Thursday, February 9, 2017

A fake love story

The other ones weren't real either.


                          It is a love story and it starts with our hero. The hero, as you may find, resembles a lot to the author or what the author imagines himself to be, but it is all coincidental since the author lacks the ingenuity to come up with characters. The hero is a shy, lanky guy, who has a difficult time in matching his clothes; so he ends up buying only shades of blue so they match whichever combination he picks up. He has these not so fancy black eyes that seem too small to decipher his emotions. The leading lady on the other hand shall be described in all her beauty when she first comes into picture, in the next paragraph.

                                 It was hot as hell, as it always is in the hero's city except when it's raining, even at 5:30 in the evening, as the hero reached the parking area of his office. The parking area was small even when full fledged and now it was further reduced due to the refurbishment going on by parts. That, although turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The hero, tired after a long day of work, had finally reached his bike in the parking lot and was about to press the self start button when his eyes wandered off and he saw a damsel in distress. The girl was stuck as her scooter was blocked by another bike. She had her helmet on so he could only see her nose and the sun's reflection on her visor which obscured her soon to be discovered beautiful eyes but her curly yet wavy hair was bustling sideways because of the warm sea breeze that the evening brought along with it. The hero in his mind had already helped the girl, fallen in love and married her, but reality stung him soon as the old guy, whose bike was blocking her scooter, came along and took his bike away silently apologizing to the girl. The hero was still staring and suddenly the girl turned around and noticed, but our hero was used to such situations and knew how to pretend to be just turning around his head as if taking an overview of the construction work going on the in the parking lot. He started his bike as fast as he could, feeling guilty as hell, and ran away from the scene of crime. It would be 48 excruciatingly long hours before he would run into her again.

                                  I lied, he din't see her again for a month, until that fateful day when it was raining, but the story did carry on without them having to meet. It was 48 hours later since his first confrontation, he always hoped to run into her at the parking lot, but luck had it otherwise. He came to his bike, not so tired that day as he had spent the whole day bugging others since he had no work, when he saw his bike and the helmet lying over it, he observed something yellow flapping with the wind but still somehow attached to the helmet. He went closer, his shoes were tiring him, he always hated wearing shoes, it was a sticky note, with a small smiley at the bottom he read the text later, it said in a very neat equally spaced handwriting "I'm sorry I scratched your bike.". He read it and looked towards his bike, it hadn't been cleaned since the last time it was serviced which was six months ago, to observe a scratch on it would have been very difficult for him, and he didn't care enough for the bike anyway. He was just too happy to worry about anything but what to reply or should he reply at all. The anxiety was overwhelming, plus there was the fear of ruining it by writing something stupid or seemingly desperate. His gut feeling was to not writing anything, but his gut had betrayed him earlier too, so he decided against it and planned on writing a reply. He opened his bag and realised that he had no sticky notes, he slammed his head with his right hand, an expression he had learned from his mother, which he often used when he realised he was stupid, his mother's expression were also always directed towards his stupidity, as they say-once a moron always a moron. But then he had an epiphany, he realised he could write on the same paper and stick it on her scooter, he wasn't so stupid after all. 

        He had never faced such lack of words before in his life, he scratched his head a lot trying to figure out what to write, he wanted to sound smart and funny in the shortest possible sentence. The best he could finally come up with was "Kamini, paisa tera baap bharega?"


The end