“No, I will not go for his dinner invitation. Not even if he puts up my
plate the usual way he does”, “How dare he call me now, only three days before
to break the news!”, she repeats in her head for one more time as stations pass
by her. She’s in the jungle’s fanciest ride till date and yet still ‘trying’ to
like it. But the kid in front of her is assuring with his unadulterated grin.
Like he also shares the secret. Her secret. Their secret.
She tries to remember what was the moment that turned Little Wench and
Old-World Sloth into friends. The common factor was a guy she hated and he
loved. Soon, they were neighbours and colleagues who smirked at each other’s
romances (or the lack of it) and had dinner together.
There was a new-found delight in taking shots at each
other which gave grave concerns a casual air. In the Concrete City,
where both of them were outsiders, he was the constant companion she never
invited but inevitably celebrated every occasion/attended any party with.
She snarled at how he was a housewife-in-prep and he came to pack her up
to his place when her apartment became a boat with a hole. She tricked him into
giving occasional foot massages and he stayed up entire night talking to his
fiancé when she needed to pull off an all-nighter for that office report. He
smelled, loved and smelled her hair often and in return, she called him a
creepy guy whenever she could.
His dinner invitation to her included him mixing rice and
gravy Andhra style with his hands and making small balls of it, decorated on
the outline of the plate. And she ate heartily with a boasting smirk and hidden
delight. She, in turn, taught him how to imagine apple juice like it is
flavoured wine during crisis and actually get high on it!
But for the love of God, she still can’t remember that
moment. What she can remember is that Old-World Sloth is now married and about
to become a doting father. The Old-World Sloth hasn’t shared a smoke with her in
a long time. And the Old-World Sloth is now leaving the city for good.
When the Wench wakes up next morning, there is this sudden
urge bubbling in her. Thanks to the wild gooseberries from Jungle she loves,
things hit her late. She frantically searches for her eternally damned phone,
calls him, and tells him she’s going to come to the Concrete City
to see him. Even if it’s just a 10-minute thing. He leaves tomorrow and has a
lot on his hands. But she isn’t listening; but he still invites.
The day is ending very slowly. “What would I say when I
see him? What would I do if he panics? What could we eat together?” Fretting,
she tells herself to shut up when there’s a call just when she’s about to leave.
Old world: Dude, werrr are you?
Wench: Just about to start.? Why were you not answering my
call? I was going to check if chocolate is fine or wine.
Old World: Actually, I got stuck. Something needed to be taken care of.
And urmm, I am running terribly behind time right now.
Wench: Oh, you’re really short on time?
Old World: No, actually yes. I would love to meet you but not like this.
But anyway, tell me what time do you reach here?
Wench: You know what, let’s drop it. It would only get
more hectic for you. And anyway, not like I was dying to see you. I will see
you some other time soon.
Old World: You do know there would be no ‘soon’ again?
Wench: Yes. But saying soon sounds better.
Old World: I will call you once I reach my new home.
Wench: Of course. Take care, creepy guy.
As she hurriedly hangs up, she realizes she’s choking with
something tangible in her throat. And something warm and gushing in her eyes.
Friends, no matter how predictable, annoying or routine
they become; are friends and should be treated as nothing less than that. They
may not be the one who hold your hand at the aisle or serve you dinner when you
get home tired but they absolutely are a large part of what makes you ‘you’.
With a now-free hour to kill at her disposal, she packs
her bag and heads to the popcorn guy.
*Just
for this post, Little Wench is not Little Wench but Eva Mendes.
