He hoped that the teacher wouldn’t notice but she did.
“Why are your socks so dirty?”
He faked ignorance, “Sorry ma’am”
“Next time, I’ll throw you out of the class,” the teacher reprimanded.
Later that day, he was seen near the banyan tree. Slung from one of its branches were his socks with a cricket ball in them. He calculated. These would last another fifteen days. He should be able to bargain a new pair for Dusshera. Till then, he had to make do.
For now, he picked his bat and started hitting the ball, a little better each time.
If you have judged him by his scores and his shots, you have got it wrong. A billion people have aspired to be him at some point or the other in the last twenty years. Hence, Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. Hence, God.
He knew if she noticed him, he would have nothing to say. And the silence would be weird. So he faked a nonchalant walk to get away from there.
She called him.
“Do you remember me? We were in college together though we rarely spoke.”
“Ah yes. Sorry, did not notice you.”
“That’s okay. A celebrity like you would meet hundreds every-day. Anyways, I am a big fan of your writing. I connect so effortlessly with all your female protagonists, as if all your stories are about me.”
He blurted a thank-you. Deep inside, he was glad; she had noticed!
I do not know which is worse; fictitious characters in real stories or real characters in fictitious stories!
The text-box said ‘What’s on your mind?’ He wondered if he would be able to write the truth about his impending marriage.
But he had to write something. That was the only way to let her know that he has moved on. Somehow that felt like revenge!
“Getting married! Yay :-)” he typed.
He stopped, hesitated for a minute but decided to keep the ‘:-)’.
She read the status almost immediately. It said “Write a comment…” A year had passed but it still hurt. She did not want to appear weak though.
She hesitated for a minute and replied ‘:-)’.
The best part of smileys is that they say more than what they mean. The worst is that they are rarely understood!
After her marriage, we had hardly spoken to each other. So when she called me last night, I knew something was wrong.
“Do you have room for an extra person?” she asked.
“Yes. What happened?”
“And do you have alcohol?”
“Some, yes. What’s up?”
“That son of a bitch got drunk, hit me and threw me out of his fucking house.”
“Where are you?”
“Near The Pigeon Square”
I was about to leave when my cell-phone beeped. Tim had sent a message.
“Let me know if Karen tries to reach you. She’s hallucinating! Her alcoholism has gone worse.”