Matters of Heart: Act 3

In the second year of Bachelor’s degree, my best friend decided that she needed to join a coaching for English Grammar, one of her elective subjects. Since the coaching started half-an-hour after our classes ended, it meant she would have to leave right away and we would lose the one hour that we always spent talking about life in general and life in colour (we were both painting students and totally invested in the subject too). I would have joined the coaching myself but my father wouldn’t pay this time since he now knew that I could probably teach the teacher.

So, I started walking with my bestie to the coaching, which was in the next lane. And then, I would sit with her until her class started which was often 15-20 minutes late. Once her class started, I would walk back to the college, pick up my newly acquired scooteret and drive home.

Loads of students from other colleges also attended the coaching. There was a bunch of boys who spoke with us. When we had to find a test subject for Psychology practical exams, they even offered their younger sisters as sacrificial goats. My bestie was as thick as I, never getting the hint. I always assumed the attention was because of her (She got the spotlight wherever she went, or, may be, I was biased because I loved her.) and never took the hint too.

One day, after ‘dropping’ my bestie in her class, I started walking out of the coaching and, as a part of my daily routine, inside the pastry shop downstairs. Now that my bestie wasn’t with me and I wasn’t busy discussing colour patterns and test subjects, my senses were working as they should and I noticed footsteps behind me. Suddenly, I was hyper aware of the fact that I was alone with this person behind me. Everybody whose classes ended earlier must have left for home and the people waiting must have gone to the class that my bestie attended. I was on my own. Honestly, it was just a flight of stairs, some 20-odd steps but my life seemed to have slowed down dramatically, like a hummingbird experiencing the world while facing a predator.

In first few seconds, I took stock of my physical faculties: I was 5’2″, a pixie as compared to the trollish footsteps behind me. Having never played any type of sport except a few months of badminton in early teens, I didn’t have any strength. In theory, I did know one Judo move meant to incapacitate someone but I hadn’t tried it on anyone yet. What it meant was that I would have to depend on my wits.

In a quick move, I slung my bag diagonally across the shoulder to keep it out of the way in case I had to run.

In the same move, I pulled out my scooteret keys to use as weapon…

My fingers nails were long enough to pop out the eyes…

I really hoped he would bail if I enter the shop. Or the shopkeeper would call the police first…

As I entered the shop, the footsteps followed dashing my hope. I raised my voice to get the shopkeeper’s attention, “One Black-forest pastry.” Then I steeled myself and turned to look at the man standing right behind me for a face-off.

But he spoke first, “Make it two. I’ll pay.”

One of the tallest and thickset guys from the coaching was smiling down at me, standing so close that I had to tilt my head up all the way to look at him. He stood at the only door and I felt like a cornered animal. My heart was hammering against my ribs and I wondered if an elbow in ribs was allowed at this stage since he hadn’t really attacked me yet. First he stalked me and scared me half to death and now, he cornered me and wants to pay for my pastry? What does this guy think–I can’t pay ₹10?

Being intimidated was not my usual mode. I grew up with a brother who was quiet tall and occasionally practiced Judo moves on me and even he couldn’t intimidate me. Anger won over fear and with the sharpest voice I could muster, I replied, “I can pay for myself.”

I quickly paid and walked briskly to my scooteret in the college parking at a pace that could have won a marathon. My only thought was to get out of there. I kept looking behind me wondering if he had followed me and whether the police men who guarded my college from roadside-Romeos would hear me shouting.

Note that it was broad daylight, and I was in a residential area and not alone in woods at night. But fear had wiped out all rational thought. I started my ride and raced home, leaving Michael Schumacher behind.

I was almost home when I remembered something–when he had offered to pay, his smile was expectant, which had slid down several notches at my hostility. He was probably just trying to talk. But then, why did he choose to corner me when I was alone. I was at the coaching with my bestie for around 30 minutes when he could have spoken. The doubt still planted in my mind, I never went to the coaching again.

After 20 years, now older and wiser (I hope), I realise that in India of my youth where we had grown up watching cheesy romantic movies by Shahrukh Khan but not really entered the openly dating scenario, he had been probably made an attempt to avoid a too-public confrontation, which was the norm of the era. I was just born in the wrong era.

After all these years I spent wondering why nobody ever proposed me for the first 20 years, I finally realised there were probably too many people trying to get the message across. My receptors were just too weak to pick up the signal!