Impulse, Irony & I

Birthday wishes, balloons with faces drawn on them, candles strewn around the cake, which disappears quickly, smiling faces and bonhomie. The clock announces 1 AM and people start streaming out of the house with promises to catch up later that week and more birthday wishes. He hesitates at the door, fiddling with the buckles of his slippers nervously. The last few guests leave laughing and talking loudly.

He straightens and looks at her for a few moments, his mouth partly open as if he were already saying what he wanted to say...he clears his throat and extends a tentative hand forward, "...Happy Birthday Sneha, great party...".

She smiles. He studies the tilt of her head as she smiles and seems lost for words; he loosens his collar, suddenly uncomfortable with himself and murmers, "I thought of bringing you a gift, a pair of teddy bears, bought them yesterday...but then thought you might think they are childish, I..."

She senses what his words did not convey; she leans forward, takes his hand in hers and walks with him to the door. He grips her hand tightly, scared that they would desert his. At the door, he lets go of her hand and stands for a few seconds, willing the silence around them to convey what he cannot.

*****
She drums the pen on the table, rhythmically, much to her room-mate’s exasperation. After a few minutes, she stands up with a sense of finality and looks at the clock. Two days and still no call from him. A look of annoyance crosses her face and she bites her lips. She walks to the kitchen and stands undecided for sometime. She walks back to the table listelessly and starts playing with her pen again. Minutes pass and finally, she picks up her cell phone and flips it open. Her room-mate watches her curiously, over her magazine. She searches through her phone book, lingers for a moment on his name and picks the next name to call instead. She talks distractedly for a few minutes before flipping her phone shut. Her room-mate has an amused expression on her face, which irritates her further. Fifteen minutes drag to make tea, watery and with two spoons extra sugar, twenty minutes staring at the same paragraph in “A Suitable boy” and her cell phone rings. Curious eyes follow her rush to grab it. The tiny screen on her cell phone displays his picture id. She smiles contentedly, letting her voicemail pick up his call.

*****
They were not talking to each other. Misunderstanding, miscommunication and ego – ingredients for a “well-unbalanced”, unhealthy relationship – mixed in generous proportions in theirs. Her mind however had a plan of its own and so, she cycled along the same route that he would take, she even attended the same classes that he took – not all, lest he should find out – just a few, she hung out with her friends at the same potti-kadai (small shop) that he frequented to buy cigarettes. They ran into each other often, her heart skipped a beat whenever his eyes fell on her and then sank as he looked elsewhere, his eyes lingering not a moment longer on her. She laughed derisively when her friends tried to probe with uncannily accurate observations about her feelings for him; she checked her email every hour, hoping to see a mildly conciliatory, even angry email from him.

She saw him in front of her class and for once, he did not look away, she averted her eyes, held her face high and sat as far away from him as possible.

*****