Blame February

(pardon the general vagueness of this post. Advertising and the mainstream media have persuaded me into believing that there is some truth to the whole “month of love” thing… capitalism is such a curse)

I hate my phone. It has this awful habit of ringing when I’m not around. Or when I don’t wish to answer it. Or when I can’t bring myself to respond with any more than the bare essential monosyllables.

And when I am around and really itching and craving to speak… it will do anything but ring. I’ll cross my fingers (and toes and legs and eyes) but always in vain. I wait and wait… try to stare it into submission. Never works.

But most of all, I hate the person that some conversations bring out in me. ‘persons’ rather, because there are so many telephonic mes. There is the inexplicably incoherent and giggly me (topping my list of most irritating avatars). Then comes the terribly excited, ridiculously short of breath and awfully loud me. Then there is the droll and sarcastic me (she’s the smartest of the lot and also by far the most despicable).

But this post isn’t nearly as much about talking as it is turning out to be.

It rang today, at one of it’s trademark inconvenient times. The phone waited till all the stars were misaligned, all the odds stacked against the prospect of a pleasurable conversation…

1. I was walking home
2. Navigating noisy traffic
3. I needed to pee

“hey there little one…”.
A voice I would at some point have killed, nay, committed brutal, morbid homicides to hear.

“Can I talk to you in a bit, I’m in a hurry, really need to pee”

“Ha ha.. little miss P needs to pee…”

More cruel laughing follows. And then I join in. You know it’s strange, how and when we laugh. Is it because someone said something funny or nervous laughter or polite laughter or just laughter because that certain someone said it?

“ok so when should I call?”

“ooh…umm…crap… about twenty minutes?”

“twenty minutes… when was the last time you took a leak? Last Wednesday? Ha ha ha..”

“no I’m walking home, sprinting actually”

“really how far have you reached?”

“Erm…well…I…”

“You’ll never make it”

Well, it turns out I did successfully manage to reach back home, and dive into a loo just in time. Subsequent to which, a conversation did happen, a rather short one though. Fairly mundane too, one of those general haal chaal type things. As usual I sabotaged it right when it was getting promising. Sometimes I do these things…I worry that it is too good to be true and deliberately mess things up. Silly me.

And ever since I’ve just been swirling in the densest cloud of fuzziness. Half of me knows it was just a phone call, an exchange of harmless pleasantries. Try explaining that to the other half.

The other half is in the process of picking out dog’s names (a long time back it used to be children’s names. Then I figured that ruminating on prospective names for non-existent progeny was way too clichéd and filmy…so dogs it is). Choosing a suitable “our favourite restaurant” and “our song”. And by far my favourite topic for fantasizing: a dedication in a book (a long time back I really wanted to be loved by someone who wrote for a living, not books pertaining to any particular subject matter…I’m fairly flexible in that regard. But whatever it’s contents, it would have to be dedicated to me. Corny things like, “For S, the most beautiful woman in the world” would be absolutely inadmissible. It would have to be something personal, creative and preferably cryptic such as, “For S, wearer of candy striped socks and dubious expressions”. Ok enough, this bracket has taken up the better part of forever. Exit)

Both halves (at last count this post features about 5 versions of me) have their respective hearts in the right place. But it’s the latter (i.e. the hopeless romantic) who I’ll side with for the present, or at least till I wake up tomorrow as my cynical self (that makes it 6) and convince myself that it is boredom and loneliness that make relationships happen. Tomorrow I will lecture S about how love is not about love at all, but about circumstances. About the (right?) place and time. Two pathetic people and a double coincidence of wants. And S will agree, she’s a pushover and hates to argue… even if it is with one of her selves.

But tonight is a night for reveries. For a silly smile pasted resiliently on a face for hours on end. For a complete lack of concentration or ability to do anything except stare off into space…and smile some more.

I hope that I never outgrow these tendencies. They add a certain flavour to life that nothing else can quite replicate. Because love is a scary thing (I know it scares me a bit, to have to rely so completely on another person). And also because relationships are hard and at times downright tedious (I think the hardship and tedium grows exponentially, the more insecure one is). Because you can be completely captivated by someone and be entirely uncomfortable with it and unable to explain it.

But THIS is fun. Imagining the possibilities. Scripting future occurrences, conversations, glances. Like a delicious little tickle in your tummy that lingers on. Don’t know how worthy a destination love is. I’m more of an authority on “like” than “love”. But if “love” is anything like its much-belittled cousin “like”, then the journey to should prove to be truly rewarding.