Thursday, October 31

A little sugar in my bowl

I'm no authority on this, but spending time with someone you like or have a crush on is similar to using cocaine*. Ok, please don't raise your eyebrows, go "Huh??" and leave the page. Read me out. 

Initially, you run into this person (let's say 'her') for a few seconds. It doesn't happen everyday. It may not even occur more than a couple of times a week. It also is NOT the result of your absolutely non-creepy engineered luck of seeing her at a distance and sort of, kind of dragging your feet in that direction. Still, the resultant joy is enough to last you throughout the day, though you don't really know why. 

Maybe because you're a hermit in these matters, your cranial & cardiac systems take a while to get going. But you aren't stupid and eventually put 2 and 2 together, realizing the fact that your somnolent heart does a vigorous rumba in her vicinity and that, lord help us, you may just be developing feelings. For this girl. Egads! and all that.  

Of course, now that you know this, it is absolute fucking panic because you are the most awkward person you've ever met and have even contemplated joining that cool Belgian beer brewing monastery to avoid situations like this.

Now though, you want a little more of this joy-like feeling... and of course, you try to make the "Hi - Hey - How's it going?" last a little longer. Sometimes these awkward conversational gambits work and you're pleased, not only because you spend a little more time with her - and at an elemental level, this is really what you want - but also because you are evolving as a person, coming out of a self-enforced shell of shyness and introversion like a hesitant turtle.

You slowly begin to understand her, her likes and dislikes, her views on some things, heck, whether she even has views at all and, heaven forbid, is one of those selfie-taking, food-instagramming, constant facebook-updater types. She isn't. Consciously, you go "crap!" because, let's face it, old habits die hard and you're still trying to weasel out of this scene and go back to your comfortable cave of socio-romantic oblivion. Your subconscious however, long wearied by your masochistic idiocy, shoves your conscious mind aside, and tells you to get a move on. Also, the weird joy feeling. That. Yea, stay with me here.

But there's a problem. A couple of moments of interaction are no longer enough. Initially, you're nonplussed, but the universe hands you a break and you guys run into each other at the alleged coffee machine. Having time to kill, you proceed to sit and talk, and talk for what feels like hours but really is only 20 minutes. It's wonderful. You're walking on air, you're moving like Fred Astaire and you give colleagues a scare because they've never seen you smile like that. That's when the proverbial paisa drops.

Now you have to find ways of hanging out with her without being creepy, so you do that. Its exhausting work, admittedly, but seemingly worth it, particularly on the days she strikes up a conversation with you.

After years of making the Marlboro Man look like an incessant yacker, you're breaking new ground in the conversation department, to a point where her friends have to come by and remind her that there's work to be done. When she's still there, talking to you, 10 minutes after that, well... you don't have a fanciful imagination so someone, somewhere must be playing "Hallelujah" at a goodish volume.

Eventually, you work up the cojones to ask her out. She giggles shyly and says, "Oh! I have a boyfriend".

And just like the junkies who've used too much cocaine, your nose goes out of joint.

*I have never used cocaine, though I have read up on it.

** Also, this is fiction. So far.

Song for the moment: Stop Stop - The Black Keys   

2 comments:

bhumika said...

all fiction is inspired from life afterall :)

G said...

Hahaha. Precisely what I've been saying to anyone who asks :)