Heartbreak: No Vaccines Available

Timespan

(Period of relationship) divided by (No. of eye candies around) multiplied by (No. of months you had it coming)

Also Known As

Bitchface phase, End of the world, Post-Dementor disorder

Symptoms

• Subject finds it hard to focus; many are known to send 'PFA this document' emails without an attachment.
• Subject showcases baffling indifference towards free food, alcohol and Masterchef Australia
• Stoic demeanour over the possession of new clothes, gadgets, or the bank’s SMS of salary being credited
• Subject forms a clingy, parasitic relationship with his phone screen
• High relatibility to zombies in post-apocalyptic movies

Side-effects

• Subject quickly engages in a rebound relationship with his blanket
• The sound of other people’s advice may register as nails being scratched over a blackboard
• Inability to laugh out loud at Impractical Jokers, Comedy Central
• Loss of interest in elevator small talk (actually this one is not directly linked to heartbreak, but heartbreak has been found to lower patient’s tolerance for bullshit)
• Some patients have reported strengthened brain muscles; that were given constant exercise by running over the same memory 287 times

Cure

A new and experimental drug usually found at gyms, parties and the 167th Tinder profile you swiped right to.

This drug is entrusted to keep your mind busy and off your illness. This drug is usually better to look at.

The Perfect Encounter

She rushed out of the cab, handing over some crumbled notes for the fare. Unwilling to wait for change, she sprinted across the gates of Prithvi Theatre to make it in time for the show. Everyone in India adheres to Indian Standard Time; all except Prithvi Theatre – they start their plays bang on time. A staunch supporter of punctuality, today she’d have to bare the sweet brunt of her own principles. Even as she bolted towards the theatre, she could hear the faint sound of bells ringing in the distance, announcing the doors for entry have shut.

“I’m just a few seconds late, can you let me in?” She said catching her breath.  

“Two-and-a-half minutes, and no.” Said the gatekeeper whose guts she’d already begun to hate. He was stout, dark and sported a Nathulal moustache.

“I know how this works okay? I’m a regular here. Right now the director is chatting up the crowd to make up for the backstage delay. I won’t be interrupting anything” Yeah, she was relentless like that.

“Lest you interrupt that important proceeding? That dialogue is a tradition here, just like the doors shutting on time.” He replied. She had a feeling he was starting to enjoy their back-and-forth. She was lending meaning to his idle two-hour guard shift, may be even providing material for him to go back to his wife at night, and for once, have a mildly interesting incident to narrate.

Unwilling to give Nathulal more fodder for his story, she began to retreat when she heard someone say, “Let us in, will you? There was too much traffic today.” She looked up to find a caramel-skinned, lean boy standing at about 5 feet 11 inches, make puppy eyes at Nathulal.

Nathu retorted, “Are you from Bombay?”

“Yes” The boy responded.

“Then you’re not allowed to refer to the Bombay traffic as an excuse. You might as well cite the potholes on the road as an excuse” The real Nathulal would have never been this rude to us.

Barging in, she said to the new entrant in this scenario, “Let it go. We’re going to lose this war of words.”

“You’re right. He’s painfully good at his job. I bet if he was present at a bank heist, he’d mindfuck the robbers to turn back and leave.” He said, as they turned away from the entry gate.

“This is a bummer. All of my friends are inside.” She sighed.

“Mine too. I think I’ll just wait for them at the cafeteria.” He replied.

She nodded to acknowledge him, and began to walk towards the quaint bookstore next door. She had 45 minutes to kill until the interval.

“Do you want to join me? We’re both stuck outside and misery enjoys company” He quickly blurted out, watching her leave.

“Hmm..Why not? I’ll get us a place” She said.

“And I’ll get us some chai” Pat came his reply.

She made her way to find a table close enough to the flute player; she liked having background score to her interactions.

“There you go. Sulemaani Chai on the house! I think the waiter probably overheard us, felt pity.” He said as he seated himself across her.

“Either that or you made your puppy face again” She said as she circled her palms around the steaming hot, free chai.

“This face has failed me today. It didn’t stir the watchman one bit.” He said, mocking his own anger.

“Men don’t have many other weapons at their disposal. I don’t blame you for trying” She said. Continuing on, “Are you a regular here?”

“Do I watch a lot of plays? No. I was talked into coming here. I thought I was walking into a movie theatre, hence the characteristic delay” He replied.

“Tried to escape the national anthem, eh?” She smiled, knowingly.

“Aren’t we all?” He smiled back at her. “Theatres and movies aren’t my passion anyway. Flying is”

“You know normal people just list reading or music as their passion. You have expensive taste Mister.” She remarked.

He started off, “Can’t you see the appeal? Soaring in the skies, the speed cutting through air...”

She cut in right there, “The free food, the complimentary toiletries.. I do, I do. I’m starting to understand your fascination”

“I’m glad you do. Few people realize the marvel of being between clouds. Just because the invention is old, doesn’t mean it still isn’t mind-boggling.” He said, passionately.

“I agree. I can’t decide what feeling gets me more ecstatic – an airplane taking off, or a camel trying to get on its feet. Personally, both give me the jitters.” She replied, jokingly.

His lingering smile turned into words when he said, “Mock away, mock away. Let’s hear what gives you a high?” He asked.

“You mean besides Haywards 5000?” She asked.

“Yes! Not to belittle the great invention that desi daaru was. What else?” He coaxed.

She sat there waiting for a few moments mulling on her response. He patiently waited, studying her face.

“I don’t know. I’ve always gotten through life eliminating options. I know what doesn’t make me tick..But that feeling of utter passion? No, that’s alien to me.” She replied, slowly.

“Like, a reality show? Eliminating the contestants, and whoever’s the last man standing – gets to be the winner?” He asked, perplexed.

“Right. I just haven’t come across anything I’d pause an episode of South Park for” She clarified.

“Now those are high standards. The winner will have to pass that test of mettle eh?” He asked, dramatically.

“Mock away, mock away. While I have to get philosophical, the rest of you know exactly what makes you tick” She replied.

“True. My answer did kick your answer’s ass.” He joked, and then changed his demeanor and leaned forward, “Just because your answer was convoluted doesn't mean it didn't intrigue me endlessly.” He continued on, “Some people get through their entire lives without learning what they’re passionate about, you know”

“And the rest of them?” She asked.

“They fake it.” He responded, looking directly at her. Silence ensued, not the awkward kind.

“You fake it too? I was starting to think you were really passionate about fraternizing with hot air hostesses.” She said, on a lighter note.

He laughed, “It’s the only thing I’d pause Game of Thrones for”

For the next 45 minutes, they shared stories, laughs and silences. When the interval bell rang, they joined their respective gangs inside.

As she walked out at the end of the play, she met his glance.  And in that moment she finally knew what gave her a high - Meeting an absolute stranger, unplagued with familiarity, confiding their innermost passions and thoughts.

They continued to look at each other from a distance – their gaze unwilling to bid goodbye. That’s when she decided – nothing would ruin this pureness, not even a second meeting.  She’d nurse the illusion of this perfect encounter.

The Musings of a Travelled Mind

One of the best reasons to travel goes beyond the reason to explore foliage, new waterfalls, spectacular scenery, or a monument; it’s the people. Its ironical how these friendships, even though hard-pressed for time, leave more of a lasting impression than ones that take their own time to age.

You could argue that this friendship is a mere illusion. That it ends before you have a chance to learn the ‘dark side’ of this acquaintance. Like a one-night stand that’s looked at, in retrospect. But while you’re there, in company of a relative stranger in a foreign land, the exhilaration of a random interaction makes you speak as frankly as you would in your head. Could explain why people come back with a sense of self-reflection.

On a recent trip to Auroville, my default travel partner - Mahu (the importance of the right travel companion is seriously underrated, it’s as crucial as picking a life partner. For a short life; that lasts a week or so. Okay so not *as* crucial) Anyway I digress.

On a recent trip to Auroville, Mahu and I had the fortune of interacting with people of diverse beliefs and priorities. We were staying on the outskirts of Pondicherry. Located on desolate beach between Auroville and Pondicherry, we were given a tree house with a thatched roof and a bunch of bamboo shoots for a door. Perched up on this tree, we were literally greeted with a view of the sea every morning we raised our backs to wake up (I mean it, the tree house didn’t have curtains to roll back).

It helps when two girls travel alone. One - for the freebies (being treated to meals, drinks etc), Two – helps shed the protective shell that surrounds us at home. So, we got going on a rented bike that we managed to fall off from only thrice during our trip, Mahu’s personal best.

Now what people forget to mention about Auroville is that there is a serious dearth of watering holes here. So when our eyes fleetingly spot a ‘something something BAR’, we halt our scooty to go in. Turns out it’s a ‘Coffee Bar’ but it’s too late to turn back now - it was a real pain to park the scooty and the effort mustn’t go waste. I do not exaggerate when I say that we had the world’s finest cold coffee at this joint. Here, we couldn’t help but overhear some expats converse about their volunteering work. A bunch of friendly people, it happened to be one of their birthdays. Thanks to Happy Birthday to You being a universal song, we joined in the singing and were eventually invited for a house party to celebrate the same. From what I’m about to explain, you will realize I grossly misused the term ‘house party’. We were welcomed into a home where everyone seated themselves in a circle. In the background, there played a sorry excuse for music. I swear, it played in decibels that only dogs could have partied to. People only conversed with the person either to the left or right of them. No cross-over conversations from one corner of the room to other. Virgin to this experience of recreation, Mahu and I seated ourselves in opposite corners of the room. Here, I had the pleasure of talking to a boy from Germany (a place I ended up making my next trip to, and the last paragraph of this blog). He mentioned that all of them, hailing from different countries, have come together to volunteer at some place known as Sadhna Forest. With no fixed itinerary planned anyway, we left for this forest the next day. I’m probably going to make a big deal out of what we witnessed there as we city girls have led a cushioned life (for some reason, Bombay girls are given serious grief for not knowing what lies outside the city limits). Greeted into a space that shared an uncanny resemblance to the set of Lost, the volunteers at Sadhana Forest had built their own residential tents for the mission of planting trees. Apparently they had been peddling on their cycles all morning just to create a safe bank of electricity to welcome us, with lit lanterns and the works. A bunch of South Korean students we met there, mentioned about studying in a travel school. Which means they studied on-the-go, constantly travelling around the world and imbibing it’s learnings until the age of 16. In contrast, I spent my schooling perched on the 3^rd row bench, with travelling limited to the last row bench. After spending a whole day with them, clumsily trampling their precious rooted plants, and helping them wash dishes, we were sent back with a newly formed emptiness we didn’t know to exist. Sometimes meeting people and learning about their experiences fills you with enough envy to despise your own relatively inconsequential existence.

Every place extrudes a different vibe. If Auroville had put me in a mode of self reflection, Germany had the exact opposite effect – don’t care about what lies tomorrow.  For someone to whom the definition of abroad remained limited to Dubai, Germany was an eye opener. You know how a restaurant with good ambiance can make or break the outcome of your meal? Picture the whole of Hamburg city being an intricately crafted ambiance only for the purpose of dreamlike interactions. As opposed to Auroville, there was no shortage of watering holes in Hamburg, Germany. Seated on a pavement pub, immersed in the music of the roadside violinist, I met people from varied nationalities.  When you meet someone with a far complex personality, and only have a limited time to explore that intrigue, you cut through the small talk. An African friend and I sat together to burst stereotypes from our respective countries. For example, I had to specify that just because I come from the land of Kamasutra, Indians do not, at all times, demonstrate Kamasutra positions on the street. It’s not an artsy road show. Though, I’m still not sure she believes me on that front. In return, she painted a beautiful picture of Africa for me – one that went beyond malnutritioned kids and well-endowed penises. Good thing that short travels leave long lasting friendships as their by product.

Ofcourse, my only and biggest regret will be that I left Hamburg without finding out why the Germans named their city after a hamburger.

To Bait, or Not to Date?

Just as mosquitoes can breed in the most unlikely places, so can romances.

Candle-lighting, rose petals, fragranced breeze are passé. Meet – rubber carpet, damp air, dumbbells – the new components found effective in creating a romantic ambience. Grown rampant post the exploitation of all other dating spots, Gym Dating has come to experience considerable traction in recent times. This concept is defined as, “The flirty banter between two individuals, usually in or around sticky, sweaty environment. Known to cause the hogging of workout machinery. May or may not result in eternal love.”

While serious fitness enthusiasts grace the gym in the mornings, serial daters make up for their lost evenings by socializing at the gym. The latter kind are easy to spot. Sporting gym bags big enough to take on a trip, they come prepared to spend a quarter of their day in the premises. Following their ritual to the T, these daters first scan the premises to identify potential targets – a deciding factor for whether they’ll be in the cardio or the weight section for the day. Once that’s locked upon, it’s time for ‘warm up.’ Not to be mistaken for the 10 minute sprint on the treadmill, this pre-workout practice includes a long halt around the water cooler and a quick escape to the washroom to tuck in that misplaced strand of hair.

Next up comes the tough decision of choosing the treadmill right next to your subject of interest. Not to seem over-eager, these seasoned players tactfully initiate conversation that’ll trigger their neighbors to plug out their earphones and slowen the pace of the treadmill so as to facilitate conversation. Most start with, “Is this taken?” as if they’re seating themselves for coffee. If things go as planned, they’ll be taking it to the next level in the weights section. Afterall, its the only place where ‘Arch your back and bend over for me’ won’t sound dirty.

Here’s when the serial dater starts to picture the gym floor as a dating ground. Replacing the on-call trainers, they take it upon themselves to count from from 1 – 15 for each of the set performed by the person-of-interest. Occasional correction of posture by means of physical touch is a sign of things going really well. Suddenly the scene transforms for the people involved and they linger around the machine as if its a tree in a park, long after the exercise set is over.

Gone are the days when it was found acceptable to put on your ragged t-shirts and scram for a workout. New-age gym etiquette (more like peer pressure) requires you to put on your branded gear, gel your hair, and survive a 30 minute run in a thong.

Here’s hoping that washroom queues are not the next ‘it’ spot for meeting prospective dates.

Matrimonial Advertisements – Spread across caste and creed, weight and height

Someone truly observant once remarked how India’s demographic changes every few kilometres. You would ask, “Do I really have to tour through every nook and union territory to learn about its diverse races?” No; just lay open a stream of matrimonial ads in your morning newspaper. 

A trend initiated by Malayala Manorama, this thought leader extracted the taboo off the admittance of spinster-hood. It announced - If you’re single and not scared to admit it, come buy a 2 X 3 sq. cm. space and live happily ever after. Thus began an influx of listings involving mortifying honesty, raped and battered precis writing, and comic material you could narrate at your laughter clubs.

One of the most profitable pages for a newspaper, it attracts the maximum number of advertisers that could possibly fit on a broadsheet. Mainly divided in Wanted Groom and Wanted Bride sections, it’s the sub-sections that really astound you - Kayastha, Vaish, Khatri, Kumauni and what not. Then come families wanting to marry within their surnames - separate sections for Agarwals, Agarwal-Bisa, Maheshwari and Arora. If you think that’s not specific enough, the pages tactfully divide themselves for the Mangliks, divorcees, widowers, green card holders, MBAs and doctors. 

Some of you may recall playfully asking for ASL (Age.Sex.Location) on chatrooms. Simply replace that with BHP (Biodata.Horoscope.Photograph) to become an AMM (Arranged.Marriage.Material). In an era where compatibility is described by likes and dislikes, the matrimonial ad industry regards Veg/Non veg as a must mention in a 15 word ad. It starts to get bizarre when a 57 year old widower with 3 sons requests a woman “with no liabilities”. Terminology of key importance here, most grooms are looking for an “alliance” with a “very fair, very beautiful” bride. “Caste no bar” is occasionally put as an afterthought by those that are stigma cases in the purview of the society. Geographically dictated, some brides state their country of preference – USA, Canada etc. Their demand is eagerly reciprocated by Gujarathi grooms willing to settle there. Makes you wonder if one should mock their superficial demands or laud them for knowing exactly what they want. How many of us can fit the description of the Man/Woman of our Dreams in 1 and half line? It’s an art.

TOI lays a footer on its Matrimonial Ad page saying – “Do you really want a partner who doesn’t read The Times of India.” Yes. That’ll be my criteria.