windy waffle love-2

She asked for a waffle with chocolate sauce and cream, and he said he wouldn’t like fruits on it. She knew he enjoyed eating bananas so she ordered for some banana slices on the now divine waffle. When she was given the piece of heaven, she fed him a spoon to which he refused saying he hated bananas during the night and she put it without thinking about him. Well. Here she was, sacrificing on kiwis and strawberries and choosing bananas just because he liked them and this is what she got. That was just too bad.

The argument got bitter and accusations were thrown which would look hilarious on a good day. Making jokes on how he ate bananas in fixed hours of the day and hated them on others got out of hand and the date was abruptly over. From fruits, they moved on to the nagging issues of life like place, culture etc and there was no way of redeeming the date thereafter. They both decided to walk instead of taking a cab just to release the pressure. Without acknowledging each other’s presence, they kept walking. Soon, she got tired and took a cab and asked him to get in, to which he behaved like a child and said, ‘You called it. You get in.’ she was pissed and asked the cabbie to go ahead. Once at Kabatas, the tram station, she missed him dearly. For the next twenty minutes, he was nowhere to be seen and the tram station fellow kept coming to her and asking her which tram was she waiting for. It was close to 12 and tears were stinging her eyes. A cab stopped in front of her and an Indian boy came out of it, took one look at her and asked her if she wanted to be dropped somewhere. She refused and turned the other way.

The tram guy closed the system and told her the last ride was over and said a sympathetic bye to her. Suddenly, from afar, she saw him walking towards her, looking tired and completely put out. Rushing to him, she asked if he had walked all the way. He nodded, called a cab and they got in. she cried silently while he looked the other way, asking the cabbie for extra bills. Once inside the hotel, she saw the same Indian guy from that night, who had one look at both their faces, and gave her a sympathetic smile. Forget sympathy, she could do with some vodka right now. Inside the room, the travel and the heart ache gave way to sleep soon enough.

Early morning, she woke up, way calmer than the previous night. He had already left for his meetings, so she went to the washroom, sat on the pot, and started to think. How could they manage a fight in the most beautiful city in the world? How could they not keep their short tempers in check for one little exotic week? How is it love if they cant trust each other and do things that hurt, simply on an impulse? And most importantly, how were they supposed to get past this and enjoy two more days of the vacation? She turned her head towards the wash basin and was caught by surprise. There was a cardboard sheet, torn from the box of khaakras she had got from home. The sheet had a pen drawing of a round face with hair and 3 tears each coming from both his eyes. It said SORRY underneath that. It was hard to believe and too cute to not melt. Clutching it close to her heart, she laughed and then cried at the madness of it all.

He had woken up, felt bad and had taken the pains to tear a piece out of a box to make that hideous drawing and write what he couldn’t manage to say the entire night. There are certain things about love, the most important one being that it isn’t extraordinary. It is simple, right there in front of you. In little things, it can trigger. You don’t have to be a talker, you can be the shy kinds and still have your place under the sun. a vacation doesn’t have to be perfect, it can find perfection in your fights and then, in your Sorrys’. There is no sure shot way to tell what keeps you happy. A banana slice in your waffle can spoil your evening and a little boy cartoon saying sorry can make things alrite again. It is that ordinarily extraordinary. Believe you me.

Humph!

I am at odds with my folks currently. Of course I am angelic to them most of the time, but there are times, when things snap. I try very hard not to react when they are cynical and critical about me, I even practice deep breathing. Having a temper that rises quite suddenly is not a virtue, and with parents, definitely not. Though I can get past arguing with people of my age, but call me orthodox, I still do not promote arguing with folks yet. And this is where I eat my words.

I have had to, on more than one occasion, raise my voice. And very toxic when it comes to pointing out the truth, it has hurt them manifold. They have shed tears and told me they hadn’t expected this etc etc. Things do become bitter when a family argues. It may start small, but inevitably, it takes up more people in its wake and it ends ugly. And that is the part I oh so hate about life.

When you are this close to people, and they just decide to rip you apart on a fine day, its just not fair. Its how that fairytale went, the evil king’s weakness was in the parrot so the hero went and killed the parrot. I know bad metaphor, I am not an evil king or anything, am just a very humane being with some weaknesses of my own. There should be a law that bars your family from picking out your choicest vulnerabilities in a fight. It is so.not.done!

Coming back to the reality of my life, am coming to work with self prepared food (bread and butter in short) and am also walking till my faraway bus stop instead of my father dropping me. Oh for the uninitiated, it is called EGO in my family. For the record, neither is he making an effort. Today he tried putting in an omlette in my tiffin box, but I simply went and took it out. I am not ready yet.

These are trying times, and I am very tired, mentally and physically. I don’t really need to give a reason or a measure as to how very much tired I am, but yeah, till things look up, I shall remain my grumpy self. Suits this effing weather, anyway..