"I had been meaning to ask you to do something. Please, next time you decide to post something on the blog, write some fiction. Something ideal, like stuff is meant to be. Like the way it should be but never is. It is okay if there is a sting in the tail. For your readers would want that. I want to read something like that. I f you oblige me this one time, I shall be greatly honored."
You tell me to write about something ideal, the perfect way things are meant to be. I wracked my brains and all I drew was a blank. It sounded something like this:
He was nothing if not arrogant. She couldn’t walk without a frown. And with a black cloud of anger hovering above her, he would have been wise to stay out of her way. But when you’re 21 and you don’t have anything particular to do, wisdom is certainly not what’s on your mind.
He suppressed a smirk as she walked in front of him in short angry steps, her bag clutched tightly under one arm. Her hair was tied in a fierce little pony tail and way too many clips tamed the curls that could have (should have?) crowned her face. He followed at a leisurely pace behind her, imagining the amount of energy she was needlessly expending by the way she hurried along. He, on the other hand, took one long half-hearted stride for three of hers.
He reached the bus stop. The bus screeched to a halt - a few paces away. Before he could blink, it was moving again. Three hops and a little running and he found himself aboard, just about hanging onto the door, a foot still dangling outside. The bus was so packed that breathing was a chore. The conductor was incessantly hitting the window with a coin, the ugly noise rising above the general humdrum of the people. As he fished out some change for the ticket, he sensed a commotion somewhere ahead.
A voice was talking, quite calmly, though if you listened closely, the undertones of disgust were ill-disguised. He listened and the sheer absurdity of what was being said made him bend forward to see who it was. He couldn’t help smiling when he saw it was the same Martian who had been furiously pacing before him, minutes ago. He saw her move towards him, shoving at people as she tried to reach the conductor. She had to stand on her toes to reach a handle to hold onto as the bus swerved in its characteristic reckless manner. She stretched out to hand over the money for a ticket, breathing in short exasperated puffs. As the bus stopped for the umpteenth time, another sea of people surged through its airless confines.
He was involuntarily pushed towards her, pressed against her contours, even as he tried to hold onto whatever space he had. In her hair there were five clips. Three black, two green. Her bag was falling off her shoulder while her dupatta draped itself over his hand. Suddenly he felt protective of her. A weird urge to shield this little warrior against the humanity that was swirling around them came over him. To cocoon her from whatever she needed cocooning from. As he tried to deconstruct this extremely unsettling line of thought, she turned around fuming. Icily, she looked straight at him and then said to the conductor, “This boy is trying to be funny with me. Could you please tell him to move away?” Under her breathe she added, “God knows where such people come from. Frustrated ass”.
He couldn’t believe he had felt any kind of anything for this witch of a girl. What a self-obsessed false accusation! What a nasty little pompous thing. Couldn’t she see the people in the bus? What a snotty little twerp. Telling tales to the conductor for godsake? He knew if he said anything he’d be pushed off the bus. Women empowerment was way off the line when it came to buses. He knew not saying anything would not go down too well with his ego. So he gave her his famous glare, looked at her like she was an insignificant ant, which he really thought she was and with a lot of effort, plugged on his earphones in an attempt to ignore her.
After getting her ticket she moved towards the front of the bus, mowing down a lot of people in the process. When she finally got off, he breathed in and out, scowling at her back as she resumed her ridiculous walk to a place he hoped was prepared for the idiocy she carried like an aura.
That was their first meeting. I’d call it ideal. By Bollywood standards at least.
He suppressed a smirk as she walked in front of him in short angry steps, her bag clutched tightly under one arm. Her hair was tied in a fierce little pony tail and way too many clips tamed the curls that could have (should have?) crowned her face. He followed at a leisurely pace behind her, imagining the amount of energy she was needlessly expending by the way she hurried along. He, on the other hand, took one long half-hearted stride for three of hers.
He reached the bus stop. The bus screeched to a halt - a few paces away. Before he could blink, it was moving again. Three hops and a little running and he found himself aboard, just about hanging onto the door, a foot still dangling outside. The bus was so packed that breathing was a chore. The conductor was incessantly hitting the window with a coin, the ugly noise rising above the general humdrum of the people. As he fished out some change for the ticket, he sensed a commotion somewhere ahead.
A voice was talking, quite calmly, though if you listened closely, the undertones of disgust were ill-disguised. He listened and the sheer absurdity of what was being said made him bend forward to see who it was. He couldn’t help smiling when he saw it was the same Martian who had been furiously pacing before him, minutes ago. He saw her move towards him, shoving at people as she tried to reach the conductor. She had to stand on her toes to reach a handle to hold onto as the bus swerved in its characteristic reckless manner. She stretched out to hand over the money for a ticket, breathing in short exasperated puffs. As the bus stopped for the umpteenth time, another sea of people surged through its airless confines.
He was involuntarily pushed towards her, pressed against her contours, even as he tried to hold onto whatever space he had. In her hair there were five clips. Three black, two green. Her bag was falling off her shoulder while her dupatta draped itself over his hand. Suddenly he felt protective of her. A weird urge to shield this little warrior against the humanity that was swirling around them came over him. To cocoon her from whatever she needed cocooning from. As he tried to deconstruct this extremely unsettling line of thought, she turned around fuming. Icily, she looked straight at him and then said to the conductor, “This boy is trying to be funny with me. Could you please tell him to move away?” Under her breathe she added, “God knows where such people come from. Frustrated ass”.
He couldn’t believe he had felt any kind of anything for this witch of a girl. What a self-obsessed false accusation! What a nasty little pompous thing. Couldn’t she see the people in the bus? What a snotty little twerp. Telling tales to the conductor for godsake? He knew if he said anything he’d be pushed off the bus. Women empowerment was way off the line when it came to buses. He knew not saying anything would not go down too well with his ego. So he gave her his famous glare, looked at her like she was an insignificant ant, which he really thought she was and with a lot of effort, plugged on his earphones in an attempt to ignore her.
After getting her ticket she moved towards the front of the bus, mowing down a lot of people in the process. When she finally got off, he breathed in and out, scowling at her back as she resumed her ridiculous walk to a place he hoped was prepared for the idiocy she carried like an aura.
That was their first meeting. I’d call it ideal. By Bollywood standards at least.
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