The Man Of My Dreams

The Man of My Dreams

I walked into the coffee shop, expecting to spot him right away. But then, real life isn’t movies, and the partly crowded café did not betray his identity. I looked around for a man, about thirty-five, average height, perhaps reading a book or solving a crossword. After months of online chatting and phone conversations, I was finally about to meet the man who had unknowingly swept me off my feet. All those months, I was waiting for the moment when he would invite me to meet him, and I would graciously accept the invitation. But it seemed that he wasn’t too interested to meet me. Just when I was about to lose hope, he had invited me over to this nice café, and I had accepted it without sounding too eager.

I had had friends who were married to people they’d met over the net. But it sounded just too fantastic to happen to me. Me, a small town girl who had come to Mumbai to earn her livelihood. I was lonely, even amidst the company of the friends I’d made. No one knew the true me, and I didn’t know anyone. I incidentally toyed with the idea to make net friends; people who you don’t know, but who you can share your thoughts without feeling too guilty about anything. No strings attached, that’s how I like it. After a few weeks into the chatting game, I suddenly saw this person enter the chat room I was in. Karan Mukherjee. Nice name. A conversation with him brought to light that that he was a businessman, an artiste, and held a few exhibitions to his name around once a year. I don’t know why, but every time I saw him come online, I would feel a certain adrenaline gush within me. Soon, chatting with him everyday became a kind of drug for me, something that gave me a high. Phone chats soon followed, and before I realized, I fell in love with him. Why, I don’t know. It was really weird on my part, to fall for a person who I hadn’t ever seen in my life, but only spoken to. But Karan was just so kind, understanding, gentle, polished, charismatic and so…masculine. Who wouldn’t fall for a person like that?
Back to the then present situation, I gave him a missed call on his cell, and I saw this man turning around to look at the entrance of the café. Without further ado, I walked over to him, and before I could say anything, he stood up and said, “You must be Riya. Karan here. Wonderful to be meeting you tonight.”

Hmm…the voice was certainly the same, but his personality was not quite like the one I had in mind. He wasn’t particularly handsome, not even good-looking for that matter, but there was certainly something about him. He had a fine physique, which betrayed his regular gym workouts. Enigmatic eyes; eyes that hid a well-kept secret. Well, he couldn’t be called drop-dead gorgeous; neither could he be called ugly. He was just striking.

But oh my! Talking to him face-to-face was a wonderful experience. Every moment I spent with him, I realized I loved him. He was intelligent, humorous, witty and so many other things. But mainly, he liked me too. He was the first person I had met, who didn’t flinch when I told him that I wasn’t a party animal. He was okay with the fact that I didn’t drink, smoke, go to disco theques and was a loner by choice. He thoroughly understood me and liked me for who I was. I was crazy about him. Meetings, candlelit dinners became characteristic of our relationship. Whenever he had to go on tours regarding business or other reasons, I felt lost. And I knew he did too. Why else would he call me umpteen times a day, even when he was abroad? He knew I missed him, and he missed me too.

One fine day, Karan came up to me and told me he had a surprise for me. He didn’t tell me what it was, but drove me to it. Like a child about to tell someone a big secret, he closed my eyes and gently led me into something which felt like an elevator, but he refused to tell me what the hype was about. My excitement mounted with every passing moment, and then, finally, when he moved his hand from over my eyes, I found myself standing outside a door bearing the nameplate, Riya Saigal. He eagerly opened the door and handed me the keys. “This is our new flat, darling. Let me show you around.” I was too surprised to even react to him. This was Karan, my Karan. Simple and straight-forward. Didn’t even think it was necessary to ask me whether I wanted to move in with him or not. Just took it for granted that I did, because he knew I did want to. He never needs to ask me what I thought about something, he somehow always knew before hand. That is what I loved about him the most. “Well, you’re going to live with me now, so you can stop living as a paying guest,” he firmly said. So then, that was that, I moved in with Karan. And life was never same for me again. The days he couldn't stay with me were nothing short of agony, but at least I was living in the same house as him. Looking at his very clothes or even his keys made me feel good. He had that kind of effect on me.
I love living with him. Karan is my friend, my confidante, my boyfriend, my lover, my support system, my guide and the best roommate ever! He is also a lot of fun. Today I can proudly say that no other woman must be as lucky as I am, to have found her true love over the internet.

Sigh. Even as I’m writing this, I deeply feel his absence, and I desperately await his return. At the moment, Karan is out of town. I miss him so much! This time he isn’t out for business purposes, though. But I’m okay with that. After all, he has to spend some time with his wife and children too!

My Daughter Lives

When I saw my child for the first time minutes after she was born, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How can someone as ugly as me produce something so beautiful? This really couldn’t be my child. My exhausted body demanded rest, and reminded me of all the pains it had taken to bring my baby daughter into this world. But stubborn as I still am, I refused to let her go. Rishi was standing next to me, a proud father. The newly arrived little person had totally enraptured him.

Despite a failing struggle to let her remain with me, the nurse took her from my arms, and asked me to rest. And in spite of myself, I slept a dreamless sleep.
This was fourteen years ago. Since then, life has never been the same for me. Being a mother can be very demanding. But need I say that its also the best thing in the world? A span of fourteen years passing by unnoticed. How could I forget those moments? My infant baby daughter saying her first word “Mama”, and my triumphant smile at Rishi. She standing up for the first time, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and promptly landing down on her backside again. The way she was always scared of crossing the road, like I was at her age. Her cries whenever I got dressed up to go for work. Her joyous laughter at her first toy, a stuffed dog. She falling down an umpteen number of times, but never crying until she I held her in my arms and comforted her. Her excitement at going to playgroup, but her fear at seeing so many other children of her own age. The way she held my hand when she was scared. Her first school uniform and her ecstasy at her pigtails. Her very first holiday in Goa, where we learnt that she was a natural at swimming. When she shyly came and told me about her first crush, at the age of 13. The three of us have shared so many beautiful and tender moments together. How can I forget them?

But then, how can I forget the moments when my baby girl first started vomiting blood? The first time we were told that my Mahika was victim to blood cancer? The first time we were told that she had just six months to live? The first time we told her of the situation and she cried her heart out to us? The time when she stopped going to school because she was entering the last stage of her short life? The pitying looks and phone calls she received from her friends and relatives? The way she struggled to keep happy and cheerful, so that we wouldn’t lose our strength? The way she bravely faced her sessions of chemo-therapy? The times when she used to cry by herself, when she lost her lovely hair? The way she began to wilt before our very eyes and lost the entire colour in her life? The way she bid us goodbye– “Mum, Dad, I love you a lot. Thanks for being so caring. You’re the best.”

But like I knew all along, Mahika didn’t die; I knew she wouldn’t. I never had much faith in the doctor anyway, although Rishi believed him from the start. There I can see my daughter coming home from school. She is so beautiful! No wonder so many guys fall for her. I’d better hurry and get lunch ready; she must be hungry. Although I wish the people in this place, would leave me alone. Do they think I’m mad, that they have kept me locked up in this place? Is cooking for my daughter, washing her clothes a crime? Why do they tie me to the bed this way? Let me go, Mahi is back from school, she needs lunch. Please, someone let me go. My Mahika needs me. Not that stupid injection again, please. Not now, oh please not now! My Mahi must be looking for me. My daughter must be hungry…….

Aimless Post

Today was supremely spent in scratching them itchy arms (for those of you who dunno about this, I've got this allergy thing to the sun, and NOT fleas). So let's sum up this whole thing. I'm fat, I have very minor leukoderma, I have an allergy to the sun AND I bruise easily. In short, you can call me a defective piece. I suppose my parents picked me up from this sale somewhere where export quality babies with a slight defect were being sold cheaper.

Hmm...Interesting theory, but not on me.

I will scoot now, since I have a whole room to clean, and some place to make on the bed for Yashwin and Avani who are coming tomorrow. I do like them a lot and all, but but but...not enough to clean a room overnight without any grudges.

Hmph.

Walk Like An Egyptian....?!?!

Well, erm...I really don't know about walking like an Egyptian or anything. For now, it would be of REAL help if I walked like anything close to a homo sapien (oh, stop giggling at the homo you buncha dunderheads!). Anyway, I shall cease to confuse you about the origins of this post, and reveal how it came by.

Today, on the 14th of June, circa 2006, yours truly gave all the bloody passengers on Dadar station a chance to giggle. Will place the facts in a 'Mid-day'ish manner as follows.

What : Passengers on Dadar Railway Station suddenly burst into guffaws.

When : Approximately at 7:15 a.m.

Why : A clumsy ass girl who is too fat to support her own weight decided to trip over a perfectly normally constructed bridge.

How Long : Around three seconds, but enough for everyone to notice.

Yeah, people. I bruised my pride, my knee (real bad, although i know you're nowhere close to believing me), and gave the guy behind me a chance to bump into my butt. He looked adequately shocked; understandable, since nobody expects a fully (over)grown person to land on all fours in front of you. But the bloody cheek of it all was the fact was that some woman actually had the cunt to complain about the waste of time i was causing. Lady, please... my knee is throbbing, so what would you take to sew your sodding mouth up? and, needless to say, people laughed. *sob!*

I got up, tucking the atom-sized pieces of my leftover dignity into a plastic bag and hurling it away. Without looking left nor right, I started walking straight ahead
like nothing happened in the last thirty seconds. My knee hurt like it was being torn away from me, but my pride hurt even more. I sailed out of station like a poise queen, and even now, I think I only remember the incident because of the HUGE bruise on the knee that ain't letting me forget the bruise in my heart.

And just for that, I solemnly swear to NEVER laugh at a person when he falls, even if I find him sliding on his head collecting all the mud around the place. Morever, I also promise that i shan't fail to dislocate the teeth from the jaw of the individuals who laugh at me, or anybody else, when they lose their balance and jerk to their knees unexpectedly or any other body parts.

I bet from now on, those blasted giggles are gonna run around in my head for quite sometime now.

Now waittaminnit, can you hear a giggle this very minute? *confused*

Nothing, Really.

Its crazy how people have so much to do. I know IITians, people my age coming up with online music magazines (which you can check here, people doing photography, friends with an ambition. Friends who know what they want.

And here i am, no talent, no luck, no hard-work; just an inconsequential lump on the planet finishing the earth's resources needed for other purposes.

Man, i need to get a life!

...And an ambition.

...And some talent.

...and some luck for good measure.

Goodbye cruel world.

I am off.

To admire my new haircut.

PS: Where would I get some readymade success?