Disclaimer: If you decide to read this fiction, please be warned that you may not understand or unable to decipher the blabbering. You may even come to a conclusion that I have gone crazy or worse yet my mind has ceased to function -- in which case, you may be right.

Part I: Face me!

Faces. I like faces. Their shapes. Round faces. Elliptical ones. Occasional squares. Or rectangles. Auto shape. Any shape.

Expressions - priceless! No, not Mastercard. Discover. I discover. In the faces: Happiness and gratitude; bewilderment and rage; frustration and melancholy. Scared faces. Scary faces. Poker faces. Funny faces. Funny how? Cause' they make me laugh. But they laugh at me too. We all are funny. Made for each other. At each other's expense. You bargain, I cash in. I bargain, you make a good deal.

Idiosyncrasies: Humble -- humbling; pleasing – attractive; irritating-- still attractive; irritating – obnoxious; irritating – sexy. Are you irritated? Do I irritate you enough? Don't irritate me, I am tired. Please irritate me, I want more!

Eyes: Wide-apart, close-set, evenly-spaced or deep-set. Almond eyes. Prominent eyes. Hooded eyes. Small eyes. Oriental eyes. It's all about eyes. It's all in the eyes. Pacific and Atlantic. Compassion and sympathy. Love and crave for love. Harmony. Hatred. Deceit and disdain. Vision: 20/20. Vision: Infinity.

Nose frustrates me. It overtakes eyes. It beats the eyes all the time. Stand still or walk. Run a 100 meter, 5000 meter or a marathon. Nose always comes first. Climb a mountain at 90 degrees. Nose frustrates me more. Ride an ego trip, nose inflates. It frustrates me even more. Undeserving!

I like to count hairs. It's easy. I have counted mine. I count and recount. Everyday I am losing it. It's a recession. It might end up being a great depression. I love Obama. I don't want to get bald.

“Are you losing it all?” Jenny asked me once when I took off my hat.

“Sometimes, you gotta lose some to win some” I smiled that signature askew smile of mine to give the baazigar Shahrukh Khan a good run for his money.

“Whachya winning?”

“ Isha. She likes bald men”

Isha. The weird girl. Perhaps the weirdest ever. She likes me, duh!. That's weird enough.

#######################

Part II: Meet Isha

Isha. The weird girl. Perhaps the weirdest ever. She likes me. That's weird enough.

Her expressions. That's what caught my attention in the party. Constipation, I thought.

“You want me to call 911?” I asked her.
“Why?”
“I thought you needed help”
“No. This juice is just too sour”
“Lick some Kosher salt. It's a good medicine for constipation.” I whispered.
“I am not constipated.”
“Oh, then your face is deceiving”

Sixty six minutes later, she was in my bed.

She had passed out. The juice she thought was Jose Cuervo. Magarita mix with tequila, 2:1. Or maybe 1:2. I don't know. I don't make mixes. I gulp them.

“I like you” She told me 92 seconds after she came back to consciousness.
Sixty eight minutes before that, we didn't even know each other.

“What do you like about me?” I blushed partly. I was nervous.

“You look funny”

“Funny? Funny how? How the hell am I funny? You mean, funny like a clown? Funny how? Do I amuse you? Tell me how the hell I look funny?”

“No I mean, look at your nose” She started laughing. Slowly initially. Then hysterically. She was rolling on my bed. Mercilessly. “Gosh my bed sheet!” I thought.

I checked my nose in the mirror. I knew it beats the Everest. But still. At times, it looks better than how
it actually is. Makes me feel better.

I scanned her face real quick. Couldn't spot anything to defend the attack.

“Look at your lips! Why are they projected as if you've been sniffing something forever? What's stinking so bad?” I took off my hat.

“Oh my god, your hair” She laughed like a demon. It was my hair's turn now.
“What about my hair?”
“Where is the rest?” She spoke in one breath while laughing.
“May be at other parts of my body”

***
“Where am I?” She started her next day with a question and a scowl.
“Heaven” I yawned from the couch.
“Gosh...my head is spinning. Who brought me here?”
“Margarita”
“Who are you?”
“You don't even know me? After all said and done?”
“No I don't. But your nose looks familiar.”
***

Ninety three days later, she asked me “Did I really misbehave that night?”. We had been 'seeing' each other for all those days. Every day.
“Does it make any difference now?”
“No. But still. Just curious”

I did not know what to tell her. I know she ridiculed each and every part of my face and torso. No mercy was spared. Thank god, I didn't take my pants off that night.

“Why do you like me knowing everything about me is funny?” I got curious.

“I don't know” She grinned. I saw a question mark on her face. Some questions marks are more interrogative than others.

We broke up. On the 99th day.

***

Sajal called me the day he graduated.
“Dai, tomorrow the dorm is kicking me out”
“How strong is the kick? Can you land on my place?”

Sajal. Another weirdo I came across. He is going to Harvard starting this fall.

#######################

Part III: Sajal, meet Sajha. Sajha, meet Sajal

Sajal called me the day he graduated.
“Dai, tomorrow the dorm is kicking me out”
“How strong is the kick? Can you land on my place?”

Sajal. Another weirdo I came across. He is going to Harvard starting this fall.

Four years ago, I had met Sajal. At the airport. He had flown from Nepal.

“This is one face I will remember” I had thought. Seriously. I hadn't seen so much pain in a face, all my life. And it's not because of the real pain. It was his face. Sajal's trademark face. Just like that.

A deeply ingrained melancholy, I felt in his voice. As if he was in the first year of a life long imprisonment. Again, it was his voice. His trademark voice. Just like that.

“Dai, Sanchai hunuhuncha?” He would call me on Saturdays. Nobody talks to me like that barring my mom. “Babu, Sanchai chhau?” I try to find the correlation coefficient. It's almost unity.

“Who's this guy who sounds like my mom? As per my knowledge, my mom doesn't go to melas and all. Did she lose her child in one?” I would wonder.

***

Sajal boarded on my 1982 Chevy S10 pickup-truck, the day after he graduated. Thanks to Paul. He had literally gifted me the truck before he left my city. Costed me a double-shot espresso. Not an ounce more.

“Dai, I just have two boxes. One is larger and heavier than the other so it's almost like three boxes” Sajal had said.

***

“That's your room. I have cleaned it up for you. There are few books here and there. Feel free to read if you want to. There's a stack of Maxims in that shelf on the top left. Feel free to amuse yourself. Don't overdo though. And yeah. The wall is thin. What you do here will not go unheard to my room.”

“Dai, I don't have a girlfriend.”

***

“Dai, I can see the washer but where's the effing drier?”
“Dai, I just exhausted my body wash, can I use yours?”
“Dai, I am hungry. Anything in the fridge?”
“Dai, I accidentally spilt the milk on the carpet. Where's the vacuum cleaner?”
“Dai, Teach me how to use this freakin' machine.”

“Dai, shall we go to the mall today? I need to buy a pair of shoes for myself.”
“Dai, my credit card is full. Can I use yours?”
“Dai, what you cooking today? Or are you taking me to that Japanese Restaurant again?”
“Dai, this room is streaky, freaky. Can I sleep in yours? I will sleep on the floor”

“Hello! Mamu! Good news for you! I just got married. Do you wanna talk with her? Her name is Sajal”

***

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Sajal would not go! I had been supporting him for months. I hadn't been into a relationship for this long with anyone all my life.

“Dai, I might move out next week. I have an interview. I am quite positive. ” Sajal shared me the good news.

“Dai, it didn't work out. But Giants won the game. I am happy.” He said a week later.

“Dai, I have a personal interview in NYC. Can you give me a ride to the airport?”
“Dai, tough luck. But Celtics are the new champion. I am happy.”

***

Sajal was losing it. His OPT would allow him to stay in the US for just a week over two months.

“Dai, I am starting to feel the heat now. Let's go swimming”

“Shut up! Just shut the fish up! No more this and that” I was infuriated to the most pain stricken face I had come across my life. “What you gonna do? Go back to Nepal? Ride a skinny mopet? Go everyday and spend 8 hours a day at the freakin' Door Sanchaar? ”

“Dai, on a second thought, it wouldn't be that bad, now would it? At least Nepal doesn't f**k me like America. Worst case scenario, I will have my daura suruwal and a dhaka topi intact. Here I am gasping for my very last torn chaddi.”

“Take the GRE. I have Barron's. Two weeks of serious preparation and you'll be fine. You gotta trust somebody if you don't trust yourself anymore.

“Dai, I will start from tomorrow. I am really tensed today. Let's drink. What do you have in the fridge?”

“Diet coke”

“Dai, what time does the liquor store close?”


***

Voice. Sound of a voice. Tone of a voice. Makes such a difference.

“I hate you!” My first ever girlfriend had told me playfully in our first dating. I knew she loved me then. Eight months later, if she had said the same thing, she would have meant it! She didn't say it though. And I understood. And we broke up.

“Dai, I love you” Went Sajal. “And it's not because I am drunk. I genuinely love you. You are my big bro. What would have I done, if you were no here? Damn I feel like crying.”

And Sajal cried that night. I had to hug him. To give him some solace; to hide my own tears. I was indeed his big bro for all those months.

“You'll be fine. Fish the job. Fish the damn OPT. Go take GRE. You'll shine.”

***

And a month later, he took the exam. He screwed it up big time.

“Dai, I had gone for an all-nighter. I dozed off in the hall. 400 in Verbal. Math's fine.”

“You have two options: Nepal or a third tier.”

And we drank again that night.

“Dai, if it was not for my parents, I would go to Caribbean and buy an island and spend the rest of my life there. F**k USA!”

“Nice! But that's my dream too and I just have one credit card”

And we hugged each other again.

***

Two weeks later, Sajal retook the GRE. This time, he had slept for 10 hours before the exam day.

Sajal left for Nepal a week later.

Two months later, I got a snail mail from Harvard. It had my address but Sajal's name on it. Finally, somebody had decided to adopt the orphan. Finally. Phew!

***

“Dai, I will stop by your place before I fly to Boston.” Sajal called from Nepal.

“How's the weather like in Nepal?”

“Dai, it's quite hot but I don't feel the heat anymore. You're not here, I figured!”

“Really?”

“Dai, I need someone like you in my life” He added.

“If you ever have breast implants, let me know and I will give it a second thought”

******

He jabbed me on my stomach with his elbow. I almost cried in pain. “No way!” I screamed within myself. Didn't want to create a scene there. The five and half footer stood in front of me and 11 other people in the line.

“Oh, mister! You hit me. And I am hurt!” I shouted at the man who had worn a bandana around his head and a denim shirt.

As he turned around, I noticed the two big protuberances on his chest.

“He cannot be he. But he doesn't look like she. Who's (s)he?”