughter”.
"My name's Sandhya, just in case you were wondering."
"Hi, Sandhya”. Pleased to have made your acquaintance and all that jazz. This was that nefarious creature's idea, wasn't it?"
I swear that girl knows you like the back of her hand. We were discussing you and our argument yesterday and suddenly, she had this brainwave. 'I'm sure he doesn't know your name,' she said. I refused to believe her. Even bet her a coffee at Qwiky's that you knew my name."
"My sympathies. I've learnt never to bet with her. I'll make it up to you sometime. I mean, you lost the bet because of me, right?"
"I'll hold you to that." After a pause, "You could have asked me, you know. That's usually how people find out other people's names."
"Yeah, I know. I'm kinda stupid that way. Anyway, now that I know your name, I'll try to remember it for the next two days at least."
"Thanks, I'm flattered that you would go to so much effort just for me." "Oh, you're welcome. Maybe we could even come to an arrangement -- you tell me your name every couple of days and I'll try to remember it." Basically, both of us were just trying to out-wiseass the other. I couldn't have kept up this sort of thing for too long, but it was nice talking to her.
"Okay da, enough crap. We're going out for dinner. You wanna join us?" It was Hema.
"Sure, what time?” Land up here at six. We'll set out together, what say?" I'll be there by five. I need an hour to slowly strangle you to death."
"C'mon Ravi, there was a coffee at Qwiky's for the taking. I couldn't have passed that up, could I?""Allo, the way I heard it, the coffee bet happened after you brought the issue up. You can play the wide-eyed innocent with me some other time, okay?"
"Okay, okay, land up today evening. Then you can strangle me if you want. Bye." "Bye." I hung up.Hmmm? Sandhya. Nice name. For a fairly embarrassing conversation, it did have its points.
If I had to use one word to describe the relationship Sandhya and I had during that time, it would be: argumentative. Initially, we used to take opposing sides on whatever topic we were discussing at that point and fight it out. Gradually, we started fishing for topics to argue about. Some of them were really outlandish, chosen just for the heck of it. Like when I questioned the stigma attached to prostitution. I mean, a prostitute sells her body just as a software engineer sells his mind. Given that we consider the mind to be more important than the body, shouldn't the software engineer be reviled more than the prostitute? Then there was the time when she questioned the validity of a law against suicide. Ah, that was a good one. Although whatever little you have seen of my track record in these pages might lead you to believe otherwise, the fact is that I won as many arguments as I lost. The only significant difference was that I began to enjoy losing. It's not as magnanimous or clichéd as it sounds. You see, while we got along like a house on fire, I couldn't work up the courage to ask her out on a date using those exact terms. It seemed like crossing a line, and I was scared to do that. No, to be honest, I was scared that she'd know I wanted to cross the line. I think the technical term for such people is congenital moron. So I solved the problem by betting her a coffee or dinner or something like that while we were in the middle of an argument, then losing the argument and paying up. And mind you, there's a difference between just throwing an argument and throwing it skillfully so that the other person doesn’t suspect you've fixed it. Trust me; faking orgasms is a lot easier. Then, just to add a little more realism to the setup, I'd crib a bit about having to pay up in the end. Not too much, just a bit.
Call me the Rube Goldberg of the dating scene, if you will. On the way back from one of those 'treats', which I gave to Raghav and Hema as well this time (smokescreen tactics, my dear Watson), Raghav and I were walking together, some distance behind Hema and Sandhya, and he commented on how he was able to wangle more treats out of me these days due to my arguments with Sandhya. And I replied that that was the object of the exercise. He didn't get it for a moment, then his face lit up with a look of admiration that only a guy could give another. "Brilliant, machi," he said. I grinned back.
Hema didn't react the same way, though, when she met me for lunch the next day.
"You're an idiot, you know that?"
"It's been said before," I commented dryly. "See," she explained, in the sort of tone a kindergarten teacher would use, "if you want to ask her out, the simplest way to do it is to ask her out. Just say something like, 'Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee or something?' That's all it takes. Why go the Wile E. Coyote route? If you want to take the relationship forward, what's the point in trying to do it without her realizing it?" I could see her point, but I was still a bit apprehensive. She sensed that, I think, and decided to let me work myself up to it. Only, I didn't have to.
The next evening, Sandhya told us that she had gotten promoted, and was going to the US for eight months on a project. We congratulated her -- she seemed all excited about going, took the entire gang out to dinner etc. And all the while, I sat there smiling, with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. And she didn't help matters any by telling us that she wouldn't mind switching jobs while she was there, if a good offer came along.
I thought long and hard over the next three weeks about having some sort of conversation with her about our relationship. I had a heart-to-heart with Hema and she advised me to go ahead. Eventually, I decided against it: no point in complicating her life just before she left, I told myself. I actually cried a bit when she left. Nobody else knows that. went back to being a slightly moody (or so they say), cynical creature who looked bored most of the time. I think it would've worked as well as it used to, had I not thought of it as a form of refuge from reality. I did spend a considerable amount of time with Hema, though -- it was like she was a link to the guy I was until recently. We rarely talked about Sandhya -- that was something we carefully sidestepped. Looking back, I wonder how she managed to keep quiet about it. It was quite unlike her, but at that point, I didn't dwell upon that singularity.
Absence makes the imagination get bleaker. I conjured up a dozen different scenarios, all fleshed out in considerable detail, about her meeting some guy out there who would sweep her off her feet. The gentle irony being that I played that guy in these fantasies. We kept in touch, of course. A day after she got there, she sent me an excited e-mail about having seen Kevin Smith when she landed at the New Jersey airport. I sent her a long reply talking about a million different things, most of which was the sort of crazy stuff a desperate imagination produces in a three-hour time span. Spent two agonizing days waiting for her reply, practically floated for a couple of hours after I saw her mail in my inbox, then decided to play it cool by taking a couple of days to reply. After an initial exchange of long e-mails, we settled down to sending each other a few paragraphs twice a week or so.
E-mail has the advantage of allowing you to iteratively improve the suavity of your responses before you click on the Send button. The flip side is that it robs you of your impulsiveness, and gives you the opportunity to chicken out before you can send something meaningful. I remember spending half an hour exploring the ramifications of a single line in a long mail I had composed. That line simply said, 'I miss you.' I eventually changed it to: 'I miss our arguments.' Surprisingly, we never argued or discussed anything of substance over e-mail. I don't know why she didn't start anything -- I think I didn't because there was no point in skillfully losing now. We agreed so often and on so many things, it was disgraceful. I think we went out of the way to be nice. And so it went, for a while. I see that phase as the autumn of our relationship. Regret decayed into indifference, a little bit at a time. In a few months, the tree would've been bare. And I was busy chronicling this process in my diary in my more sardonic moods, looking ahead at the eventual fade-out as if I were looking back at it a couple of years from now.
So busy, in fact, that I failed to notice that the eight months were up. Project over. Am coming back next week. Yippee! Can't wait to eat rava dosa at Saravana's again. If I were Popeye, I'd call that e-mail the electronic equivalent of a can of spinach. Strangely, I felt a lot more confident now, ready to take the next step. I guess I had lived with the idea of having lost her for so long that I couldn't see how things could get any worse if I tried. called her up the day after she got back. We made the usual small talk about jet lag and her project, and all the while I was looking for an opening. She provided one soon enough.
"You were right, you know."
"About what?"
"They're just normal people. Somewhat ignorant, but once you get to know them, one begins to think that maybe they didn't deserve it."
It took me a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. "So you see, you actually won that argument."
"No, I lost that argument. It just so happens that I was right. But that doesn't change the fact that I couldn't defend my case."
"You sound like you're happy you lost." "What can I say? I love to lose sometimes." Even if you end up having to treat me to dinner afterwards?"I wasn't quite ready to tell her the truth yet.
"Well, that's an occupational hazard, but I can live with that. Anyway, speaking of dinner, what say we go to Saravana's tonight? You could get back to your beloved rava dosa." In that one second she took to answer my question, I prayed to three hundred and thirty million Gods that she would: a) Say yes. b) Not suggest that we call the others along.
"Sure, why not? Meet you there at six?"
I spent more than an hour getting ready for my first 'date'. Not that I was nervous or anything. I mean, it was just an evening out, like so many others we had shared in the past. The difference was that I had finally gotten over my earlier fears and was ready to restart my relationship with her on a more honest footing, so to speak. Hema was, as usual, Hema, when I told her about it.
"Took you long enough," was her first reaction. But she sounded happy rather than sardonic, and a little surprised as well. I expected the latter -- any sane person would've given up on me by then.
She did add a word of caution, though:"Take it slow and easy, Ravi. I know you're brimming with enthusiasm and all, but don't rush things, okay?""
Sure di. And listen, thanks for being there. It's meant a lot to me.""Okay, okay, don't get gushy on me. Go rehearse all your best lines. I'm sure you've thought up a bunch these last few days."
I got there 15 minutes early. She got there 15 minutes late. By which time my confidence had begun to take on sinusoidal characteristics. Old fears die-hard. Fortunately, it was on the upswing when she entered.
"Sorry I'm late. I'd almost forgotten how bad Mount Road traffic can get." There was something reassuring about the fact that she wanted to be on time.
"Tell me about it. I endure it every morning, six days a week.It's good to see you again.
"Hello, Mole on Left Eyebrow, it's good to see you again.
"You too. It feels good to be back."
"Looks like the place agreed with you. You look healthier. Fairer too, I'd say." I don't think I'd have had the guts to make that last comment ten months earlier.
"Why is it that fairness is considered the epitome of beauty?"
"Wait a minute. Whoever said you were beautiful?"
"Ah, back to business," she grinned. "God, I missed this. You have no idea how difficult it is to make intelligent conversation with the people there. Especially after September 11, they're either openly hostile or overly circumspect. You'd have thought I had a foot-long beard and a turban."
"You left out the AK 47! Anyway, how about the desi crowd?"
"I dunno why, but I found it difficult to relate to them a lot of the time. I think they see India as a country, from a distance. And that perspective colors everything. When they say 'Hindi movies', it's with a different tone of voice compared to when we say 'Hindi movies'. That difference is a bit distracting."
"I think you got too busy checking whether they fit your mental stereotype of an NRI. If you got beyond that, you would probably have made some headway. In a sense, it's no different from the Americans' reaction to you. Openly hostile and overly circumspect are both stereotype-related diseases. I'm sure you would also have seen some people who weren't affected by that sort of thing. Some of the better informed, levelheaded Americans. Your old friends, who saw you as you, rather than as an Indian from back home."
"Hmm? you're right about that? Is it just me, or have you actually gotten wiser?" "I doubt it. Maybe all those cheeseburgers eroded your brain cells, so the relative effect is the same.
"Yeah, right."
"Oh, I luuuuve the way you roll your r's," I teased.
"Aw, c'mon, it's no different from what it used to be," she protested. I remembered how she kidded Sanjay on his newly acquired accent when he got back from the US of A. I guess she was a little self-conscious.
"Okay, so how about we actually order something instead of just standing here talking? Rava dosa, right?""Make that an onion rava. You get the tokens, I'll wait at the counter."
We sat in companionable silence for a while, concentrating on the food. Saravana's is the sort of busy place that makes you want to eat fast. Plus, the food they make practically dissolves in your mouth..
"So, how're your folks? Relieved that their darling daughter is back from across the seven seas?" I asked after a while.
"Yeah, yeah. This morning, my mom started off on her usual spiel about how I was getting old and needed to get hitched right away," she said, an expression of practiced weariness creasing her features. I’d heard this crib before. This particular war of attrition was just about starting at my place as well.
"So what did you tell her?” I told her to go ahead. What the hell, I might as well. Hema seems happy enough, so I guess I can't do too badly. So I told her to crank up the Great TamBram Marriage Machine and see what it churns out. The December season is close, so all those mamis in their pattu podavais will come armed with lists of nalla paiyyans working in software companies in California. Either that, or New Jersey. It's like a girl has only two choices when it comes to marriage: East Coast or West Coast."
I grinned and turned my attention back to my plate. Like I said, this place makes you want to keep eating. Digesting this new tidbit of information took some effort. What the hell do I do now? By the time I got any further with our relationship, I'd be eating venn pongal at Hemamalini Kalyana Mandapam and hoping the sambhar would fill the hole in my heart. Do I go for broke now? What if she's shocked? Is it too early? Do I want to do this? She was polishing off her dosa when she heard me laugh.
"What's so funny?” Well, I thought about you getting married and wondered if I was letting you get away. Wondered if I should go down on one knee and propose right now.
I think if she hadn't been so surprised by that statement, she'd have interrupted me at this point. I continued, "So I thought about what might happen. If you said yes, 20 years from now we'd have ended up laughing about how it all turned out. If you had said no, 20 years from now I'd have laughed about how foolhardy I'd been. Either way I'm gonna laugh then, so why not laugh now?” There, I'd said it.
Now I was scared shitless.
She took her time. "Did you just propose to me?" she asked eventually.
"I'm not sure, actually." To tell you the truth, I wasn't.
"Well, it did sound like a proposal to me. So why do you want to marry me?"I saw a familiar twinkle in her eyes. We were on firmer ground now -- this was going to be another of those verbal duels.
"Hmm?" I temporized, "I like that mole above your left eyebrow, for one thing."She instinctively rolled her eyes upwards for a moment, trying to see what it was that I laid so much store by. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. But I was thinking you might say you're in love with me, or something like that."
"Is that what you want me to say?" She had gotten serious, I realized. You don't throw around the L-word the way you throw around the F-word. "I don't know, Ravi. I like you a lot, I enjoy your company, and spending the rest of my life with you does seem like a good option, but is that enough?"
For a moment, I was tempted to say that it might have been enough for her if I was a California mappillai who came through the mami network. But no, that wasn't how I wanted her to agree. This was a different game, and there was only one way to win.
"I agree, it isn't. You can't marry someone just because you can't think of a reason not to marry him. Love does enter the picture. Do I love you? I think I'm more than halfway there. If you feel the same way, I think that, given time, this could develop into something more substantial. The question is, do you want to give it the time? Do you want to give this a chance?"
"Maybe, just maybe, it might not work out," I continued. I'd been playing the Devil's Advocate for so long that raising counterpoints along with an argument came naturally. "A couple of months from now, we might decide that there isn't enough to go on, and ditch it. That's a risk, I agree. And the loss in that case can be a bit hard to take, for both of us. But knowing that, do you still want to give this a chance? I do, but I'll understand if you don't." I was about to add the usual disclaimer about how we could still remain friends after this, then decided against it. She was intelligent enough to realize that, and decide eventually if our friendship was worth enduring the discomfort that would inevitably follow if she said no. She took a long moment before answering.
"I think I do too, yes," she smiled.
I think in some way, she looked as relieved as I felt at that moment. I smiled back. This was going to work out. I wonder what one would have called our relationship at that point. We were still friends, but also a little more than that, yet not so much more that we could attach the other label to it.
We did 'fall in love', eventually. Like me, she was also more than halfway there, so it didn't take long. I guess by taking that chance that evening, we indicated to each other, and to ourselves, that we wanted to get there. It took some time to get accustomed to the idea, and to open up to ach other in ways that we hadn't thought of earlier. For a while, we argued a little less, but that got back on track soon enough. Especially after she reminded me of our conversation that day and asked me point blank whether or not I thought she was beautiful. The way I handled her attack that day would've made any matador proud. (Of course, matadors don't tell their bulls that their horns look cool after the contest is over.)
Hema got in the last word, as usual. "It's people like you that make matchmaking look so difficult."
Ah well, if we had known that you were trying to set us up -- then again, if we had known?
This story contains a few tamil words...but on the whole u would definitely catch the soul of the story....njoi...
To be perfectly honest with you, I don't even remember how and when we met. It's not as unbelievable as it sounds. She was my friend's fiancée’s friend, and we had gone out together as part of the same group on a number of occasions before we actually said a word to one another. I guess we recognized each other's existence, and weren't exactly averse to talking, but just didn't feel like expending the energy to start a conversation, just to get acquainted.
You're probably thinking at this point: No meet cute? Aw, that's a boring way to start a story like this. Well, what can I say? I've led a pretty boring life. It didn't seem that unexciting to me when I was eight years old and bicycling on the same road as a Pallavan bus was an adventure comparable to anything Mark Twain had penned about Tom Sawyer. But then, that was long before I endured four dreary years in an engineering college in the middle of nowhere, and two more in the industry writing Visual C++ code. When the most exciting moment in your life is when you become module leader in a project for some damn toilet papermaking client in mid-western US, you begin to see the whole world in monochrome. So you go out every evening with a bunch of friends who are more or less in the same position as you are and look at everything around you in quiet desperation, hoping that something somewhere will jolt you out of this yuppie stupor you've found yourself in.
I think there's a word for this, something beginning with 'e' -- but for the life of me, I can't remember what it is. It's one of those fashionable French words that people like to pepper their conversations with when they want to sound erudite. Sometimes, you try to escape. The US is one option -- the land of opportunity and all that. There's the dollar salary and the kick you get out of finally being able to buy a copy of Playboy magazine, legally. And you're not alone there, either. They say you can't drive through the Bay Area for ten minutes without bumping into someone you knew back in school or college!
Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. After six months on an offshore project, I couldn't wait to get back. Frankly, I didn't see what was so different. My life was just as boring out there as it was here. Or maybe I'm just too easily bored! I was reflecting upon this little existential conundrum when -- don't bother looking up 'existential' in the dictionary. I have no idea what it means either, it just sounded like a nice word to put in, and that’s all. If you already know what it means, drop me a line, willya?
Anyways, I was reflecting upon this little existential conundrum when Raghav told us he was getting married. And I absently replied, "Sure, that's a nice way to beat boredom." Whatever it was he expected me to say, it couldn't have been that. And if I hadn't been in that mood, I don't think I'd have said anything other than "Congratulations! That's wonderful news, machi!" But there it was: Open mouth, insert foot! To my credit, I covered up nicely, grinning broadly after that so he wouldn't take it seriously, then did the usual handshaking and bear hugging. My comment was forgotten by everybody else except myself. Come to think of it, maybe they just wanted not to think about it. (See? I told you I was cynical.)
Anyway, that night I lay thinking about what I had said. I told myself that I had just been a bit of a jerk -- which it happens to everybody one time or the other. Then I started thinking about the real issue. What did marriage mean to me anyway? And love? What of that? As far as marriage went, I knew that my folks would begin looking for a girl in a year's time, and all I had to do was pick someone I liked and who liked me. Objectively speaking, I knew I wouldn't fare too badly on the marriage market -- I didn't have an H1B visa, but could get one anytime I wanted, and a lot of Tam Bram (Tamil Brahmins) families don't seem to look beyond that. I still had at least a year to go before that happened, so I could cross that bridge when I came to it.
At that point, I hadn't made any conscious decision to marry for love. In fact, if anyone had asked me about it, I'd have said, "Oh, please! Who would be so stupid as to fall in love with me?" Which is to say that I secretly wished, it would happen to me, but didn’t rate my chances too highly, and considered this response to be a good way of giving up gracefully and being a wise ass about it at the same time? I wasn't one of those guys who was painfully shy of girls and got all nervous around them. I had a few female friends, mostly from work, and we got along pretty well. Did I ever wonder about a more serious relationship with any of these girls? C'mon, who doesn't? I just never felt impelled to make any serious inroads in that direction. They were great people; good fun to have around, but there was no spark. See what I mean?
Put simply, if I had to choose between spending time with them and spending time with the bunch of guys I usually hung around with, I'd choose the latter. I had known these guys for years, and we had more in common. I wouldn't spend time with a girl just so it would develop into something more. It was that simple. A friend of mine had a nice little phrase for that: No strategic intent! So that night, I thought about all these things, and by the time I dozed off I hadn't had any flash of revelation. In a purely practical sense, that night was like any other night. I merely mention it because it was the night before I met Hema. My first real female friend. More than that, my first real friend.
Hema was Raghav's fiancée. He brought her to the restaurant where we usually have dinner, so he could introduce her to our gang. The first thing she said to me when we met was, "he tells me you're the moodiest guy of the group. Is that true?" I didn't consider myself especially moody, so it was news to me that my friends thought so. I spent the rest of the evening trying to decide whether to live up to my image or to consciously debunk it. She was smart enough to catch it. "It's easier living with a static self-image without having to be burdened with others' impressions of you, isn't it?" I have to admit that line took me completely by surprise. It was a delightful experience, talking to someone who could actually second-guess me like that. I decided not to respond directly.
"Do you always speak like that? Long sentences that look like they've come out of a book written a couple of hundred years ago?"
"Not really. To be frank, it took me some time to compose that sentence."
"It's a good sentence. How did you know I was thinking about what you said?"
"Wild guess”. I didn't believe that, or maybe I just didn't want to.
The conversation ran aground at that point, so after a little pause, I restarted it, asking her about her interests. We talked about all the usual things that people talk about when they get acquainted, exchanged email ids and so on and so forth. Then we went home.
Raghav was the first among us to get hitched, and through him, we all got to know Hema pretty well. We all had our share of female friends, but she was our first real 'buddy'. She was so free of hang-ups that we felt we could talk to her about anything at all. Not like a lot of other girls we knew with whom we had to watch our step all the time. Maybe it was because we got to know her as our friend's fiancée -- we all felt secure in the relationship we shared with her, so it was easier to move forward without worrying too much. Sure, we were initially a bit cautious around her, coz we didn't want to offend her and that sort of thing, but gradually, we opened up. Especially after she gave us a booze party on her birthday, without us asking. I don't drink, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. Each of us achieved a level of comfort with her, and regarded Manni, as we jokingly called her sometimes, as our close confidante. And among us, I think I was closer to her than anyone else, except Raghav. We shared very similar interests, for one thing. Then there was the matter of origin -- we found out early that we both came from the same native village, a place that neither of us had been to more than a couple of times. But most importantly, we both liked to verbalize things that most people would rather just experience -- that was the basis of our bonding. We liked to use long sentences -- we even went through this phase once where we would exchange whole mails, comprising just one long sentence, just for the heck of it.
Of course, if you had asked anyone in our group to write the above paragraph, he would've written at length about what he shared with Hema, and it invariably would've had the line -- "I think I was closest to her." Maybe it was just that we all were a bit overawed by the fact that we had our first really close friend from the opposite sex, and liked to think it was more special than anything else anybody else had ever imagined. But I don't think we felt competitive in this regard. Through her, our group expanded. Once in a while, she would bring one of her friends along, and gradually, her friends became our friends. Ordinarily, we would be a little more reserved around girls, but her presence sort of loosened us up. We became more confident in playing the game, so to speak. Plus, if we screwed up anywhere, she'd tell us later when the girl concerned wasn't around. I even joked about it once saying we should all hang L-boards around our necks. After a point, it became routine.
Our life was the same as before, only it involved more girls. I wasn't looking for love, but I could say I was less averse to it than before. Still, it was a monochrome life. No strategic intent yet. I asked Hema if one was supposed to go looking for it and she just said, "I don't think one is supposed to go looking for something when one doesn't really know what to look for." It made sense, so I left it at that. ~*~this is where my story started, in case you remember. What of that other girl, you ask? The one I started off talking about before I went off on this fishing expedition? Well, I'll tell you. Like I said, I don't remember when or where we met for the first time. It was a face I saw at a few of the parties we attended, and after a point, it became familiar. But for a while, I didn't even know her name, although we had spoken a few words to each other. It's one of my bad habits -- not only do I have a bad memory for names; I don't even take the effort to ask someone what his/her name is. I've carried on numerous conversations with people whose names I don't yet know. I do remember the time I wanted to know her name, though. It was one of those get-togethers we arranged every fortnight or so, usually on Saturday evenings. Dinner, drinks, sometimes a good movie on VCD.
It was at Raghav and Hema's place this time. A bunch of us were discussing the September 11 attacks and how America had it coming for a long time -- I said something like, "what America deserves and what Americans deserve needn't be the same." I went on to argue that most Americans were just normal people like us, going about their everyday lives blissfully ignorant of what was happening in the rest of the world, even if their Government probably spent their tax money fighting or financing wars in somebody else's backyard. "They're ignorant and they're fools, but that's no crime, last I heard," I finished with a flourish. Like most others, I loved the sound of my own voice.
"They elected the Government that spends their tax money in those wars, Ravi." It was her.
"They may be fools, but while that is not a crime, it is what allows their Government to have such a callous foreign policy. The ones who make these foreign policy decisions know they can get away with it, 'coz the man on the street can't even spell Afghanistan."
"Would you say that those people who died trapped inside the WTC deserved it?"
"Oh, come on, nobody deserves to die from an act of terrorism. But they deserve the Government they got. And therefore, they deserve whatever their Government's actions result in."
"Supposing you elect a good Government. And that Government happens to piss off some psycho somewhere, and he decides to fly a plane into one of your buildings. Do you deserve that? You're saying the Government shouldn't piss psychos off?"
"Do you think that's what's happened? Some random psycho getting pissed off?"
I spent a moment thinking about that. I realized that she hadn't fallen for my ploy of bringing in a hypothetical question that would give me a favorable answer, which I could then use to my advantage. But I wasn't beaten yet, so I decided to use the Rashomon Effect diversion.
"See, I don't know what happened. For that matter, I don't think anybody in this room does either. Maybe Osama thinks the US is responsible for his woes. The US might have a different opinion, based on the same facts."
"You may be right about that, but weren't you the one who said that what America deserves and what Americans deserve may not be the same thing? Now you aren't sure whether or not America deserves it?"
Damn!
Oops!" I grinned sheepishly. Junta around me had satisfied smirks on their faces -- I had run circles around them in many an argument before.
"So, those poor people who were busy making their multimillion dollar deals on the 75th floor when a plane crashed into them, did they deserve it? What do you say?" She was smiling as she asked me.
Sheesh, doesn't this girl give up? "I still don't think they deserve it."
"I don't either. But I hope at least this will cause America to be more careful when it comes to foreign affairs. That way, you won't have to see more of this sort of thing." I nodded sagely; inwardly thankful for the way she gave me a chance to end this with a serious expression and not a sheepish one.
"One sec, lemme get myself a drink." I excused myself, knowing that by the time I returned, the conversation would have shifted to something else. Sure enough, when I got back, a glass of coke in hand, they were discussing Govinda, and whether Coolie No.1 was better than Chinna Mappillai.
Soon after that, we all gathered in front of the TV to watch a movie. It was Kevin Smith's debut feature, a black-and-white movie named Clerks that he'd shot mostly at a convenience store with a handheld camera on a shoestring budget. The production values were pretty shoddy and the direction pretty rudimentary -- I mean, he just got the actors to stand together, pointed the camera at them from a distance and let them talk. But boy, did they talk! The dialogue came thick and fast, went in every which direction, and elevated profanity to an art form. For me, the best part of the movie was when two of the characters were discussing The Return of the Jedi. In it, the new Death Star is said to be under construction when it gets destroyed by the Rebel fighters. So, one of the characters argues, a lot of innocent construction workers on the Death Star got blown up because of a war they weren't part of. Then a third guy joins in with his two cents about how even construction jobs have political underpinnings, that aren't ignored by the people who take them up. When this scene was happening, I looked around me to see where she was sitting, and was pleasantly surprised to see her doing the same thing. We exchanged brief smiles and got back to the movie.
It's strange how something totally inconspicuous about a person catches your eye and becomes a kind of reference point. Lying in bed that night, I was thinking about her and kept getting reminded of a mole above her left eyebrow, for some reason I still can't fathom. I realized I wanted to see that mole more often. Yeah, sure. And maybe a couple of years from now, you'll even find out her name. My inner voice has a way of being sarcastic and uncomfortably accurate at times. I decided to talk to Hema the next day, do a little bit of research. She'll probably rib me like there's no tomorrow, but that was okay -- I'd never admit it to her, but I actually enjoyed being teased by Hema. I woke up late the next day with a splitting headache, and was finishing off my second straight coffee when the phone rang.
"Hi!" It was her. I'm normally not at my best when I've just woken up, especially with a headache, but my mind manages to surprise me sometimes.
"Who is this?" I had recognized her voice immediately, but she didn't know that, did she? This way, I could get her name. A regular Einstein, aren't I?
"Who do you think this is?" What's that line about the best-laid plans of mice and men? "If I'm not mistaken, it's someone who wouldn't mind terribly if some random Arabs flew a plane into the Empire State Building this evening."
Hey, my plans may not always work out, but I do have a quip for every occasion. "Oh, and what would this someone's name be?" I didn't actually say 'damn!', but I think I paused long enough for her to imagine I said it and start laughing. I heard a familiar giggle in the background.
"Could you pass the phone to Hema for a moment? There are a few choice epithet I picked up on the bus last week that I wanna try out on her right now. "More laughter”.
"My name's Sandhya, just in case you were wondering."
"Hi, Sandhya”. Pleased to have made your acquaintance and all that jazz. This was that nefarious creature's idea, wasn't it?"
I swear that girl knows you like the back of her hand. We were discussing you and our argument yesterday and suddenly, she had this brainwave. 'I'm sure he doesn't know your name,' she said. I refused to believe her. Even bet her a coffee at Qwiky's that you knew my name."
"My sympathies. I've learnt never to bet with her. I'll make it up to you sometime. I mean, you lost the bet because of me, right?"
"I'll hold you to that." After a pause, "You could have asked me, you know. That's usually how people find out other people's names."
"Yeah, I know. I'm kinda stupid that way. Anyway, now that I know your name, I'll try to remember it for the next two days at least."
"Thanks, I'm flattered that you would go to so much effort just for me." "Oh, you're welcome. Maybe we could even come to an arrangement -- you tell me your name every couple of days and I'll try to remember it." Basically, both of us were just trying to out-wiseass the other. I couldn't have kept up this sort of thing for too long, but it was nice talking to her.
"Okay da, enough crap. We're going out for dinner. You wanna join us?" It was Hema.
"Sure, what time?” Land up here at six. We'll set out together, what say?" I'll be there by five. I need an hour to slowly strangle you to death."
"C'mon Ravi, there was a coffee at Qwiky's for the taking. I couldn't have passed that up, could I?""Allo, the way I heard it, the coffee bet happened after you brought the issue up. You can play the wide-eyed innocent with me some other time, okay?"
"Okay, okay, land up today evening. Then you can strangle me if you want. Bye." "Bye." I hung up.Hmmm? Sandhya. Nice name. For a fairly embarrassing conversation, it did have its points.
If I had to use one word to describe the relationship Sandhya and I had during that time, it would be: argumentative. Initially, we used to take opposing sides on whatever topic we were discussing at that point and fight it out. Gradually, we started fishing for topics to argue about. Some of them were really outlandish, chosen just for the heck of it. Like when I questioned the stigma attached to prostitution. I mean, a prostitute sells her body just as a software engineer sells his mind. Given that we consider the mind to be more important than the body, shouldn't the software engineer be reviled more than the prostitute? Then there was the time when she questioned the validity of a law against suicide. Ah, that was a good one. Although whatever little you have seen of my track record in these pages might lead you to believe otherwise, the fact is that I won as many arguments as I lost. The only significant difference was that I began to enjoy losing. It's not as magnanimous or clichéd as it sounds. You see, while we got along like a house on fire, I couldn't work up the courage to ask her out on a date using those exact terms. It seemed like crossing a line, and I was scared to do that. No, to be honest, I was scared that she'd know I wanted to cross the line. I think the technical term for such people is congenital moron. So I solved the problem by betting her a coffee or dinner or something like that while we were in the middle of an argument, then losing the argument and paying up. And mind you, there's a difference between just throwing an argument and throwing it skillfully so that the other person doesn’t suspect you've fixed it. Trust me; faking orgasms is a lot easier. Then, just to add a little more realism to the setup, I'd crib a bit about having to pay up in the end. Not too much, just a bit.
Call me the Rube Goldberg of the dating scene, if you will. On the way back from one of those 'treats', which I gave to Raghav and Hema as well this time (smokescreen tactics, my dear Watson), Raghav and I were walking together, some distance behind Hema and Sandhya, and he commented on how he was able to wangle more treats out of me these days due to my arguments with Sandhya. And I replied that that was the object of the exercise. He didn't get it for a moment, then his face lit up with a look of admiration that only a guy could give another. "Brilliant, machi," he said. I grinned back.
Hema didn't react the same way, though, when she met me for lunch the next day.
"You're an idiot, you know that?"
"It's been said before," I commented dryly. "See," she explained, in the sort of tone a kindergarten teacher would use, "if you want to ask her out, the simplest way to do it is to ask her out. Just say something like, 'Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee or something?' That's all it takes. Why go the Wile E. Coyote route? If you want to take the relationship forward, what's the point in trying to do it without her realizing it?" I could see her point, but I was still a bit apprehensive. She sensed that, I think, and decided to let me work myself up to it. Only, I didn't have to.
The next evening, Sandhya told us that she had gotten promoted, and was going to the US for eight months on a project. We congratulated her -- she seemed all excited about going, took the entire gang out to dinner etc. And all the while, I sat there smiling, with a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. And she didn't help matters any by telling us that she wouldn't mind switching jobs while she was there, if a good offer came along.
I thought long and hard over the next three weeks about having some sort of conversation with her about our relationship. I had a heart-to-heart with Hema and she advised me to go ahead. Eventually, I decided against it: no point in complicating her life just before she left, I told myself. I actually cried a bit when she left. Nobody else knows that. went back to being a slightly moody (or so they say), cynical creature who looked bored most of the time. I think it would've worked as well as it used to, had I not thought of it as a form of refuge from reality. I did spend a considerable amount of time with Hema, though -- it was like she was a link to the guy I was until recently. We rarely talked about Sandhya -- that was something we carefully sidestepped. Looking back, I wonder how she managed to keep quiet about it. It was quite unlike her, but at that point, I didn't dwell upon that singularity.
Absence makes the imagination get bleaker. I conjured up a dozen different scenarios, all fleshed out in considerable detail, about her meeting some guy out there who would sweep her off her feet. The gentle irony being that I played that guy in these fantasies. We kept in touch, of course. A day after she got there, she sent me an excited e-mail about having seen Kevin Smith when she landed at the New Jersey airport. I sent her a long reply talking about a million different things, most of which was the sort of crazy stuff a desperate imagination produces in a three-hour time span. Spent two agonizing days waiting for her reply, practically floated for a couple of hours after I saw her mail in my inbox, then decided to play it cool by taking a couple of days to reply. After an initial exchange of long e-mails, we settled down to sending each other a few paragraphs twice a week or so.
E-mail has the advantage of allowing you to iteratively improve the suavity of your responses before you click on the Send button. The flip side is that it robs you of your impulsiveness, and gives you the opportunity to chicken out before you can send something meaningful. I remember spending half an hour exploring the ramifications of a single line in a long mail I had composed. That line simply said, 'I miss you.' I eventually changed it to: 'I miss our arguments.' Surprisingly, we never argued or discussed anything of substance over e-mail. I don't know why she didn't start anything -- I think I didn't because there was no point in skillfully losing now. We agreed so often and on so many things, it was disgraceful. I think we went out of the way to be nice. And so it went, for a while. I see that phase as the autumn of our relationship. Regret decayed into indifference, a little bit at a time. In a few months, the tree would've been bare. And I was busy chronicling this process in my diary in my more sardonic moods, looking ahead at the eventual fade-out as if I were looking back at it a couple of years from now.
So busy, in fact, that I failed to notice that the eight months were up. Project over. Am coming back next week. Yippee! Can't wait to eat rava dosa at Saravana's again. If I were Popeye, I'd call that e-mail the electronic equivalent of a can of spinach. Strangely, I felt a lot more confident now, ready to take the next step. I guess I had lived with the idea of having lost her for so long that I couldn't see how things could get any worse if I tried. called her up the day after she got back. We made the usual small talk about jet lag and her project, and all the while I was looking for an opening. She provided one soon enough.
"You were right, you know."
"About what?"
"They're just normal people. Somewhat ignorant, but once you get to know them, one begins to think that maybe they didn't deserve it."
It took me a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. "So you see, you actually won that argument."
"No, I lost that argument. It just so happens that I was right. But that doesn't change the fact that I couldn't defend my case."
"You sound like you're happy you lost." "What can I say? I love to lose sometimes." Even if you end up having to treat me to dinner afterwards?"I wasn't quite ready to tell her the truth yet.
"Well, that's an occupational hazard, but I can live with that. Anyway, speaking of dinner, what say we go to Saravana's tonight? You could get back to your beloved rava dosa." In that one second she took to answer my question, I prayed to three hundred and thirty million Gods that she would: a) Say yes. b) Not suggest that we call the others along.
"Sure, why not? Meet you there at six?"
I spent more than an hour getting ready for my first 'date'. Not that I was nervous or anything. I mean, it was just an evening out, like so many others we had shared in the past. The difference was that I had finally gotten over my earlier fears and was ready to restart my relationship with her on a more honest footing, so to speak. Hema was, as usual, Hema, when I told her about it.
"Took you long enough," was her first reaction. But she sounded happy rather than sardonic, and a little surprised as well. I expected the latter -- any sane person would've given up on me by then.
She did add a word of caution, though:"Take it slow and easy, Ravi. I know you're brimming with enthusiasm and all, but don't rush things, okay?""
Sure di. And listen, thanks for being there. It's meant a lot to me.""Okay, okay, don't get gushy on me. Go rehearse all your best lines. I'm sure you've thought up a bunch these last few days."
I got there 15 minutes early. She got there 15 minutes late. By which time my confidence had begun to take on sinusoidal characteristics. Old fears die-hard. Fortunately, it was on the upswing when she entered.
"Sorry I'm late. I'd almost forgotten how bad Mount Road traffic can get." There was something reassuring about the fact that she wanted to be on time.
"Tell me about it. I endure it every morning, six days a week.It's good to see you again.
"Hello, Mole on Left Eyebrow, it's good to see you again.
"You too. It feels good to be back."
"Looks like the place agreed with you. You look healthier. Fairer too, I'd say." I don't think I'd have had the guts to make that last comment ten months earlier.
"Why is it that fairness is considered the epitome of beauty?"
"Wait a minute. Whoever said you were beautiful?"
"Ah, back to business," she grinned. "God, I missed this. You have no idea how difficult it is to make intelligent conversation with the people there. Especially after September 11, they're either openly hostile or overly circumspect. You'd have thought I had a foot-long beard and a turban."
"You left out the AK 47! Anyway, how about the desi crowd?"
"I dunno why, but I found it difficult to relate to them a lot of the time. I think they see India as a country, from a distance. And that perspective colors everything. When they say 'Hindi movies', it's with a different tone of voice compared to when we say 'Hindi movies'. That difference is a bit distracting."
"I think you got too busy checking whether they fit your mental stereotype of an NRI. If you got beyond that, you would probably have made some headway. In a sense, it's no different from the Americans' reaction to you. Openly hostile and overly circumspect are both stereotype-related diseases. I'm sure you would also have seen some people who weren't affected by that sort of thing. Some of the better informed, levelheaded Americans. Your old friends, who saw you as you, rather than as an Indian from back home."
"Hmm? you're right about that? Is it just me, or have you actually gotten wiser?" "I doubt it. Maybe all those cheeseburgers eroded your brain cells, so the relative effect is the same.
"Yeah, right."
"Oh, I luuuuve the way you roll your r's," I teased.
"Aw, c'mon, it's no different from what it used to be," she protested. I remembered how she kidded Sanjay on his newly acquired accent when he got back from the US of A. I guess she was a little self-conscious.
"Okay, so how about we actually order something instead of just standing here talking? Rava dosa, right?""Make that an onion rava. You get the tokens, I'll wait at the counter."
We sat in companionable silence for a while, concentrating on the food. Saravana's is the sort of busy place that makes you want to eat fast. Plus, the food they make practically dissolves in your mouth..
"So, how're your folks? Relieved that their darling daughter is back from across the seven seas?" I asked after a while.
"Yeah, yeah. This morning, my mom started off on her usual spiel about how I was getting old and needed to get hitched right away," she said, an expression of practiced weariness creasing her features. I’d heard this crib before. This particular war of attrition was just about starting at my place as well.
"So what did you tell her?” I told her to go ahead. What the hell, I might as well. Hema seems happy enough, so I guess I can't do too badly. So I told her to crank up the Great TamBram Marriage Machine and see what it churns out. The December season is close, so all those mamis in their pattu podavais will come armed with lists of nalla paiyyans working in software companies in California. Either that, or New Jersey. It's like a girl has only two choices when it comes to marriage: East Coast or West Coast."
I grinned and turned my attention back to my plate. Like I said, this place makes you want to keep eating. Digesting this new tidbit of information took some effort. What the hell do I do now? By the time I got any further with our relationship, I'd be eating venn pongal at Hemamalini Kalyana Mandapam and hoping the sambhar would fill the hole in my heart. Do I go for broke now? What if she's shocked? Is it too early? Do I want to do this? She was polishing off her dosa when she heard me laugh.
"What's so funny?” Well, I thought about you getting married and wondered if I was letting you get away. Wondered if I should go down on one knee and propose right now.
I think if she hadn't been so surprised by that statement, she'd have interrupted me at this point. I continued, "So I thought about what might happen. If you said yes, 20 years from now we'd have ended up laughing about how it all turned out. If you had said no, 20 years from now I'd have laughed about how foolhardy I'd been. Either way I'm gonna laugh then, so why not laugh now?” There, I'd said it.
Now I was scared shitless.
She took her time. "Did you just propose to me?" she asked eventually.
"I'm not sure, actually." To tell you the truth, I wasn't.
"Well, it did sound like a proposal to me. So why do you want to marry me?"I saw a familiar twinkle in her eyes. We were on firmer ground now -- this was going to be another of those verbal duels.
"Hmm?" I temporized, "I like that mole above your left eyebrow, for one thing."She instinctively rolled her eyes upwards for a moment, trying to see what it was that I laid so much store by. "I guess that's a pretty good reason. But I was thinking you might say you're in love with me, or something like that."
"Is that what you want me to say?" She had gotten serious, I realized. You don't throw around the L-word the way you throw around the F-word. "I don't know, Ravi. I like you a lot, I enjoy your company, and spending the rest of my life with you does seem like a good option, but is that enough?"
For a moment, I was tempted to say that it might have been enough for her if I was a California mappillai who came through the mami network. But no, that wasn't how I wanted her to agree. This was a different game, and there was only one way to win.
"I agree, it isn't. You can't marry someone just because you can't think of a reason not to marry him. Love does enter the picture. Do I love you? I think I'm more than halfway there. If you feel the same way, I think that, given time, this could develop into something more substantial. The question is, do you want to give it the time? Do you want to give this a chance?"
"Maybe, just maybe, it might not work out," I continued. I'd been playing the Devil's Advocate for so long that raising counterpoints along with an argument came naturally. "A couple of months from now, we might decide that there isn't enough to go on, and ditch it. That's a risk, I agree. And the loss in that case can be a bit hard to take, for both of us. But knowing that, do you still want to give this a chance? I do, but I'll understand if you don't." I was about to add the usual disclaimer about how we could still remain friends after this, then decided against it. She was intelligent enough to realize that, and decide eventually if our friendship was worth enduring the discomfort that would inevitably follow if she said no. She took a long moment before answering.
"I think I do too, yes," she smiled.
I think in some way, she looked as relieved as I felt at that moment. I smiled back. This was going to work out. I wonder what one would have called our relationship at that point. We were still friends, but also a little more than that, yet not so much more that we could attach the other label to it.
We did 'fall in love', eventually. Like me, she was also more than halfway there, so it didn't take long. I guess by taking that chance that evening, we indicated to each other, and to ourselves, that we wanted to get there. It took some time to get accustomed to the idea, and to open up to ach other in ways that we hadn't thought of earlier. For a while, we argued a little less, but that got back on track soon enough. Especially after she reminded me of our conversation that day and asked me point blank whether or not I thought she was beautiful. The way I handled her attack that day would've made any matador proud. (Of course, matadors don't tell their bulls that their horns look cool after the contest is over.)
Hema got in the last word, as usual. "It's people like you that make matchmaking look so difficult."
Ah well, if we had known that you were trying to set us up -- then again, if we had known?
posted by Mind Tentative at 10:27 PM
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