“I have had enough of it man! It’s sweltering, this feeling. You are looking at the most wonderful person you know for a lifetime, and you feel all your words go prick stone and hit back without any effect on her.” Pause from him. My shoulders dropped in the sudden realization of where this would go.
The bartender returned back with the liquor served in the perfectly traditional ‘Grande Margarita’ holding. The lucid reddish Negroni looked fresh and clear with the subtle touch of the diluting ice and the troubled
I almost always get bowled out by the irony of these situations. Here’s a guy, investing a fortune from his daily wage on a populous preparation of gin, wine and Campari; but he cannot come over his most inhabitable problems, let alone enjoying a sip of his drink. It seemed like it was the holocaust of the art of wine, an event by the river Glen, every time we went. But to be fair on his part, his problem was huge. He was in a relation.
Paulo, the bartender had seen us many times, loitering on the dilapidated Ivy Wall pub in Spalding,
“Do you know what? She’s doing it again.” The pause was over. “Relentless gestures… thousands of discussions… and all leads to nothing with her. Everything happens exactly as she wants.” he squirmed as he spoke.
Let me explain the background here. The situation here wasn’t the traditional Devdas one, where the Badshaah has lost his kingdom of love and so ends up in the most remote of the locations in the world (conveniently, his best friend Chunilal’s place). This one was even trickier then those Bollywood gimmicks. The “Badshaah” here had got his “Begum”, but in the not-so-surprising twist, she turned out to be the Marianne Williamson of their relation, the one who boiled out the ounces of her wit to keep it alive.
And for some of you female readers to know, beware it gals, that’s the untouched side of any guy’s guitar, it’s his alter-ego, if I may put it so. And as far as my friend was concerned, the chords were hitting real hard, as every sip sank through his gulps and more wine began to flow through the evening... and into the night.
“It doesn’t make sense Rishi; to me, it is just the same old story you tell, just written in a different way.” I began to retract from a prospective torturous session of why’s and who’s and swears to some bloody nobody whom he would refer as the “Satan of his relation”. The matter wasn’t big. But that’s what these love relations bring. Every ounce of a trivial matter looks gigantic to them. Damn it you love-birds, marauders of peace!
“Story? You… think it’s a story? I’m in a bloody fix here. Do you remember the last time we had a small fight? I told you how I have wanted her to dress herself down now. But she wouldn’t listen to me, man! Every time we have a small fight, she does such stuff which makes me feel angry.” And I knew what was coming here. Out came his long lost look in the air, a glance of indignation to the ‘Satan of his relation’, as he gulped up the whole quarter of Negroni as if he was drinking lime.
During such heartbreak-strokes, you have to check if your patient is still alive in your world. My way generally was to pinch on his shoulder gently, and point in some random direction. This would break him from the spell of emotions that had gripped him all over, thus allowing me to start over my speech.
“Look Rishi, I think you get over protective when you start asking her to dress like the way you please. Is it all about this that makes you so upset?” I exclaimed.
“No Ranjit, that’s not the only problem. Nobody in our project knows about us being involved in a relation. Every other guy still counts her as single and available. Dressing herself like Princess Consuela makes it even difficult for me…..” His awkward pause meant it would be too difficult for him to find words to describe.
“So are you jealous about others? Are you insecure in your relation? Are you angry on her for trying to please you by dressing herself up?” In situations like these, non-certified relation consultants like us think like detectives trying to figure out what’s exactly in the assailant’s mind.
“Listen Ranks, I am not insecure or anything like that. All I am saying is, I am not going to be grounded by nonsense anymore. I have my own self-respect damn it! Why should I always be the one who goes to her for making up after fights?” He continued shouting loudly in front of me; a guy who was sitting at a distance of 10 to the power minus infinity light years away from him. Well, this case had no future…. but I was the only detective in town for him, I was his only knight in shining armour!
“Rishi… listen…. Take a pause and think about the situation. This girl introduced you to her mother when they came here sight-seeing. She is trying to spend as much time with you as possible even without letting others know. She has acknowledged to you about her affection. You must not let such trivial matters come in the way.” I tried to convince him that you can never win with girls in matters of fights. That’s always the final result of every relation.
“By the way, how did it go with her mom? Hope you didn’t mess it up.” I interjected to find out more about their meeting, it could prospectively become the headlines of tomorrow’s gossip.
“Oh yaa, that went well. I had her decently impressed. She ended up complimenting me, telling her daughter that she hoped they would find a groom for her who is as good as me.” He narrowed his vision to smile at the glass in front. I think he could see her mom’s face in it. Our news paper editor would be thoroughly disappointed with this update.
“So is that good news or a bad news? I mean, her mother directly meant that she had no intentions to accept you as a groom! Man you are in trouble.” I paused immediately, realizing I was putting more mess rather than solving his problems.
“I am not bothered with her mom’s response as much as with her attitude. She is so nice, but such an obstinate when we fight. It’s kiddish to try to even out on me by such silly behaviours.” He was frownin
g hard as he said. I was glad she was not around. If she'd heard a whisker of our conversation, he'd be mauled in the same way as Tom from the “Tom and Jerry show”; unwittingly conned by every of Jerry’s moves.
“So how long have you been not talking to her?” I wanted to move on and check out how much damage was there to be repaired.
“It’s been 2 days and 4 hours now since I last heard from her. I have texted her twice and got no response.” The time he had not spoken to her would be directly proportional to the amount of booze that would flow today. This estimation was very important.
“Why are you doing this to yourself Rish? I mean look into the situation here. You both know you love each other. But still this madness and these silly fights? You guys are no longer in college. You have to dig out these bad times by staying together. See it’s clear that you're being extra protective about her.” I paused to check he was listening and continued.
“Let’s assume she does wear dresses you don’t affirm on, after you guys get into fights. Even if she is silly trying to be nasty on you by such actions, but why don’t you try to avoid being in fights in the first place. Try to concentrate your efforts in solving the problem. Talk openly and don’t think who is initiating the conversation. That’s not important.”
“And listen mate you must realize girls like to dress so that they can compete with others girls wherever they may be. You are silly to be bothered by this situation, let me forewarn you, even if you marry her and imagine yourself after 10 years going out for a party with her, even then she would want to be the shining star of the evening.”
“And though the probability is very less, but let’s says if I was also married to somebody; even my wife would want to be the most spoken about women in the party. That’s how women are. That’s their nature.”
“Wow Ranks! You know so much about women. If I had your spark, I would be having 3-4 girl friends by now.” I didn’t know whether I should take it as a taunt or as a compliment. I think the drink was lending him a kick that distracted him from the problem. Drunken conversations are always so hard to deduce.
“I’m afraid the truth is…. because I know so much about women, they don’t choose to be with me.” I explained. I knew I had given up a golden rule on enjoying extended years of happiness and freedom in the realms of bachelorhood.
“Anyways coming back to my point, listen dude! Don’t think about why you always have to go back trying to cheer her up. After these hot rounds of back-and-forth bickering, all you need is time to lend its healing hand. After sometime the affection for each other over-powers these pointless blindsided fights.” I paused to appreciate my own explanatory skills.
“If I feel for her and miss her so much, why can’t she ever come to me even once with a smile and bring forgiveness?” Even in his drunken half-wit condition, it was a million dollar question he’d prod, and a destitute like me would have no answer.
Nevertheless, when nothing works out, we detectives unleash our last weapons of mass reconstruction. Here’s how it goes. After a moment of silence I began in a deep impulsive voice.
“Why do you think about these lame things that make you look egoistic in your own eyes. You need to understand how much you are missing out on the love and affection you can get from her.”
“You dream in the sore-cold nights, with the 3.5 tog duvets laden on you, remembering the good old times when you had the early morning breakfast at her nice little house. Remember the times you tried learning Tamil exclusively for her, when you can barely speak your mother tongue Marathi for more than 10 words at a stretch.” I stopped as his eyebrows rose in disapproval, but the poignant self in him had taken over, and he was left with no strength to voice it.
“Try and remember the evening you told me about, the one when you were alone with her for the first time skipping the boring movie and taking her to the gift shop and buying her the cherubic baby archer. It was the first time when you made her feel so special.” I continued in my hysterical voice accentuating like a nanny telling a fairy-tale to a baby listening innocently with raised eye brows.
“And also the one when you proposed her… the night of the candle light dinner. The one where you lit the small red candle made out of her favourite Belgian dark chocolate and shaped like the teddy bear hold
ing a heart with scribbles all over it that played the romantic tune when you wind it up, and when you spoke the magic words to her.” I was exhausted. My, my… so much of a speech for a stupid fight, I was getting annoyed myself for having to stretch my imaginative side.
“At that time you were the first to speak. So why not now?” I knew I had once again made a bland illogical and stupid argument, but luckily who was listening?
Tears were streaming from the eyes of the “beer-holder”, as they missed the tiny little opening of the almost empty glass he was holding. He looked like lost in the world of
Emotions had filled him up and I knew my trick had worked. Now even an earthquake or a volcano would not stop him from going and meeting her - and, for like the 1,50,000th time, once again plead forgiveness.
Paulo came over to knock us out of the wooden upholstery which we had warmed up spending an hour of ranting from him and “Prem Vedanta” lessons from me. Finally, we trudged our way out of the pub and into the chilly, silent and dull evening.
As we strolled silently, I mulled over the poor state of my friend. In an evening of filled emotions, a guy had laughed, cried, shouted, and even tried to listen like a stone, to everything that I said, which unfortunately he already knew. He spent a fruitless evening of pain and agony, not enjoying the 37 bucks he spent at a ready-to-fall apart pub; and above all the costliest, in the vicinity of the world’s most boring company - of mine.
This small story is devoted to all you love birds. I have tried my best to keep it as less scary as possible. But to those like me, who rightly love their bachelorhood, this is a lesson in the scariest and the most inevitable part of every love relation.
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Best wishes,
