17 Year Old Self

Things were simple. It took one or two meetings or mere running ins with certain someone before his heart refused to follow any further instructions from his brain. All logic was out of the window. There was no master plan or pretense. There was only one thing he could do – react and follow his heart.

Tell her he really liked her. Perhaps, he wasn’t that polished, and all he managed to say was – “I really have a big crush on you.”

It didn’t in that moment, but in hindsight it certainly is comparable to a dog chasing a speeding car. Even if the dog caught up with the car at the next traffic light, what was his move aside from barking a couple times? 

Perhaps locking eyes with the driver for a split second ?

(Overlook this 30 year Old’s cynicism.)

But it was naïve ! It was raw and it was spontaneous.

That 17 year old was excited. Ready to dive headlong. He got hurt more than he got rewarded, but was he anxious ? Never!

He was inconsolable and crushed, but it only until he turned the corner.  Only until the next girl made him feel the butterflies in his stomach, when he couldn’t help but turn around, when his throat dried up as he approached to talk to her, when all her friends appeared as world’s worst demon only put on earth to stop him from talking to her. Only until then.

He, then, for the most part deeply and incessantly fell for her.

Afraid her mother may pick up the phone again, he didn’t try calling her more than once. He did want to share with her, how suddenly his days were brighter and people were nicer, but he had to hold on to all of it until they met next. Any attention he could offer or seek had to just wait.

He loved courageously, even sometimes knowing fully well that he was on a one way street.

Courage is part belief and part stupidity.

Somewhere along the road, he grew older and technology grew smarter. There are cell phones, text messages, social media and other things now. 

He hasn’t called her yet, their brief text messages have tried to ferry their emotions across this busy, loud world that is filled with distractions. 

Under the pretense of patience, he has procrastinated.

And what took one or two meetings or mere running ins then, may have taken more this time but I’m afraid it has happened again. Something somewhere has changed and there is utter anarchy. Logic, again, is out of the window. His rational, deductive brain is no longer in-charge.

He is just looking for that naïve, stupid courage. 

If he catches up with the car, it isn’t just about locking eyes, but about getting in the car and driving along for as long as roads will take them. 

Neo

First to Thirty First

Today is my parent’s thirty first wedding anniversary. In the past eight years, I have either been out of town or out of country on their anniversary day. And it is only in the past eight years that I have developed a sense for what anniversaries mean. 

Unfortunately, I have never been there on the Day to be able to spend it with them. So I call them.

I called on the landline hoping to get hold of both of them,

“Hi, happy anniversary dad. How does it feel ?”

“Hello, hello, good. It feels ok,” he acknowledged.

I said, “31 years hannn”

“Yeah, thirty years is a long time. We continue to understand and accommodate one another. She does more accommodating and understanding than me. It is great,” he continued, “She got you some t-shirts. She is going to ship them. And she gifted me pants. Good ones.”

I admit, “Thirty years is really a long time. That is great.” Jogging my memory for the longest 

relationship I have been in my adulthood.

I ask, “Is mom there? Can I talk to her?”

He replies, “She is in the other flat. Call her on her cell phone.”

We recently rented a unit across the hallway to have more space. Mom was there, helping my grandma out. I ask, “Which cell phone – her work or personal ? or does she have your cell phone ?”

Yes, between two of them they have four phones – three cell phones and a landline.

“Try any, they should all be on the desk.”

I dial and after two beeps, mom picks up.

“Thank you,” she says.

“So how was it ? How do you feel?”

She tells me, “Your dad gave me thousand rupees as a present for anniversary and I got him track-pants.”

And a few things run through my mind, Thirty one years, pragmatic nature, zero expectations, and content.

I enquire, "How was first anniversary, do you remember ?"

She answers, “Does he ever remember anything? My sister had to remind him that it was our first anniversary. I was pregnant with you and celebrated our first anniversary at your grandpa’s, far away from Bombay. Your dad couldn’t make it to grandpa's.”

She adds on , “Since I was pregnant with you, I only had ice-cream to celebrate.” And breaks into a laughter.

I thank her and chuckle at her sense of humor.

“Thirty years is a long time. I am too busy with your dad and grandma. I would have loved to visit you otherwise. How is the weather?”

And she goes on. I don't quite get what she is saying, until I snapped out of the trance, wipe an indecisive tear off the corner of my eye and I said what one says when they don’t know what was being said…”Hmmmm….ahannn....Right”

I ask, “Did he (younger brother) call?”

She replies, “Yeah he did just after midnight. He arranged for a bouquet. We got this nice bouquet in the morning.”

I say, “Wow, he has grown up. Matured.”

“I feel like am a bad son. Maybe I am.” I don’t say.

“I have to go. But please email me what all you need because I am getting ready to ship you things on Monday. Take some time over the weekend and send me the list. Bye,” Mom hands up. 

Happy Anniversary aai-ba.

Neo

Paul

“I am sorry that we had to meet under these circumstances. Visit to a body shop is never pleasant,” said Paul.

“I don’t think we would have met otherwise or under any other circumstances,” he doesn't say.

He punched the door opener and after the initial crackling of chain and levers, the giant door to his body shop began to retract.

She unbuttoned her overcoat, put her bug-eyed sunglasses on and got into her Honda. With the turn of the key, her car came to life and she drove away and disappeared into the traffic.  

Paul punched the button and door started to shut as he watched her disappear. As he had watched most of his customers leave. All of them secretly hoping and praying that they never had to return to Paul’s shop. And Paul wished the best for them.

He had been doing this 40 years and he had met all kinds of people. He had helped mend 1970’s Ford Mustang Mach 1, never to see the customer again. He had fixed an ordinary Honda for a not-so-well to do family that didn’t carry any insurance. He had heard plenty of stories about – just drove off the dealer’s showroom and …. , stories about – I was just pulling out of my drive way and stories about – I was southbound on I-94 and…

Customers often left out the details about what ensued a few minutes before the crash or often lied about it. More often, customer left out details about personal injury and attachment to the vehicle.  Paul didn’t mind that but sometimes wondered why.

Paul fixed cars and fixed them very well. Perhaps, he had the best gig in town. For that he charged an appropriate price as well. He didn’t expect anything more but every now and then, a cab driver turns back to see the passenger he just dropped, a first responder makes the mistake of checking on the patient, and a flight purser thinks about the courteous passenger in 1B on JFK to LAX, Paul did too.

“I fix their cars. Make them so - like nothing ever happened. Remove all traces of the incident, so that they are never reminded of that terrible moment in time when they met with the accident.  I do get my compensation and curt a thank you but rarely a smile (that an artist would for his painting or sculpture).” 

In That Alley

My fantasy lives from when I cut into that alley until I pick you up or drop you off.

In my mind, you have planted a kiss on my lips a couple of times in that tight alley. In my mind, the goodbye has lingered longer; in my mind, I have picked you up there plenty of times.

Piles of powder snow, carefully tucked onto the shoulder of the road. Tiny dunes of that snow spilling over the pavement. Cars parked on both the sides, making it impossible to pull over anywhere on that street. Somehow, all the traffic in town wants to pass through this tiny 50 yard long alley, short end of which is where your apartment is.

In my mind, I have always found a spot to put my car into park and lean towards you. In reality, you may have had one of your legs out of the door before I even come to a complete halt. Your seatbelt is off long before I cut into the alley.

In one such tight alley in my mind, my naïve, young, silly self is fighting the oncoming traffic of my worldview and mildly pessimistic self. “Have you seen how she smiles at me” is met with, “she was out of the car even before you could tilt to see her leave.” … “look it has been three hours since I met her. Time just flew by..” is countered with “She split the check and gave you that good ol ‘see you soon.’ Wake up Man.” “No, I think there is something here. It is just taking time” is answered by a silence and then the thud of the door closing after her.

She never turns. I know this because I don’t want to miss out if she does.

In one such tight alley, I have held your hand and meandered.

So if one gorgeous evening, you decide to turn around, please do.

I still will be in that tight alley.  Fighting.  Hoping.

Neo

He Knew

“Are you ok ? Was that the first time you saw them together?”

“Yes”

“I walked in with them. I would have texted you but I saw that you had already started the work out”

“Oh Well”

“Why did you guys keep quiet? She happily introduced him to me.”

            “ “

Why did he? Why was he afraid, was it what people may think? Was it the fear that if they didn’t work out what then? Was he waiting for it to go more steady …

Was it the first time he had let it happen

No.

That last text message, sent him 12 years back. Back when he met his first ever girl-friend. He was 17 and she was 18. A little bolder, smarter, outspoken than him and gorgeous like no other 18 year old.

Relationship ran its course, he had his heart broken two and half years later.

Never even once he spoke the word “meet xxxx, my girlfriend” All of his friends had met her and he figured what is there to say, they will figure it out.

Sure they did. But did he ?

Fast forward a few years forward, he met this girl who played ‘plastic jesus’ by jack Johnson in room lit with candles in heart of the city of Berlin. He knew what he needed to know. A year later, when he was parting ways at the airport, unbeknownst he had gone this whole year without even once saying out loud – “Hey Sebastian, meet xxx, my girlfriend.”

And names and stories flashed in front of him as he rolled the dial on years passed - forward. Same stories with different time stamps yet similar endings. Sad.

And when his mind steadied on the present and he returned to his tungsten lit living room, there was only one face, one name in front of him. Someone he met a few weeks ago. These weeks have felt like months, perhaps, years to him. And he picked up the phone and almost rung her up but then stopped and looked at the watch and kept the phone aside.

That night as he slipped into bed, and pulled the blanket over, he knew, he had to get out of his own way of finding happiness.

He had to stop romanticizing hurt and pain post-facto. Rather, he had to embrace the likelihood of denial and happily ever-after, alike.

He knew, what he needed to do, what he needed to say.

Neo

Prom Queen '71

“Oh! So you are his elder son. Sit. Have a seat first..” she said

She is Shashi. Introduction followed immediately. And as I settled down in my chair, “Oh! So your are that girl. I mean lady” I said to myself in my mind. Trying to smother the grin on my face.

You could notice her presence. She wore Saree. And in a way that I know my mom wears it – graceful and classy. She looked straight into your eyes and wore a hearty smile.

My dad has had the best set of friends and still does from his undergrad. The kind of friends you hear about in the stories told at the bar, or see in movies, but more importantly friends you wish you had. Friends that have been together for over four decades. Friends that have celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, new years and have now mourned passing of members of friend circle. Friends,  I call – Kakas – uncles. At times I feel closer to them then my actual uncles. After all, uncles that let you have some beer with them while you were in eighth grade tend to be close to your heart.

I had just flown in a day before from the US and I had heard that it was 100 year celebration of my dad’s college and all these uncles were going to be there. Class of ’71 one more time. Not having seen my favorite uncles, it was a no brainer I was going to try to crash the alumni party. It turned out easier than I thought.

Now I did take the seat as she asked me to. And I don’t know where it came from but I heard myself saying something to this effect – “Oh I had heard stories about how beautiful you used look. I see they were true and you still look so pretty.” Now I know this had something to do with a few stories I may have heard from dad and rest I think I filled in after my own undergrad experience. I mean how different could it have been in 60’s and 70’s.

I thought I received ‘apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ look from her and then her words contradicted – “ Like father like son. Always flattering.”

Yes, I am a proud son of my father. I smiled.

You should know, earlier that day my father was hospitalized. He was stable by the time I made it to this party. I spent an hour or so there, all of that time talking about my dad and hearing from his friends about him. I really don’t have words to describe how it felt. I felt I was walking a walk of his life, living this moment on his behalf because he couldn’t be here. Paying compliments because I think he would have if he was here.

And as I was getting ready to leave, in the most tongue-in-cheek manner I asked her, “So what else should I know about my dad.” She smiled, leaned in and said “He is a wonderful man. Nothing more and nothing less. You should know that.” 

Neo

Stay

Until very recently I couldn’t understand how people lingered in their cars a little longer once they were parked. Why would they stay there any longer than they absolutely had to. I just couldn’t fathom it. I just thought it might be an American thing… you know free refills, big cars, fast food that sort of a thing.

Until this morning.

I drove in the dead of the morning to work. I was listening to this true story on podcast. And as I cut the last corner to pull into the parking lot, for my car stereo to echo the applause and my tear glands to let go, was the same opportunistic moment, the moment as I just stopped before ramming my car into the concrete.

And I stayed. Lights on, heater running, seat belt off, hand on my mouth and other on the hand rest, toggling podcast streaming. I am not sure how long I kept staring into infinity. Cars pulled up on either side and the old lady on my left, interrupted my staring contest with her warm, elderly smile. I managed a polite smile as well. And then took a deep breath and couldn’t help but chuckle at myself – you silly bugger.

And in that moment I understood, the importance of staying a while longer.

It is no different than, when a kid wakes up from the dream and wants to close his eyes for a moment longer so he could finish building his castle, it is when your father pulls up outside of the school and you want to bury your face in the backseat and refuse to leave, when a sales guy takes that deep breath, goes over his pitch before stepping out of the car, when you wait a little longer to open your cab door as you are at the departure gate, when you hug someone and as they are drawing back you feel them slip through your embrace, when you want him or her or something to go on a little longer.

So the next time, Stay! Stay a while longer, it is ok. 

Neo