OK guys, chill out OK. It happens with everybody. It happened with me, too, twice over this summer of ’06, which was a very beautiful and romantic one. Oh well,almost.
This episode happened between me and this girl, lemme call her Neha. (no offences meant to any other Nehas, it’s just that its a very common name, and it rhymes with the name of the girl in question). So me and Neha used to attend guitar classes together, and as u might have already guessed by now, we became very good friends (so I thought at that time). I used to work very hard (no pun intended!) on my guitar, and picked it up very fast, and began to play some songs decently enough. After the classes we used to chat under the shade of a tree, and I began to fancy that I was getting somewhere… and I was looking at an appropriate chance to u know, get closer to her,to attract her…
This one fine morning, after the class was over, and we were chatting with each other as ususal, she told me she wanted to listen to me play some songs.
You can very well imagine how I felt at that time. Suddenly, the three dots (the continuation dots,silly!) seemed to be taking shape. Yeah, the shapely (uh huh, well, almost!) shape of Neha Sen, standing in front of me. I unslung my guitar from over my shoulder and would’ve started playing then and there on the side of the main road, had she not asked me to come inside the compound of the music school. We went inside, and she sat on the same bench beside me. For a moment I thought she was nearer than she was supposed to be, but who was I to complain? I asked her what she wanted me to play, and when she left the choice to me, I broke into the melodious (now,now,plz!!! This is MY blog,OK?) chords of ‘Dum Maro Dum’.
Since I was kinda excited (yeah,excited!!! This was happening to me for the first time, yaar), I initially concentrated on my playing and singing for the first few lines. But once my fingers and voice got attuned, I started taking my liberties. I began glancing and smiling broadly towards her occasionally, and also started tapping my toes to the tune, trying to look romantic, and cool. She, in turn, took off her sunglasses, and looked straight at me, with her brown eyes, clear as crystal(I was to later realize that her eyes ARE supposed to be clear, she doesn’t smoke, drink, or do drugs,bhai!!!). Our teacher, who had packed up from the classes, passed us by, and I gave him a broad smile, too. He replied with a slightly mischievious smile, which seemed to say to me, ‘LAGE RAHO,INDIA,LAGE RAHO!!!’, and I started playing more vigorously (again,no pun intended :D).
So I finished with ‘Dum Maro Dum’ and she applauded. We talked about my hobby, writing stories, for a while and she promised that she’ll read my stories some day (I sure would like to see her face when she reads this one) and I, in turn promised her, that I’ll name the heroine of my story after her if she read them and gave favourable comments (that I’ve already done, without her having read any of my works). Well, so much for romantic small talk and promises. I started playing ‘Papa Kehte hein…’, and straight after that, ‘Pal Pal Dil ke Paas…’. In the romantic sections of both these songs, I would look at her, and smile, and try to look my attractive best. She would gaze first at me, then at the beautiful gulmohar tree in front of us, smiling mysteriously all the while. Man, how I thought I was headed somewhere!!!
After the third song, we started talking. If this whole experience was exciting, this leg (leg of the conversation, stupid) was actually very ‘hinting’. After inquiring about my family, she asked me what I did all through the days, and then ultimately, how did I spend my evenings!!
I decided that this was sufficient hint. She was beckoning me with open(read on,before u conclude anything) arms, and now I’d be a fool not to run into them(her arms,silly!). I decided to answer this question in a way that would flatten(yet again,no pun intended!!) her completely. And looking straight into her clear brown eyes, I stated strumming and singing ‘Mere Sapnon Ki Rani Kab Aayegi Tu…Aayi Rut Mastaani Kab Aayegi Tu…Beeti Jaye Zindagaani Kab Aayegi tu…Chali Aa,Tu Chali aa…’ and she was looking at me and giving me smiles and blushes and looks, and I was singing ‘Aa tu Chali Aa…’and THEN, just THEN,
Her cellphone rang.
She looked at the number and at once stood up and said, (in a very different tone altogether) ‘OK Aniket, I was actually waiting for someone to pick me up. Chalo lemme introduce u to somebody.’
Slightly taken aback, and brought back to solid ground from seventh heaven, I stood up, put the guitar in its case, and followed her through the gate. I was very curious and irritated at this sudden shift in her gears, but nevertheless followed her towards the parking area.
And there stood the ugliest fellow I had ever seen in my whole life. He was short, very dark, stocky, had oily, spiky hair, and stood by the side of a badly beaten up Hero Honda Passion, and Neha said, ‘OK, Aniket, meet abhishek,my um…friend. Abhishek, today Aniket played some very good songs on the guitar. What a good timepass we had for this half an hour. Ye nahi hota to mein to bore ho jaati…’
Don’t ask me how I suddenly felt. It was as if lightening had struck me, and I was standing numb, lifeless, dumb and sick. ‘The shpely shape of Neha Sen’ which had taken ‘shape’ from three ‘dots’ once again withered into dots in front of my very eyes. Abhishek stretched out a hairy arm, which culminated into a very oily hand, flashed his dirty, yellow teeth at me. ‘Abhishek’ he said, and turned to Neha, as if I had never existed. I mumbled my name, and none of the duo paid any attention to it. They were already busy with their smiles and blushes. I walked towards my bike, kicked the engine to life, and as I was roaring away, I heard Neha’s ‘byebye, Aniket’. Not bothering to turn back, I gave full throttle, and as the bike gathered full speed, I mumbled to myself, ‘saala aaj phir kat gaya!!!’
P.S.:This story is entirely a work of fiction.
any resemblence to any persons or organisations,living or dead,is purely coincidential.