Pre Script: This story is purely imaginary; however, I chose to narrate in first person. Because this is our story, of things and people that happen to us in expected and unexpected turns. I just tried to put one such event in my perspective, and you will not be surprised, this must have happened to most of us at some point. I believe there is someone out there, or rather many others. Who is the one? If only we knew the answer.

The story is unfinished. I left it that way. Ok. I got lazy. There might be many grammar as well as usage errors, for which I humbly apologize in advance. I skipped the quotation marks, you can guess why. Thank you again for taking out your time and reading it...

 

Part I : Love Found / Love Lost

I look into the sky, the vast canvass of perpetual nothingness reflects upon the bright and shiny expanse. The occasional flurries of clouds surmise the rendering sun under its heavy cloak of misty discrepancies. And lost in its profound evasiveness, I run my fingers through my hair, squint into the glaring sun. I occasionally enjoy looking into the azure sky, wondering when the dark cloud would start looming about the cheerful perkiness of a perfect day. That is a damper for sure.
_________

 
I am looking at her. I am staring at her. She is ostensibly sipping some wine, I guess, and scanning the hall with a look of disquiet, yet radiant and a rather pretty sight. She was wearing a polka dots dress, with -

Oh my god, did she see me stare at her?

The cursory glances I so forlornly skipped met its course, and I felt a jolt of inelegance. My effusiveness and bold advances took a right turn and left on its heel. In simpler words, I wish I had not gawked at her. A gentle and benign look would have sufficed, but my obtuse sense of smugness got me gripped in the frenzy of wading palpitation.

I am debating with myself, should I go or should I go. And I am bemused by my own choices.

Should I go or should I go?

Where should I go?

To her.

And?

And what?

What am I supposed to do?

Go to her, say hello, introduce yourself, and stuff, you know?

No, I do not know.

C’mon, do not be so coy.

And I am amazed. I am talking to myself. Not talking to myself but volubly talking to myself.

Okay.

I gather my little left courage, swig on my cocktail glass.

Wait, wait. Am I drinking a cocktail?

I thought I had Bourbon. I must have lifted someone else’s cocktail, and she, which I am sure is a she, must be horridly looking for it. And it does taste crappy too. So much for the barely intelligible cocktails!

Anyways, I was on my way to her. I set down the crappy cocktail and inched towards her. I had to cross an army of revelers gathered in that gala, all dressed impeccably or rather unceremoniously for my taste, and holding stems of martinis, cocktails and wines.
God, I am not so in this crowd. I miss my longneck. I barely recollect anybody holding the longnecks though.

Via cramped aisles and oh-how-are-you faces, finally, I succeeded in reaching the other end of the hall, but still a healthy stride or two from her.

And what in the god’s name is this? Some lousy drunk stumbled on me and spilled the red wine on my just-out-of-the-cleaner white shirt. Shit, this is not happening. I look at my shirt and look at his horror-shocked face. His gaping mouth and wide-open eyes were telltales of his subliminal drunken stupor. He is on the verge of passing out. And without a formal warning, he flopped down on his knees and uttered his last words of unruly drunkenness before collapsing into the black hole of alcoholic nirvana.

Oh, man!

And I am standing there, with red flecks on my bespoke and pristine white shirt. I look at the man passed out on the floor, in a supine state of deep slumber, or as it seemed. Nobody seems to care that he is sprawled in the aisle. My horror took to its height when a woman in a nice sari and many I-had-it-custom-made jewelries walked past him. Yes, walked past him. She lifted her perfectly creased sari a little bit and hopped over him, and said

Why do not they pass out somewhere in the corner? Drunk ass.

I thought to myself, sometimes I think aloud, should I still go!

Yes, I should.

Then again, I look at the drunken person sprawled in front of me. He had an unusual smirk in his face. He ruined my shirt and chances of a proper introduction with her. She might think I am a gauche drinker, or a recovering AA. I put my hurt feelings and chances aside, and lifted him by his shoulders.

Wait a minute! Why am I even trying to pick this fat dude who just ruined my life, or half ruined it, for that matter. Am I showing that I am a nice forgiving person? Am I trying to impress her by this gesture of kindness, secretly wishing she were looking at me at this moment? Oh well! I should at least put him somewhere where he will not be run over or trampled by our good friends.

I still cannot understand why nobody comes and asks what happened. It is so uncommon for such a crowd, diligent and as nosey they seem. A full two minutes has passed by and no reaction or swarming of people , save the occasional glances by the bystanders. Later on, about two and a half minutes into the arduous task of lifting him, someone whispered in my ears.

He always does that in such events. He gets unusually drunk and blacks out wherever and whenever he pleases, correction, *happens to be*. And when people run to him to help, he starts kicking and screaming.

And why is he not kicking or screaming at me?

Well, he usually does that into his five or six minutes or so. It is only three minutes.

And then, what?

He is passed out. Let him be.

But who will clear him up?

His family. In about, now.

I saw a young twenty something man run towards me, followed by another twenty something and a fifty something aunty. The twenty something 1 muttered under his breath and looked at me.

I am so sorry. My dad must have stumbled on you. I am so sick and tired of this old man.

Hey, watch it. It is you father.

The aunty gasped and yelled at him.

So what? He always does that to us. See how many people have gathered around us. It will be a good talk of the day over the tea with his and your friends, and will be passed on to my friends.

So embarrassing. Twenty something 2 added to 1.

Mom, he always does that to us.

Be embarrassed later, first pick him up and take him somewhere anywhere but here.

 

Aunty riposted to her sons’ grumpy and complaining attitude.

Meanwhile, I am looking at this dysfunctional family, the father started screaming and kicking anything come his way. I was shocked and sat back when he howled like a I-am-turning- to-a-werewolf. The sons gripped him and solaced him.

Its okay, daddy. We are here.

Number 1 said. Number 2 came around to me and asked me to lend him my hand in picking up his father. I obliged. After they eventfully picked up and ensconced their still screaming father to a nearby seat, then I sighed a relief. Aunty was looking at my wine stained shirt and me.

I am so sorry my husband ruined your shirt and maybe the evening. I profusely apologize. He is not himself for the last couple of years. We lost our young daughter few years back and he blames himself for that. I can but only apologize and offer you to get you a new shirt.

I saw a glint of tear somewhere in her eyes, sadness in her rugged feature.

It is not my place to ask, but what happened?

We lost our daughter and her family in a car accident back in Nepal. Our son-in-law lost the control of the jeep and plummeted into the Trishuli. They never found his body. My daughter was found after a full day of search. Far away from where their jeep crashed. She did not put her seat belt on. Nobody put their seat belts on.

And why does your husband blame himself for the accident he had no control over?

My husband had called them to Kathmandu from Chitwan. It was supposed to be a small family gathering. Her eyes were moistened and the glints of tears swelled up.

Oh, I see.

I look down my shirt and feel sorry for the aunty.

Do not worry about the shirt. I hope your husband will eventually forgive himself. And your family will be happy again.

I namasted aunty and hurriedly left, without looking back. Such a tragedy. Dead are long gone and alive die with them everyday.

For the fleeting moments, I forgot about her. I took to the bar instead and ordered a whiskey. I fumbled in my pocket and produced the pink coupon for the drink. Shit. It was the last one. And I hardly had more than two glasses. So much for I will buy you a drink.
I took the tumbler and ambled towards my table. Everybody in my table was engrossed in their conversations. Work, finances, new cars, and new clothes. Sometimes I feel I am in a wrong crowd. But this crowd comprises of my friends and their wives or their husbands. Ten people, ten young professionals. Dynamic people, good personalities, good friends. But I suddenly felt awkward with them. Was it the dysfunctional family or the lost prospect of seeing her? I smiled at everybody, and lazily sat in my chair.

 

Suddenly, someone tapped me from behind.

Excuse me, you are in my seat.

Exasperated, I turn behind to face the chirpy voice, I am taken aback.

She was standing there, in her impeccable aura and towering personality.

I turn around, take long drag of fresh breath energy and exhale the longest sigh of relief. And after composing myself, I stood up.

With all my pleasure, I present my seat to your highness.

Very funny.

It is, huh?

Not really.

Okay.

Umm, this was my seat before it became your seat.

I looked around for some support from my friends. Too bad, they did not even look at me.

But why your seat my seat. It is all the same. The same difference. It was mine. Now it is yours. I will find something else.

I looked behind me for any empty chair. I found one empty and perhaps unclaimed chair past my immediate table to my far right. Shit.

Uh, why don’t you suit yourself. I will grab another one.

I hurried towards the lone chair lest it should be grabbed by someone else. Right now, I needed it the most, more than anybody else or more than anything else.

Hey, this chair is taken.

A burly and overly made up aunty growled at me.

But aunty, nobody is sitting here. I really need one. This is the matter of life and death.

Oh, you think I just came here yesterday from a village, eh? Matter of life and death, eh?

Yes aunty, I mean no aunty. Could I have this chair please?

No.

She just held to the chair like her life depended on it.

Okay aunty. I hope you will take this chair home and worship it. My respect to your chairmanship, or chairwomanship.

Yeah, whatever. Go on. Nowadays kids do not have any manners. They think they can do anything.

Yeah, kids do not have any manners nowadays. Sorry aunty.

I sulk at the lost prospect of possessing the chair that aunty so dearly held to her chest. Long live the chair, long live the aunty. God!

I gave up to the strong chair devotion of aunty and came back like a lost warrior rugged in the sandstorm. She was sitting in my chair and looking at me.

You sure cannot handle a lady.

She was all over me, huffing and puffing. Do you not see my state of shock?

Yes, I do.

By the way, when and how did this chair become yours?

What is wrong with you man? The girl has come herself to you, she is sitting in your chair and you are asking why and how about the chair? Why, you are going to take the chair home and worship it too? I gulped at my own chiding.

She was about to say something, I silenced her with my own trying to say something. I let her finish, she let me finish. We both stood there quiet for a moment.
Man! she is sitting. I am the one who is standing. Well, does it matter? I am so stupid sometimes. Duffer. Like an ass.

I smile at her and she smiles at me. And I am amazed that not a single of my friends are saying anything. Suddenly, they all got up like some zombies taking out on a free killing spree on an unanimous vote. They filed out. Ajay came near me, winked at me, and whispered, We all are heading outside for a quick smoke. Be comfortable. She is Kamini’s (Ajay’s wife) friend. I barely know her too. So, make her comfortable too.
He coyly waved at Kamini’s friend and hurried out. The women winked, giggled and filed out, like some emergency bell went off.
I sighed, flopped on one of the chair and took a brief but rather noisy swig.

So, what is your name, Kamini’s friend?

Phoolan Devi.

Huh? Phoolan Devi?

I didn’t believe her. Hell, I don’t believe her. Maybe, who knows.

Nice to meet you, Phoolan. I am Mangal Singh.

Nice to meet you too, Mangal Singh.

I nodded an acknowledgement to such blatant and goofy a joke.

So, tell me Mangal Singh, do you always pick up drunken people off the places? Or is it just that you wanted to repay him for ruining your already ruined shirt?

Already ruined shirt? What is she talking about? I look at my shirt and I do not see anything save the stains from the wine.

What already ruined shirt?

I defended myself.

Well, the style is. Looks like you raided some costume department of a drama company.

Why, what is wrong with my shirt style? It is trendy..

Yes it is. Too trendy. I mistook you for a waiter for a while.

S**t, she is already bashing me like a washer man.
I guess you have a horrible sense of fashion too. Look at your dress, looks like some one was left in the polka dots street alone. Even my mom did not wear these kind of dresses in her youth.

I was looking for a resentment in her eyes. I was expecting a hungry tigress rip me apart with looks alone.

I know, right? I just realized how horrible I might have looked.

No, not might have. You do.

She smiled, grinned and grimaced.

Why? What?

At least I do not look like a waitress. Now if you will excuse me, Daku Mangal Singh.

She got up and headed towards the door. Should I run after her? I mean should I accompany her or just leave her be? Maybe she is crossed at my sly remarks.
Yeah, whatever.
I turned back. I took a last swig from the tumbler, set it on the table.

Godammit!!

I ran out to the door. She was leaning at the corner by the railing, cigarette dangling in her perfectly manicured hand. I tried to act calm, but my sudden sprint left me a little short of breath.

I took out the cigarette and lit it with the last stick of matchbook I had swindled from someone on my way to the hall. I am such a cheat sometimes.
I deeply inhaled the smoke, and ritually exhaled, with a swoosh of surging energy. I felt groggy and light headed. Wait a minute. Groggy and light headed?

She exhaled the smoke and came near me. I lifted my head and looked at her. I looked into her face, and her eyes. She might have felt an uneasy comfort, and I was trying to stay calm, pretending to look at the passerby, the gaudy makeshift epitome of make up and jewelries. She also pretended looking at her almost finished cigarette and her nails, as if she is going to dig out all the dirt. She glanced at me, as I was turning my head towards her, and our eyes met yet again. She smiled, I hurriedly smiled and turned away, pretending to look at another passerby, a thin man in a tweed suit and corduroy pants. He seemed outlandish in the party.

Now should I act coy and start blushing?

By the way, name is Saundarya. She broke the silence.

Bond, James Bond.  I smiled the widest grin I had ever put on.

She looked at me with disbelief. I looked back at her, and grinned an ever-evasive smile.

Anay.

Nice to meet you, Anay.

And the pleasure is all mine.

We shook hands. Her hands were soft like a baby’s bottom, eeks, I mean the softest cashmere. I like cashmere better than silk.

She smiled. I smiled. My heart was pounding. I was smiling too much I guess. I was smiling so much that –

What is the matter? You Okay?

Huh? Yeah, everything is alright.

My love story started right there. And it ended right there.

So, what are you doing here?

Oh, I was visiting Kamini here. She insisted I come to this party. I was going to go today but I could not refuse Kamini. You know how pouty she gets.

Yes. That is our Kamini. You guys went to school together?

Yes, back in Boston.

The ice seemed to have finally broken.

How come I have never seen you anywhere before, in pictures or conversations?

We lost contact after I moved to Connecticut. We chanced upon each other in New York, where I was visiting my friends. It just happened that we were staying in the same apartment building in Queens and that we had friends who knew each other.

Some reunion, huh?

Yeah, it was cool. Meeting her after so many years. We used to be very good friends, not the BFF kind though.

What is BFF?

She looked at me like I have told her the joke of the century.

What, you don’t know BFF?

No, why, that is a chick phrase. None of my business to know of. Is it something like

Buffy the vampire Slayer kind of thing?

Something like that. She smirked cutely.

Only without Buffy and her vampire slayer.

No, tell me. What is it?

I sounded whiny, not curious.

Jesus, it is Best Friends Forever. Don’t you read magazines or blogs or anything like that?

I barely can read my name.

I grin. She complies.

Fancy another cigarette?

Sure, only if it is not Camels. I hate those.

No, it is Newports.

 

Yikes. I totally hate them.

No, I was joking. I hate them too. I got Marlboros. Like them?

I can live with it.

I fished out the pack, offered her one and another for myself. After lighting her cigarette, I blurted.

You smoke a lot?

Not really. Only when I am at parties and stuff. You?

I live to smoke.

Damn sure you do.

Okay, pardon my embellishment. Just a few squares a day. One here, another there. You know, pretty regular stuff.

I see. So what do you do?

 

Umm, I am a waiter.I put it as bluntly as I could.

 

She glared at me.

 

Nothing wrong with that. But really, what do you do?

 

Ok, let me rephrase it. I wait on people for a living.

 

You are so full of s**t. She laughed.

 

That I am not aware of. I retorted.

 

You are so humble.

 

That I have been told many times. I smiled

 

Ok, if you say so, Mr. waiter.

 

Thanks. I work in IT. What about you?

 

I just graduated. But I sell souvenirs for living.

 

Fair enough. Job hunting?

 

Not really. I guess I will, very soon. So, you good friends with Kamini?

 

Yesh! Ajay is a good friend of mine. I was forced to accept Kamini, otherwise my friendship with Ajay would be jeopardized. Huh!

 

That is our plight. Acceptance is like a collateral damage. Comes in a combo package.

 

You, Miss Saundarya, are very right. But, I still do not understand, what are you doing here?

 

I told you. I am here with Kamini. I was going to go today, but Kamini insisted so much, I had to tell my fiancé to –

 

What? Fiancé? 

My heart sank. The earth slipped away under my feet. The sky fell on me. The color drained from my face and I felt an agonizing pain run through my entire being.

 

My fiancé was supposed to come too, but he had a last minute thing at work.

 

I was not hearing her voice. I accidentally hit the mute button. 

 

Anay? Are you Okay?

 

Huh! Yeah. I am sorry.  I just remembered something. I will be right back.

 

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