'Just be your normal self' she said but her eyes betrayed the importance of the occasion. He tried, for once not to look into her eyes, but listen instead to what she was saying and as he was registering the advice she had only just dished out she added, ' And I don't see why you should be nervous, its a pub, they play your type of music, and my friends love football too,' which made it pretty clear that she saw no reason how he could screw up and not strike it off with her Delhi friends who were to validate her choice.
They climbed the stairs to reach the far corner table of the upper deck which was a no smoking zone (what he would give right now to have a cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips to create a mirage of macho elegance which would justify his awkwardness masked in silences). He knew they were sitting at the table adjacent to the glassed wall which eliminated the sound of the bustling Delhi bazaar but did justice to the sight of its pomp, extravagance and judgement. A sizzling lamb steak was just being served on the table.
He had half a thought of tripping down the stairs with all this weight of expectation on his shoulders. But then, if not love, what else could inspire a man to rise above the great anxiety of inconvenience. And this thought put a smile on his face and he turned to look into her eyes, to hold her, to assure her with some poignant line by some poet of the yore.
But just then she let go of his hand and pranced her way into a huddle with them whom he had to impress and for the first three minutes, as they hugged and laughed and talked gibberish and laughed louder, he stood where she had left him like anchored like a ship, from the moment she had let go off him, and had no clue how he was to proceed now as all inspiration, all grace and all composure had left him and in a moment of madness, which he till date claims to be a case of demonic possession, but trust me dear reader, by his own free will, he blurted with resignation and authority,' Fuck this shit, I cant do this?'
And they who had to be impressed must have been stunned and perplexed, she who had to impress them must have felt betrayed and revolted, but he who had to conquer this moment for the vanity of love, did not care.
Through the glass wall, they saw him go, like a stream off the hill just after it rained, like a pinball after the lever had just been pulled, passing women in Italian cardigans and Victorian overcoats, and children wearing scarves with the colors of the rainbow and more.
The sun started setting on an awkward evening in Khan Market.
