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!!”.

Sometimes, when I am all alone, I google myself…

Yes! Pretty catchy. I saw this quote somewhere on the wired jungle – the Internet, first home to many (including me) and I was impressed. Very impressed. So much so, that I ordered a personalized Tshirt with the quote. Somewhere within me lives a supremely self obsessed person. I might nod appreciatively at every debater and answerer but a part of me mocks at his orgasmic gimmicks and knows for sure that had I been in his place, I would have come up with better answers or better facts to justify my argument. Yes I write better than most of the published Bestseller writers, I sing better than those singing competition morons and I can abuse better than those wild reality show contestants. Every time I sat down to watch “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire) I finished with at least 1 crore in my kitty. I term this as my confidence but its pure obsession, a dark love of me for my own self. And then I thought maybe I live in everyone else.

I might be very visual and vocal about myself but self obsession adorns one and all. In their thoughts,  idea and actions, in every pause they take in front of cars with darkened glasses to have a good look at their own selves. In every smirk they pass whenever they see a lesser mortal fumble in work and out of it and in every anticipative glance they pass when they wear something fancy or do something fancier. It’s not unusual to trace out know-it-alls and maniacally intelligent and self proclaimed possessors of all human and para-human wits and virtues at our workplaces, in our families, amongst our friends, in our societies and on TV and on the Internet. In that authoritative boss, or that smart cousin or the snobbish friend. We eat, sleep, party and work with self obsession all around.

Like an excessive smoker keeps craving for his nicotine supply, we need a fair share of our narcissistic supply to feel good and to feel important. The Facebooks and Twitters have made billions, en-cashing on this queer aspect of our self obsessed generation. Ten years ago who would have thought that if you let the world know that After a 2 Km jog, you had a vegetable sandwich, a mug of orange juice and some salad as breakfast, twenty of your friends will end up liking it, 10 of them feeling jealous about your healthy lifestyle and another 10 of them motivating you to double your Jog distance and cut down on the food intake. We shout, they appreciate and they shout in turn. We are living in a vicious cycle of self obsession and we have mutual admiration pacts with everyone. I scratch your back, you scratch mine and lets laugh at the one who doesn’t have one to do the honors for him. Lets feel good about it.

I always wondered what made beautiful girls befriend the ugliest girls around. For the same reason I used to wonder what makes intelligent and smart guys befriend the dumb ones around. Things of similar nature should congregate together. Self obsession needs constant fuelling of the narcissistic supply. The Dumb will praise your intelligence; the ugly ducklings would pamper the beautiful swan. It’s a feel good relationship. Self obsession is intoxicating. We make good speakers, good bosses and good leaders. If we know about something we shout out loud, if we do not know about that thing, we manipulate it to our needs and shout out loud again. That ways we make the best manipulators too.

 But, somewhere we lose our genuineness. We lose our authenticity and we lose our substance. These days when I see a fellow speak about anything, the dominant me wants to spring onto the podium and show him his place but the recessive me holds me back and allows me to listen. My mouth hates my ears but somehow my brain has started learning the organ allocation algorithm. Recently I went through a lot of blogs, most of them write better than me and the fellow who was singing on the TV singing competition last night. He was way better than me. In fact just before I sat down to write this article, I was trying my hands on “Kaun Bangega Crorepati(Who’ll be a millionaire). I couldn’t even win a lac.