Chapter 5: The first coffee
The First Coffee
The room was filled with the noise of those keys. It was so much in rhythm that it would have reminded anyone of a parade, an army parade with no pattern just a lot of clutters. I sat in a corner of a large room hitting a keyboard matching that common rhythm. I am sure, if you looked at me you would have seen a face that lacked passion, love, feelings or any attachment to this world. Or that of a man who had seen everything and couldn’t be surprised anymore. But, you would be so wrong. But, if she had seen me then, she would have seen through all this perfect wooden face, as it had popularly been known at my workplace, she would have seen the sea of excitement I had in me with undercurrents of millions of possibilities going through my mind, every time a new story of what might be the future of this, this new insanity that I had taken quite voluntarily!
“Hey” said the office chat app on my screen. The name of the sender was enough to turn the tide in my sea. I stretched myself like the sniper shooter does after they see the target after hours of waiting. Not that I could be the sniper nor could she be the target ever, EVER! But, I have always admired the patience of the soldiers waiting for the sunrise all night, or the sniper keeping an eye without a flinch.
While the messaging or chat tools take away all the life, all the feelings and expressions from the words, with no expressions, no innuendos, no overtones, no suggestion of any feelings underlying, a face speaks it all. Following the change in expressions on my face could have told you the complete story, even without looking at my .
“Hiii” I said. “How are you?”
“Coffee?”
“hmm..sure” I said keeping it very very cool, unlike the last night’s blunder at the party.
Switching off the computer screen, I ducked my chin a bit and checked at the mirror image. It didn’t really instil any confidence anyway.
Tiring the jitters with a fast confident walk: works every time, from Dad to college to job, everywhere, I reach the cafeteria.
At the pantry, there she was. She was wearing a yellow Indian dress, contrasting the dull surroundings of the office and humans all covered in shades of dual colours. Contrast is the new way, every one wears that: black trousers and some light shirt, it is like some uniform. the shirt is the way you can actually look different. That too has suggestions like checks is not really formal and the blue, white are best shades for men. Not, that I love wearing yellow, but, I love the respite from the reality that just her presence is. She was holding a phone in her hand with her eyes glued to the phone, her large beautiful eyes, so beautifully carved on her face by The Artist. They had this sparkle, this suggestion of an adventure in them. But, she had chosen to keep them glued to her phone which she was holding with both hands and tapping at it relentlessly. While thumbs were busy, a nerve strained on her delicate wrist, and slowly disappeared as it went up her hand. Her hands, slid off the sleeves of her dress as she relieved one hand from her phone and tucked a strand of hair back. As I was flowing away in the thoughts of her, like a hot air balloon through the clouds, she looks up.
We exchange the customary smile and get into a little bit of a boring discussion. I am not disheartened. It was different yesterday since we were drunk. Psychologists say that alcohol suppresses inhibition. And whatever hormones are responsible for the inhibitions, fears and everything responsible for holding a human back, I have a real good stock of that, enough for half the city. And to top is the gloomy air at work, which makes you whisper instead of speaking, thinking before speaking.
“You were a revelation yesterday” She said giving up finally.
“mm, I guess” “It was fun” “I hope I didn’t say anything inappropriate” I knew I didn’t but being on the back-foot is my natural stance.
“How inappropriate do you normally get!” echoing it with her laugh. That laugh huh!
“Don’t you love the smell of a freshly brewed coffee” looking at the buzzing machine spraying out the perfect coffee.
“But, I love what coffee reminds you of”
“What?”
“Of the fresh mornings, the all familiar view from my window and one of the many problems that coffee and the view has helped me really brew over and solve”.
“ To me it’s an amazing addiction, everything seems possible while holding this half filled cup. A few hours later though, I just don’t know what I was thinking”
One thing was given that we both loved coffee. I like it when I find something that relates us. This also meant that we could catch up over the love, the love of coffee of course, as many times as I wanted to.
Our First Movie
We are going to watch a movie today. Pretty fast right? I know! There is one small problem. It’s a horror movie, you know the kind with ghosts and weird looking creatures and not the real horrors of our lives. To tell you the truth, I really don’t like the idea of horror movies, with such images that will stay with you for ever. When she asked me to join her for this movie, I really couldn’t say anything. She is such a sweet looking person with such deep and caring thoughts, but, why then the horror movie with such gruesome, blood filled images. How can she like something which solely depends on the capability of someone to startle you with tools of images, sound and technology. To this she says, “ At least there is a ghost in the end. There is a clear bad guy who is killed and then s/he never comes back. In real life, do you ever know good from bad. Even if you did, does it ever have such a happy ending.”
“In real life too, there is a monster in each of us. Just that the signs are not obvious. We spend all our lives shocked, disheartened and hurt to see monsters in others.
Worse, in a horror movie, you know the backstory of the ghost and understand the ghost or the reason for its presence. In real life, we ‘just’ attribute the monster to others and assume the monster to be more real than the good that we had known in others all this while. I wonder if which monster is more real: me or the one in the movie!” I quipped.
Inspired with this interesting take on the genre, I am taking this step of watching this movie. Love does make you do the impossible after all! Doesn’t it? Also, I’ve read this one somewhere: When love is not madness, it’s not really love.
The Dinner
We go into a restaurant. Apparently, the cuisine in this culture is very different and I should have tried long ago if I am really a food lover. Going through the menu I see a lot of three or four letter words written in combinations of two to up to five of them. I wonder what is a bigger horror, the movie or this. I do what I do when I do not know the answer of any question, I ask a counter-question. So, I asked, “what is the best here?”. She pointed to one such group of words and I show it to the nice gentleman taking our orders. I do not remember what it was. But, I do remember the respite I had from getting this done with. I did wonder once, what would it have, I hope not something I do not eat, but, dare not ask risking the chance of taking all the progress to zero.
I think she could guess the turmoil my heart and gut had been through the horror movie which she and many other people, knowing from the cheers absolutely loved. She gave me a few courteous cues to come back to the real ghost-less world. When nothing worked, she asked about work, knowing certainly that that would keep me talking for the next few minutes. I think in the flow of criticising the system, workplace, bosses, the future of the complete industry, I must have muttered my willingness to start my own business, the favourite topic of the country and the youth in those days.
I saw that squint in her eyes, the exact ones you get to see when she doesn’t really like something and has a long detailed take to be shared. I prepared myself keeping the cutlery out of the way, taking a few short breaths.
“I won’t discourage you. But, do you really want to be tied down by money: the own money you put in or you hope to have or the other’s money.”
“ I am not sure, but, if there is a business model, I mean a revenue model in place, anything you create will keep doing what you wanted to do for a longer time, even after your own existence and at a much much larger scale. Revenue makes anything more sustainable. That’s all.”
The eyes squint again, I guess the fists must have been clenched too.
“Every thought has to make money. If I have to make money so badly, I can say something to you, which you either pay me for or someone else pays me to say to you. How do I say what I want to say or just something that needs to be said regardless of anyone’s liking it or not. Only things which are preferred by a few people with a lot of money and a lot of people with a little money can be said. And that is dangerous. It’s dangerous that only Rich can rule what is being said. Otherwise, you need enough money to garner the attention of a lot of people. That is inequality on fusion reaction and mitosis mode. Only pathogens and weapons of mass destruction are known to function in this mode.
And, whenever the masses get passionate about something, they have been known to go blind to the side of the story which matters to the minority. And this a bigger problem.
Do you really want to do something with a revenue model?” She said resting her case.
I looked at her, with a combination of at least 10 of the 10,000 expressions that my face can compose: flipping between admiration and adoration very quickly.
The Walk Back Home
“You are different”
“Good different? or Bad different” Animating her face for both the options.
“Good, obviously”, I said and kept looking at her face till there was that hint of a child-like smile.
“Why? Why do you say so?” Asked me that cute face.
“You stir in people, in me, a different kind of thought” “You are infectious and dangerous to the order of this world” I wish, I could be like her, more real, feeling the basic emotions, asking the most fundamental questions.
I remember when I had questions on everything under the sun,
when I couldn’t keep a novel down,
when a movie stirred the passion for something in me,
when the happy ending of the movies really mattered,
when standing up to strangers on right and wrong was the way,
when a news headline on corruption made serving the nation a purpose,
when speeches, biographies and accounts of Gandhis and Mandelas brought with them tears of passion, pride and purpose,
when a smile was enough for me to spend days in the dreams filled with her beauty and love,
when the earthly truths of life from the beggar, homeless, and household help was as important to learn;
when the smell of the wet soil after the rain could draw me out to play,
when the odour of my favourite food could draw me to the kitchen, and stealing a piece felt like a success,
when no sweet was sweet enough and the food was an end in itself
when the smell of the fresh book in the beginning of the year could keep me glued to them for days,
when the good dreams seen with open eyes was better than any Television show
when watching strangers and wondering their story was the best part the train journeys, or when that window seat meant the world.
She smiled looking into my eyes. She knew me, she knew me now. She knew what she had stirred in me, how far beyond repair had she damaged me, damaged me the way pure love damages you: makes you hopeful, believing in the goodness of the people, the beauty of life.
I don’t think love starts in the way they say in the movies. It starts like this, with just a simple beat that you lose. But, you really know it only when it has made home in your heart forever, moving things around in a way that you can never put it back together, ever! And she knew that too.
I had never really believed my life’s capability to have a happy ending. As you know, I had always believed that people need the one in order to be really happy. I had always thought that the reason so many people were unhappy with their marriage is because they are not really meant for each other. People were not really good or bad. They were just not meant for each other. Period. But, It was easier said than done. How could I know if she is the one? For me. “You would just know”- this is all the prior reliable texts and ‘experts’ in the area could say. I think it must feel like this, the way it feels now, the way I have been feeling for the last few days: it feels like a big churn in your gut, it is like a combination of a lot of fear, a lot of anxiety, curiosity. The only thing that can come close to this to this is knowing your life’s purpose suddenly and knowing that nearly impossible to attain. While you know that, you also know that you are not going to be able to sleep unless you attain that goal.
I couldn’t really have known anything. I don’t think I had the most reliable head right then to understand anything. I was too much in love to be trusted with anything!
This story is a part of the series called Alone. Please read the next chapter here: The Knock!
