Days of being idiots-1

A friend once told me, ‘assholes are never born, they be it.’  We laughed a lot together, partly due to the juiciness of the line and partly due to the hidden realization that only an asshole could state such an enchanting fact about assholes. That led to the fact that the friend was an asshole for sure.

 Now I understood that every joke was not meant to remain a joke. A leopard can never change its color.  I could have been less curious and more conscious. I was not.

        So there was no room for me to get back to the drawing board with all the awfulness I had racked up with my evil brain. The only thing I pretended was not to dig more, not to make it more pathetic for me or for her. The truth was out and to accept it was the only possibility I could see.

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I wanted her to come, when I asked her. The time was up and with every moment passing, I was barking mad. I did not have the courage to talk to her eye-on-eye. I did not want to ruin the evening of my birthday that I had planned for so many days.  

However, shova was on time.  ‘Happy birthday.’ she said genially.

When she looked in to my eyes, the first thought that came in to my mind was, how could it be that a girl looks lovely cause you love her and, not that you love her because she is lovely. A while later, it passed on me that she looked lovely and that mattered above everything else.

 Her hair, with a million curls, was inviting me to bury my face in it and sleep. I was ready to be dashed in the sea of sorrows for her even though I was aware that Buddha said that aspirations were root of all sorrows. She had the eyes, beautiful and black, eyes that could make a patient forget about his ache and misery, like a bright sunlight in a fog. And she had a great bun, a bun that you cannot miss to notice and cannot dare not to crave for.

I looked away, however.

 ‘You look worried’, she said as if she could read my thoughts.

‘I only faked it, to know if it concerns you. And it did.’ I lied.

‘What would you achieve with getting the concern of an average girl like me?’

‘The thing is that, you cannot be average how hard you may try. So that’s out of question.’ I said, ‘and about achievement, I would say…..’ I paused as she raised her brows.

‘That’s something.’ I said. ‘Something, I guess I will tell you some day.’

‘Why not now?’ she popped.

‘I think, you love mysteries’, I said, meeting her eyes while opening the pizza packet. ‘I think,  you love pizza also.’

‘I am fond of them. But the birthday boy needs to cut the cake first.’ she said cheekily.

She had brought a cake and forgot the candles. I tried a lot but could not find a shard of ‘a candle anywhere in the room. I cursed my roommates and thought them of as some irresponsible ratbags because I knew they would have thought the same if they were at my place.

‘Cannot find a candle, twit boy?’, she winked at me.

‘No maam. Candles are quite rare these days. They only come with the cake.’ I said and we both laughed.

We cut the cake. We ate silently. It was around 6 pm. It was possible to see through the windows when we had the last bites in our mouths, when the power went off and when I fought with myself to find the correct words for her enraptured eyes.

 We moved to the balcony and sat on the cement chair close to the wall. She cupped her chin with her right hand and beheld her eyes for a second. I knew it was just something, something of a gesture. But I took it for something more worthwhile, something more intimate, like she only had eyes for me. She was unprocurable for a guy like me and knowing it was sort of creepy.