Oka Pencilbox Katha

This is a work of real-life that seemed imaginary, does it make it fiction? Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either too true to be true or the author's too shy to reveal more. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental, it's not your story, it's mine.

                                                         (i)

"Inkentha Sepu?", I asked the young driver. 

At first, I tried to hide the desperation but I gave up soon because I hate being late for a movie, especially when it is an "unofficial" date. In the age of heart emojis and handsome choices, I made it through the initial screen test of obsessive, late night conversations and virtual giggles. The next stage is a heart-thumping test, which would begin in 23 minutes for me. 

"Ee traffic lekapothe...e tank bund medha direct oka flyover kattisthe, manam akkada 5 mins lo untam, madam", he smirked. 

Five minutes later, he revealed his failed plan of watching a movie with his friends that night. He had to cancel it because my mother was arriving from Guntur and needed to be picked from the station. This explains the sarcasm. 

"Meeru e movie ki velthunnaru? Evaritho? Friends a?", his curiosity was conversation worthy, but I was hyperventilating at this point of time. It was 7:51 p.m. I had 9 minutes to be in the theatre, appearing very casual. 

"Manamantha", I replied. He seemed disappointed. 

"Friends toh ne, andike kada late avvadam nacchatledu?", I watched his face light up instantly. 

"Oh, adi family movie kada?", he was pushing for a conversation to distract me from the traffic on the road. The red lights were testing every ounce of patience in my body and the greens were the oasis to my adventure for the night. 

"Meeru Pellichoopulu movie chusara, Madam?", he asked, with a grin on his face next. The lights turned green, an Audi on the road gave us way, it was 7:58 p.m. 

                                                       (ii)

                                                     

Last year, this time I walked into a room filled with ambitious tension and political couches, the kind that hosted informal, heated discussions, intense sessions of questions rallying between individuals, this time it was Cinema for main course. A little dog that greeted me at the entrance stole my attention and helped me avoid the awkward ice-breaking session with a prominent filmmaker. I found a familiar, unexpected face smiling at me from the group of people seated, the witness, while the rest were smiling unusually, shifting their gaze from the filmmaker to the rest of us who came to narrate the script of a movie. This movie would later go on to become a sensation in the Telugu Film Industry. 

Prashant meet Chitra. 

Chitra meet Prashant.

                                                      (iii)

"Sorry, there was crazy traffic on the way", he says, I wish I could see my face through his eyes that very instant. 

I am busy tearing his ticket from the printed two. How is it that one of the most efficient parts of the body - hands, give up on you at such times? The ticket doesn't tear, "It's okay, let's go before I lose it for missing the first 5 minutes", I mumbled, immediately regretting what I just said.

"Tickets", the lady at the escalator asked. "Screen 5 is downstairs, Madam", she said looking at the ticket, confused. 

We rush downstairs only to realise ours was Screen 6 instead and screen 5 was playing Rustom. I realise much later, during the interval that she probably wondered why would we watch a family movie and guided us to Rustom. 

"Late chestava nuvvu, movie ante?", I threatened him, secretly hoping I didn't scare him already. 

"Sorry, sorry, it was jam-packed on the roads...," he went on explaining, before I announced that we should go back upstairs and broke into a sprint. 

There are 2 conditions if you want to watch a movie with me: 
1) I don't want to remind you that we have a movie to watch that day.
2) Absolutely no Caramel Pop-Corn, whatsoever. 

The movie just started to play the moment we entered the theatre, I'm hoping that dad didn't book corner seats, I was very clear about the fact that I was watching it with a "friend". 

                                                      (iv)

The previous evening -

"Are you going for the movie?", he asked. 
"Yes"
I am going no matter what, I thought.
"Alone?"
"Are you coming?"
"I don't think so"
"Then yes, alone", I said.
"Seriously?", he asked. 

One year ago, I bought two tickets for a Santoor concert after a crush and I decided to go for it. 

It was going to be amazing, I thought, to be able to share such experiences with people. 

How lucky are we to sit together and experience something, separately? 

30 minutes before the concert, I find out he wasn't going to make it. I dragged myself to the ticket counter at the hall, swallowed my pride and asked for a refund for the extra ticket. It was one of the toughest things to do, tougher than fighting tears. I secretly believe they refunded without a fuss because they wanted to make this confrontation easier, so I could finish before shame took over. I have never been this thankful for the darkness in concert halls, if my cheeks could yield crops, a drought would have been cured that evening.

Movies, concerts, travel, pretty much everything, became a singular experience after that day. It made me question the purpose of company. The drought was imaginary, I told myself. 

"It's just that I want to write...in the mood", he confessed. "We'll watch it together, don't go alone. We'll watch it tomorrow". 

"One condition", I stated, trying to ignore the cute quotient in his previous statement. 

"No Caramel Popcorn", he declared. 

                                                      (v)

"Is this a date?", he asked. 

Was this a curious question or a test? If it were me, I would only ask a question like that if I'm genuinely curious. If it were a test, I would allow myself to discover the answer during the experience.

"Asalu, what do you think of yourself?", I ask.
"It's a movie", I write, trying to sound serious, "A girl, asked you to watch a movie, together. Nuvvu feel ayithe avvu", I tried to justify.

A few minutes later, I cheekily asked him, "Doesn't this sound like a date?"
"It does", he replied.

Modern day romance, however modern it is, is unapologetically in the spotlight always. With filmmakers studying youngsters, analysing every heartbreak, love story, or latest trends in the ever evolving field of expression, there is no dearth of inspiration in the art of love on-screen. Boy meets girl, girl is a happy, chirpy, wannabe ignorer of the boy's feelings, boy tries hard to win her love...Add some free-willing concoction of complex emotions and you have at least, many of the predictable stories in this sub-set of movies. 'Manamantha', a supposed family movie, tells the stories of 4 individuals fighting their own conscience and life's unforeseen consequences. 1) A supermarket manager (Mohanlal) who, realises that a younger, well educated, colleague is his competition for a promotion, 2) a house-wife who has the maximum soliloquies and tolerates a saree-selling, trouble making woman for a friend, 3) a little girl with the biggest heart, who befriends a street urchin and takes him to school after he follows her one day, and 4) a young, geeky man whose hormones go hay-wire after meeting a young, charming, rich girl.

In the movie, this young man receives a call from his friend about his crush being spotted at a mall, which forces him to skip a meeting with his idol at his university. A questionable action, but I know many who would do this in a blink. If you like something with all your heart, the whole universe will work towards bringing it to you, is the underlying mantra of this story and my life too, sometimes. Eventually after many trials to win her attention, he finds himself in a situation where he rescues her iPhone from being stolen and wins her, err, her time. This is followed by a series of dates, non-stop conversations on the phone, an obsessive process that involves the emptying of any common sense on the inside and pockets on the outside.

The girl, being the pampered, practical, princess who is also aiming to study abroad, one day decides to catch a movie with the iPhone-rescuer turned part-time stalker. At this point during the movie, I cross my left leg over the right and prepare for the following scene. I suppose it suddenly made me aware of the fact that I contribute to the whole Modern Romance Study, no matter how different my context is. Soon after settling down in their seats at the Cinema, the girl asks for Pop-corn, which sends the young man hurrying off to buy, his dignity and Pop-corn. Luckily, he finds a junior from college who not long ago, offered to pay for lessons during exams. He requests for the money now and quickly rushes into the theatre with his pride, err, pop-corn buckets. Unaware of his achievement outside, the girl excitedly reaches out for the pop-corn as soon as he sits.  "Caramel Popcorn ah?" she asks excitedly, while almost grabbing it from his hands. 

In a slightly sad, heart tugging moment of the film, we burst out laughing. We shared our first inside joke with a clueless, confused audience. 

                                                      (vi)

"Where do you stay?", he asked, when we were texting for the first time.
"Ala ela adigesav?", I remember throwing my head behind and laughing loudly after putting him in a spot and found my parents looking at me curiously. I sat up straight, pulled myself together and pretended to read something on my phone. 
"Vammo, nenu emaina Pellichesukomani adigana? Ekkada untavu ani adiganu anthe", he wrote. 

Speed breakers in Hyderabad appear during the most unexpected times, I say appear because, it is the same road that you would be traveling on, sometimes to buy groceries, or walk helplessly because auto-drivers teach you the real meaning of rejection. You know this route by heart, if you were blindfolded and made to ride on it, you would slow down, instinctively at most speed-breakers. But one good movie later, a ride on the necklace road on his pride-worthy bullet was a perk I almost invited myself to. All these incidents seemed to have created an imaginary conference of all the speed-breakers on the way home, ensuring I was bouncing off the bike every few minutes.

"Are you okay?", he asked after the first speed-breaker which almost threw me off the bike. He had a hand on the bike and the other on my knee, apologetically.

In the last one year, I learned one thing about affection - I missed it very, very much. I am physically, a very affectionate person. I hug people, I hold hands when I walk, I shower kisses on birthdays and tickle people. The one thing I knew was that none of the receivers would attempt to do the same with me. However giving I was with physical affection, I was very guarded while accepting it. I think I am always only prepared until giving, unaware of the effect of my actions. 

"Are you comfortable?", he asked. 

I burst out laughing. I was on Necklace road, on a bike, with a man I never met alone before, who was increasingly conscious after every speed breaker on the road, the cool breeze was hitting my face, I passed a restaurant I went to, on my very first date ever, I passed my childhood hangout spots to my right, the great Indian flag on Tank Bund had a slow-motion to it, like it would if it were in a film, and all he was thinking of was if I were comfortable? I was trying to hide the thrill of that very moment desperately. 

"I think, I should wear a helmet", I said, thinking of how it would be the best disguise to hide my face, in case he turns around to check on me (Yes, mirrors are a passé).

"Naadi kavala?", he asked. 
"Oddu, no way!", pushing the chivalry away. 

A dinner got us sitting face to face for the first time. I just find out that he watched the movie without his spectacles. I don't know if I should note this act as a part of understanding this man. I felt extremely shy, it was the silliest time to feel shy. Amma used to catch me during such instances and repeat, "Intilo Puli laga thiruguthavu, baita enduku pilli laga avuthunnav?" 

Right now, I'm such a Pilli-pilla and I don't have anyone helping me out of this moment. 

"Do you cook at home?", I wanted to take my question back. 

How is this question any relevant at a restaurant? 

"I eat more than I drink, which is why I'm fat", he said. 
"You think you're fat?"
He looked at me with a smile. 
"You're chubby, I wouldn't call you fat". 

The greatest feeling on the planet is to sit before someone who would slowly but honestly, reveal their truths. Especially, when you listen to similar words that you used before as a cloak that hid your true, chubby truth. But that's not even the best part, it was how we thought of the same body, so differently.  

Right after we finished eating, the waiter skeptically placed the bill on the table. 

"Why are you asking us to pay right now?", he questioned immediately. 
"Why are you asking us to leave right now?", I complained. 

I lost the game.  

The waiter runs away, I pray nobody heard me. The questions seemed quite attacking, to be honest. He returned with a plateful of sweeties as compliments and an apology.

"It's okay, it happens", I said smiling at the waiter, I couldn't help watching his guilty face. How was he to know what interesting stories I was listening to, wide-eyed with wonder and clueless how my company's moustache doesn't move when he speaks? 

Before I knew it, I was on my way home. I get off the bike, like a lady, unlike the first time where I almost pulled him with me as I got off. In my defence, I haven't sat on a bike in a year. As I'm getting off the bike, it occurs to me that I have no idea of the time, was it 12:00 or 12:30? I stopped wearing a watch because I acquired the skill of predicting the time in Lugano. Unfortunately, it was really hard to do now in good company. 

"Thank you for the dinner, Bye!", I said, hoping I wasn't too pink. 
"You're welcome...bye!", he said.

Was this it? Did I just say bye and walk towards the gate? 

I turn around to see him go, as I opened the gate. He looked right back at me, I froze. My auto-pilot controls made me wave at him unconsciously, whereas I needed a snap to reality.

I walked up to my room, slightly puzzled with how the evening turned out. My balcony is the only one that provides respite in such unexplainable moments. I watched the sky, it would have been very selfish of me to think the weather was brilliant for tonight, but I'm not taking anything as a co-incidence at the moment. I'd like to believe that I'm an optimist on most occasions, but the last thing I would do was announce to him about how incredible it was to be in such an interesting company tonight and scare him away.

My phone lit up. 

"Listen..", my heart was parked in my throat, "I had a lovely time, I enjoyed", he wrote. 
"I enjoyed it too", I admitted. 
"I'm a fan of your nose ring... chaala chaala bagundi", he said.

It would be very hard to explain the music that will be heard from my room for the next few days.

Fin.