20 Work in Progress
Work in Progress
I n all my twenty-seven years of existence, I’d found nothing I despised more than exercise.
Not to be overly dramatic, but the insides of a gym reminded me of a torture chamber – dingy basements with fancy equipment designed to instil dread, pain and horror.
And only those with nerves of steel and an unbreakable willpower lived to see the day.
It’s safe to say that I was not one of those people.
And yet, I’d been dragging myself to the gym in my complex every day for the past week, hoping that I’d enjoy it a little more than the previous day. So far, I’d had zero luck.
I thanked my trainer for yet another session of abuse and ill-earned punishment and picked up my duffel bag to leave.
As soon as I opened the door of the clubhouse, I was ambushed by a furry creature.
The dog, unleashed as he was, jumped onto my torso, leaving imprints of his paws on my neon green tank top.
‘Charlie, no.’ A woman came running around the corner.
She gasped animatedly when she saw me. ‘God, I’m so sorry,’ she said, peeling him off me and clipping his leash back on.
‘That’s quite all right,’ I said, petting the golden retriever. ‘He’s a friendly one, isn’t he?’
‘Too friendly, if you ask me.’ The woman, who must’ve been in her early thirties, seemed embarrassed by her pet’s lack of manners.
As if on cue, Charlie jumped up and planted a giant, wet lick right on my mouth.
‘Charlie! Off!’ she commanded, tugging forcefully on his leash and stepping between us.
She began apologising profusely, but I cut her off. ‘I don’t mind. Dogs don’t need consent like the rest of us.’
The woman let out a hearty laugh and I joined in.
‘I’m Ira,’ she said, sticking out her free hand.
She had short hair that showed off her delicate, attached earlobes. Two intricate jhumkas hung from them. ‘Ananya,’ I said, shaking her hand. ‘Did you move here recently?’
‘Yes, a month ago,’ she said.
Charlie had lost interest in me and was now trying to chase a grasshopper.
Ira was heading in the direction of my house, so I walked with her.
I found out she lived alone with her dog in the building next to mine.
She was new to Delhi. Her recent divorce, coupled with a new job offer, had led her here from Jaipur.
‘It’s like starting over, you know?’ she said when I asked her how she was liking it so far.
I told her I was in the process of doing something similar myself, having quit my job.
‘So what’s the plan now?’ she asked, seeming genuinely interested.
It felt odd to be talking about my life with a stranger. Maybe it was the comforting presence of her dog or her easy smile, but something about Ira made me feel like I could tell her things.
‘Well, I’ve got a list. To get my life on track,’ I said, knowing how silly that must’ve sounded.
‘Ooh, I love lists,’ she said, her voice cheery. ‘Tick anything off it, yet?’
I thought back to how V and I had sat through that night, making our separate to-do lists to make sense of our futures.
The first thing on hers was ‘Break up with Saurav’, while mine started with ‘Find something you love’.
I didn’t know if I was going to love it, but I’d decided I wanted to pursue interior design.
‘I got an entry-level job with a design firm … this morning actually,’ I told her.
‘That’s amazing,’ she said, flashing me a brilliant smile. ‘Congratulations.’
I sighed.
‘I gave up my promotion and an established career in events to be someone’s assistant in a field I have very little professional knowledge about.’ I wasn’t bitter, but a part of me did feel like I was being hellishly stupid.
‘Hey, it’s never too late to try something new … we’re all a work in progress, right?’
Work in progress , I thought to myself. I like that.
We stood in front of my porch for a few more minutes, chatting. After a bit, Charlie began to get restless and she walked away, but not without promising that she’d stop by later for a cup of coffee.
‘What are you so bubbly about?’ my mother asked when I entered the house.
I pecked her on the cheek and mumbled, ‘Nothing’, before taking off for my room.
The list was waiting for me at my study table. I ticked number eight off the sheet of paper.
Make a new friend.
I held the sheet in front of my face, allowing the letters to dance in front of my eyes.
To anyone watching from afar, it might’ve seemed like I’d lost my plot.
I was celebrating the most absurd things.
Like having a job that would pay me one-fifth of what I’d been making at TMJ.
But these wins, tiny as they might have been, were baby steps in the right direction.
I allowed myself to gloat over some of my other victories from the list.
? Find a job
? Redecorate my room
? Delete Aadar Chauhan’s contact
Some of the other things were harder to do.
Move on
Uninstall Tinder
Go for a therapy session
Break unhealthy dating patterns
But I knew I had to start somewhere. I’d been putting off uninstalling my dating app for a few days.
I’d been dependent on it for so many things in the last couple of years – validation, action, entertainment, free food and drinks – basically everything other than what I should’ve been looking for on it. I needed a break.
I long-pressed the familiar red and white app logo on my phone and hovered over the uninstall button when my heart sent a plea to my brain.
A couple of swipes? For old time’s sake?
I laid down on my bed, stuffing two pillows under my neck, and began swiping.
I couldn’t deny that I would miss this world, where I could club men into distinct categories based on their carefully curated profiles and badly written bios.
I began saying my goodbyes as I swiped left on the pool of men in front of me.
Goodbye, 420 friendly men. Goodbye, F.R.I.E.N.D.S. vs The Office fans. Goodbye, ‘not here for hookups’ guys. Goodbye, ‘not active here, DM on Insta’ dudes. Goodbye, sapiosexuals, bibliophiles, polyamorists, chaisexuals, pickup line users and dick pic enthusiasts.
And then suddenly, without warning, an all-too-familiar face popped up on my screen.
He only had one photo – a selfie. It had been taken in a park or an open area, perhaps after a morning run.
Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, making his thick curls sticky.
His dense eyebrows were creased together, shielding his whisky-brown eyes, which pierced right through the screen at me.
I tapped on his profile to read his bio.
‘Looking for a tiny twenty-seven-year-old woman with frizzy hair, commitment issues and a fierce competitive spirit. I’m a simple, sweet guy, but I’ve been referred to as The Asshole, The Enemy and The Devil Reincarnate by said tiny woman.
If you know her, tell her I’m looking for her.
If you are her, swipe right and give me a chance to explain, please? ’
My heart sped up as I gaped at the face of the man who had rejected me. What was he doing on Tinder? Was this a fake profile? Why would anyone make a fake profile of a nobody? Was someone trying to play a hideous prank on me? The questions zoomed through my head, leaving me no room to breathe.
Stop , I scolded myself, it doesn’t matter. I’d decided to move on, and whatever unfunny game the Universe was playing with me right now, I didn’t have to participate in it. I’ll just swipe left and be done with it , I decided.
And then, at the last moment, my fingers rebelled and went the other way.
It’s a match , the app proudly declared.
I froze.
I got up from my bed, abandoning the phone on the mattress. I started pacing my newly redone room, dragging my feet on the fresh grey rug I’d laid out in front of my bed.
What the hell was happening?
A ping went off, and my whole body reacted to it with alarm bells of its own. I approached my phone with caution, as if it was a bomb that might go off at any second.
You have 1 new message from Aadar.
I opened it.
I gawked at the message, trying to make sense of it.
I cursed out loud, placing a hand on my heart to make sure it was still beating.
The words swam in front of my eyes, making it impossible for me to understand or respond to them. After a few minutes, the screen lit up with another text from him.
My knees gave out under me, and I collapsed onto the bed. I caught sight of my face in the mirror on my dressing table. I looked like someone had kicked my metaphorical nuts.
Why? I wanted to ask him, but I was too proud.
I’d put my heart on the line for this man, and he had stomped all over it. I’d gone to him with my love and he had turned me away.
His poor knowledge of the romance genre was truly appalling.
I wondered if this was the right time to point out that this would not qualify as a meet-cute.
Aadar and I had met tons of times already, and our story had gone through a steep arc.
If anything, this was the grand romantic gesture that typically came at the end.
I badly wanted to answer in the affirmative. In fact, I wanted to unmatch him, block him everywhere and never give him another thought. God knows he deserved it. But I couldn’t ignore the little dance my intestines had begun performing inside me. I owed it to them to find out what he wanted to say.
After that, he stopped responding. Seconds turned into minutes, but the familiar sound of a notification refused to oblige me.
I wondered if I’d said something wrong or if he’d simply decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.
But after forty painful minutes of self-doubt and anxiety, my phone pinged again.
What? Like, right now?