20 Questions
And How Not To Steer Conversations
“How was your day?” she kick-started the conversation a bit reluctantly under the November sky that had decided to keep the stars unavailable for public display on account of the winter season kicking in. The distinctive layer of smog that had enveloped the city acted as an additional blanket of protection against happy thoughts and cheerfulness. Their auto-rickshaw was halting at a traffic light.
He diverted his attention away from the cab adjacent to their auto. Specifically, from the Telugu movie playing on the cab driver’s smartphone, which was strategically placed right on top of the speedometer. He agreed that with such zest for on-duty entertainment, the cab driver was going to live a pretty short but thrilling life.
A more pressing concern for him right now was to answer her question ensuring equal parts wit and depth. And he did.
“The day was alright. My team lead is kind of a pain in the ass.”
She grinned at this. Wit and depth indeed, he thought.
He was used to her plastic smile where her eyes would be plain indifferent to the effort that was being put in by the other party. But once in a blue moon, the genuine ones would hit him without notice. This was one such occasion. He made a note to himself to be this witty and deep all the time.
He, now, had exactly a ten second window before she lost all interest in having a conversation with him and retired back to the void of empty thoughts which was her comfort zone. He had known her for a while now. He had learned from his mistakes. Wisdom emanated from his eyebrows which were raised high enough to suggest that he was thinking really hard to say the perfect thing that steers this interaction further. And he finally hit gold.
“How was YOUR day?”, he couldn’t believe his own genius.
“Same old. Same old. My teammates leave a lot for me to work on”, she said. It was his turn to grin.
“Well, as they say”, he sighed, “you can’t really choose who you work with.”
“Uh, actually you can and nobody says that”, she corrected him without hesitation.
“Well…. some do.”
“Nope. Just you.” The smirk on her face really killed that last germ of wit and depth he thought he had developed. All he could do was shrug at the death of his intelligence.
The sound of the auto-rickshaws engine resonated through his ears only breaking the trance when the driver changed gears.
“So, what else?” she tried to get the conversation up again. This part of her personality always perplexed him. On some days, she made having even a simple conversation harder than trudging through a sex scene on TV with family in attendance. And then there were days like today when she was willing to go as far as asking two questions of her own accord. He had to make the most of this opportunity.
“Nothing much. You tell?” he said and instantly regretted because he knew what followed next. This had become their daily charade now. It was fun in initial days when they had a lot to talk about or rather he had a lot to talk about while she quietly pretended to listen. But her misery soon ended when he ran out of things to tell. He tried hard to come up with newer ways to keep things engaging. He started reading, watching documentaries and all those droll things he earlier had a very low opinion of. But the curtain fell eventually and for a long time, throughout their entire journey from office to the bus stand in the auto-rickshaw and then waiting for her bus — they both stayed quiet. She would keep herself busy, thanks to social media. He would just stare in the distance — humming the tune of a song that did not exist. But not today, he told himself.
“You have become really quiet lately, why?” she pointed out. This was completely unprecedented. He was not trained for this. A third question.
“I am a quiet person.”
“Oh! Please. I am a quiet person. You are trying really hard to be one. It doesn’t suit you”, she said. He felt a rising, uplifting feeling in his heart. This was something new. He wanted this conversation to grow. She was right. He hated quiet.
“I..uh.. I don’t.. you know…bleh”. Even infants formed more coherent sentences.
“You want to play 20 questions?” she asked abruptly. Yes, yelled his whole body along with every other thing composed of matter in this perceivable universe.
“Okay. How do we play this?” he asked trying to keep himself composed. He deeply feared that she would hear the orchestra playing in his heart right now.
“I think of a name in my head. You have to ask 20 questions of Yes/No kind and guess that person. Sounds good?”, she said chirpily. He was seeing a completely different side of her today. Like the hidden inner layer of an onion.
“Yep. Let’s do this. I will start. You ask questions”, he said.
“Cool. Female?”, she asked.
“Nope. 19 to go.”
“Movie star?”
“Yes. 18 to go.”
“Hollywood?”
“Yes. 17 to go.”
“Married?”
“Nopsies. 16 to go.”
“A really huge movie star?”
“Nada. 15 to go.”
“Madam, do I take a left or right here?”, the driver interrupted. He hated the auto driver for having such immaculate timing. This stupor was too precious to be broken. Not today, he repeated to himself.
“Take a right at next signal and then left. Go straight after that”, he answered before she could then turned to her,“ Alright, continue.”
“Okay. Any of his movies released this year?”
“Yes. 14 to go.”
“Chris Evans?”. (In Chris’ defense, it was 2013. Winter Soldier was still in the editing room.)
“Yes. Chris Evans. You… are good. I thought I was the only person from India who watched his Snowpiercer”, he declared. She chuckled that praise away. “Alright your turn. Ask away?” she said.
“Male?” he started.
“No. 19 to go.”
“Female?” he asked. She roared out laughing.
“Yes, you fool. Duh. 18 to go”, she said. It was worth it, he thought. Her eyes were grinning this time.
Her big brown beautiful eyes.
“Okay, Bollywood actress?”
“Nope. 17 to go.”
“Is she an actor, at all?”
“Nope. 16 to go.”
“Is it you?”, he asked a bit softly.
“Umm…I wish. But no. 15 to go”, she smiled.
“Is she Indian?”
“Yes. 14 to go.”
“Is she a politician?”
“Nah. 13 to go.”
“Is she a journalist?”
“No. 12 to go.”
“A singer?”
“Nuh uh. 11 to go.” He stared at her for a while with amusement. The sheer thrill she was hiding in that smirk — who was she talking about, he thought.
“Okay… is she a writer?”
“Nope. 10 to go.”
“A sportsperson?”
“Hmmm… Nope. 9 to go.”
“Oh, come on!”, he yelled in frustration. She couldn’t stop cackling. Newer levels of her personality were getting unlocked that day.
“Okay, let me give you a hint. Mother India”, she said.
“Are you talking about Nargis the actress because I swear to God I will kill you if you are. You said “no” for Bollywood actress earlier.”
“It’s not Nargis. Mother India is a hint”, said she, her poker face right on point.
“Okay. Mother India is a movie about… I am just thinking out loud, please bear with me. It’s a movie about, two sons. One is the good guy, the other one — a bum who turns into a dacoit. Nargis is the mother. Is it mother Teresa?”
She looked at him, her turn to be amused at his convoluted reasoning, and said, “But of course NOT. 8 more to go.”
“Damn. Okay. I can do this. Mother India. Mother of the nation. Is it Sarojini Naidu?” he made a wild guess. He knew he was a wrong the moment it left is tongue.
“No dumb ass. Sarojini Naidu was called the nightingale of India not mother of India. 7 more to go.”
“Who is this woman that I don’t know about?”
There was glee on her face and in that very moment, he was happy. For her and for himself. Like a huge weight was slowly lifting itself off his shoulders.
“You want to give up?” she asked.
“Never”, he said, “I just need to think differently. It’s related to Mother India but it’s not about Mother of India or anything related to the word mother, right?” he looked at her expectantly. She shrugged her shoulder indifferently.
“Is that a question?” she demanded.
“No.. no. Just contemplation. Is it Kiran Bedi?”
She looked impressed. Finally, he thought.
“No. 6 more to go”, she said decimating the victory parade in his head.
“Aw man! That’s cruel, you know.”
The auto rickshaw came to a halt breaking their reverie. They had reached the bus stand. The meter read 70 Indian rupees. He shelled out a 100 rupees note.
“I have exact change. Let me pay”, she said.
He decided instead to force his money on the driver but it was too late. Auto driver had already registered the words “exact change”.
“So, 6 more questions I have, huh?” he asked, a bit too loudly, he felt. She was busy looking at the road they were about to cross. Then she looked at him and nodded and looked away again. It surprised him how she always snapped in and out of roles so quickly and efficiently. He decided to take initiative and help her cross the road faster. He moved in front of her raising his palm high up in the air at the incoming traffic while shielding her from the bright headlights. A car zoomed past him which made him retreat back.
“You done being a hero?” she asked.
“Yep”.
“Follow my lead” and she crossed the road in five quick strides. He was too slow to react so he stayed back. She turned and celebrated her achievement by punching the air. He decided to join her and sprinted across with all he had.
“I made it. I made it”, he puffed out words. She turned around and started to walk. He followed.
“Alright, 6 more to go. Shall we…?”, he didn’t want to let that go but she interrupted, “Hey, I am hungry.”
“Do you like chips?” he signaled at the shop behind her.
A few minutes and concealed lecherous looks from the shopkeeper later.
“Mmm.. Love this flavor. How’s yours?” she inquired.
“Let’s see”. He tore open his packet of chips and offered it to her. She picked a few.
“Yours is alright. But mine is better”, she concluded. He tried to pick one out of her packet but she denied.
“Who said you can have some of mine?”. He acted hurt.
“You’ll make a great mom”, he said. She chuckled the half-chewed chips out at his remark. He had outdone himself today.
“Alright, don’t keep me hanging. Let’s finish my 6 other questions?”
“Oh, sure.” She found a seat at the bus stop and he sat next to her but before he could shoot his questions, she yelled, “That looks like my bus.” He narrowed his eyes to focus on the number and it indeed was hers. His heart sank. In that moment, he wished that bus evaporated in thin air and so did all the other ones coming after it. Such moments between him and her were so rare and far between. Meanwhile, she started to get up and walk out of the bus stand but he interrupted, “Hey, at least tell me the answer?”
“Phoolan Devi.”
“But you said not a politician”, he remarked.
“I know. She isn’t. She WAS. She is dead now”, she said as the bus was speeding closer and slowing down. She steadily walked away from him.
“That’s cheating. But how is Mother India a clue… Oh. Phoolan Devi was a dacoit. So was the second son. I get it. YOU ARE SMART”, he said loudly.
She turned around, smiled and said, “That’s why I am your team lead and not the other way round.” All he could do was smile and look up at the sky where now a single faint star was twinkling through the thick smog.
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