The Car has stopped, now what?

I pressed the disconnect option, “harder” this time. I knew the best was over and there was no point dragging it. But even after I explained her thrice, she wasn’t ready to understand. How immature can people be? It’s not a leaking tap that a mere twist of a wrench will fix it. We human beings are far more complex. And then she called again, the same name, the same number and that smiling picture of hers. She had started haunting me now. I switched the phone off.

“We are dogs chasing cars. Don’t know what to do when they stop” said a visibly drunk Vineet radiating sainthood and banged his fist on the table to prove his point. He listened to everything I narrated for over three hours and almost three quarters of Johnny Walker. But his take on the topic was top class. “We are the dogs chasing cars. Don’t know what to do when they stop”. True.

It started almost three months back when I offered her my seat in Delhi Metro. The kind gesture led to numerous smiles and coy glances. “Art of communication” is the only sure shot tool for a nerdy, bespectacled and not-exactly-a-great-looking-guy like me. And I utilized it to my full potential when the uncle on the next seat decided to leave at the next station. She was breathtakingly gorgeous and had the exuberance of a teen. She was excited about everything- her life, her friends and her work. I told her I wasn’t working and that I was just employed. She scribbled a note and handed it to me before leaving. I knew it was her number even before opening it. Well, it was her email id.

And those ten digits took almost 20 days to come to my phone. She was a tough nut to crack and I loved every bit of the pursuit. Every day was a challenge, for every smile that I managed to bring to her face, I patted my back twice. For every appreciative glance she passed at me, I mentally congratulated myself. I sang for her and she smiled. I wrote for her and she smiled. I acted crazy for her and she smiled.

And one fine day she decided to sing and write and act crazy for me. I didn’t smile. I was happy but that was because my ego got a huge massage. I felt good. The hat on my head had another feather and by far the most colorful one. And then she started feeling like a possession and then a liability and then a burden. The car had stopped and the dog had no idea. There were other cars speeding ahead, I decided to chase them.

And this was not the first time, the fifth time I guess or seventh or maybe I lost the count. There is something wrong with me or as Vineet says after his body and soul are full with Alcohol – “We set off for a destination but it’s the path we fall in love with, not the destination”. Philosophical but true.

The path, the pursuit of love excites me. When I chase a girl, I see her all around me - in my ideas, in my actions and in every part of mine. I see her on my car’s windscreen when I drive and every song that plays in the stereo somehow relates to her. When I try a new shirt in the trial room I mentally ask for her opinion. Yes, I become hopelessly romantic. And maybe, since the climb is so startling, the descent is dramatic too. Or as Vineet would say “It’s all temporary madness my friend, it too will die down”.

I am a spendthrift, a man with extreme fondness for a fine lifestyle and saving is always the last thing on my mind. When you crave for a superlative lifestyle, you have to part with your cash and I do that compulsively and hence stay empty handed most of the time. I am a spendthrift in matters of love too. I spend all pennies of love even when it needs to be preserved to be used in times of adversity. And consequently when the dire moment comes, I turn my face towards richer vistas. I hate looking at the venture whose budget has been depleted. The emotional budget has been depleted. Vineet wouldn’t brand me a villain and would assert coolly “Love is eternal, partners change”.

But am I the only one? Or I am just being vocal about myself, like I was vocal about my self-obsession a couple of months back. I have seen my friends leaving their phones unattended and then making the most horrendous excuses to justify their acts. At least I am Satan enough to pick the call and let it all out. How do people survive in long relationships then and what about those “Lived Happily ever after” couples? Do I have commitment issue? No, of course not because I don’t mind my space being invaded by someone I love, even if that’s a temporary feeling.

Maybe people like me need a mid-path in relationships as well, like we do in all spheres of life. Maybe, people like me need a more calculated approach in matters of heart and not a headfirst dive . Maybe people like me need to save the best for the worst.

And as I hate to believe maybe people like me don’t deserve love or as Vineet would put it “You know what dude, narcissists like you and I stay single. No big deal!!”.

Celebrations, Love and Saraswati

Those days we used to wait for it. Those days when I was 12 or 13 and coincidently my friends were about the same age, we used to wait for it. Holi and Diwali never figured in our favorite festival’s list, but it did and we used to wait for it. The Feel, The Energy and the festivity that happened in late January and early February every year and like any other Patna guy(or perhaps any not-so-small town guy) I used to wait for it.

Patna, arguably the only recognized city in the state of Bihar is the epicenter of all educational activities. Convent schools, Intermediate colleges, Graduation colleges and speckled in between the colleges are coaching centers each of which is run by an Ex-IITan and each of which guarantees a seat in the prestigious Indian Institutes of Technology. And the students from all across Bihar and Jharkhand and Eastern UP come running to the city in pursuit of education. And the city lives to their promises. Hence students form a perpetual part of Patna - rich, poor, timid and violent, students of all types and varieties. Education is the prime topic of discussion. While Gujaratis love their money, Punjabis love their food, Tamilians love their culture, Biharis love their education till the verge of obsession.

And Goddess Saraswati oversees all educational activities. She is the goddess of wisdom, knowledge and enlightenment. Because of her benevolence, people crack competitions, pass their semester and yearly examinations and get through tricky job interviews. It’s because of Goddess Saraswati that we have so many Engineers and Doctors and Lawyers and Managers in our country. Saraswati prepares people to worship Lakshmi (the goddess of wealth and prosperity) for the rest of their lives. And Patna leaves no stone unturned in making the goddess joyous. Saraswati Pooja is the annual fest of all colleges, schools and coaching centers of Patna. Some of them even call it the unofficial Valentine’s Day of Patna.

The glorious 90s - the decade I was brought up in, celebrated the festival in Grand Style. Boys in groups of 5-10 knocked every door in the locality urging (or begging or threatening) for Chanda (donation). People sometimes willingly contributed and sometimes unwillingly gave away cash ranging from Rs. 5 to Rs. 501. Every Collection Committee managed enough cash for the entire worshiping ceremony, lighting, sounds, VCRs  and a rented color television for playing pirated video cassettes for late night movie watching. The elderly students fondly addressed as” Bhaiyyas” by everyone even saved enough cash for their beer and porn movies. Brightly lit Pandals, statues of the goddess adorned with marigold and rose garlands, a continuously chanting Pundit and noise all around, the craziness seemed absolute sanity at that time.

The Geniuses who were experts at handling locally assembled music systems or “decks” as we called them ensured that entire colony listened while the Pundit chanted by strategically placing the metallic loudspeakers on electric poles, roofs of neighbors, or even ad lib bamboo poles. No one in the locality complained, the curse of Saraswati could have rendered their children uneducated and unpolished for life. The same loudspeakers proudly broadcasted the latest chart-busters for three continuous days. Alien words like “Bass” and “Treble” were still to make ways into our lives. “Loudness” was very much in. So when the songs were played, people switched to sign languages in their respective homes. That was the time when music from movies “Aashiqi”, “Sadak”, “Mohra”, “Dil” etc. made their way into our lives.  When there were multiple pandals around, there used to be an impromptu music contest that continued till wee hours of the night. Everyone wanted his Pundit to be heard and everyone wanted his music to rule. And we innocently remixed songs without any hi-fi mixing instruments.

And that was the time when we started noticing love around us, for the first time. Girls flocked at the Pandals dressed in bright Salwar-Kurtis usually ranging from pale saffron to bright orange which is the official dress code for Saraswati Pooja. And their lovers went out of their way to give them a personalized treatment. Once the love of their life appeared at the Pandal, the music usually switched to a soft romantic Ballad, a “chori chori jab nazrein mili” or a “Nazar ke saamne, Jigar ke Paas”.  The expression on the girl’s face would change from happy to shy to a state where fathoming expressions became impossible.  And her friends elbowing her frenziedly so much so that she’d stop looking at anyone. And then the hero would appear with Prasad Packets neatly arranged onto a metallic tray. The usually ordinary Prasad would be garnished with generous helping of seasonal fruits and sweets. Some lucky lovers even managed to spend some private Prasad munching moments with their girls as her friends would leave as soon as the guy appeared.  Everything was planned without even planning. The demonstration of love continued till every single guy of the committee got to treat her girl flamboyantly. Saraswati, the white adorned goddess of wisdom with a constant smile on her face silently played the love goddess. The show continued till three days and after the Pooja new couples surfaced.

Now when I switch on my workstation on a Saraswati Pooja day or any festival that made me go wild in old days, a smile robotically comes on my lips. The songs start playing somewhere inside my mind and flashes of guys dancing and girls shyly accepting their Prasad packets and wailing kids and chanting pundits and blaring loudspeakers  appear on my mental canvas. While I mechanically pretend to be lost in work, my mind dances in the streets where a white idol of the goddess of wisdom smiles at my moves.