A beautiful predicament

Hello readers! Fun fact: when a character in a film interacts with the audience - it is said to be breaking some third or fourth wall. Like Genie from Aladdin or Deadpool.

But what if a character in a story - that is I , who is also the writer of the story - which is this, interacts with the readers. That's not breaking any wall. That's usual. Characters in stories often narrate the stories to readers.

Why this difference in discernment? While I was in the middle of forming this conjecture, I was interrupted:

"Khatam kar yaar glass, tu kitna slow pita hai! Aur agla gaana main lagaunga."

Next glass of whiskey was poured. And a next chain of thoughts. Then discussions:

“Kohli naa, sachin ka baap hai. Statistics dekh lo. Bhogle ne kaha hai: Sachin gave us hope, Kohli gives us assurance.”

“Saale, tu wohi hai jisne Sachin ke retirement pe kaha tha tu cricket dekhna chor dega!”

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“Jagjeet ke saath Gajal bhi mar si gayi hai. No one aspires to be Jagjeet Singh, Sabko bas Honey Singh banna hai.”

“New Gajal singers will emerge. Naye parindo ko udne mai waqt toh lagta hai.”

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It was one of our weekly rendezvous in the college hostel room where we lounge,  put our livers to work and talk about life: our college affairs in general and world affairs in particular; or is it the other way round? 

It was recently that we stepped up from beer to stronger intoxicants. It was a good time.

In those discussions, we disagreed a lot. But agreed when we planned our future, and we made a lot of them: Only a few realistic ones, others right out of the diary of Mungerilal.

The difference between those who have tabooed alcohol consumption in our society and those who have not is that when they are drunk, the former do stupid vicious things and the latter mostly talk about doing stupid things.

One should learn to keep calm and drink in peace.

There are always some plans to plan, some day-dreams to dream. We talked of everything under the sun but the one topic in which we invested the most was: Girls.

On that particular night, a particular girl was the center of our talk. She was our classmate in our graduation class and a friend -  with whom one of us wanted to be more than a friend. What she wanted was the hot topic after the third glass of whiskey.

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I wonder sometimes after which glass of whiskey, in general, is the boozer the best high: happy with good ideas; When his brain conjure up the best thoughts before getting all wobbly. What is that sweet spot? The vertex of a vertical transverse axis hyperbola (we were studying mathematics in graduation).

Three, isn't it?

Three is also the right number of people to sit and get drunk with.

Two leads to too much sentimentality. Too much bro-mance.

Four is fulsome. Crowded. Might as well call a house party.

Three is right. It's more than two but not too much. There are but three musketeers. Even the wise Gandhi talked about three wise monkeys!

Pati patni aur woh, teen deewarein, Teesri kasam, teen patti: apart from the last one, the first three are great movies.

You got the point, right?

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So the three of us, Saurav, Praveen and I (Don't need to put a name to my character, as I will be referred to as I, throughout this) discussed about our classmate Sheha and Saurav's prospects with her.

We were in the third semester of college and as we have established, three is usually the most productive one, it was in this semester that Saurav decided to act on his feelings for Sneha. They have known each other for more than a year now. They have been good friends. Like Rachel and Ross of the first season.

We wanted them to be the Rachel and Ross of the second season.

Saurav was putting up his case with some sound arguments:

"Yaar, we sit together all the time in class. She laughs at my jokes, sometimes. I should ask her out before she starts dating someone else.”

And some sound anti-arguments too:

"Yaar, a couple of guys have already proposed to her in the last one year - which I know of. I don’t want to be the third rejection. We are friends now at least. I can at least sit next to her and borrow pens and share lunches. If she rejects me, this will all go away."

How would Saurav - in love - vulnerable - would know what's going on in the head of Sneha. Should he tell her about his feelings for her and risk their friendship, or not?

Should he do it, should he not?? (Two questions, two question-marks. #fuck_grammer+Heil_Maths).

I know I know, you all have been there. It has been an evergreen problem, without the right answer. The P versus NP problem of people in love.

But since we just had 3 glasses of whiskey - and arguably were at our optimal best - we had to find a solution.

So we came up with a workable idea: Write her a song. From Saurav to Sneha - with love.

An idea which was workable in the pre - ARPANET era.

We pulled up a piece of paper and wrote a piece of poetry. Saurav provided intentions, the other two of us added rhymes. The song was as juvenile as the idea of writing it; anything written after three pegs ought to be cheesy. Read here to decide for yourself.

Then we bottom-ed up the fourth glass, after which we planned the method of delivery. It was bound to go downhill, as everything does after the fourth.

If you are novice drinker, remember not to do anything of significance after the fourth drink. Nothing good has ever come out of it. Also, smoking is injurious to health.

“We should post a letter to her place. Pink letter with the poem written in it.”

“Achaa, and what if her father receives the letter?”

“Call her and sing the song on phone.”

“Sing her a six paragraph song. On phone. If I had that much courage, we didn't have to become all Galib in the first place."

After much deliberation we decided on the most cowardly option of all: Write the song on a piece of paper and drop it inside her notebook - Hoping that she would go home, open the notebook and read it.

One less drink and we would have known how silly the idea was!

However the next day Saurav followed suit: sneaked the letter in her notebook during the last class of the day. It was a Friday so she had the whole weekend to open the notebook and read the song.

Alea iacta est.

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She was a day-scholar, we were hostelers. So we would meet her only on the next Monday with her verdict.

For Praveen and I, the weekend passed as the weekend before that. Not for Saurav. He was anxious as if his UPSC results were to be announced. If things were to go as we planned, rather hoped, he would not be spending his upcoming weekends with us.

Monday morning, Saurav waited outside the college gate for her cab to arrive. It arrived on time. Everyone came out except her.

She didn't show up. He was perplexed. 

Why is she on leave today? Is it because of the letter?

There was a simple flaw in our plan: we had no way of knowing if she read the letter. What if she didn't open her bag in the weekend?

When a guy proposes to a girl, he worries whether the proposal will be accepted or not. Here the worry was whether the proposal is proposed or not!

Worse, what if she did read the latter and choose to simply ignore it? Fuck!

Tuesday morning, he again waited for her. She was not there, again. The whole day he wanted to call her and ask her why is she not coming to college? Is she ill? He didn't have the courage though.

If not courage, he had perseverance.

Wednesday morning, he was there again, outside the gate, hoping to see her. It was difficult for we hostelers to wake up early in those cold Dilli winters, as most of us would sleep late for a variety of reasons. But he was there.

That particular morning was foggy than usual. His breath was visible when he exhaled. People just a little far were not.

Her cab arrived and - justifying this build-up - she showed up this time. Her cab stopped a little far from where he was standing. Everyone stepped out, she, at last.

 And he could see her clearly. There seemed to be no fog in those forty meters between them.

Or may be there was more science to it as she was wearing red, a red sweater. 

As she came closer he noticed that her nose was red too. She had cold. And in case you are wondering, her hair was yet to dry from the warm water bath in the morning. She sneezed like a 6 year old kid. 

She saw him. She acknowledged him. "Hi!"

- Hi

- What are you doing here, outside?

- Just walking. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?

- And chilling. Let's go to the class."

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They sat on the first row.

Praveen and I behind them. The teacher was discussing Differential Equations. We were discussing differences in our friend's equations. Pessimist I verses Optimist Praveen:

- Did we do the right thing? Getting him write that song? What if she says no?

- But what if she says yes?

- Unlikely. Have you seen her? And him?

- It's more important how she sees him.

- That's what worries me. We shouldn’t have encouraged him. If he will be heartbroken, it’s on us.

- See, we did what we had to. Right or wrong. Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

- What?

That day was a long day for Saurav. Even though they attended all the lectures side by side, he had no clue if she read the letter or not.

It’s a generalization but girls are good at not showing what they don't want to show. If they can fake orgasms, they can fake less intense feelings too.

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In the evening, after the classes were over, we all were hanging out outside the college gate as usual. She was waiting for her cab to arrive. We were waiting for Saurav to be friend-zoned by her.

Praveen and I casually went on the side to give them some time alone. May be then she would ask him about his cowardice. We, at that point, just wanted it to be over so that we can ask her if at least she liked the rhymes or not, as we had put our creativity in it.

It was then that out of nowhere Avinash -the cool rich guy of the class came towards us in his expensive goggles and Avenger bike.

He ignored us as if we were not even there and called her with confidence.

- Hey Sneha! Come, I will drop you off to your place. No need to wait for the cab.

- But Avinash, you don't even live near my place

- For you I can go to the Moon if I have to." - His flirting was worse than Saurav's song.

- I don’t think your bike has that much fuel in it.

- Come on. I won't bite. It's just a ride.

- Well, ok.

She gathered her bag and went with him.

Saurav had a gigantic hit of jealousy. Avinash's flirtatious words to her felt like he was hurling kerosene on him. And then Sneha lit a match-stick to it before going away.

It is painful when you feel possessive about a girl who does not care about your feelings. It is worse if she does not even know about your feelings. Then she cannot even be blamed for being a heartless bitch. 
Not telling her is dreadful, like being hungry for days in solitary confinement. May be not that bad, but still, bad enough.

They left and the three of us remained. Silent for a while and then the apparent followup:

- Aaj pine kahin bahar chalet hai.

- Haan yaar, bahut ho gayi aashiqi.

Praveen lit a cigarette. He took one drag and passed it to Saurav as he needed it the most. As it was passed to me, someone called Saurav from behind:

- Hey! So that's what you do outside the college gate.

- Aare! I thought you left with Avinash.

- I couldn't go, I have cold, so…

- Ohh! nice! - He couldn't even fake his excitement.

- What nice? Me having cold is nice?

- No, You... not leaving is nice

- I am leaving. My cab is here.

          

She started walking towards the cab, stopped midway, turned back, looked him in the eyes and said, “By the way, I found a letter in my bag. Whose handwriting it is, I am wondering!”

She smiled. We all smiled.