Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 4/8

Link to Chapter 3/8

Chapter 4 - Special Theory of Relativity

 

What is the best way to get to know if a person is right for you?

 

This is one of the big pertinent questions in life, isn’t it? It’s right up there with “what is the purpose of life?”, “does free will exist?”, and “what’s for dinner?”

 

Indian moms have answers to all their children’s questions. So when I asked her, she told me,

 

‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Whatever you want. But I have made aloo-gobhi.’

‘Does free will exist?’

‘Of course. As long as you do as I tell you to.’

‘What is the purpose of life?’

‘To get married and have children.’

‘What is the best way to get to know a prospective life partner?’

‘Whoever I tell you to.’

 

My Dad is a simpler man. He had one solution to all of life’s problems.

‘You’ll figure it out yourself if you start waking up at 5 am.’

 

So I posed the question to the master of all useless knowledge – Podrik.

‘There are many ways to get to know a girl,’ he said. ‘The best way is to of course be in a live-in relationship with her for at least four years before figuring things out. Apart from that you could try talking to her. Take her out for dinner and a nice romantic movie. Maybe add a chariot ride. Watch the stars together. Take her on a cruise. Go on a backpacking trip together. Feel her up. Bang her. Bang her friends. Bang her neighbors...’

 

I interrupted his nonsensical train of thought, ‘how does banging her friends and neighbors help in getting to know her?’

 

Podrik looked at me like a man bewildered. ‘Getting to know her? What was your question again?’

 

I didn’t really find an answer. But I got some ideas. Under the Indian arranged marriage system, you get to meet a girl a limited number of times before deciding on whether you want to spend the rest of your lives together. I think Yudhishtir had better odds at happiness after he wagered his (and his brothers’) wife in a game of ancient ludo. So that’s the question I took with me when I met Anjuli.

 

I had some reservations while considering Anjuli.

 

1.      First thing, her name “Anjuli” sounded a lot like the name of my recent ex-girlfriend and I was afraid that someday I might blurt out the wrong name. As it so happens in these things, I might blurt out the wrong name at the most inappropriate time. I might end up doing it in full view of the public like Ross Geller did, which would be bad. Or I might do it in a much intimate setting, which would be considerably worse.

2.      Secondly, on the hot-crazy scale, Anjuli didn’t really have the scope to go crazy. At all. I stayed idealistic and thought that it wouldn’t matter in the long run. I was an idiot back then.

 

3.      Thirdly, Anjuli had just graduated from law school and didn’t exactly know where her job would take her. I thought that we should initiate matrimonial discussions only after she had settled into her job and knew where her career would be going. But as modern Indian families go, we had ignored Anjuli’s career considerations entirely.

 

4.      Lastly, Anjuli had just graduated from law school. And like any sane person, I hoped I’d get to stay away from lawyers for most of my life. Childhood experiences with two sisters and one mother had trained me for illogical arguments with angry uncanny women. Suddenly facing a woman, a wife no less, who is capable of arguing based on logic! I could not imagine such a thing even existing. I clearly wasn’t ready for such a challenge.

 

And so after carefully listening to and ignoring all my arguments, my mom gave me Anjuli’s number. Which I ignored. And this went on for three weeks. Meanwhile, I got calls from my mom, my sister, and jiju to talk to Anjuli. As it turned out, Anjuli’s (A0V7) sister’s (A1V6) husband’s (A2V5) father’s (A3V4) sister’s (A4V3) son’s (A5V2) wife’s (A6V1) brother shared the same name, height, weight, personality, and consciousness as me (A7V0). And so this entire chain of well-meaning off-putting relatives thought it well-within their rights to convince everyone in this chain that I should get married to Anjuli so that they could all meet up for one night to share a plate of malai kofta together.

 

Meanwhile, I knew that Anjuli might be going through similar experiences from her side of the clan. And so I knew this other person existing in the world, going through a shared experience like me, unsure of her personal or professional future like any mid-20 year old, without ever hearing my voice or talking to me in particular. I felt a kind of a gravitational pull that’s only been shared between the Earth and a very famous ancient asteroid. I thought to myself, ‘here's an intelligent young woman, recently graduated, exploring the world, facing family pressures, and not even particularly good-looking. Who would marry her if not for someone benevolent like me?’ I felt bad for her. And so I dialed the number.

 

We spoke for four hours that night. It was a good conversation. We spoke about what it’s like living away from family which entails a mix of freedom and responsibility. We spoke of what we seek in life partners. We spoke of our exes and why we broke up. We understood that we came from very different worlds. I was an engineer working in finance in Mumbai. She was a new lawyer raring to take on the world. But we connected on books we loved and movies we had seen. By the end of the call, it felt like one of those moments when you don't want to hang up. And we had a smile as we slept that night.

 

Or so I thought.

 

The next morning, as I walked from the train station to my office, mom called, scolding me about something I had said to offend Anjuli. I couldn't remember saying anything offensive, but something had clearly gone wrong. Apparently, I had said something to Anjuli which had offended someone and now my jiju (A5V2) was angry at my sister (A6V1) for having me as her brother. I should mention: my sister didn't have much say in being my sister, and I had even less say in being her younger brother. Yet, here we were. To make matters worse, an angry jija and an angry mom is a bad combination. You should never have two women angry together in the family.

 

Upon further investigation, I discovered that during our conversation about getting to know a person, I had suggested that one way to do so was by taking a trip together. Now taking a trip with another human being is a normal leisure activity normal people do. However, Indian families have a very different concept of what “normal” and “trip” means. In the Indian arranged marriage context, suggesting taking a trip with an unmarried girl was the greatest sin I could commit. I could have told her that she will have to leave her job, career, family, sanity, and country if she wanted to marry me and I would have been perfectly justified in asking for that. But to suggest that two people take a trip together… holy cow! But that’s just how things work here. The patriarchy is mightier than the brain.

 

That Tuesday on reaching office the first thing I did was dial Anjuli’s number. Of course my boss was very pleased. It turned out that Anjuli was talking to her sister (A1V6) at night about the conversation she had with me, which her jiju (A2V5) overheard (eavesdropped). That seemed to be a normal thing for him to do. And as Anjuli told her sister that I was a perfectly normal person to talk to, her jiju found me to be an absolute monster and started making preparations to lynch my effigy me for telephonic molestation and virtual sexual harassment. A2V5 complained to his father (A3V4), who complained to my jiju’s mother (A4V3), who complained to my jiju (A5V2), who complained to my mom (UNCREDITED). And that was the world saying “good morning” to me on a Tuesday.

 

So I did what I did every morning at the office - started adding people on a conference call. Going up the chain as far as I was authorized to, and clarifying that I was not a monster.

By evening, the news had traveled across the chain and my jiju (A5V2) called me saying that his mother’s brother’s son (A2V5) had called him apologizing for the debacle. And now I could continue with my conversations with Anjuli. But advised me to record everything so that no such confusions arise in the future.

 

‘Of course. Would you like a video montage of the honeymoon as well?’ I asked.

 

It has been years since that incident. Facebook tells me that Anjuli is happily married now. At least I assume it is a happy marriage. Meanwhile, I just cleared second year of law college.

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 3/8

Link to Chapter 2/8

Friends Without Benefits

 

There are two types of girls in the world. First are those whom we describe as “Riya” or “Ria”. You might know them by the names of “Priya”, “Supriya”, “Aishwariya” etc. These are your typical girls-next door. These were the bubbly friendly girls everyone in school grew up crushing on, but who ended up dating Rocky Bikewala. These girls allowed guys to come close, only to ask them out on a rakhi-date two years later. Then they would rectify their mistakes and tie nuptial threads with the guy scoring the highest CTC soon after placements (sometimes even if a rakhi-relationship had existed already). With their charm and innocent smiles, Riya’s always ensured long lasting memorable relationships with everyone around them. If you’re wondering who they are, just ask them for their email address and the words “angel” or “sweet” or “god” appear anywhere, you know who I’m talking about.

 

Then there are those who we shall call “Rhea”. ‘That’s a stripper name,’ Podrik had once remarked. So obviously we will talk about a Rhea. Or for my more cultured readers – Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone.

 

There are great men and women I admire who sow the seeds of their contributions to society everywhere they go. Rhea was not one of them. Rather, Rhea had the knack of collecting the seeds of society wherever she went. In this story, I might come across as a sexist and a classist, but clearly Rhea was neither of those things. Over the course of our semester abroad, Rhea established “good friendships” with a very white Brit, a very black American, a couple of drunk French guys, a very handsome Iranian, and even a Belgian girl - often not even one-at-a-time. It seemed like she wasn't particularly interested in Indian guys. Being an Indian guy myself, I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t recommend most girls to date someone of my breed. Or guys in general. Come to think of it, I really do not understand gay men and straight women. But that's a discussion for another time.

 

MBA schools are fond of making informal groups based on common themes and likes. We had a group for people who had come from Maharasthra called MAXI; people who loved Old Monk were called OMAXI; and we who thought they were dating Rhea called ourselves LOSERS. Podrik and I were just two of a club of guys who thought they were dating Rhea, but never really received the “Rhea touch” (to be fair Podrik did massage her head once). Sometimes us Losers would get together and talk about the answers to life, the universe, and everything. It was nice having that feeling of camaraderie. Over the years we have kept in touch. One of us is a stand-up comic now. I, lacking the talent for stage-presence, find solace in teasing her through written words from the dark shambles of my room.

 

It’s not to say that Rhea could not maintain a stable relationship. In fact she maintained several. But her most enduring relationship came from before our MBA began. Before coming in for the course Rhea had an IIM-graduated Bank of America-employed Dubai-based long-term Boyfriend. As per Rhea, it wasn’t cheating till they weren’t on the same continent. By the end of the course, she said that it wasn’t cheating till they weren’t on the same floor. I must say, I do see the logic and the logistics in her arguments.

 

Though neither Podrik nor I were dating Rhea per say, we were a part of her dating life… in a way. In the age of being constantly connected regardless of national boundaries or time zones, someone had to answer for Rhea’s sudden disappearances to Boyfriend. Moreover, Boyfriend needed to know Rhea’s closest male-friends personally, and how threatening they were to his relationship. That’s when Rhea presented the likes of us. To Boyfriend, we were Rhea’s closest friends. And of course he knew Rhea would not be wasting her time or energies on the likes of us. Little did he know, we were just the distraction.

 

There is no easy way to get over infatuation. Some say it takes half the time you harbored feelings for them. Some say it takes one week for every month you were together. Some say it takes 10,000 drinks, however long that takes. I think it involves a series of steps - from her bedroom to the door. For Podrik, it was a series of stupid decisions. This included the Incident of the Bridge, the Night of Red Bull, and the head massage which was the only time he made actual physical contact. But the incident that stays with us till date is the Weekend of the Trademark.

 

We hadn’t seen Pod in three days. I thought he had probably overdosed and died; which I admit would have been a better sequence of events. After three days of conspicuous absence, I found him beaming with pride at my doorstep. And I just knew something had gone very horribly wrong.

 

‘Dude! Guess what?,’ Podrik was estatic.

‘Does it involve Rhea?’ I asked.

‘Yes!’ Podrik said loudly, but suddenly less sure of himself.

‘Did you bang her? For three days? I didn’t know you had it in you.’

 

He didn’t. Podrik was ecstatic on what he had done and the words that came out of him were nothing short of a poem:

 

‘Once upon a time, in lands such afar

I was summoned by a maiden, my morning star

Her name Rhea, her dreams so grand

She needed help, a business to brand

 

With papers and forms, she was in distress

Her company’s name, she couldn’t impress

To the rescue came I, to relieve her pain

To trademark her name, her business to gain

 

but she demanded more, she wanted it all,

so deeper I delved, and answered the call

For three days and three nights, I toiled and drilled

Over bureaucratic matters, of course I was skilled

 

While I pounded away, she had her fun,

Boinking a Frenchman, the deed was done

In the embrace of inebriety, they did mate

Alexander his name, he must’ve been great!’

 

As Podrik shared his tale of triumph’s flight

I stood up, my pillow in sight

With all my strength, I tried to smother

But alas he survived, to the delight of his mother

 

But this is friends, true and bold

In life’s adventures, they uphold

They don’t deter, from foolish ways

Instead they support in darker days

 

With shoulders strong, we lend a hand

Or offer rum, to help you stand

And if the foolishness goes much too awry

We will bury you alive, with a heavy sigh

 

So I took dear Podrik, to his delight

To his favorite strip club, one wild night

The tales of that eve, a story to tell

But for now that tale, I’ll safely quell

 

With Rhea left behind, in the past

I found my love, my joy at last

In love arms at last, I fould solace rare

Her name was Jennifer, a vision fair

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 2/8

Link to Chapter 1/8

Happily Ever After
 
Rhonda Byrne in her bestselling book “The Secret” says that if you focus your thoughts on certain things, they will magically appear in your life. The book has been controversial and has received both encouraging and harsh reviews. It has sold 30 million copies worldwide and has been translated into 50 languages. I have read it and use the book as one of my primary arguments against women having opinions.
 
But my Mom does not agree with me. Not that she has read the book. But she is relentless in directing all her energy in finding a suitable bride for me. In all fairness, all she wants is to find a suitable daughter-in-law for herself. I am just a medium to go about the task. I guess that’s the primary reason for birthing boys in this country. Because mothers don’t want sons. They want dauthers-in-law. Sons are just an unpleasant part of the process. If she could have her way, she would eliminate me from the equation altogether. But being the loving Mom that she is, she doesn’t even want a “daughter-in-law”. She just wants the daughter she never had (this surely irks my sisters a bit). And if Mom desires something with all her heart, then all of society (mama’s and mausi’s) joins her in that godforsaken endeavor. After all, who the hell likes retirement?
 
Now my Mom has a friend and a sister, both named “Usha”. It is a common Indian name. In fact we can all be sure that while growing up, all our fathers had a crush on at least one “Usha”. It’s very similarly to how we all had a crush on a “Pooja” and all our children have crushes on a “Kiara”. That’s how common the name is. So it wasn’t very surprising when both their names turned out to be “Usha Goyal”. And I wasn’t surprised when Mom told me that both their husbands are named “Suresh”. Nor was I surprised when Mom said that they both have a daughter named “Ritu” who was the eldest child of three, of whom the youngest one being the only son. This two-elder-daughters then single-son structure was common in many Indian families largely driven by the motivation to keep having children until you get a son. We all know guys who have a ridiculous number of siblings, who are the youngest and the only male child of the lot. Somehow, this has been beneficial for India’s sex ratios and for feminists in general. But we digress. This was not about the improvement in India’s sex-ratios. This was about Ritu Goyal. So I was not surprised when Mom sent me her bio-data.
 
A bio-data is a 1-2 page document circulated in marwadi families which is essentially a matrimonial resume. And like most other job applications in this country, it is your connections that get you the interview and not your qualifications. A bio-data gives you the name, age, height, weight, education, astrological chart, and complexion of the prospective bride and groom. It also mentions the entire list of family members and their professions for each side to base their decisions on. Apparently the trifecta of coincidences between the names of Ritu Goyal and her parents with my mausi’s family was all my Mom needed to know about Ritu Goyal to qualify her as a suitable match for me. I must admit most arranged marriages are set-up for far less.
 
I went over the bio-data and immediately searched the girl on Facebook. The first thing I noticed was the lack of information on Facebook. It was not the lack of information from a person who does not post frequently. It was lack of information which reeked of hiding of evidence. As a general safety precaution, a lot of girls engage in what is called the “cleansing of social media” when they turn of marriageable age. That means deleting any pictures with clothes are shorter than the patriarchal outlook, deleting any pictures where the girl might be seen as drinking or with boys or (god forbid) fat! Her Facebook profile shined like a new tire that was yet to hit the road. I also noticed that this girl had completed her engineering two years ago and her MBA two months ago. My inner Sherlock started ticking. I took another look at those cheeks. She was cute. There was no way she graduated single from a college famous for having skewed sex-ratios. And her bio-data had been issued. Means she had a break-up soon after graduation. Two months, I guessed. So she would still be in mourning for… ten more months, I guessed. After that the loneliness of the big city would’ve started to creep in on her. Like the seasonal mangoes, she would be ripe to be plucked.
 
I told my mom, ‘she had a break-up two months ago and she’s in mourning. If you call her mom she’ll tell you that the girl has recently graduated and wants to work for a year before getting married.’
 
My Mom said I was being a false prophet and I should not generalize women like this. When my Mom called my prospective mother-in-law Usha Goyal, this is what she heard, ‘Didi I know we need to get her married right? But you know kids these days. She just graduated and says she wants to focus on her career right now and wants to work for a year before getting married.’
 
I may not be the brightest star in the sky, but when it came to predicting break-ups of engineer-MBA girls, I had more experience than the entire marwadi marriage-broking community put together. I wonder if this is a superpower or just sad.
 
I met Podrik a few weeks later and told him the story. He also said that I was being crazy and I should not generalize women like this. Then I showed him Ritu Goyal’s picture from 3 years ago.
 
‘Yes. I see it now. She is in mourning,’ he said.
 
Despite the 100% graduation rate, the Indian education system does not produce as many good engineers as it admits. But the engineering graduates such as myself do understand the economics of dating and relationships. If you put 100 girls between 1,000 boys between the very hormonal ages of 18-22, every guy will graduate with a strong understanding of rejection and every girl will graduate either with one (or several) boyfriend or with one (or several) heartbreaks. This was neither horniness nor human psychology. Just simple statistics.
 
And so when we engineers saw a recent MBA’s bio-data, all we needed to do was adjust the math a little based on her good-looks and the proportion of girls in an MBA classroom (1:3 for finance and marketing; 3:2 for HR, those lucky bastards). And we would figure out when a girl had her last break-up simply by looking at her picture. You could say that the formula was absurd. But it’s still more usable than the Black-Scholes model.
 
And so I was given Ritu Goyal’s number. And she was given mine. And I figured out that her office was next to mine. We might have had a sandwich together at the local eatery at some point over the last week without noticing each other. But she never called me. And I never called her. And we lived happily ever after.
 
Or so I thought… until I met Shaera.

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 1/8

Chapter 0/8 available here

Hot Crazy Scale!

 

Ping! Ping! Ping!

 

Three consecutive pings resonated from my phone. There was only one person in the world who loved me enough to send 3 messages in a row. Mom – a woman with a mission. Her mission? Finding Nimmo. Because after the wedding of my elder sisters that’s the only thing left on her bucket list. Of course I know that she’ll find new goals soon. Slimy, loud, hungry, pooping goals. But right now that’s not her focus. Right now it’s to get her boy hitched so that like our dear Prime Minister, she can find her own Nehru to blame. Though if you really think about it, the argument of ’60 saal tumne is desh ko chalaya’ does not really work in her favor.

 

G-90-Ag.S.pdf

SA 9711322685

When u free call me

 

Curiosity piqued, I opened the document. For the purposes of this story I’m going to call her Sara Agarwal. If that reminds you of Sara Ali Khan, so be it. The story does move in that direction after a certain point.

 

Sara was an electronics engineer from NIT Durgapur and an MBA from IIM Calcutta, presently working with Aditya Birla’s life insurance division in Mumbai. But what really caught my attention was not her degrees but her dad’s business. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those guys who aspire to be “ghar jamai’s”. Tempted to be – yes. I would like to look for my own sugar mommy. But unfortunately I don’t. The thing was, I noticed that her dad had a biscuit manufacturing business – in Kharagpur.

 

Kharagpur… if only I could bathe once more

in thy damped old washrooms with hard cement water

Kharagpur… thou a 2,100 acre campus full of jungles

because a campus in Calcutta would be expensive

Kharagpur… thee land of bhajans

and home of counter-terrorists

 

If you’re wondering why the mention of a town 120 km from Calcutta can make me poetgasm, is because I spent four undergraduate years in that urban village. With that came nostalgia which only comes when you hear about your alma mater after 6 years. It was like the mother ship calling me home.

 

So I got interested. I delved into her profile, filled mostly with generic information about her family, which I couldn't care less about—and I hoped she felt the same way. Next came the pictures. The girl, to put it mildly, had a little extra to love. I’m not saying she was plump (pardon my French), but if she were standing next to a plum, you’d have some difficulty telling them apart. I know you shouldn’t judge someone on the basis of their size and shape, especially when you’re looking to spend the next 60 years together. Besides, I was no Chris Hemsworth either. Chris Pratt, maybe yes.

 

So I called my mom. Told her this looks good. Which is when my mom revealed the sponsors of this rishta. Dear old Krishna mama. Now Krishna mama is a really sweet person and growing up as his nephew was entertaining. But that man has a knack for getting people married. Which is the weird hobby to have. Specially since he gets no commissions in the dowry. But that’s just his vibe. He’s been at it since as long as anyone can remember. He was the one who hooked my mom and dad up. And let’s be honest, nothing good came out of that union.

 

But back to Krishna mama. I think he just wants to complete his century, if it’s already not done. Usually I refuse to meet anyone referred by him. Any person who wants to get people married just for his personal records cannot be trusted. But this time my mom ensured that I confirmed my interest before telling me the origin of this profile. That should’ve been my red flag. But I was too taken aback by her big degrees and bigger cheeks. Besides, she was from Kharagpur!

 

So I messaged her if she’d like to meet up over the weekend. She told me she was in Bangalore this weekend. And the weekend after that.

 

[We shall stop in the middle of the story for an announcement in public interest.

 

GIRLS, when a guy asks you out and you want to meet him but can’t, SUGGEST A DIFFERENT FUCKING DAY! Don’t wait for him to ask you for three different times before he gives up.

 

BOYS, when you ask out a girl and she says she’s busy but does not suggest an alternative, let that one GO. Do not pursue. I repeat. Do not pursue.]

 

So I talked to her for a few minutes on chat and figured she’s not interested. Talking to her I also figured that she was either somewhat funny or very racist, I couldn’t tell by her tone. But anyway, this was not going to move ahead so we kept the phone; implicitly knowing we would never hear from each other again. My mom, in the most professional manner called me up the next day for a status update. I told her the girl did not seem interested. Mom heard me out and kept the phone. 8 minutes later I had a message from Sara.

 

‘Next Wednesday or Thursday?’

 

My mom had pulled some strings. Tu che. I checked my calendar. Of course it was empty. Then I checked my boss’ calendar. He was out of town on Wednesday.

 

‘Dinner on Wednesday?’ I replied.

 

And so we decided to meet for dinner on Wednesday. She had a meeting close to my office so she said she would come to Vile Parle. I suggested Tea Villa Café and so it was set. Meanwhile we talked a bit over chat. I figured that this girl likes to read and has good taste in food. Besides, she was from Kharagpur!

 

On the day I admit I was slightly nervous. Since my boss was not in office, I took a full hour in stalking the shit out of this girl. Even went through the comments of her pictures and eventually, comments section of her friends’ pictures. Contacted mutual friends who could give me some information. And stalked her dad’s business because I had to look like I was doing something “official” at the office. For once, this was a prospect I was actually looking forward to. When the time came, she said was going to be late and asked me to order while I waited. She was ‘famished’ she said.

 

After 20 minutes I got a call from her. As I picked it up a hot girl saw me through the café glass door and came in. Instinct said it was her. Memories of her pictures said it wasn’t. This girl was not plump. Far from it. She had a warm smile and sparkling eyes. She had a confident aura about her, and her presence seemed to light up the place. I was so taken aback that I had to ask her if she’s Sara. The Hot-Crazy scale flashed in front of my eyes. I re-evaluated our entire conversation in my head. I found myself justifying her racism thinking, ‘a girl this hot is allowed to be that racist.’

 

And so we got to talking. After I got over how hot she was, which took a while, I was able to talk to her like a normal person. She was a marketing major from IIM Calcutta. They have this theory of under-selling and over-delivering in marketing. I think she pulled it off with me. It was like showing me the menu for fresh-lime sodas and then serving me with a shot of tequila. This was the exact opposite of what my company does. We over-sell our acumen to the client and then I am sent to manage their money. ME, the guy who lost 83% last quarter the stock market (thank you Spicejet!), was asked to make our clients’ money fly.

 

It took me half-an-hour and half-a-plate of cheesy nachos to acclimatize to the changed conditions in my head. Once I did, I realized this was a fun person. We agreed on the right points. And when we disagreed, I thought ‘opposites attract’ but that might just be parts of me that aren’t in my head. As Podrik would say, ‘pyaar aadmi ko sootiya bana deta hai.’ But I had a good time talking to her. There were some good moments along the way which reinstated my belief that I could be a full-time stand-up comedian. In Indore. She seemed positive and said she’d like to meet me over the weekend. As I exited the café, violinists from Mohabbatein came out with me. After three girls, my family had finally found the one. She was educated, intelligent, articulate, and hot. Besides, she was from Kharagpur!

 

So I left her a message before going to bed.

 

[You deleted this message]

Hey. Had a good time today. Lemme know if you wanna meet up again sometime.

Good night

 

And I woke up to this.

 

Hey

Same here

Sure let’s plan something next week

Good night

 

So I was waking up to her now. Nice. I messaged her the next day. And the day after that, when I asked her, ‘How’s your day coming along?’

 

Silence. There’s only one thing that scares a man more than a woman’s words. Her silence. It’s like the sound of the engine of a plane. You aren’t exactly comfortable with the noise but you’re glad it’s there. And when that happens on text, you have to live with it.

 

For two days lady the miraculous lady Jesus stayed silent while the pilgrims lay in agony. She came online. Went off. Changed her status message. It was almost as if she was teasing me. Daring me. Now I’m no stranger to ghosting. I’ve done my engineering and MBA. Needless to say, I’ve been on both sides of the ghosting table. Usually on the receiving end because ghosting is a woman’s sword and a man’s shield. So this was another ghosting. But it’d been a while for me and my parts were rusty. She was testing my patience before I messaged her in frustration.

 

Can you at least be civil enough to say that you are not taking this forward instead of abruptly ghosting out on me? This is why I don’t like arranged marriages. And this is why I don’t like humans in general. Humans disappoint. Do you know I’ve been obsessively thinking of you for the last two days? You’re the first thought I have in the morning. The last before I go to bed. I check my phone like a madman to see if you’ve replied. I can’t concentrate on work. I can’t focus in the gym. I can’t pay attention to my Tinder date sitting in front of me right now. I’m just checking my messages for you!

 

Of course I didn’t press the “send” button to this. So I wrote, ‘Hey!’

 

She takes a full 24 hours. No, she takes 25 hours for extra measure.

 

‘Hey’ she replies.

 

Note, the exclamation mark from my message is missing in hers. These are the subtleties on texting in the 21^st century that you need to keep mind of. The missing vertical line with the dot at its end told me that she’d drawn the line and put the dot in our rishta. So I reply,

 

Hey!

Busy days?

 

It’s been another two days. And somehow I hear only one voice in my head.