Heart Clips

◆06:32 pm; Dec 21, 2003◆

-CCD, Rajiv Nagar-

It wasn't an easy decision to take. How could it have been effortless, simple to meet a guy with whom she never had a small chat? And, on what basis, just her own little investigation, or anything more?

Yes, she did probe about him, not just a little but more.

It wasn't the first time she knew him when she had acknowledged his notes. No, not at all. For her, she had seen him long time before that. If not for her stupid best friend who had insisted on having her birthday party at CCD, she would have missed him.

He sat in a corner with a large cup of coffee, reading a book and sipping the drink with gradual pace. It wasn't something like an enchanting view, like the novels described someone in a cafe; but still, the book in his hand got her attention.

'Charitraheen' by Sarad Chandra Chattopadhyay- a book praised by many, a book which she had read once and only once, and a book which had caused her a dilemma. It had something in it, but still she couldn't catch it perfectly. Being a feminist was one thing but reading a novel, which portrayed lives of four different women and their positions wasn't a simple idea to get. It wasn't an easy read for her; Kiranmayi was imprinted in her mind and Savitri...

The hoots of her friends and the blasting crackers diverted her attention to mini circle of her friends who were shrieking 'Happy Birthday To You'. But her eyes were still glued to the face of that man. He hadn't budged even when her friends shoved colorful papers everywhere, distributed the cake which she had cut in a trance.

What could a man understand about it? Was the first thought to strike her mind, as obvious it was, the book revolved around females and their problems. But maybe she was wrong; the insight wasn't that only plain point. Or maybe he loved to show off others. Or may be...

Her mobile went off, breaking her little flash back, and she picked it, "Namaste Kamala bein... Haan..." she conversed with her distant relative in Gujarati fluently, who was constantly nagging at her for marriage. At twenty five, she still survived as a single woman in her family, which was a miracle in itself.

She wasn't against marriages, but she wasn't in favor to it too. What was the need to get tied to a headache, when your own life is perfectly blossoming? This was her common question to her parents to which they would leash on her. It was an absolute delight for her that she worked far away from her hometown, Baroda, and had enough dough to live independently.

It's only in dreams you can do this.
Waking, your heart is a shaken fist,
a fine dust clogs the air you breathe in...

The lines by Margaret Atwood in her poem 'Flying Inside Your Own Body' reminded her about her own situation. She wanted to be free but knew that it could never be more than an illusion to her, just a mirage in the desert.

She fiddled with her scooter's keys, making them collide with the designer tables placed in the cafe. She had chosen a secluded corner, just in case if any of her family friends saw her with him, they would create a fuss for nothing. It was just a casual meeting, that was what she was considering it or moreover convincing herself.

Everything was in a spur of time, scribbling in a small piece of paper to him to meet her in a cafe. She had not been thinking while sticking her note on his desk. Not even when she had decided to dress herself in yellow cotton saree. Again, that was what she was trying to convince herself that she had not been thinking.

Yellow- her small brain had stored in its strong memory to be his favourite color and. And while she was not thinking, her hands had just chosen it in a blind moment. And also her brain had perfected the art of ignoring facts when she had applied thick black eyeliner on her eye, which again she knew as to be his only preference in woman's cosmetics.