It was a fine Sunday morning in February of 2009. After much prodding and coaxing, I had finally given in to my pertinacious mother’s pleas, urging me to reach out to you. This, just weeks before my 25th birthday, did not appeal to me one bit but I could think of no other way to get Ma off my back. Bear in mind that at that age my imagination drew in abundance from fantastical pairs like Scarlett and Rhett, Raj and Simran, Oliver and Jenny and their tempestuous love stories. In contrast, being set up by one’s parents was perhaps the most insipid, unadventurous way to meet someone. With these thoughts playing havoc in my head, I made my way rather sulkily to my neighbourhood’s sorry excuse for a cyber café. From its dingy confines I typed away whatever came to mind on a tattered keyboard, utterly oblivious to the fact that this was going to be the first bridge connecting the two of us. In true Casablanca style ‘This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship’.
Pat came the response the very next day. It was a clean and respectful letter with a distinct honest ring to it. A total antithesis to what I had expected from someone who was about to get a PhD from Stanford! Soon enough, a flurry of e-mails between us started occupying most of my Inbox space. In bits and bytes I sent snippets of me to you and you returned glimpses of yourself to me. With some help from the few pictures you had up on Facebook, I stitched these pieces together and visualized what you might be like in person. Ours was a sepia toned story in a modern world.
We had so much to say to each other in those initial letters. Our mails overflowed with details of books read, movies watched and food sampled. From the word go, it was clear that I was the chatty one who wrote lengthy letters sprinkled with exclamation points, emoticons and little anecdotes. You, on the other hand were the worldly wise, restrained one, always ensuring that your i’s were dotted and t’s crossed. Yet, peeking through lines of modest text, there was always a hint of your characteristic rib tickling humour that I so adore.
Once you were done with your qualifying exams (6 months later!), we decided that it was about time we came face to face. How excited I was at the prospect of finally being able to see the man behind the calm words and the dotcom address. At the same time there was a nagging fear – what if I did not take to the real you? Or worse still, what if you did not fancy the real me? Fortunately, minutes into our first Skype call, I felt my fears melt away like butter in the sun. We chatted like long lost friends into the wee hours of that night and the night after that and then the one after and so on.
Very quickly our nocturnal sojourns became a habit. Early morning office buses were missed, friends and parties were forsaken, books were left unread and all semblance of organized living was shredded to pieces and flushed down the toilet. I began turning up to work with blood shot, sleep deprived eyes trying to push my reluctant brain to function. A vengeful to-do list which did not take kindly to the neglect started quadrupling by its own volition. As if the chaos was not enough, a new job offer in a brand new city showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep, reeling me in with promises of more money, fast track growth and the works.
Bangalore – An exciting new city, a shining new apartment, tons to explore........and a satanic new boss added sadistically to the mix. Aargh. She was the devil incarnate who marred the pristine picture of my life like a big bad ink blotch on a fresh white sheet. Those were the days when you generously lent me your two strong shoulders to cry on. And how I cried! Day after day I resolved to do something drastic like flinging sheaves of paper in her smug, pasty face or pouring ice cold water down her head full of greasy red hair and walking away, never to return. Day after day your sensible voice placated me on the phone, gently steering me away from my brash escape plans. Just as I was beginning to believe that mine was the worst, most lack lustre life ever, you suddenly announced your plan to come visit. It was as if the grey clouds had parted, giving way to warm sunshine. The cruel boss was instantly forgotten and travel plans were chalked at a feverish pace.
Away from the virtual world that we had got so accustomed to, we were to meet for the first time at my parents place in Jabalpur – a small town that is your Nanihaal and where coincidentally my father was posted at the time. Instead of seeing pixelated versions of each other online we were going to encounter the real life 'us' with each flaw, each line, each pimple and each insecurity laid bare. In a world where most people are judged by the way they look as opposed to who they really are, I cracked under pressure. “Oh well, it wouldn’t hurt to get one of those fancy facials at this suave salon in Bangalore”, I thought. And so, off I went to get my face kneaded like a piece of dough for an hour and a half. Horror of horrors, the result was three patches of burnt skin on my original blemish free right cheek! Blah! There wasn’t any point lamenting now. This is what happens when tomboys like me try our tree-climbing-hands at feminine fancifulness. On my 24 hour train ride home I constantly dabbed my not one but three scarlet letters with oodles of medicated ointment. It did help in lightening them to a pale smattering but did not obliterate them completely.
Continued here - Part 2
Nicely written :)
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