A Transit Date

You are a sharp sleuth! How can any clumsy manoeuvre escape you? Yes, I do skirt. The reason: keep a low profile. IL is charmingly quaint. I still consider myself a visitor here than a resident. And like all hip and restless visitors, I shrug at times on seeing the quaint and sluggish quarters of the IL. Then, on a whim, I plan up to modernise and rattle the setup. I draw grand vision to topple the old-fashioned mores. As I am doing all this, I realise that the humming of its quaintness is growing on me. I am liking it to my advantage. I recognise the need for it to be quaint and conserved. Finally, I abandon my own redundant plans to revolutionise and enjoy the charm and vintage sorority from the sidelines. Again, if I had been an active contributor, then I would care to provoke the platform. But from the vantage point I am seated from, I prefer this provincial grounds to a boisterous landscape. This setup works out for the rambler in me to quietly self-indulge away with only curious trespassers on my lawn and not a chatty or nosy neighbour.

Freud once said that all problems have a root cause in suppressed desires. Since then his proteges have been arguing the nature of these suppressed desires. Is it sexual, or primal, or intuitive, or imaginary, or shared consciousness, or some other fantastical origin. Ludwig Wittgenstein said, forget about those smouldering desires, start thinking about the expression of that suppression or repression or compression (what is the right word?). Derrida grunted, huh, a word is never a word as it is not defined but only deferred.

We might never know what kink or caveat Poorni had in her mind when she uttered that. Hmm, now that you brought it up, I thought,

“That’s a prerogative of a woman to never let the water evaporate but keep it at a close bay", is her way of saying that the weaponised tears of a woman are cocked, ready to open fire, but never pulled.

Ahem! My writing is never for hoi polloi. It is for the mischievous and spirited and cheeky Nonyas who have no interest in such mundane aspects of backdrop. For they know that dinner is obviously loaded on that intimate and small-sized low table behind which couples like Adi and Poorni squat and fiercely debate the tryptophan-induced thanksgiving turkey myth.

All your cute koschins will be answered shortly. I am yet to think how to think like Nonya to gratify her curiosity. Also bear in mind, if my responses are not forthcoming then it is only because by nature I am not a very engaging and interactive person except those rare and unusual occasions where I am amused by something and chirp away (like this instance).

Well, re: memes that only the three of them know about, a lot of my IL writing is self-indulgence more than a community affair. So, I take the liberty to inject my little jokes into my writing.

You are charmingly provocative and cutely goofy. I have always been impressed with your imaginative alternate-endings and sub-plots here and elsewhere. I like people with spunk and style. Usually the endowment of one depletes the other. But, you have a natural flair to be both spunky and stylish.

We might have to march again and remind Admin of that citation tool, with a plate of turkey this time as a sop over the ruckus and tantrum I threw last time.

 

Poorni is not Innocenti but Precocioti! Let's say even if the staff suspect kink in it, they would still infer that only a wife would be equipped with such modest means to enslave her husband using a belan and tongs unlike the shiny cuffs of the uppish trollops. You see, monthly budget, groceries, fuel bills, cable, and other bourgeoisie expenditure will cut them short to buy any expensive toys. A wild conjecture if the belan was in fact to rustle up the romp. Knowing Poorni, I think she intended more to repurpose the belan to curl her hair and amuse Adi rather than disenchant him with an overused trope.

The portrayal of Adi and Poorni is on the edge of the smoulder but does not tip off to heat. I leave it to the feral imagination of my playful readers to conjure up the afterword.

If you ask me, they might leave a 'do not disturb' sign hanging alongside the belan on the door only to ferociously argue the philosophy of Miguel de Unamuno inside the room fooling the staff into betting on the belan's usage.

 

Ubi sæva Indignatio​

(Adi turns in the bed and his arm crunches a loose paper from the sheaf lying bedside him. Poorni is immersed in her writing)

"Poorni, do you have to scratch away your fleeting thoughts so early in the morning, your treadmill stampede was far better than your writing pulp. I feel like I have plunged from a frying pan into a blazing stove. Poorni, are you even listening to me. Do you have to wake up so early and pour your rancid thoughts into all these sheets of papers strewn on the bed. Poorni, which wife would have such a lousy and unwelcoming bed in the morning for her husband to wake up in."

"No savage indignation of yours can curb me."

"Is that Alexander Pope?"

"Close but no cigar."

"Then it must be your smokey Churchill"

"That was a taunt not a clue."

"Every woman's taunt is a precursor and not a clue to the wrath she is about to unleash on an unsuspecting man."

"Ubi sæva Indignatio."

"I know no Hausa language."

"Funny, you! That's Jonathan Swift. His epithet on this tomb..

Ubi sæva Indignatio
Ulterius
Cor lacerare nequit.

Here is placed the body
Of Jonathan Swift
Where savage indignation
Can no longer tear his heart"

Tell me Adi which school of scoundrels did you go to that only taught you how to flirt and court girls but no sciences or literature"

"This Henry Palfrey had attended a school where girls were not as diabolical as you come across in your savagery and indignation and whatnot tear in the heart. Poorni, why do you love me? I mean, why me to terrorise with your musings. Could you have not been a Ms Barrett woman writing love sonnets from the Portuguese to her Mr Browning.

"Then you would be covered with sickly A4 sheets dripping in lovey endearments in the bed"

"Yuck."

"Hey Poorni, why don't you write something for me today."

"For you?"

"Yes, write to me how you felt on the first day you saw me."

"Oooh ...back to that Barrett and Browning poetry."

"No, it's La Belle Dame Sans Merci between John Keats and his lady love Fanny Brawne. Mercy me, and enchant me with your beautiful writing."

"I suspect foul play here. You want me to write to you how I had felt on that day on the train. That memory is so ancient."

"Hurry. We don't have all morning. Because the cynical you suspects a foul play, I would also write to you separately."

"Hmm, I still suspect a foul play."

"Go on."

(Adi sits up against the headboard of the bed. He grabs a pen and sifts through the papers on the bed and clutches an unused white sheet.)

"Fifteen minutes, and the time starts now."

(Adi furiously writes away. Poorni shudders at this pace and quickens to transfer her own thoughts on the paper.)

"And the time is up, Poorni. Hands off!"

"Whoa ..that was nasty. You made me write things up at knifepoint"

"Savage truth leaks out only at knifepoint. Ladies ..as usual, as ever, as cynical, as ferocious, as indignatio, always the first. You first"

(Poorni shares her notes and Adi reads out aloud.)

To Adi,

Do you believe in soul mates? The mates who make you believe further in fairies and pixies who fixed you both up.

I don't. But this dude called Aristophanes from ancient Greece claimed that their ancestral humans were born with two pairs of legs and two pairs and hands and everything in their body came in pairs. One day Zeus was angered with the hubris of humans and split every human into two entities. One male and another female thus parted. Since then each cleaved human has been in search of their missing part to reunite back into their former self. Several of these humans weary of their prolonged quest to seek their counterpart settle with mates but not their soul mates. In the train when I saw the lanky you coming toward me in a hobble, I knew there and then that Aristophanes' hypothesis of soul mates found its evidence in you. I knew that you would fall for me and ask me to marry you and go on to marry me. I found my missing and wandering limb in you.

Your,
Montessori

"That's so G(r)eeky you, Poorni. Ok, here's mine"

(Poorni tugs the paper from him and reads out aloud.)

To Poorni,

This might look like a riff lifted from Goethe's phantasmal creations but my search for you transcends your known world for it had begun in the primordial bang when I decided to relinquish my solitude for a companion.

A rib? What will I get for a rib, God? [You will get a compassionate and noble wife.] A compassionate and noble wife? How boring! What will I do with her? How about a sassy and impulsive wife who would drive me crazy with her whims and sparkling eyes. [That will cost you more.] Can you also add a mischievous grin and knitted brows and curled ears to that minx. [You are asking for a lot, can you handle all that?] I would not settle for anything less. And also make her slightly hot, you know, hotter than the hot. [I shall make her too hot to handle for you.] Yess! [Are you sure you are willing to offer me more than your rib to secure this fabulous creature?] Anything, take anything from me.

And then when I saw you that day on the train, my heart raced but I was slowed by the limp in my leg from a missing femur.

Your,
Aashiq Awara

"That's so cheesy, Adi"

"Cheesy? Go and fetch another man who could compose such earnest retelling of his love from eternity. I will marry you off to him gladly. Mine is cheesy and your Aristophanes is oscar-winning, eh?"

"Sush ...by the way, why were you limping that day?"

"Thank my dimming stars, finally she asks after years together. I was injured in a football game. I was willing to pull my pants down and show you my Harry Potter scar from that injury but you drew back at that candour."

"Too bad, you would have got a hot wife if only you sacrificed your femur."

"I would have sacrificed my entire thigh for a wife who does not wake up at six in the morning to tap away her frenzied thoughts. Too late now. What did your Aristo say, did he say anything about writerly soul mates who wreak havoc on each other. You are made for me Poorni, and no rib or femur or thigh would get me another doolally creature like you."

 

Law of Ripolin ​

As the chill of the night swoops on Nilakantan household, Adi is pecking at this laptop sending out work emails. Poorni snuggles beside Adi on the couch and squeals in delight.

"My wifey seems to be in high spirits today"

"Yes, no tamasha from you today, so I am relieved"

"Accha! That is a crowning glory for a domesticated and woeful husband like me. Finally, his fussy wife is happy with his disciplined conduct."

"Adi, tell me a story."

"There she goes! In less than a minute she revs up the evaluation of her no-tamasha husband of the day. Moro mou, why such a fancy today. You know that I tell no stories. Ask me stats or facts or tease me into an argument or a debate and I will entertain you ..but a story. You kidding? I am no Poorni for stories and folktales"

"Tell me a folktale not a story."

"Well, some husbands never learn. They incite their wives who intend to only rap their wrists into biting off their heads. No story or folktale for you today. Go to sleep."

Poorni jerks the laptop from his grip and slams it shut.

"I said, narrate to me a story."

"Whoa ...Lady Macbeth won't sleep till she has her way then."

"I can up the ante from a quick story to a gruesome murder. Which one do you prefer to undertake?"

"Ok, here's one for you then. A story ...right ..you get your story. Once upon a time, long ago —"

"Cut those superfluous credits. Get right to the story."

"Hey, I am the storyteller here. I can spin it to my liking. You asked for a story your way. You get your story my way. Kapish? Once upon a time, there lived a Viking chieftain named Kveldulf. He was strong and muscular and claimed that no man could defeat him. He had two sons, Thorolf and Skallagrim. Kveldulf would travel on his long Viking boats with his sons and plunder the villages ashore. He was invincible. In few years, weary of the seafaring conquests, Thorolf joins the army of King Harald Fairhair and separates from his clan. Then, one day, Thorolf is killed by King Harald's men. When Kveldulf hears about his son's death, he is devastated. He swears vengeance and hunts the murderers of his son and slays them all. Kveldulf with his other son Skallagrim sets his sails to Iceland. Kveldulf perishes in the journey. Skallagrim reaches Iceland and his Viking tribe resettles and flourishes in Iceland. And they all lived happily ever after."

"That's it, Adi? What kind of a story is it."

"I didn't realize that you were grading my story. What kind of a story is it? Well, for starters, it is a nice story. It has a beginning and a end."

"A beginning and a end. Nothing in the middle to hold it. What a stupid tale made worse with your sonorous retelling."

"Whoa ..you ask me for a story, then you upbraid me for its stupid plot, and now my stupid voice. When it comes to criticism you are no holds barred, eh?"

"Hold on ..how did you know this Viking myth from Iceland?"

"My ex-girlfriend travelled to Iceland on a scholarship. I read up Nordic myths to impress her. I would text her in all sorts of garbled Icelandic endearings."

"Was she impressed?"

"She got frightened and dumped me. Then, she found someone in Iceland."

"Too bad. Your then-girlfriend had to travel to Iceland to escape you."

"Much better than your ex-boyfriend. Where did he stow away to escape you ..Vietnam, Macau, Laos? You said he took off to build schools and greenhouses in the villages. Maybe he blasted himself into another planet to terraform to escape from your bedtime story urges. Poorni, I pity that bloke. How much you would have harassed him that he jumped across the feral seas into wild forest to escape you."

"Still better than your one who fled headlong into glaciers to escape you. My x still lingered with senses that he took to lush forests than icebergs."

"There she goes with her Law of Ripolin"

"Law of what pollen?"

"R-I-P-O-L-I-N. In 1925, the famous architect Le Corbusier promoted a bright white colour called "ripolin" for all households. Paint every wall, picket and object in the house with blaring white to accentuate purity of soul and mind. I don't intend to paint a white picture of my past. Neither would I want yours. I like my past with colours and saturation and dispersion of all hues. I prefer it that way. I would want yours also to meld and blur into these shades and tones of mine. I would clasp and kiss the feet, if they are not festered from the flea bites in the forest, of your 'x' who took to his heels and left you for me. Did I ever tell you that you were the best dazzly color that ever happened to me and no milky or alfredo white could topple you. Oh ...Poorni ..you make me feel things and sensations and incite and excite and infuriate and have infected me. Do you get that?"

"Yes, I get that. I have infected you. Anything else?"

"With women, it is always the abrupt tail that matters and not the abiding wings. Not a story ever again."

Poorni cuddles Adi and rests her cheek on the dark whorls of his chest hair and plucks an errant grey strand and waves it.

"I liked your Kveldoo story. It is okay. But I like your white Ripolin story more."

Adi squints at her.

 

In an alternate universe turmoil has engulfed the Galactic Republic. The colonisation of outlying star systems is in dispute. Hoping to resolve the matter, the Marriage Federation has stopped the travel of all matchmakers to planet Earth. While the Congress of the Republic endlessly debates this alarming chain of events, the Supreme Chancellor has secretly dispatched two diplomats, the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, to broker an arranged marriage. Unbeknownst of their destiny in a parallel universe, Poorni missed the train and Adi went on with this life to wake up one morning with an invite for arranged set-up of the diplomats to get married and usher in prosperity of the race.

"Hello, this is Adi here. Well, I am clueless about this arranged set-up. I am, er, not really the type for stilted conversations. I don't know how to proceed. I am clueless. Have you been interviewing a lot of candidates. Man! I should give up and go home as I am not cut for this arranged set-up. I don't know what to talk."

"Call me Poorni, and that is the longest opening line I have heard from a jittery guy, sorry candidate."

"How did I fare so far?"

"You are allowed to proceed to the next twenty questions round."

"Don't do that to me. Twenty questions will put me to sleep. Even five questions will make my eyelids drop. Your favourite film, your favourite dish and other uninspiring questionnaire ...and that .."

"Who has better voice Derek O'Brien or Siddharth Basu?"

"A what? Voice? Did I hear the question wrong?"

"Question one, who has better voice Derek O'Brien or Siddharth Basu?"

"I never paid too much attention to their voice, it is not like they are Carmen Electra or Yasmine Bleeth to have paid attention to. But, if you insist, Siddharth Basu only because he was the pioneer and his brilliance shines in his voice."

"Tsk ...firangi Baywatch of yesterday's youth."

"Whoa ...that is presumptuous! Poorni, Baywatch with Frasier and Battlestar Galactica. My question two to you, what kind of movies?"

"SRK, the King Khan, the cow bell and cute dimples."

"Your are a desi belle. I watch Fellini and Cocteau and other world-class and artful works. Ever heard their names?"

"Too bad that you don't watch Takashi Miike and Schlöndorff."

"Desi belle know a thing or two about foreign films."

"Make it three with Gustav Machatý."

"You watched Machatý. I don't believe you. You don't look like an enthusiast who would time-slice between SRK's English Babu Desi Mem and Machatý's Erotikan and Ekstase."

"Aren't they artful films? Question three, Saturn or Mars, would you prefer to fly to Saturn or Mars?"

"What are these questions?"

"I am still not done with my questions to hear your grievance about my questioning style."

"Ok, Saturn because it has fifty two named moons and it must be something to watch fifty plus moons on a nightfall."

"That's all. I am good with my questions, Adi."

"Just three questions? Not twenty, not even five. How much have you profiled me?"

"You told me all I had to know about your tastes, your quirks, and your mystique."

"So, Poorni, I have a mystique now which was inferred from three obscure questions."

"Adi, I am going to unravel that mystique when I camp with you in that Saturn's nightfall."

"So, next round, eh?"

"Coffee house tomorrow, sharp at 7 pm."

"Would that match-making treat be Dutch or English billing? Don't want any awkwardness when the bill arrives."

"Dude, if you think I am one of those women who would quarrel with a man and gush about pride and equality and pay my share, you are mistaken. I will only pretend to fumble in my purse. You smile. You pay from your wallet."

"Oooh, do I have to smile or smirk? Have you scripted that emotion as well? Would I also have to foot the Uber ride from your house."

"Nah, you pick me from my home. Remember, don't arrive stinky in your office wear. Change to something fresh and casual. Walk in with a come-hither look."

"What boggles me is, why would a girl like you go through an arranged set-up?"

"The thing is, I am fascinated with the arranged set-up. I would have missed out on this excitement: to meet a boy in an arranged set-up. I can go forth and fall in love with someone later having experienced this arranged match. But I didn't want to miss out on this fun."

"I see, so I am a tick in your excitement bucket list."

"It does not boggle me that a boy like you has agreed for arranged set-up because you are guised in the same curiosity. I can see through your slick. I am also a tick in your curiosity bucket list."

"And how did Miss Marple know that?"

"Only a man least inclined to get hitched in an arranged way would want to foil the match with Yasmine Bleeth and befuddle the lady with the moons of Saturn. By the way, Saturn has fifty three, not fifty two named moons."

"Are you willing to snuggle with me beside a campfire in icy climes and count the moons?"

"Strange, I thought I would meet someone, somewhere, say, in a train and instantly fall in love."

"Perhaps, in another universe but in this one, can you go ahead and fall in love with me anytime soon."

"I can try that."

"Good. I will try to meet you in a train and make you fall in love with me all over again in another lifetime"