I met Harshu after more than a month. It is always nice to hang out with him. He has known me since I was a teenager and seen me evolve from a tomboy to what I am today. He chooses to say that I have not changed much in my evolution, and that I was never “innocent”, not even when I was sixteen. I choose to agree with him, so as usual, we are on the same grounds.

We discuss his life, my life, his new collection, and my unemployment while the waiter refuses to provide me the drink with “lime juice” but suggests that I have it with “sprite”. Tired of arguing with him, I tell him to bring whatever he wants. I have little patience with matters of the kind, and I am most of the time okay with whatever it be that I drink as long as it is not beer. So yea, let the waiter bring what he wants, and let me regret what it is that he brought when I check the bill. Anyways that is for later, let me not kill the mood with such thought.

Ambiance as usual was nice. Harshu knew how to pick it, once again I had no complains. The music good, the flowers on the table simple, and the lighting just right. Our talks go into how we should get married when we are both 35 (it was intended to be at 30 a few months back, but now had realised it be a little premature, hence change of mind and settling for 35. In any case neither of us were too keen on getting anywhere with anything in the relationship front, rather we did not seem to be getting anywhere in a “we are getting married” kind of relationship with any other party either. He, I still strive to set up on a date, and I date those who seem the least likely to ever want to settle down! So yeah we were pretty safe with our “marriage of convenience”)

We talk of past, present and future. The new dresses I want him to design for me, which he promises to do and the collar of the last one he designed which I am not too fond of, and my complaining on how short my neck be! (yes I can be very superficial at times) My phone keeps nudging me with SMSes, and Harshu says he wants to read my “love texts”. I tell him there is no “love” in the picture, and hit epiphany the very second, and gulp down his drink as well in the process. (He does not prevent me from swallowing it as he refuses to drink anything with alcohol in it.)

There was no “love”! I had to pronounce it out loud for me to realise the hollowness of all what I tried to read sense into. I wondered what it is that I was doing, remembered Araliya’s dislike of the American terminology on “relationships” and how she hated the word “dating” and how I tried to make sense of being “in a relationship” and “dating”.

I was a 16 year old all over again, wanting that illusion of a man I once thought I would have. I tell Harshu, “isn’t it funny, I wanted a man who would not booze or smoke!” (pretty much a mirror image of my dad, but a lesser annoying version)

Harshu replies “I am your man!”

We both laugh. It was always easy to laugh with him. To feel at home, tell all the weird things and be seen as that vulnerable creature and not the bitch that of which the world always had the glimpse. I think the bitchy me, that the world saw would have shocked him, while the world would have been shocked to see this me, that Harshu saw for over half my life and half his life! I remember being “nice” to my “boyfriend” and be texted back with “you were right, I prefer the bitchy you!”

The manager comes when we are leaving, tells us that there is a Valentine’s day diner offer. Harshu being his sincere self, explains to the manager who profusely apologies on the misunderstanding, that we were not a couple. He then watches us in shock as we walk out hand in hand like we have continued to do since we were 16 years old.

Walking down the lane, and climbing those steps to the apartment, I realised the emptiness. I realised that I did not want SMSes that kept flowing in but a voice at the other end of the phone who would want to hear mine. I realised that I did not want a man who would say “I like you” but instead would feel “I love her”. I wondered whether my life would always be a bargain, a deal struck between not seeing someone forever, or “officially dating” him. What had I settled for in life? Had I not waited for too long to be with someone because I wanted to find love, then to be satisfied with a “I like you a lot”. Aruni came to my mind, she who used to say that she wanted a man who would look at her and say “I want Aruni!” pointing at her! ( I may have not typed the exact words she states but the idea being she wanted a man who would want “her” and know what he wanted, and what he wanted inevitably being HER!)

I think of last year how life was. I think of this year, how life is. Things had not changed much. Days, months and faces keep coming and passing by. I continue to make believe that what I be in is what I deserve, but then wonder whether it is something more which is what I deserve.

In a few minutes life has changed. Things were all different and I was different. Screw all this Valentine’s shit, they never did me any good. And screw what is anything lesser than what I deserve, I waited for long, I am sure I deserve what it be I desire. Sure laugh at me for saying I believe in love, but then what the hell, I DO! So deal with it, if you don’t well I am sorry, I ain’t your cup of tea, nor are you mine! So what shall we do? We shift to coffee?!

Life is one long complication! A very long one!

I cannot change the course of things I forced upon me, let me not try to do that when my mind speaks vodka and lime, gin and tonic, or whatever the mixtures that I cannot dissect! Let me feel good thinking of those good moments I cherish with those who I love and that those flowers sent on Valentine’s day be worth it, not because I value the market based tradition, but because those I love would have a smile on their face and that should explain more than all the words I could type in!

And for Valentine’s diner, well though it ain’t the most important thing in the world, I know who I will be with, and I know I will as usual, have NO complains!

She had no clue what it be that was required of her to do. She was a lost creature and her brain was playing tricks on her. She had long given up on her heart. It always failed her, she did not see why this time be different.

She has long realised that “love” was not meant for her. She did not know how to love, nor did she know how to be loved. She knew only the endurance of torture and the infliction of torture. she inflicted it in all unawareness till she broke their souls and left them with bleeding and scarred hearts. There were moments of regret, on a rare occasion, but still there were some.

What could she say, apart from that being something vulnerable made her feel a little awkward and not “quite” herself.

She speaks of her parents, how they fight and the way they are all starry eyed the next moment. She tells him how they hold hands, still act like teenagers at times, despite their constant tantrums which they throw at each other.

He tells her that his house knows not of such, they do not express emotions. His mum hates him, he says. She does not believe it, adds that no mum hates her son. But he seems to be convinced otherwise.

She feels she understands him at certain moments. The way his hands crush the fingers while trying to express something, the way he acts in the most uncomfortable way, the fingers stiff and knotted up. She wishes at times he would find his peace, or whatever that he is looking for, which would bring him happiness.

He runs his fingers through her hair, for the first time noticing that it is naturally curly and that she had not done anything to it. The fingers straining to her cheek , she merely smiles, not moving, not knowing what be his reaction if she does. He just looks at her, says nothing, just his fingers on her skin, making their strokes. She liked his touch. It was gentle.

His hands were softer than she had imagined them to be, and his mannerisms much gentle for a creep. She would later tell him so. He clarifies that he is not a creep but a freak. She ignores the google search for the difference. Whatever he be, he would be the same for her. The guy who she had no clue of. She never knew where they be headed, what they meant to each other, his constant fear of hurting her, or getting himself hurt, his doubt of himself, or his presumption that she believes him to mess things up for both of them, all was a mere blur, a confusion she was not tempted enough to analyse.

There be only a sense of smoke that floats, the smell of trouble in the air. That sign of danger ahead, the hurt, the torture and the scarred hearts.

She does not want him to fall in love. Not with her.

And she is glad that he will not.

There are some people in the world who just know how to make you feel better by just saying something nice at the worse moments. Aruni be one of them.

I was lucky to meet her 6 months back (I think), and she has on a daily basis, (on working days) filled my life with something interesting: a quote (“grow a dick!” being the most pronounced), a situation (panic attacks, and stressful moments in abundance), something awfully eccentric but still appreciated, or some silly laughter over something we alone would deem humorous.

My blog be filled with stories that at times Aruni would wish not published, when published insist I edit so as to not look “homophobic” and then those which are not published but she fears I would eventually publish! Her provision of “spiritual” and “karmic” updates, energy and what not, I have over the months grown to admire.

Above all she would turn those cards, tell me something positive in all situations, make me believe that something good will come in the worse moments, while making sure that I would not accept anything lesser than what I deem be worth it, and “whip” me into believing that I needs must follow my heart. (even though at most moments I am confused as to what my heart does say)

I have often told her how much I like her, but I am not sure if I have told her how much I appreciate her, especially for proclaiming her willingness to read a book that I am yet to write and even if I did, most likely never manage to publish ( but it does means a lot, when the writer herself knows that it would be a tough read, and Aruni willingly embarks on the torturous venture).

So here be a small thanks to someone who has been special and has been there whenever I needed. A person whose daily presence in my life I will miss in the months to come and from whose absence my writing would suffer.

It is not the 14th of February, and flowers are a little too expensive for me to afford, but as best stated by Kishani today, I just want to say “ YOU ARE APPRECIATED!” (immensely)

It is definitely high time people stop asking me stupid questions. I have only one explanation for those who ask me these questions, they just do not have much excitement in their miserable lives so are in dire need to spice them up with a little gossip and some assumptions on people’s sexual preferences.

However this obsession about MY sexuality is a little too hard to put up with. Not that they are thought provoking, they are simply and terribly irritating and kind of driving me up the wall!

I am not sure what these creatures of curiosity ponder prior to putting out questions like,

“Who is that?”

Answer: “ A friend!”

“A special friend?” (wink and a smirk to add some dramatic effect)

I would have found it normal if they were referring to and questioning me on the specialness of a male friend with the wink, which I think the community that I am surrounded with tend to be unable to ignore, but the perplex thoughts flow in when they are asking questions on my best friend who is actually a “girl”!

As much as I feel like laughing I am to stop myself as I strive hard not to send the wrong message to the party who is ever set for interrogation. My lame reaction, try to keep a straight face and pronounce, “yes a very special friend, my best friend!”

I doubt the satisfaction my response bestows upon these souls, but well what more am I to tell these folk? Let me think of an option, may be “sorry if I cause you any disappointment, but then what can I do, I am just NOT into women! Hope you are not too heartbroken!”

I am sure they would presume that it is a denial of my sexual orientation. So keeping that in mind I refrain and stay mum.

Resolution: Greet the next person who decides to make a wise crack on lesbianism with a very memorable contact of my right hand with his/her cheek!

I have not written anything for almost a week. May be more. Not due to the fact that I did not have much to type in but merely due to the fact that the inspiration be lacking. Puking for 5 days in a row makes one such. I presume that I would have puked my inspiration and the desire to express myself out of my system. This could be a cause for the best, or for the worse, whatever be it, I am sure many would have welcomed the silence on my part as a pleasant greeting from the “filthy mind”.

Anyhow having attended the writer’s workshop at the British Council it occurred to me that silence of mine was one step towards another writer’s block. A devastating syndrome I seem to suffer in between certain periods. Hence this entry, just as an indication that I am still alive, and one of these days, I might actually type in something that be worthy of being read.