Two peas in a pod

Sweltering heat and it was only the beginning of March. I didn’t know if it was better to sit by the window and get hit by the blazing sun or to sit by the aisle and have middle-aged women standing by my seat, shoving their sweaty paunches in my face. But since there weren’t many people on the bus that day and it was cloudy anyway, I sat by the window.

Lost in my thoughts as I travelled to godforsaken Red Hills, I didn’t see him till he cleared his throat loudly. I looked up. “May I sit?” with a gesture towards the empty seat next to me. I scanned the bus to see if all the men’s seats were full, and he must have guessed because he added, “There’s no other seat, Ma’am.” “Please don’t call me ma’am,” I mumbled and let him sit next to me. He was speaking pretty good English and was even reasonably attractive and well-dressed. It didn’t seem to me that he would charge up mid-journey and break into “Enna da, macha!” talk. “Then what do I call you?” Erm, scratch that, I thought. All men are the same. And I shot him a glare and looked away.

When I finally looked back I saw he was reading A Dog’s Life. I raised and eyebrow then returned to ignoring him. He must have noticed. “Have you read it?” I mumbled a yes. “Oh, isn’t it good? Never thought dogs could think like this. It’s quite nice.” “Nice? Right. And it wasn’t actually written by a dog you know. The author’s just made the dog the way he wants him to be.” “Are you always this uptight?” “Excuse me? What??” “Yeah. Are you always like this? Judging every person you meet, being negative about everything, looking down on everyone all the time?” “The adjective uptight means something entirely different,” idiot, I added under my breath. He threw his hands up in the air. “See! Ok, I’m sorry I’ve offended your Royal Fastidiousness. Geez.”

Loser, I fumed. Hitting on a random girl he meets in a bus and what does he expect in return, true love? I huffed and turned away from him, trying not to think about him or what he’d said. After a few minutes my emotional Punjabi genes got to me though and I let loose. “Who the hell are you to call me uptight and judgemental or whatever? Doesn’t that make you judgemental as well? Moron. In any case I just happen to have written a gigantic essay on that book and your amateur criticisms may have annoyed me. ‘Ooh, it’s such a nice, sweet book’” I imitated in my most annoying voice. And I turned away again. Me neck was beginning to protest a little. “Well I like it too. And I apologise if me and my MA in Literature and ‘amateur criticisms’ annoyed you, your Highness.” “MA in Literature huh. I wouldn’t have guessed. And stop calling me that. Idiot.” “Yes. From St Xaviers, Bombay. And you didn’t tell me your name so what am I supposed to call you. And, please stop calling me moron and idiot. I have a name. It’s Prakash Seth.” I was still trying to ignore him, till he mentioned my old college. “Xaviers? Oh. Which year?” “1999.” “Oh! I was in the 2002 MA batch!” “Happy for you.”

And he read further. A little sheepishly I added. “Our names are actually pretty similar. I’m Praveena Seth.” “Ok.” Right. Super. Just as I had begun to warm up, he decided to get monosyllabic. Men. “Alright, I’m sorry. You’re just a stranger on a bus, how am I supposed to react to you?” “So? Doesn’t mean all men on buses are murderers or rapists or psychopaths! And see the coincidence. Same course in the same place, just a few years apart. Similar names, and who knows what else we could have in common. Like two peas in a pod.” “That’s pushing it isn’t it. Maybe two apples in a very big barrel?” He gave me a strange look. “Ok strange analogy. Still.” “Fine. What’s your favourite colour?” he asked me. “White.” “Mine too. And black.” “Yeah, it’s a toss up between the two.” “Favourite book?” “Ah, that’s tough. You go first.” “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, The Godfather, The Fountainhead… among others.” “Hmm. Hemingway is super. Puzo… well he’s a man’s man. Rand is a favourite too.” He grinned. “See. Two peas in a pod.”

I noticed it had begun to rain “Could you shut the window please. I don’t want the book to get wet.” Prakash said. “Sure.” MTC buses are old and creaky and I was worried I’d slice off a digit but after a bit of struggling the shut the rain out. As I turned, Prakash was tearing off a bit of paper from a notepad and handed it to me. “My number. This is my stop. See you.” And he was gone before I knew it.

I sighed and watched him step out, before I plugged my walkman phone in my ears. After a couple of songs I realised the paper was still scrunched up in my fist and thought I’d shove it into my wallet along with several other numbers and cards I’d stored. And I discovered it was missing. When I reared out of my seat, the conductor sneered in Tamil, “Wallet gone? About time. I thought you were friends with that guy but I guess he’s just another pickpocket. Why do you think he asked you to shut the window?” “Because it was raining!” But he wasn’t listening; he had already begun narrating the tale of the pickpocket to others in the bus.

I punched in the number he’d given me, on my phone. Sure enough, I heard Miss Vodafone’s sweet voice telling me the number I had dialled didn’t exist. And I slumped back to my seat. Mr Prakash Seth from Xaviers was just a smart-ass, well-dressed pickpocket, I though as chaos erupted around me. People were urging me to hunt him down in an auto and some guys even offered to come along with me to beat him up, but I knew he’d be long gone. All I could think of was his ‘two peas in a pod’ statement. Yeah, right.

Fridge Space

From head to toe. Straight hair left loose, hanging naturally around her shoulders. Eye make up subtle… slight silver dust and kohl. Lipstick also pretty subtle. Silver, not very long, earrings. Black sleeveless kurta without a dupatta. Expensive watch but no fancy jewellery, just a silver bangle. Printed patiala. Black heels. Hmm. Not too flashy but mature and well-dressed. Okay maybe just a bit somber but what the hell. Doctors are serious people. They gotta be sombre. Wait, what about me. Did I look too… flippant? Juvenile? Mental check. Combed hair. Shaved (thank God I remembered to). Blue and green shirt (which my sister called Hawaiian print but I refuse to listen to her. Allen Solly is a mature man’s shop). Khaki pants, suede shoes. Yeah, not too flippant.

Okay, I have to stop thinking so much during a date. She’s pretty, and smart. And bored. Anu sighed. A discreet look at her watch. “Sorry, I was trying to remember if I switched off my laptop before coming. Saves energy you know.” She raised an eyebrow. Okay I’m a bad liar. “Alright, I was actually wondering whether my shirt was too bright for a first date. You’re in black.” A surprised but broad smile. Phew. I made a mental note to thank my mom later. Be yourself, she said. “It’s fine. I was wondering whether I was too…” “Sombre?” “Right!” “You’re not.” “Well it’s just that I lost a patient today. Wasn’t feeling too bright and cheery, you know?” “What kind of doctor are you?” “Surgeon.” “Wow.” “I usually don’t tell guys I barely know. It intimidates them. But you already know I killed a patient today so I can’t be too great a surgeon.” Her eyes clouded over. No more bright smile. “Heyy. I’m sure it happens…” “Yes, but it never gets easier.”

Silence. The food arrived. I watched as she cut her veggies neatly and fed herself. Clear, white teeth. “Why are you single?” Her fork froze in mid-air. Crap. “I’m sorry. I didin’t mean to pry, it just popped out of my mouth. Geez. I’m really bad at this date thing…” “No, it’s refreshing.” Wait. What? “And kind of cute.” A tiny giggle. Whaat? “But no it’s okay. My last boyfriend… he… well… it just suddenly ended.” Looking at my confused expression. “We disagreed a lot. And I needed space.” Hmm. Successful and mature but needs her space. “I’ll try to remember that.” She grinned at me. “Don’t worry, I already like you.” Never mind thanks, I’d fall at my mom’s feet later. Never trust a girl who wears black. Another one of her pearls of wisdom which suddenly came back to me. One which I’d ignore. The woman did lose a patient earlier, she had a right to be sombre. “What about you, Varun” “Huh, what about me?” “Well, why are you single?” “Uh. My wife died a few years ago. I’ve not dated much after that.” “Oh. I’m so sorry. May I ask how?” “Car accident.” Silence. Forks clattering.

The manager came to ask if we liked our food. Then the silence dragged on. “I miss her you know. But I think she’d want me to be happy.” “Yeah, ‘m sure she would.” Silence again. I cleared my throat. “You know. I don’t think I gave her much space either. Calling all the time, text messages, emails if she was away…” Oh hell why did I just say that?! I tried to cover up but before I could say anything, “That’s okay. You seem like a really nice guy.” She mumbled something about a fridge. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that.” “He took up a lot of fridge space.” Uh. Doctor’s lingo? “We lived at my place. Made a mess of my fridge. No space. Sorry. That may seem random. I’m a bit of a clean freak though.” I laughed. I found it funny, her cleaning up after a messy boyfriend and then scrubbing in and saving lives. “So am I. So you need clean space huh. My wife was messy too.” Argh, why was I bringing her up so often. “Sorry. I don’t talk about her very often…” “By all means. If you want to talk about her, you can. Doctor-patient confidentiality,” she smiled. God, what a pretty smile. Stark white against her eyes and black kurta. “Patient? Hmm so you’re going to fix me?” “I can try.” I didn’t realise we were staring into each others’ eyes till I heard the waiter clear his throat. “Ahem. Dessert?” After she ordered coffe, for me, and a massive chocolate brownie for herself (good, she wasn’t shy about eating a lot) we got back to the eye contact. And I started talking. About my wife, my job, my mother, my sister, my life… everything. Her eyes were like a drug which made me talk. Or maybe it was my latté. Either way, she seemed to like it. We paid (went dutch actually, though she insisted on paying for the entire meal) and I dropped her home.

The only time there was silence after an hour of chatting was when I drew up beside her home. “Er. So I’ll give you a call? Maybe we can do this again sometime?” Silence. “Or you give me a call. You know… if you’re interested.” “I really like you Varun. I don’t go around letting guys pay for my meal and drop me home and all that.” Phew. “So great! I’ll call you. maybe even tomorrow.” “Why don’t you come inside. See my place. Have some tea.” Whoa. My hesitance must have been visible. “Sorry. I don’t go around inviting guys home either. If you’re uncomfortable… Call me tomorrow. Or whenever. That would be nice. Good night.” She leaned over and I smelt her scent. It was subtle too. Like the rest of her. But nice. A quick peck on the check and she was gone.

I don’t know how long I sat there. It could have been an hour or a minute. I got out of the car. Walked up four flights of stairs. And knocked.

Footsteps. Then silence, And the door opened a crack. “Varun? Are you okay” “No, Anu I’m not.” She looked half-worried, half-scared. “I don’t go around barging into successful, single, female surgeons’ homes either.” She didn’t say anything. She just smiled. White teeth against a black t shirt this time.

I don’t remember walking in or her shutting the door behind me, locking us out from the rest of the world. I just remember drowning in her eyes again.

* * * *

She wasn’t there in the morning. Emergency surgery. There was a note though. And she’d signed it ‘love, Anu’. She’d said to call her later and that I should let myself out. No food in the house or the fridge, sorry, but a cup of coffee was there which I could re-heat in the microwave. I washed my face, dressed and went for my coffee. And I looked around. She really was a clean-freak. White walls, clean cut wooden furniture, white marble floor. I even looked through her books and music Jazz. And Danielle Steele amidst medical books. I laughed. She surprised me. I decided to take a look at the food she ate. Her fridge door seemed to be stuck but I pried it open. Amd I froze. I think my life may have flashed before my eyes. “Women who wear black. They’re cold, Varun. Be careful.” “He never gave me enough space… He took up a lot of fridge space.” I ran to the kitchen sink to retch my guts out. I don’t know how long I sat there. Images of the sliced up male body in her fridge kept hitting me till I realised I had to get out of there. I got up and realised I’d been sweating and shivering. My clothes were damp. I tried to breathe. But when I heard a key turn in the lock I froze. Footsteps. “Hey! I thought you’d have left by now. Just woke up? Last night must have been pretty tiring for you.” The smile again. Except this time it didn’t seem beautiful. She took her shoes off. “Surgery was great. Didn’t kill him.” She chuckled. “Sliced a man open and put him back together in no time.” I was scared to think she may practise on me next. She saw me frozen. Stiff. Staring at her black shirt. “Yeah. I like black. It suits me.” Oh God. Why were mothers always right. I was going to die.

* * * *

click to enlarge

Graphic copyright: Sanjana Soman


This is for Sunday scribblings.

The best Valentine's Day ode

For others out there who groan at the thought of red hearts, roses and all the mush that Valentine's Day brings with it, here's something which made me laugh.

A maddening day

What do you do when you’re infuriated,
So infuriated you can’t hear yourself think.
When you have so many thoughts in your head,
You can’t find the adjective to describe yourself.
‘‘How was your day?’’
Okay.
Things are always ‘‘okay’’.
But then who asks about your day, pray tell.

What do you do when you realise you made a mistake,
Something which will change your life forever.
When you realise the other person was right, and just out to help you.
Do you push them away and keep lying to yourself?
Or do you right the wrong.
Well, the answer my friend is blowing in the wind.
It’s rather obvious.
‘‘Should is a good word,’’ said a very wise friend of mine.
But humans never do as they should.

‘‘Stop lying to yourself,’’ I told someone a long time ago.
Someone who used to be my friend. She didn’t stop.
‘‘You think too much.’’ Well, yes I do. But who else can I talk to but myself.

I want to be the fish swimming in the pond.
The fish I see twice a day, the fish who relaxes me
When I’m just having the worst day.
Money is over-rated.
Or maybe I just don’t have enough.
I’d rather be the penniless fish.
Living amidst the lotuses and algae.
With no predators around and plenty of food to eat.

I’m a predator. Sometimes.
I’m also the victim.
Does he realise that? Ah no.
Fang’s bark is worse than her bite.
I’m not lying anymore. It’s all very clear.
Crystal.
Clear what should be done.
Done a long time ago.
When she did the same thing.
Follow in her footsteps.
But no. When that part of her life died, she gave it to me.
I’m not strong enough to give away what I inherited.
But I have to learn.

Time is slipping away.
How much longer am I going to take?

What do you do when you have so many thoughts in your head,
You can’t hear yourself think straight.
What do you do when you’re so infuriated with yourself,
You have nobody but yourself to blame.

Stop pushing them away,
They’re only trying to help.
Snort.
Or maybe not.

What do you do when you don’t have time to find a new life?
A life you dream about.
It’s simple, really.
But the simplest things are the hardest to achieve.

Grey’s Anatomy. Strawberries with sugar.
Feeding Tommy.
Clean feet and a warm cup of coffee.
An ink pen with black ink and a sharpened pencil.
Washed hair.
Driving with only music as my companion.
Talking to Priya after weeks.
Getting to go for a show or read a book for free.
Making my mother happy.
Sanjana’s 17 different ways of giggling.
An uncomplicated bear hug.
Simplicity.
Simple joy.

It’s time for me to get my act together.
‘‘I think you deserve more.’’
Don’t we all.