Interested!

"Your name is beautiful...", says the scrap on orkut, "and so are you!"

There is nothing new in that, except for the fact that the scrap doesn't accompany a Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request. Hmmm... Let's wait for a day. He's bound to come up with it.

* * *

Two days have gone by. She has even sent back a "Thanks" to him, which is quite unlike herself. She has read his profile twelve times in these two days and seen all of his 10 pictures at least 5 times. He HAS replied to her - "Pleasure!", but no! No Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request!

He's extremely handsome - tall, broad-shouldered, just-the-correct dark, stubbled, and eyes so perfectly soft in one picture and so teasingly sparkling in another. He's in the same city, single and well-off.

Her Relationship status finds no mention on her profile. Just a blank. The ambiguity of the real thing extended to the virtual world.

* * *

Another day has passed. She has stopped taking calls from a certain number, and her Relationship status on orkut reads "Single".

She has typed a very carefully worded Please-Make-Me-Your-Friend request. "I've never tried to make online friends before. But for once, I felt I could give it a try..." She checks it for spelling, grammar, language and dignity thrice. She presses the button 'Send'.

* * *

The next morning, broadband is not working at her place. Desperate, she goes to the cyber cafe.

Orkut is taking ages to open today.

Her phone has started ringing. It's the same certain number. She lets it ring like she has for 2 days now. A few seconds later, the other surfers have started screaming at her - "Shut the noise!", "Take the call, will you?" She is NOT going to take the call. The only option is to disconnect the call.

Orkut has opened.

"Hello", she says, on the phone.

Hello... Kaun?

{My first blog ever! And I'm going to start with my favourite topic - ME!}

A least-expected encounter... with a person whose existence makes (?used to make?) not an iota of a difference in my life... a situation that I was completely unprepared for; although now in hindsight, I wonder - how could I have been unprepared? Being who I am, I should have been ready for one of these days for eternity now... I should have played and replayed the scene in the rehearsal room of my mind for N number of times, but the fact of the matter is that this morning, when Papa was out to play tennis, Mamma was in to take a bath, and I was just entering the house after my not-so-regular round of weight-control exercise, the scene was laid out in front of me like a bolt from the sky, and here I was enacting it - no rehearsals, no script, not even a visible co-actor!

The phone started ringing - it sounded like a Long Distance call - the ones I've been avoiding ever since October, 2007 - for who knows which long-lost family member that might be. The near and dear ones all know about me by now, of course, but if it's a long-lost one, then I'd rather not be the one to say "Hello.." and get into the complications of explaining who I was (?am?). Today, however, I had been cornered! Of the three choices normally available for answering a call in this house, two had 'NA' written beside them. The Perfect Trap! The Perfect Timing! The Perfect Plan!

"Hello", I said, placing the receiver next to my sweating cheek.

"Hello... Kaun?", said a male voice at the other end.
{"Hello... Who's that?"}

I hate people who do that! Call up and ask who the OTHER person is! Without letting out any hint about who THEY are. I’m normally not very courteous to this variety of human beings, but this once, I thought I knew who this was.

Ours is a Punjabi speaking household, and I could make out that the person on the other end was a Hindi speaking gentleman. Must be Rakesh, I thought - Papa's Sunday-car-cleaner - he's the only Hindi speaking man we know who would call on the landline… or so I thought!

"Rakesh... Main Monsoon"
{"Rakesh, it's me... Monsoon"}

And there was a pause - not long, but long enough for me to know that this was anybody but Rakesh!

"Monsoon Kaun?", said the man.
{"Monsoon who?"}

Oh God!

It was definite now – this wasn’t Rakesh… and how was I supposed to tell him who Monsoon was? But wait a second; even I didn’t know who HE was!

"Aap kaun baat kar rahe hain?", I tried to sound calm, but I still think he would’ve heard my insides banging themselves.
{"May I know who's calling?"}

"Main Agra se bol raha hoon - T!"
{"I'm speaking from Agra - I'm T"}

Oh Goddd!!!

This was it – the last man I would have liked to be speaking to at that instant – any instant, for that matter – and here I was, wondering – What am I going to DO? But my mind had registered a blackout already and my tongue must have assumed a frozen shape mid-air.

At this point, I think, it would be necessary to give an introduction to the man who had shocked me out of my senses this morning. T – Uncle – who stays in Agra with a wife and three daughters is one of Papa’s two and only friends. Papa hangs out with a lot of people – colleagues, tennis mates and the likes, but somewhere, all of them would tend to become baggages to his back. T Uncle and B Uncle were, are and would always be cushions. I’ve never had to interact much with either of them, since their friendships date back to their youth days; for the entire duration of my existence, I’ve only seen them keep in virtual touch over the phone or in rare moments of real touch through hugs and pats at big occasions like my brother’s wedding.

No wonder, then, that Papa had to tell T Uncle all about me. Despite being a carefree and living-for-the-moment kind of a Daddy, this wasn’t all that easy for him. But now that the magazine was out, he thought it would be simpler to let T Uncle read the magazine first and then, talk to him. And so, without giving him any kind of a hint whatsoever, Papa had asked his best (?do you really have a best between two?) friend to buy the magazine, read it, and then call him back.

It was the last part of the task assigned to him that T Uncle was performing this morning, and look at his luck! He had caught hold of the very subject of this whole exercise. Though, I think, he hadn’t realized that as yet…

“Hellooo?”, that was T Uncle, following a most uncomfortable pause at my end.

“Er…”, I had to speak. I’m not one of those who would disconnect the line, because that’s running away. I was not going to run away… “Uncle, Papa tennis khelne gaye hue hain. Wo aayenge, to main unhe bata doongi ke aapka phone tha”.
{“Uncle, Papa has gone to play tennis. When he comes, I’ll let him know that you had called”}

I was praying that he would leave it at that. Would he? Take a guess!

You guessed right!

“Par main samjha nahin – Monsoon kaun?”
{“But I didn’t understand – Monsoon who?”}

Oh GODDDD!!!

What am I to do now? What do I tell him? And how? I felt so angry at Papa. This was HIS job! Why should I have to face this? I don’t even care who T Uncle from Agra is. To me, he’s as important as the aliens. Oh come on! I’ve already done my bit. I’ve told and explained to everybody who matters to ME. Why, all over again NOW?

I was still mulling what to say, when I suddenly felt the urge to kill him! He had said –

“Unka bada ladka?”
{“His elder son?”}

Nobody, I repeat, NOBODY, has ever mistaken me for a guy over the phone! I hated him at that moment, but I hate myself much more for saying what I did, after that… because it was a lie.

“Nahin Uncle… chhota”
{“No Uncle… younger”}

The last word was almost not spoken… it was just a whispered mumble, but he caught it! To his credit, T Uncle from Agra has fairly sharp ears. His response was even sharper –

“Oh, achha achha! To tumhaara hi to ye magazine padh raha hoon main abhi!”
{“Oh, okay okay! So, this is your magazine only that I’m reading!”}

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

Of course! So now that the mystery is solved, would you please leave me alone?

He didn’t.

“Achha… to matlab… ye batao, ke ye tumne kyun kar liya?”
{“Okay… So, I mean… tell me, why did you do this?”}

I couldn’t BELIEVE this! I just couldn’t! I mean, why would somebody ask me that question after having read the magazine? Trust me, I couldn’t explain it over the phone better than what’s there in that! But then, I remembered that he had said that he was READING the magazine. So, obviously, he had been so taken over by the magnitude of the shock that he had called up his best friend even without finishing the read.

“Uncle, aap magazine padh lijiye na. Maine usmein likha hai sab kuchh”
{“Uncle, please read the magazine. I’ve written everything in that”}

“Haan, nahin wo to theek hai, par matlab… ab tum kaisa feel kar rahe ho?”
{“Yeah, that’s okay, but I mean… how do you feel now?”}

Honestly, I didn’t even get that question! I would have loved to ask in the signature way one of my best friends asks – Whaddoyumeeen?

“Achha feel kar rahi hoon Uncle” – that’s typical me. The good girl!
{“I feel good Uncle”}

“Nahin, matlab… ab… to phir tum… kya ho?”
{“No, I mean… so… now… what are you?”}

That question, stand-alone, robs the enquired of their identity as a human being. However, I’d like to believe T Uncle didn’t mean it that way. His mind was just too boggled to realize what he was saying or asking, although if he could read English, all he needed to do was READ THE DAMN MAGAZINE!

“Female hoon Uncle”
{“Female Uncle”}

“To matlab… ab tumhaare jo saare functions wagarah hain body ke – wo sab Female ki tarha hain?”
{“So, you mean… now all your functions etc of the body – are like a Female’s?”}

I wished he’d get to the point… because that’s what everybody asks, and mostly, that’s ALL that anybody asks – Can you get pregnant?

“Uncle, body ke external parts sab change ho jaate hain, lekin internal parts change nahin hote”
{“Uncle, the external parts of the body change, but the internal organs can’s be changed”}

“Nahin, to matlab… jo ladies ke sab haarmones wagarah hote hain body mein, wo sab ab tumhaare andar available hain?” – He meant periods! But I was not going to read between the lines any more.
{“No, I mean… the hormones etc that ladies have – are all those available in your body?”}

“Hormones externally lene padte hain Uncle”
{“Hormones have to be taken externally Uncle”}

He didn’t get it! I don’t think he did. He paused for a bit, and then, got to the point. Remember? THE POINT!

“Achha… Par jo ladies ke internal parts hote hain… matlab… bachchedaani kehte hain jisko, wo hai ab tumhaare andar?”
{“Okay… But ladies’ internal parts… I mean… what we call a womb, do you have that?”}

Can you bloody get PREGNANT or not?

“Nahin Uncle… Bachchedaani nahin daal sakte body mein. Externally sab kuchh change ho jaata hai, lekin bachche nahin ho sakte!”
{“No Uncle… A womb can’t be created in the body. Externally, everything changes, but one can’t have children!”}

That settled it for him! And there was a definitive disapproval in his tone –

“To phir tum mujhe ye batao… ke tumko iska fayda kya hua?”
{“So then you tell me this… that what is the use of this?”}

MCP! Papa’s friend and all that! But EMM CEE PEE!!!

“Uncle, agar aapko lagta hai ke aurat ka kaam sirf bachche paida karna hi hai, tab to aapke hisaab se koi fayda nahin hoga! Lekin mere liye apni sahi identity mein apni life jeena zaroori tha…”
{“Uncle, if you think that the only job a woman has, is to make children, then you wouldn’t see any use in it! But for me, it was important to live my life in my real identity…”}

I didn’t even see the point in going on. The man at the other end was not the right audience for this kind of speech. At least, not yet. With time, maybe, he would improve. I’d like to think he would – since he’s MY Papa’s friend! But as of now, he was quite bent upon proving otherwise…

“Nahin beta… to tum mujhe ye batao… ke ab agar tumhaari marriage hogi, to?”
{“No child… you tell me this… that now if you get married, then?”}

Whaddoyumeeen?

“To?”
{“Then?”}

“Matlab, marriage to male se hi hogi na?”
{“I mean, you’ll get married to a male, no?”}

“Agar hogi, to haan!”
{“If it happens, then yes!”}

“Haan, to PHIR?”
{“Yeah! So then?”}

OH GODDDD!!!!!!

He was back to THE POINT. “To Phir” meant – so, the kids?

“Uncle, bohot saare log hote hain jinke bachche nahin ho paate”
{“Uncle, there are many people who can’t have kids”}

“Aur unmein se ek tum ban jaoge?”
{“And you’ll become one of them?”}

“Aur phir wo log bachche adopt bhi karte hain”
{“And then, those people adopt children”}

“Haan, nahin wo to tum bohot achhi baat kar rahe ho bete… par matlab… ab tumhe achha lag raha hai ke tumne ye kiya?”
{“Yes… No, I agree that’s a good thought, child… but I mean… do you feel good, after having done this?”}

Finally, he was off the most favourite topic of most people!

“Obviously Uncle… Bohot khush hoon!”
{“Obviously Uncle… I’m very happy!”}

“Nahin, matlab… tumhaari pehle jo life thi aur ab jo life hai, to tumhe lagta hai tumne sahi kiya?”
{“No, I mean… what your life was and what it is now, do you think you did the right thing?”}

“Pehle ki life to bohot buri thi Uncle, isiliye to…”
{“My earlier life was really bad Uncle, that’s why…”}

“Nahin, tum mujhe ye batao ke kya bura tha? Tumhe problem kya thi us life mein?”
{“No, you tell me – what was bad? What was your problem with that life?”}

You can’t blame me for being at my wit’s end! You just can’t!

“Uncle ye sab us magazine mein likha hua hai! Aap please use padh lijiye… Mere liye bohot mushkil hai aise aapko samjhaana”
{“Uncle all this is written in that magazine! You please read that… It’s very difficult for me to explain to you like this”}

I was rude, and that’s something he hadn’t been throughout the conversation – at least never meant to be.

“Nahin, dekho bete… Maine tumhe godi mein khilaaya hai…”
{“No, see child… You’ve played in my lap…”}

I don’t even remember my own parents’ laps… And T Uncle from Agra claiming my erstwhile right on his, was tad amusing. Yet, I refused to encourage this sentimental trip!

“Wo theek hai Uncle, par abhi to itne saalon se hamara koi contact bhi nahin hai. Mere liye ye conversation bohot uncomfortable hai. Mujhe lagta hai main pata nahin kise samjhaane ki koshish kar rahi hoon, aur pata nahin kyun. Aap please Papa se hi baat kar lijiyega. Wo aayenge to main unhe bata doongi”
{“That’s alright Uncle, but for so many years now, there’s been no contact between us. This conversation is very uncomfortable for me. I feel I don’t even know who I’m trying to explain all this to, and why. You please talk to Papa. I’ll let him know when he comes back”}

But he was not going to give up.

“Dekho bete… Main bhi tumhaara Papa hi hoon. Jaise wo tumhaare Papa hain na, main bhi ek Papa hoon. Maine tumhe apni godi mein khilaaya hai bachche!”
{“See child… I’m also your Papa. Just like he is your Papa, I’m also one Papa. You’ve played in my lap child!”}

Hmmm… Perhaps I had been too rude…

“Ji Uncle, par aap please wo magazine hi padh lijiye. Aapko usse samajh mein aa jaayega”
{“Yes Uncle, but you please read the magazine. You’ll be able to understand better”}

“Haan, magazine to main padh loonga… Par tum ab mujhe ye batao ke tumhaare Mummy Papa ne accept kar liya hai?”
{“Yeah, I’ll read the magazine… But now you tell me – Have your Mummy Papa accepted it?”}

Finally, a question that I could happily answer!

“Ji Uncle… Mummy Papa bohot khush hain… Meri poori family, sabhi relatives bohot khush hain”
{“Yes Uncle… Mummy Papa are very happy… My entire family, all my relatives are very happy”}

And suddenly, he surprised me with an unexpected excitement in his voice!

“Arre waah, phir theek hai! TUMHAARI MUMMY KHUSH HAI NA?”
{“Oh great, then it’s alright! YOUR MUMMY IS HAPPY, RIGHT?”}

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Ji Uncle, Mummy khush hain”
{“Yes Uncle, Mummy is happy”}

“Bas phir theek hai! Agar tumhaari Mummy khush hai, to main bohot khush hoon!”
{“Then it’s fine! If your Mummy is happy, then I’m very happy!”}

How I wish he’d asked me that question in the beginning!

“To dekho beta… main tumhe invite kar raha hoon. Tum yahaan aao, Mummy ko saath le kar aao, aur hamaare saath raho kuchh din”
{“So now, my child… I’m inviting you. You come here, bring Mummy along, and stay with us for a few days”}

He didn’t even invite his friend! What’s with him and my Mummy, huh???

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

“Aur apne Papa ko bolna mujhe phone karenge. Theek hai?”
{“And ask your Papa to call me. Okay?”}

“Ji Uncle”
{“Yes Uncle”}

“Achha beta… Bye beta”
{“Okay… Bye child”}

“Bye Uncle”

And hence, there was no love lost between T Uncle and me… none at my end, at least. It wasn’t exactly one of the best beginnings for a day, and even though I know there might be many more such beginnings to come, I absolutely love my life for at least one reason. Later in the day when I narrated the entire episode to Papa and Mamma, our threesome could laugh and joke about each sentence exchanged between me and T Uncle from Agra.

Yes, it wasn’t exactly the best start for my day, but it certainly was a preparation for one of those long-distance calls which would have some long-lost relative on the other end, the one who would not even have an inkling about the magazine. Now that I’ve lost my ‘virginity’, I’m all set to take on the next one… asking –

“Hello… Kaun?”