Page 38 of Red Flags and Rishtas
I shifted in my seat, unsure how to respond. I must’ve had an odd expression on my face because he threw his head back in a soft laugh.
‘Okay, okay. No more grand gestures,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
I sighed internally and managed a small smile before excusing myself to go to the washroom. When I returned, he was standing in front of the table, talking to a bunch of men dressed in red and gold band uniforms.
‘… leave it,’ I heard him say as I approached.
His smile faltered when he saw I was back.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, looking from him to the five young musicians.
At that, one of the men strummed his guitar, and the other four began to count down from three. Before I knew what was happening, they brok into an a cappella number I was too stunned to identify. I shifted my gaze to Ajay, who was cupping his forehead with one hand and was too embarrassed to look at me. The group remained unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm their audience displayed. After what seemed like a few years, the song dissolved into silence. The man with the guitar waited a few seconds for applause, and after realising there wouldn’t be any, asked me if I had any other special requests.
It was official. I had freaked out.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Ajay, bending down to pick up my cross-body bag from the couch. ‘This just … isn’t going to work.’
‘Ananya, this is all a misunderstanding,’ he said, lunging forward to take my hand in his. ‘I swear, I was trying to cancel this whole thing.’
From the corner of my eye, I could see the musicians looking at each other in confusion, trying to communicate telepathically. Should they stay? Should they leave? Or … should they just sing?
I withdrew my hand quickly and hit him with my least favourite cliché. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’
I knew that was a lie, of course. It wasdefinitelyhim.
9
All in a Day’s Work
Bollywood has taught methat a date at a carnival is a classic love story waiting to happen. Which is why I showed up in high spirits, ready for my personal SRK to win me aChalte Chaltestuffed dog or buy me bangles while professing his love to me,Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Ghamstyle.
What I didn’t know was that fairs aren’t quite as exciting without dream sequences, background dancers and, well, the right guy. I had also failed to account for the possible heatstroke I might suffer from being outdoors in the dead of the afternoon. My oversized straw hat was trying its best to shield me from the angry sun right above us, but there was only so much it could do.
‘I told you we should’ve come in the evening,’ Gaurav said as he watched me dab at the sweat beads forming on my forehead with a wet wipe.
Gaurav was my second date of the day. I’d met a guy for brunch earlier, and I was meeting another one for a theatre play later in the evening. Some people would call packing three dates in a day overkill. I called it time management. Now that my Sundays were booked for decorating V’s new boutique, I essentially only had one day per week to find myself a boyfriend. So naturally, I narrowed down my best options over the course of the week to schedule back-to-back Saturday dates. A dating marathon, if you will.
One of these guys, I had convinced myself, would be The One. I hadn’t had any luck with the brunch dude, who turned out tobe so painfully dumb in person that I had to wonder if I’d been chatting with someone else over text. I truly believed I could’ve managed a more engaging conversation with a housefly. Gaurav, I realised a few minutes into our date, fell on the opposite end of the intellectual spectrum. He was well-spoken, wore Harry Potter-style round glasses and talked like a Sociology topper from college, bringing up Marxism every chance he got.
‘Why don’t we get some ice cream to cool down a bit?’ I said, pointing to a dessert stall to our right.
The Fall Fest was taking place in one of the larger grounds of Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. Most of the area was occupied by small business owners selling their goods, and the remaining was dedicated to food stalls. There was a small stage in the lounging area, with no performer in sight. The music gigs, it turned out, would happen later in the evening, when there were more than twenty people present at the venue.
Gaurav paused at a second-hand book stall before we could reach the ice cream vendor. He picked up book after book, explaining some of their core social themes to me. I pretended to listen earnestly for the first few minutes, but when he began spouting gyaan on a copy ofJane Eyre,I realised just how full of shit he really was.
‘Have you read it?’ he asked. When I nodded, he launched into his analysis of the classic text by Charlotte Bronte.
‘People keep hailing it as a proto-feminist novel, but that’s nonsense. You know, Jane eventually marries the same rich guy who tried to enslave her as his mistress,’ he said, waving the second-hand book in front of my face.
‘That’s a pretty simplistic view of a deeply layered text with complex characters,’ I said, disagreeing with him for the first time.
Growing up,Jane Eyrewas one of my favourite classics. I’d read it at least a dozen times, and it annoyed me that Gaurav was trying to discredit it so unsympathetically.
My comment took him by surprise, making it clear he hadn’t expected to be countered.
‘Complex characters? Come on. Jane is an orphaned governess who falls in love with a brooding rich dude, pretends to assert her independence for a while, but eventually comes back to submit as his wife,’ he scoffed.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed that the owner of the bookstall was eyeing us from where he sat behind the counter. I wondered if he shared my date’s pseudo-liberal views.
