15 Heavy Petting #2
I stayed bent over the tabletop, taking a few minutes to regain my composure in solitude. When I straightened up, I realised I was not alone.
Aadar was sitting across the table from me, watching me curiously.
‘Rough day?’ he asked, taking a puff from his cigarette.
‘What the hell, man?’ I demanded, scowling at him. ‘Are you a ghost or what?’
He had this extremely irritating way of materialising out of thin air, especially in my most inelegant moments.
‘I was having lunch at the pool cafe over there,’ he chuckled and offered by way of explanation.
The mention of food caused my stomach to make a loud, unattractive noise. I’d not been very kind to my tummy in the past few days, and it sounded like it was ready to rebel.
‘I don’t remember the last time I ate lunch at lunchtime,’ I mumbled, patting my stomach in consolation.
‘Hard worker, huh,’ he said, taking another drag. ‘You must really like your job.’
That made me snort.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Can I bum one off you?’ I asked, gesturing to the smoke in his hand.
He regarded me with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought you didn’t like smoking … or smokers.’
‘Just give me one.’ I leaned forward, snatching the box he’d placed on the table.
He didn’t say anything to stop me, but I could feel his gaze on me as I brought the thin paper-wrapped cylinder of cancer to my lips. I lit it and took a deep drag – my first in two years.
‘I think I hate my job,’ I said, relying on the high of the cigarette to vocalise my inner monologue.
‘Don’t we all?’ he offered. ‘In one way or another.’
I shook my head. People around me had always despised their time at work.
Vrinda bitched about her boutique because her mother didn’t let her explore her own instincts as a fashion designer.
Saurav loathed the work culture of his cut-throat multinational company.
My dad resented his finance profession, dreaming of a life where a career in research would’ve been possible for a middle-class man like him.
But me? I’d always prided myself on following my dreams. When I’d first gotten a job at TheManJournal, I’d been over the moon.
My excitement had nothing to do with the pay, which was passable at best. I was happy because I knew I would wake up every morning looking forward to going to the office.
And for years, that’s exactly what had happened.
I liked my work, and I liked that I liked my work.
Aadar nodded as I vented, telling him how difficult it was for me to acknowledge that the enthusiasm I had for my job was waning.
‘What about that interiors thing you did for your friend? Does that get you excited?’ he asked, sounding genuinely interested.
‘I don’t know … yeah, I guess,’ I admitted. ‘But it’s not like I can throw myself into that. I have a career that I’ve invested in … and I can’t just give that up for a shot in the dark, you know.’
I expected him to lecture me about chasing my dreams, but he gave me a sad smile instead. ‘I get that. Change is not easy to come to terms with.’
I returned his smile, wondering if he was thinking about her.
The Dead Girlfriend. My mind conjured the image of the woman from his Instagram.
I had no way of knowing if she was the same girl, but I liked to believe that she was.
Simple, sweet and beautiful, she seemed like the kind of girl whose loss would throw a man off the idea of love forever.
‘So anyway,’ he said, pulling me out of the mental maze I was navigating, ‘what happened today that’s got you smoking with and venting to the enemy?’
I laughed at his characterisation of himself before answering his question. ‘This couple, man. Harsh, in particular.’
I started filing the many complaints I had against the groom, who had left no opportunity to make my life hell.
‘It’s a wedding, Ananya. People act a bit crazy in the pursuit of the perfect day of their lives or whatever. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of a Groomzilla,’ he said, shrugging.
‘But that’s the thing,’ I said and sighed. ‘I’m bending over backwards to organise and celebrate a marriage that’s obviously not going to last.’
That took him by surprise.
‘Why do you say that?’
I scoffed and said, ‘Haven’t you seen the two of them together? That man has no respect for his wife.’
‘Oh come on. We’re outsiders. You and I don’t know what their relationship is actually like,’ he argued, pulling his chair closer to the table so he could place his elbows on the counter.
‘Sure I do!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve sat in, like, six hour-long interviews where they talked about it in excruciating detail.’
‘And based on this information, you think they’re not meant to be together?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’
‘Okay, give me some details.’
I gave him a sickly sweet smile and said, ‘Of course not. That would be against my journalistic ethics.’
‘But you’re not a journalist,’ he countered.
The glint in his whisky-coloured eyes mirrored mine.
I thought about how gossiping with a sponsor about a client would be considered a no-no in any corporate handbook.
But then again, I was also involved in an elaborate life-altering bet with this sponsor, so my professional code was already compromised.
‘Okay, fine,’ I said, and he flashed me a grin.
‘For one, they met on Instagram. And everyone knows that no great love story starts with a “Hey Dear” in someone’s DMs,’ I said, then added, ‘that’s like the tackiest meet-cute ever.’
‘A meet-cute? What’s that?’ he asked.
I stared at him, aghast.
‘What?’ he asked when I continued to gawk at him in silence.
‘How can you be so out of touch with romance?’ I demanded.
He placed a hand on his heart in mock pain and said, ‘Educate me, O Queen of Love.’
I rolled my eyes before introducing him to the cinematic trope of a meet-cute.
‘It’s when the two protagonists of a love story meet for the first time. Sometimes it’s a silly stroke of luck, sometimes more. But it’s always special.’
Like when Raj offered his hand to Simran, who was struggling to catch a departing train in DDLJ .
Or when Major Ram got roped into a college prank and sang a song for his chemistry teacher, Ms Chandni in Main Hoon Naa .
Or even when Jack tried to talk a suicidal Rose off the edge of the Titanic in Titanic .
His amusement grew with every meet-cute I recited from the movies I’d grown up watching and re-watching.
‘And you think this happens in real life?’ He smirked at me and asked, ‘When was the last time it happened to you, O Queen of Love?’
I threw a dirty look in his direction, but his question evoked a long-suppressed memory in my mind.
I was in the cafeteria, talking to a fellow classmate about the band competition we’d just sat through.
Colleges from around the country had come to participate in the music festival, and we’d flocked to the auditorium to witness the magic.
As freshers, we had no clue what to expect, but that hadn’t stopped us from rooting emphatically for the four-person rock band that represented our college, Vandalism. That was until we saw them perform.
‘They sucked so bad, Tanuj. The acoustics were all over the place, the drummer had less energy than my childhood physics teacher,’ I was saying to my classmate as we waited for our order at the counter.
‘They weren’t that bad …’ he said, looking nervous.
‘Are you serious?’ I asked, then continued to ramble, ‘They were terrible. And that singer? He plays the guitar really well but someone needs to tell him he can’t sing in public again. Like ever.’
When I stopped talking, someone behind me cleared their throat, and Tanuj took me by the shoulders and turned me around.
Standing there, looking half-annoyed and half-tickled, was the singer of the band. The same man I now call my ex.
The memory faded away slowly, and I pulled myself back into the present. Aadar was pulling out another cigarette from his pack. He didn’t extend the pack towards me, and I quashed my craving before it could consume me.
‘Mock all you want, but romance is real. It may not be common, but it is real,’ I said, leaning back into my chair and crossing one leg over the other.
‘Well, this has been fun,’ he said, stuffing the lighter and smokes into his jeans, ‘but I’ve got to go stock a bar for a marriage that won’t last.’
I laughed, half-waving at him as he got up to leave.
‘Go eat something,’ he said, turning back to face me and gesturing with his eyes at the pool cafe a few feet away.
I smiled to myself as I made my way to the eating joint, oddly calmed by the interaction I’d just had. I knew I’d have to face it at some point, but for now, the frustration and anger from before had receded into a corner of my mind.
After a well-deserved lunch and two cups of tea, I was back in my room by 5:00 p.m. I had close to two hours to spare before the event.
I laid out the black-and-gold sari I’d stolen from my mom on the bed and breathed a long sigh of relief.
There was enough time to YouTube a draping tutorial, do my hair and make-up, and maybe even grab a bite.
And so, naturally, I decided to take a nap.
I awoke to the sound of my phone vibrating next to my pillow. I checked the time, it was 7:15 p.m.
Fuuuuuck, I grumbled before clearing my throat and hitting the accept button.
‘Ananya? Where are you? I’ve left you like five texts,’ Pooja said, sounding mad.
There was no way I could let her find out I’d been napping all this while.
I pushed the grogginess out of my voice and began. ‘Oh, sorry. I was wrapped up with something in the kitchen,’ I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me more questions. ‘I’ll be down there in five.’