Transitions

I never count the number of years I have been associated with anyone in my life. This is primarily because of the fact that it reminds me of two things, firstly the time spent with the person always seems less and secondly there is a constant urge to spend more time with the person. I was in class 11 when we first met. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to call it a meeting, since I had just written to him. I don't know if  I still have the letter in my mailbox. Back then, he was a journalist owning a his own little space in a weekly news paper. His story about a woman, who coaxed him into buying her a "pair of black trousers" amused me. The presence of a Yahoo ID printed below his story made me curious. We were still in the age of Yahoo Messenger and cell phones were not as prevelant as they are today. Why not add this man, I thought. I didn't have anything to lose. If he reciprocated, it would be a new beginning, otherwise I'd be just one among the many friend requests he would have declined.

iamtoobrainyforu was quite an interesting Yahoo ID, and its quite tough for anyone to deny a friend request from an id that is so presumptuous. The id gave me all the attention that I never got in real life and I did not complain. So the journalist and I got chatting and before I realised, we were talking each night, all night long until dawn. I still question myself as to what conversations can a man who is in his early thirties and a lady who is barely out of her teens can have? On the outset our story would seem like one of those tabloids on a news paper where two strangers met online, became friends and eventually one of them was taken for a ride. But neither of us expected anything from each other right from day one and the same continues till date.

I became friends with the man, before he started his own blog. We were friends before I began writing. One of the best things to happen to me in my life is writing. The man helped me discover that I could write. One afternoon the time when I was confused about which undergraduate course to join, I went to the yellow smiley beside his name and began lamenting to him. I always wonder if anyone else would have had the same amount of patience to deal with a school girl's cribbing. Anyone else would have brushed me off and said it happens everywhere. But the man told me, "Why don't you write it down?". And hence was born "Frustrations Amalgamated and my first news paper story.

When he began his blog, he often asked for my opinion on what ever he wrote. At 17, I viewed sex as a taboo and was very conscious of even uttering the word. I glanced through a few of his posts and at the very look of  the word sex, I felt uncomfortable and told him that his blog was sick. It never occurred to me that those words would be completely shattering for a man who had just set out on a his journey to become a writer. The man still tells me that he can never forget the day I told him those words, the words I wish I had swallowed. It never occurred to me that no one who meets a 17 year old girl online, would take her seriously. If  they did, it would be only for sex. It was later that I realised, the man sought my opinion on what he wrote because he viewed me as equal to him and my age never mattered. If I ever write anything noteworthy of being printed, I would dedicate the first page to the man and no one else.

Days passed by and years flew by. Yahoo changed to Gmail and people began switching from Orkut to Facebook. But over the years we grew with each other, and so did our writing. And as we grew, the Ganga Mail grew with him and my Frustrations grew with me and made me wise. Today the man is an established writer. We don't talk as often as we used to. On those lonely nights, as I stare into a blank blog screen, even without exchanging a single word between our chat windows, the presence of the green dot beside his name on my friends list renders a feeling of security. The feeling that only the both of us feel. And you can feel that only when you have never counted the number of years you have been associated with somebody.

Cheers!

I don't think I've had enough experience when it comes to relationships. Therefore I refrain from passing any sort of judgment, when it comes to men and a women who chose to be with each other. But I do have a considerable amount of experience of dating a considerable amount of inconsiderate men, which entitles me to define my way of how a perfect date should be. If I feel that my date was a complete waste of time, I rename it to a friendly meeting. I've faced at least at least a dozen of friendly meetings that ended with a handshake, some with a just hug, some with a kiss and some with all the three. But not a single one gave me a sense of fulfillment or the feeling of complete indulgence.

The primary reason I decide to date a man, is to know him better. I wouldn't deny the fact that there is a huge element of physical, emotional or mental attraction involved in it. It is the physical or emotional attraction that propels the urge to know a person better and the reason behind every date. But you don't call every friendly meeting a date. A date is when two persons, who are physically and emotionally attracted to one another, decide to meet with the sole purpose of wanting to know each other better. A perfect date is when two persons ( irrespective of gender) decide to meet anywhere without any purpose, but feel the warmth between each other not necessarily by touch, and at the end of it depart with an enriched mind and a fulfilled heart.

Most dates are like the Deepavali sale you come across at big malls. They come with a conditions apply* tag. You go with the intention of gaining something, but in the end you find that you have shelled out more than what you had planned for, and you always wish the conditions, "no exchange or return" could be reversed. If I dated a man only because of physical attraction, I always lost interest in the first half hour and my attention would sway to a couple of other better looking or even stunning ones seated on the other tables all around me. Sometimes in life we make wrong choices. The best thing about a date is that you don't have to put up with the wrong choice you made for too long. And you could always live with the hope, that the next one would fill the void created by the previous one.

What most of us do during a date is, we begin running a compatibility check. We begin to check if we have similar interests, disinterests, and try to further the chances of meeting again if the compatibility meter showed a high. Measuring compatibility after a single meeting is as absurd as consuming alcohol for taste. It takes a couple of encounters with alcohol, before you decide which drink suits your taste. The experience with the first peg is always bitter. It takes a few bold encounters to get accustomed to the bitterness. Once you are accustomed, you know with which drink you are compatible. Compatibility doesn't occur in the first go. I'd be a complete hypocrite if I would say, I never judge the other person who dates me. I don't run the compatibility check, but behaviors and conversations often lead you into the path of judgment.

I try hard to refrain from judgment of a person's appearance or attire. A few months back, I dated a common friend. We knew each other through a school friend of mine. He texted me a couple of times and we decided to meet. He seemed a nice guy and just when I was considering meeting the man again, an awful thing happened. After the wonderful round of drinks and dinner, when the bill arrived the man insisted that he would pay, unlike the Hazar men who never even offered to dutch, and shamelessly made me pay. He took out his card in style from his wallet and handed it to the waiter. The waiter brought the bills which had to be signed. The waiter had not brought a pen with him, and I immediately got a pen from my bag and gave it to him. He signed the bills and we were still talking while waiting for the final bill. As he was using his hands to talk the man used my pen, to clean the knit in his nails. I made no judgment.

There have been many instances when I have been x- rayed throughout by a person’s eyes, and the only thing  the man carried back was contours of my anatomy, while I had to carry back nothing more than mere disgust. When I say that I've never had a perfect date, it means that I never had anything worthwhile to carry back, besides flowers and chocolates. But yesterday I had an encounter with a near perfect date. The venue was one of the best restaurants in the city. The setting and ambience was perfect, not too flamboyant and not too plain. It was a cozy place. We opted to sit on a couch. Couches give you the feeling of sitting at home, and when you are on a couch, you are forgiven for forgetting your table manners.

The man looked handsome, clean shaven, neatly dressed and as he walked, I could smell a whiff of the Hugo Boss cologne he wore. He was calm, he smiled as he spoke and had many interesting things to say. It seemed as though we hadn’t planned this. We discussed about a lot of books, and even had a minor argument on whether Shobha De was a good writer. The man dropped me back home. We hugged tightly and he made sure he walked with me all the way till the door of my apartment which was on the 7th floor. It was a wonderful evening indeed, but the feeling of fulfillment and completeness was still missing. As I lay on my bed, I began recalling every moment of the evening, starting from our warm hand shake to him dropping me home. Just when everything seemed perfect, I found out the missing link that seemed like a black spot on a flawless mirror. The man had forgotten to say ‘cheers’ before the drink. He had forgotten to toast for our health, wealth and well being. Ah how could he?

Yet another friendly encounter..........