The friend's hip

Aryan shook me from my shoulders and with a distinct concern in his voice, oppugned, ‘You got her back?’

I didn’t know whether my answer was going to be a yes or a no. Well, online rendezvous does not qualify as ‘getting-someone-back.’ And with the deadly villain like Tanya’s mom, getting her back was like liberating Sita from Ravana’s captive. Unsure of the answer, I chose the easiest path out. The word called ‘hmm’.

‘Hmm.’ I blurted.

It is funny how such an innately meaningless word could offer countless interpretations to the person it is directed at. Not that, it disorients the exact meaning, but it just offers plenty of other meanings at the same time. Now, it’s upon the person to decide which meaning he chooses. Aryan, as written on his face, was smart.

‘You mean you got her back.’ Aryan said, with a shine of excitement in his eyes.

‘Yeah!’ I exclaimed and I jumped to hug him. Well, that was just out of the blues. The hug was great – sharing joy is so gratifying, but at the same time, it was so damn awkward.

Let me tell you about ‘hugs’ in brief. Hugs – amongst men, is a subject worth discussing. There was a time when hug signified friendship, warmth and bonding. But, this was at the time when we were hanging around in our nappies. The nineties, you might say. As time progressed, and orientations digressed, men-hugging-men were seen in a new light – the light of awkwardness and in worst cases, obscenity. The gay rights movement brought freedom to this act of affection but at the same time, it made this act typically gay.

The Old Story

Anuj(chatting with his 1st crush 'Neetika', yes! they've befriended) - Hey, heard that you got committed. Congrats!

Neetika(scandalized) - :O, omg how do you know that?

Anuj(realizing that he's extracted a secret) - Your boyfriend only told me.

Neetika(worried) - WTF! How do you know Rahul? And how could he disclose it. He'd promised me that he would never. I mean, how could he?

Anuj(shrewdly taking revenge of his first rejection) - He called me and disclosed it. BTW, I didn't know that his name is Rahul ! Thanks for telling. And yes, this time seriously, congrats! I'll spread the good news amongst the fellow country-men. :P

Neetika(disgusted) - Asshole!

P.S. See, with time comes maturity. Anuj, no more uses shrthnd, for he has left making class-notes.

The Beginning

Every love story has an end. But this was not true in my case. My story had a beginning in the end and here is where my story really begins.

“Hi jerk,

Wanna play Scrabble?”

It had been ten minutes and my eyes could not move ahead of the last two lines of her ‘about me’. The last two lines did not contain anything ‘about her’ nor did it have any emotional strand attached to it but it contained everything ‘about us’. I am not talking about me being a jerk (which I am) or the unforgettable scrabble game that it hinted at, but the fact that she was back into my life was what glued my eyes to the screen. Of course, I wanted to play scrabble! A thousand times. And I could die to hear that word – ‘Jerk’, for one more time.

My tongue was parched except for the saline taste of my tears that somehow managed to creep inside my mouth while I was gaping at the dead screen and my body, shivering occasionally, was letting me know that I was still alive.

Finally my eyes swayed up a little on the screen.

I look up at the velvety blackness of the sky

And I see stars adorning nights dress so bright

Even diamonds may feel shy

And then I see one

That breaks free and shoots to

I know not where

Oh little star!

Will you take my wish to him who is so far

Tell him that I am

Just a little lonely here...

Another pause. Fifteen seconds this time, for I broke up into tears. Never before had I cried like that. It was a loud, euphoric and ecstatic cry – the kind of cry you have when you experience life, for the first time. If you had heard me that time, your ears would have gone numb. In decibels, I could beat every child that had ever bawled out on this planet. Trust me, it was so damn loud. The tears seemed to be unstoppable; rather I didn’t even try to stop it. The tears even outshined my sweat-engine that used to occur when I was a bloody wimp.

I read the poem, once again, while the tear-factory was still on.

‘Wow, she remembered my poem. She’s not as mean as she looks.’ The thought flashed in my mind. A strange chuckle followed on my face. I looked at the mirror. With sticky cheeks, tearful eyes and a wide grin on my face, I was at my ugliest. But boy! I could stand my ugliness. Never before had it looked so beautiful to me.