A Transit Date

He walks up to her, squints his eyes and exhales.

“Hey, you Annapurna Nilakantan.”

“Do I know you?”

“Of course, we met few minutes ago at the check-in, rather I met you.”

“You mean, here at the airport check-in, few minutes ago? Still, do I know you?”

“I noticed the name on the tag on your trolley. Annapurna Nilaa...”

“Wait, and now you are stalking me?”

“No, I am only surveying you.”

“May I ask, why such honour?”

“You have a bland first name and a glamorous last name, which one is you?”

“None.”

“Ahh! the typical 'smarter than thou' woman”

“What did you say?”

“King James Bible? Isaiah? Thou thou chant.”

“I am not religious.”

“Figured that out.”

“And how did you?”

“No amulets of piety”

“You seem to be a know-it-all savant.”

“Born with an IQ of 154”

“Tsk tsk.. you are squandering it on trolleys and Bible”

“Hey, you ..”

(He throws himself back and gazes at her sunlit hair)

“Listen, there's still time for the flight, coffee?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Listen, Anna, is that how your friends call you?”

“Anna is too modish, why not Nila for you.”

“Awh! Nila, there there, you squished my heart”

“You want me to call the medic?”

“Listen, I am off to the rest room, I trust you, keep a watch on my bag, and get yourself gussied up, and be ready to treat me for a cup of coffee. Kapish?”

“Aye, instructions noted. But I hardly know you, so how will I know how to "gussy" up for you?”

“Righto!”

(He stands up still admiring her sunlit hair and now the blushed cheeks)

“Google me, Aditya Ravishankar.”

(He walks a step and turns back)

“A-D-I-T-Y-A space R-A-V-I-S-H-A-N-K-A-R, don't go looking for someone else.”

(The din of the flight announcements carry on.)

“I am back, so who am I?”

“Well, you are 32, a Hedge Fund Director, and have a blog titled ‘The Lark’”

“And ..”

“You have 156 friends on Facebook.”

“Go on..”

“You have a pet named 'Mr Snuggles'. What is he? A cat or a dog?”

“He is a pint-sized dragon.”

“Go on..”

“Hate poetry, love anime, hate tea, love coffee, hate idli, love upma, hate cubes, love circles, hate Foucault, love Socrates, hate Giacometti, love Alberti, hate Paris, love Madrid.”

“I am impressed. I am confused whether I should date you or hire you or inform Mark Zuckerberg of such profile leaks.”

“May be you should do none and leave me alone.”

“Also, not any upma, rava upma laced with nuts and served with ginger chutney”

“I stand corrected, rava upma.”

“Coffee?”

“Latte.”

“No more profile facts. Coffee with you? Please?”

“Ok.”

“The Lady of Shalot has agreed to gratify this Knight.”

“Tone down your theatricals. Also, you hate poetry.”

(They walk together to the small cafe near the boarding gate.)

“So tell me Nila, you have any, er, say, man in your life.”

“No, never had time for men and such silly flirtations.”

“I see.”

(He eyes her soft hair and wants to blow that speck of dust settled on one of her curled locks)

“Not a bad coffee.”

“I love coffee, any coffee, you have sleuthed my profile and must have noticed my post titled 'Caravaggio's Coffee'.”

“I didn't scan, only skimmed. Unlike you, I don't go about scanning passengers' trolleys and bags”

“Point noted. But tell me Nila, never ever you fancied a man?”

“With my work and disorganised life, never took out time for dating a man. Moreover, I don't pry into personal bags and trolleys to seek men.”

“That's a potshot. I don't pry into every woman's bag.”

“Then, why me?”

“There's something about you. Those hazel eyes, soft cheeks, pencilled lips and that .. hair ...that hair of yours ...”

“I see. We should head back. That is the boarding announcement of our plane. See you later.”

(He grabs her arm as she turns away and takes her closer.)

“Not so soon Mrs Aditya Ravishankar Nilakantan. I don't even get to fancy you married for three years.”

“Duh! I have a bland first name.”

“And you should be thankful to me for giving you that glamorous last name.”

(He lifts his arm, gently brushes her hair, and blows away the dust speck.)

 

Heh! Don't constrict or label my characters yet, they have much more under their sleeves. Yo! Hair fetish builds up the plot. It is trite but less trite than smiles and noses and lips and curvature of the chin. Here I come Mills and Boon!

They are a spirited, playful, witty, mischievous and flirty couple. Like all couples are supposed to be, eh?

Nah, my characters are urban, intrepid, and upbeat. If the seven-year-itch sets in, they will part ways and find partners they can still fall in love with everyday, be playful, witty, mischievous and flirt with. They are sensible, gritty, strong-headed, focused and intense. And of course committed to the extent and form they can. Poorni will find another Aditya and Aditya will find another Poorni. There is no "till death do us apart" but a more prudent "till discord do us apart". They will move on in life and laugh one day about their juvenile hair fetishes and butter pomade.

 

I don't know the protocol in stories column. It must be one of those "Thank you for responding", or "Thank you for gracing my story", or "Thank you for writing back", or the more proverbial "I am honoured with your gracious and august presence here and this has given me the boost to write more stories", or one of those variants.

I absolutely have no idea how to respond to visitors. Esp, when a conversation cannot be held with a crisp liner. I don't want be that iconoclast or that uncouth not receptive to "guests". So, here is me being the chatty me.

I am pleased that you took time off to read my winding tale of a couple's playful banter at a airport. I will convey that "good read", "cute", "nice read" to Poorni and Adi. They are anxious to know if they had a hit or a flop on their fictional debut. Ta!

 

Ok, now I will go wild and unbridled. More episodes? No, I just pounded it on a whim. I am no serious short-story writer. My (solo Nonya or non-existent) fans will sorely miss me.

It takes certain playfulness to enact that while stalling the coronary attack. It ain't too fantastical, very achievable. There are many books on "Art of War" and "Art of Love", have you ever wondered why no material on "Art of Flirting". Always the extremes, why no moderated regimen.

Ok, with no much ado, forthwith, I will make a Benedick and Beatrice of them.

BENEDICK
Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain
I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and
I would I could find in my heart that I had not a
hard heart, for truly I love none.

BEATRICE
A dear happiness to women! They would
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I
thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humor
for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow
than a man swear he loves me.

Bullseye! Having interacted with me intermittently, you should know by now that my forte is sarcasm and nonsense. I would never venture into sickly sweet and cloying stories.