About Me and You
They tell me — I’m easy to woo.
But the second you kissed me, it really did feel like seasons were literally flipping in the background — changing at the speed of light.
Let me take you back to where it all started. I would request you to please be patient with my words, like I tried to be while living this story in first person:
It was a windy spring evening; that evening when I first met you. Seeing you from afar was enough, I think. That playful smirk and man, was I sold.
There was an odd hint of jasmine in the wind, almost like they were desperately trying to tell us something while we obliviously passed them by during our walk back home.
I can’t promise for you to understand this, but there was a certain type of electricity — the sort that you’d expect a wire to carry when it goes to light up an 80-watt bulb. The sort of electricity that makes your brain send warning signals to your heart; the kind that collectively asks your mind and soul to become cautious.
Like I said, they always told me — I’m too goddamn easy to woo. I was telling someone the other day, “I’m quite plain sailing like that, hand me a Speaking Tree column from the Times of India and tell me it reminded you of me, I’m sold!”
I’ve never really been someone who expects or for that matter even understands the point of gestures that are blown out of proportion. Get me a fallen champa from the side of a quiet bylane and watch me prance! Lend me a book that changed your life and hear me silently gravitate towards your mind. Buy me a pack of those candy Phantom cigarettes and watch me squeal till the end of time. And even if you really like those grand gestures of yours, still — we’ll come to an arrangement! You buy a plane ticket to come see me, while I scavenge around for your favourite bun maska with a side of that kadak chai you constantly talk about and we can watch the sunrise together in silence.
It has always been about little things like these with me; little things that blow out of proportion in my mind and make me think of you or him or the one before that.
And that’s probably what you played on, didn’t you? That’s in fact precisely what you wrapped yourself around like a vine; the sheer simplicity and what was it? Ah yes, the contagious happiness. It was like you were lurking in my mind, infusing into my being — into my virtuous lack of secrecy. And I, knowingly let you. I let you see the me in the sea of emotions who fears no one, who invites drama with open arms, who is kind enough to understand you for the you — you are.
Subsequently it went something like this, we met once, and then again and again and again. And before I knew it, I had formed a habit of sorts; the sorts that is addictive and almost always bad for you.
It pioneered into becoming one of those new age health juices, only remarkably unhealthy in nature. Wherein we first added watermelon ’cause, for now, we just want watermelon juice, but then you thought of adding carrot and oh look, there’s pomegranate here too, so I thought — might as well put that in there while we’re at it! And now instantly we have a carrot- watermelon-pomegranate concoction that has understandably not come with instructions on how or when to consume.
How did we end up here? Tell me? How did we manage to effortlessly create a fake version of one of those Raw Pressery juices with no one to drink it? Why did I not heed my heart and brain when they were sending me warning signals in the first place? How do I rid myself of that feeling, that feeling of seconds inkling into cycles of seasons. Summer to Spring to Monsoon to chilly Winters and then back to the Monsoons, tell me what do I do?
