When first love paid a second visit… (Part 1)

“When you’ve had a childhood like Chandler and a love life like Ross, its hard not to be like a Joey”

-- Anonymous F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fan

It is a happy coincidence that I happened to chance upon this story on the day (thanks to “Protagonize”) which modern paradigm defines as the day of the Cupid (and more recently, that of Ram Sena, Bajrang Dal and the likes). Nevertheless, the story is good and am sharing the same with you with due permission from its authors. So, read on:

I’ve never thought about myself as a particularly romantic person. Infact, I have often been called, what some people say – “the anti-girl element” of any group. But I’d like to share my first and perhaps, only Valentine day story with you – the story that happened today.

Early morning, as I was struggling to find my “Boss’s-boss-is-coming-to-visit-my-office” dress, my cell phone rang, displaying an unknown number. Late as I was getting, the utopian expectations of a lawyer calling to inform that I had inherited a fortune from a wealthy old castle wrench, lured me into answering the call. The voice on the other side sounded familiar. Even more surprising was the fact that it was a young lady’s voice (I’m betting you would’ve guessed by now that I’m not the kind of person whose cellphone is frequented by mushy SMSes and girls calling). “Hello, Is this Tanki (a hindi word meaning a water tank)?”, were the words that I heard. Not many people knew me by that name. I was nicknamed ‘Tanki’ during my high school freshmen party as an honor for my seemingly infinite potable consumption capacity, evidenced by my act of sweeping clean 2 barrels of beer. I realized that an old friend was trying to pull the mickey on me on this damned day by asking some girlfriend of his to talk to me. I was in no mood to be mocked on my singledom, and that too on a day whose very concept is a strike below the belt for singletons like me. I replied in a stern voice – “Who’s calling?”. My stern voice perhaps scared the caller as the next sentence was in a feebler tone –“Tanki, this is Professor.” The bomb fell on me.

Several years ago at my freshmen party, while I was busy getting wasted on the next mug of beer, a certain girl was tutoring a hapless collection of people against the perils of debauchery. And right after, I was nicknamed the 'Tanki', the roll of honor passed to this girl (whom I would have describe as the most beautiful girl I had ever seen had I been a flirt) who was aptly nicknamed the 'Professor' for her diligent eloquence. Little did I know then she would go on to become one of the best ‘girl’ friends I ever had. Over the next few days, students sorted themselves into their own coteries and by virtue of some tertiary and quarternary connections, me and professor happened to fall in the same group. We rarely interacted in the first few days, started “hello”ing and “bye”ing each other by the end of the week, and started having “I’ll-murder-you-if-you-don’t-subscribe-to-my-viewpoint” arguments about alcohol, food, discos and sundry other paraphernalia under the sun, by the month end. I never realized how and when I slipped into the habit of reconstructing her face when listening to soulful songs like “Dil Se” and “Do dil mil rahe hain”. I never realized how and when I became an epitome of chivalry, pulling out chairs and opening doors for her wherever we went. I never realized how and when I started writing poems that did not rhyme. And I was baffled when I found myself actually enjoying a SRK movie.

22 guys, summing up the numbers from my section, other sections, the neighboring school, her colony and “miscellaneous” proposed to her over the next 2 years. 22 times, my heart skipped a beat and my fists clenched with trembling anger. 22 times, I felt relaxed as all of them were turned down. Despite that, I could never muster courage to convey my feelings to her. The fear of being turned down and hence losing the chance to interact with her everyday deterred me. As years rolled on, my feelings grew stronger but never found a vent. And then, school ended.

We were to part our own ways. This was the chance, I thought, for laying bare my heart, for there was nothing to lose. I made elaborate preparations – a heart shaped box of chocolates, the least crappiest among my lot of poems and a small card. I rehearsed the scene a couple of thousand times in my mind, constructed if-then-else scenarios to determine my dialogues, applied hair gel and perfume for the first time in my life and set off for the expression of my love.

(To be continued...)