Been There. Done That

February. Valentine hangover. The sun was in a “Work in progress” status as he fought hard with a big gust of ozone-depleting pollution clouds. Not many seemed to care as they lounged in their smoke-spitting locomotives and got into an inglorious stupefaction of their compulsive obsessive tunnel- vision driving. The Indian Budget was to be announced. The “Common Man” was discussed at varied length and breadth in every inch. Lincoln did say that “God must love common man. He made so many of them”, maybe love was His reason to put so many of them in India. Two such common men had chosen to show their “love” over a broken scooter that all the man gods in their big ships had to come to a brusque halt in the infamous traffic jam.

On any other day she would’ve chosen to fight the passive war of “cribbing and complaining” with the pathetic ruling party, just like the man gods did in their air-conditioned ship lounges. But today it was a much needed bonus time in her heavily packed day. She opened the compact box and checked her eye make up in the mirror. The black eye shadow was still zing. Nirvana Black. He had loved it. “You’re some rocker chic”, he had said more than once. She gave herself a hot pout as she remembered. She casually looked out of the window. The eunuchs were on their prowl. They hunted down the man gods with utmost ease. Their weapon of sheer outrage silenced the manicured touch-me-nots. Then, there was the mad man. He wore a torn blazer and partially shredded pant. With his rash hair and a smoky white beard he reminded her of Rumpelstiltskin. Most mad men reminded her of Rumpelstiltskin.

This rumpelstiltskin did clumsy somersaults on the empty pavement. He settled down to see his face in his small mirror for a brief minute and then started a second seizure of his clumsy act. Although she did pity him, a part of her still called him a loser. She was sure she radiated a blue aura since last night... the calm blue of a clear sky; the wisdom brimming blue of a coffee mug with black coffee; the sacred blue of the Turkish blue eye; the charming blue of the pair of jeans with the white shirt; the analytic blue of Rorschach’s blot done in royal blue ink. Whoever said aura therapy gives greater detail to soul searching was so right. She let herself into a trance of “connecting” with this loser.

...Life can be miserable. Nothing one plans may work. It may drag and doodle and succumb to any one of those diabolises in those seven sins. It may finally meander to nothingness. But love, love is the saviour angel. It makes life seem filled with opportunities. Love instils trust. Love gives hope. In fact love was the reason to live. This loser either had no love in his life or he just didn’t hold on to it. Who would ever crumple himself to such a state if he had the medicinal flavour of love in his life to help him recover from any zenith of turbulences...He was a soul of lesser god. Without love, he merely existed...

She was now sure that her aura was pink, not blue. It was the pink of love. Rose Tinted.

Rumpelstiltskin was taking a break from his cosmic dance of poltroonery. It looked like the somersaults were his way to wade off the attention he was getting from people. He was telling them to look away from him. He wanted to clear them off from his personal space. He wanted to hide. He now clung onto his mirror and sat still facing the ground.

She turned on the radio. The RJ was just promising the caller to play a new popular track after a “short commercial break” in his well practiced tone that was heavy with pseudo zest. This was a great song. It was her favourite song too. The world was conspiring, after all.

She checked herself again in the car mirror. Self obsession gave a pearl-like glow. She couldn’t resist her urge to fish out her box of shadows. The palettes of brown and burgundy were almost empty. The peaches and the lilac were untouched. Perhaps now she’ll use them more. Time to plume. The warmth of the Cherry Daze or the kissing shimmer of the Berry Blast shall contour the happiness around her eyes. He might like the chic black, but she was sure he’ll love this. But not the dark shades again. She had nothing to hide anymore.

She slowly slept through the thought of the events of last night. The boss was leaving. It was his farewell party. She loved him. He had always reciprocated her gestures. He had always smiled at the hints she threw. But it was all still unspoken. They met at the smoking zone during the claustrophobic phase of the party.

It started with “you smoke? How cool”...

Went on as “You think it was Sangeetha?! Wohoho! No way...not that b!&*%! Oh c’mon......it was always you...”

And ended as “Oh you rocker chic...you know I’m crazy about you...”

The chemistry was crazy. That’s how they ended up together at his place and after a night of Armageddon sex minus any guilt, she lay there watching him sleep. Of course this had a future. Unlike the ones before, this was like magic that manifested over time. Falling in love at workplace was a complete no for professionals like them both. But now the time was right as they did not work together anymore. He had waited for this.

He suddenly woke up and said “Hey don’t tell Sangeetha that I called her that. Promise me by putting your hand on your heart.” Romance was all about foolishness.

She suddenly woke up to the loud ring. The shadow box in her hand was thrown down due to her response to the stimuli. The popular song was playing on the radio.

Dil tho bachcha hai ji...thoda kachcha hai ji...

She winked at the radio and answered the call.

“Hey sexy...”

“Serious talk...umm...yea sure”

Rumpelstiltskin was now holding on to a stray dog. The mongrel tried to wriggle out. He put his arms over her neck clumsily. She settled for a little while on his lap but she started to wriggle out again. He tried petting her but she barked at him and let herself free. She walked away with a snooty gait as Rumpelstiltskin sat there staring into his mirror.

“....so it was just a one night...”

The sun had won the feud with the clouds and was now flaunting his victory flag. The atomic and subatomic particles were unleashed with an overwhelming vigour. The steels of the vehicles woke up to the call of the green house effect. Some of those particles had managed to mix with her aura of pink and make it a coagulation of brown...the brown of unsettled loose soil; the brown of a withering old bark; the brown of degenerating cane sugar juice; the browns that she wanted to avoid. The brown aura serenaded.

“yea...I’m...I’m here...yea...”

“... I’ll call ya...so we don’t call also...”

“...um...yea...I’m cool...yea...”

“yea...I prom...s...”

Her hand clumsily fell off her chest. She gazed at something till it became really large and blur. Her hands trembled a little. An usher of blood caused some gooseflesh. Her eyes were moist. She picked up her box of shadows and dug out a last chunk of Copper Champagne. She needed new ones. The radio sounded louder than usual.

Dil sa koi kameena nahin....

Rumpelstiltskin was looking at her. His mirror was held against his chest with the reflecting side on the outside. He had a fixed stare. She felt him penetrate into her aura. Maybe he was “connecting”.

The moment froze. The song played on.

Dar lagtha hai ishq karne mein ji....