the breezy night of november, is quieter than anaisha envisaged. in the bridal fancies of a luxury hotel in udaipur, she presumed to have at least a hundred thousand noises that would drive her to the clutches of isolation she accepted like a boon and a bane. but the glittery silence of the night, is all there to welcome her as she finds a shy corner of a pool unattended by the intrigued eyes of social bees who have flown here for the wedding of the year. or maybe two. none she hardly can care for.

she has a marriage proposal of her own, to take care of. to say no.

"your father has been acquainted to them for years i've lost the count. their son will be a perfect husband for you."

he'll be a perfect husband, because her parents have known his parents. but does she know him to take this leap of faith that can be both a reward and a punishment? no.

she leans over the cold marble pillar, her mind has been heavy with worries of the future she hasn't chosen still. there remains a handful of thousand wishes on her to-do list, she has to tick. the ones she checked cross, were just a fistful of dreams she hasn't seen alone. a perfect score on tenth boards; another star on twelfth boards; an honour's degree at an elite institution; a master's degree at another prestigious university; a master of philosophy has been attained, too; a decent paying job, and a doctorate degree on the way – the ones she checked cross, were just a fistful dreams she hasn't seen alone. she has done well, she is doing well – professionally. the checklist of her personal life - still blank, untouched.

friends, she made a dozen. only a couple stayed.
lovers, she met a few tens. none has dared to stay.
cats, she brought home two. now they are a family of six.
love, she—error 404.

"pyaar toh...saath rehte-rehte ho hi jayega."

"par agar nahi hua toh?"

her mother did not have an answer for the question, anaisha fears fiercely.
if she wouldn't love the man she chooses to spend her life with, then what?

"hum ek hafte hain yahan, mil lena usse. jo bhi pucchna ho, pucch lena. aur fir hume, apna jawab bata dena. bas ek baat yaad rakhna – kitni bhi koshish karlo, zindagi akele nahi ji jaati. you'll need a partner to survive through the hard times and smile at the joys."

a picture tagged along with her mother's message. anaisha turns off her phone.

the sound of the leaves rustling, soothes her troubled soul like the lullabies sang to a frightened baby. her heart is heavy, it has been for a while. she knows, if not this man, there would be another, waiting to hear a yes; a nod to a relationship of lifetime she cannot predict she would last if it would never have love.

"can i sit here...if you don't mind?"

the shadow of his existence breaks her trance before his voice can. anaisha finds a pair of silent eyes awaiting her response. as if her response would change his life. as if the man in the unseen photograph is him.

"ji jaroor."

he settles besides her, a little three feet apart.

"yahan raat mein baithna allowed toh haina? hum dono ke alawa, koi aur hain nahi yahan pe."

"humne puccha tha, if they catch us, we'll have to pay a hefty fine of ten thousand."

"toh aap yahan kyun hai fir?"

"hmm...avant-garde."

"matlab?"

"mazak tha."

"aap ajnabiyon ke saath mazak bhi karti hai."

"sabke saath toh...nahi. par aapke saath, haan."

"kyun? main special hoon?"

"nahi. par aap udaas the...iss liye socha aapko mazak se khush karde."

she had seen this man, the night she arrived. it happened to be the previous night. he had stood at a corner, burning through the screen of his phone to avoid the swarm of people who were at him in one go. today wasn't any different either. he found a quiet corner, attempted his best to camouflage. women of all ages, still, approached him. some for dates, some for marriage, some to flirt.
he certainly seems like the most eligible bachelor here. not for her.

"he is. he's a cardiologist, you know these guys are loaded as fuck."

but is his financial status all that matters?

"aur aapko kaise pata yeh?"

"bas pata hain."

she feels his gaze fixated on hers. still like the water of a stale river. the corner of their lips curl on the sides and a hearty laughter blooms in the stifled air of wintry blues.

"isn't it chaotic? this whole destination wedding with several hundred people you aren't even familiar with. aur kya fayda aise shaadi ka jab iss rishta ko hi na nibha sake."

"jaante hain hum...tabhi toh shaadi se bhag rahe hain. warna humari umar tak humare khaandan me koi ladki single ka tag leke na baithi hai. aisi shaadiyan waqt aur paise – dono ki barbaadi hain."

"hmm...par hum jaise logon ke liye toh paid vacation hain. toh itna bhi bura nahi hain. haina?"

"baat toh ek dum sahi hain aapki."

"bas yeh aise bakwaas gaane bajana band karde, toh sone pe suhaga hain."

"sahi mein. humare 50's, 60's, aur 70's ke itna acche acche gaane hain. par nahi, ye saare ul-jalul se gaane bajane hain inhe aur fir jabardasti logon ko nachwana hain."

for the introverted, socially awkward woman anaisha has been all her life, this moment here with this man is anything but awkward and forced. she has never found herself in a conversation with a man, where within five minutes of the man speaking, she still remains keen to hear him talk. in most of such situations, she found herself sneaking out to the washroom and never coming back. stranding men is an art she has mastered. but something is different tonight.
this conversation is different. this man is different.

he resonates with her wavelength, a first for her.
the words follow one after another, never ceasing to exist.

when it hits one on the clock, anaisha feels a sudden urge to crave...chai.

"par yahan na, ek chhote se, besuad chai ke cup ke liye bhi haazar rupay lenge humse."

"toh mere saath chalo, yahan se do kilometre dur ek chai ki tapri hain. agar tumhe sachmein chai peeni hai, toh chalte hai wahan."

she is tempted. she hasn't had a good cup of desi chai since she has landed here, just one day which is. but she hasn't known this man for more than a few hours, the fears of a woman begin to overpower her craving. she could get killed, molested, hunted down by wild animals, possessed by ghosts – the outcomes of this adventure are endless. and so she says...

"haan."
the urging for chai, overthrows her fears.

"hum wahan tak chal ke jaye?"

for the walks she has taken on her university campus, these two kilometre meant nothing. they begin for the tapri, the three feet of distance persisting strictly like a military decorum.

the night has deepened, the air is cooler and anaisha shivers. she is dressed in a pink chikan kurta with a white salwar, and only a light shawl to keep her warm. the tingling sound of her jhumkas, fills in for the absence of her words. he hasn't said a word either. the farther they move from the hotel, the anxious she feels. it isn't the fear of being alone with a man in the middle of the night. the fear is of being cut off from the real world, that frightens her. the hotel they are staying at, is far removed from the outside world. she cannot find a soul on the exhausted path she is taking with a man, whose name she still hasn't asked.

"tumhe darr lag raha hai?"

"nahi, bas thand lag rahi hain."

"thand aur darr mein farak hota hain, anaisha."

"aapko humara naam kaise pata, humne toh nahi bataya aapko abhi tak."

"tumne nahi bataya, par hotel mein toh sabko pata hain."

"lekin hume aapka naam nahi pata."

her cousin did tell her his name when they witnessed him getting mobbed by his stans. she didn't care to remember it.

"kabir. kabir mehrotra."

"kabir. aapko pata hain, aapke naam ke ladke bohat demand mein hote hain amongst women."

"accha."

"humare doston ki toh collective dream hain kisi kabir naam ke ladke ko date karne ki."

"tumhari nahi hain?"

"shayad nahi."

when she was in her undergrad, her friends had once gushed over their love for men named kabir and how if given a chance, they would date one. anaisha didn't think much of it. she did wish to date someone. but peculiarly based on the name, she quite didn't seem sure. a similar ideology, a gentle personality, and a supportive attitude is all she needs in her partner. what's in a name, anyway, like shakespeare said.

"so, you never wanted to date any of my namesakes or is it just because i'm here...nevermind."

a faint tinge of blush, anaisha found on his cheeks. or maybe it is the cold. her face has turned hot, too. she has never been comfortable in a situation like this, partly because she spent three of her formative years in a women's only college, and partly because she sucks at flirting back. but, what she sucks the most is gauging intentions of situations. yeh humare saath flirt kar bhi rahe hain ya nahi?

the shadows of their bodies, led their way to the roadside makeshift stall, the chai ki tapri, kabir recommended. it is small and compact, the tapri has one long bench on one side while the other has two or three foldable chairs that are kept aside. there aren't many souls out at this moment. kabir, anaisha, the chaiwala, and a helper of his are the only lives breathing here.

"do chai aur do bun maska."

the bench is small, the three feet of distance cannot fit on it. so, anaisha offers to dissolve the space. she tugs on a confused kabir's shirt, and gestures him to take the empty spot next to her. the gap is only ten centimetre.

"kabir, aapko is jagah ke baare mein kaise pata chala?"

"kal raat aate waqt dekha tha maine...when you attend weddings, you gotta find places to hide for your sanity."

"par aaj aap pehli baar aaye hain yahan?"

"nahi, kal bhi aaya tha lekin...thoda darr lag raha tha akele aane mein. iss liye, company dundh raha tha saath aane ke liye...aur tum mil gayi. my luck."

"good or bad?"

"good."

their chai has arrived. and the bun maska.

chai chuski goes on without a need of word spoken. it satiates anaisha's soul that has been longing for a proper cup of chai, and the bun maska makes for a perfect midnight snack. she does feel a few eyes on her, of the new arrivals for chai. but she sees kabir shielding her from the gazes that she never desired.

they have one more round of chai. anaisha refuses to let kabir pay for it again. the ten centimetre is nowhere in sight.

the walk back to the hotel is filled with a comfortable silence, anaisha has felt with only a select few – her anxiety is at peace. her usual need to keep speaking, doesn't bother them this time. maybe, because she felt with him what she's been hoping to feel when she meets her prospective husband. a silence, that does not need words to survive.

she notices their height gap, now that she is not focussed on keeping the conversation going. kabir should be over six feet, his silhouette is towering hers. she is only a five feet and five...four. it is. she wonders if the man, her parents are intending her to meet and accept in her life, would make a good pair with her...like kabir. maybe not.
kabir is out of her league.

"thank you. agar aap nahi hote toh hume acchi chai hi naseeb nahi hoti yahan pe."

"lekin agar tum nahi hoti, toh mujhe bhi aaj ye chai naseeb nahi hoti. main akele wapas nahi jaane waala tha aaj. mard ko bhi darr lagta hain."

they stand near the pool, the place where it all began.

"it's three now...i think i should go."

"tum jaa rahi ho? already?"

"nahi jaye?"

"nahi...mujhe neend nahi ayegi ab chai peene ke baad. agar tum rukh sakti ho toh...."

she stays. the conversation begins again from where they left.

every few minutes, anaisha feels her cheeks turning red. kabir is attractive. and he is attentive to her.

"tum english literature ki professor ho, fir toh metaphors aur symbolism tumhara pehle pyaar hoga."

"jaise ecg aur stethoscope aapka."

she hasn't smiled as much, in another man's company. this is the first date that is not a date and yet is her favourite date. with kabir.

"tumne kabhi wish kiya hain kisi cheez ke na hone ka...like the school bus getting delayed or the cabbie never arriving."

"haan, kyun?"

"main nahi chahata hoon ki iss raat ki subah ho. aise hi accha lag raha hain."

anaisha feels something erupt inside her. what is it, she cannot name. but whatever it is, she knows she has never felt quite like this.

"subah ho gayi hain."

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published on: 11th January, 2020

music: 'sham' from aisha