Nursing a breakup. Wandering aimlessly on the elongated parapet in the morning and night to conquer sleeplessness and unchecked love emotions. I watched the Queen’s necklace sitting on the edge of the Arabian Sea and dreamed to chase the stars adorned in the unblemished sky like velvet. The crowded road of Colaba yearned for my company and the invisible force turned me into a tornado visiting bars and places. The crowded night in South Mumbai wore various shades and depth. There was a company. An old chum nurturing a love and hate relationship with a soon to be ex-boyfriend checking on her. I was clueless about human relationships and on the verge of losing a love that didn’t belong.
The name is Sports Express Bar, sandwiched between the popularly frequented Leopold crazed by tourists and Cafe Mondegar as beer flew in jumbo glasses. We spoke about everything under the sun, right from exes to fucked up relationships and the city. Who says the slice of life is given shape in reality but expressed on screen. I was hurt in the name of love, constantly fiddling with my cell phone, checking on her messages sent a fortnight back. I wished for routine love, pretty much like mushy songs giving false promises of reunited in the climax. Life is the only real.
My companion was a college friend-cum, journalist-cum social activist, fast forward in the present. She got loads to tell. I tried to be interested in her sob and exciting stories. There was a hole in my heart. We were half tipsy. I was boring. She got a knack and called a common friend, a medical student to give her company. We were boozing to heavenly sake. Regal cinema was a step away. The dude joined us. The three of us watched Bachna Aye Haseena with the Kapoor hunk, Ranbir, playing what he is in real life. Lucky Casanova bastard romancing three women.
Ah! The love sentiments. I am whining at the interval on the fallacy of love like a bruised and defeatist poet. Both of them laughed at me turning into a Devdas, jilted lover in real life. I was blabbering…must be a major embarrassment to them. Movie got over and samoosa stuffed the belly. The alcohol scene was still on. I wanna sleep. Fed up of the hostel and doc in waiting dude ushered me in a cab to Churchgate. I was sloshed and stormed inside the local train before 1.40 am. I was given the direction by this blink-and-eye chum to enter his medical school in the wee hours.
No guard was interested to stop this stranger. I pretended to be a medical student and gyrated aimlessly, flushed with alcohol, in an unattended hostel room, nostril bearing the scent of medicine. A feeling of euphoria to gatecrash in a medical school, battling sleep. I dozed off till the morning. Pride wore thick on the face for entering lines that shouldn’t be crossed and unsure that I slept in dude’s room. Alcohol and Mumbai can do wonders in entering an alien premise and nobody shall stop you. Simply not least interested.
Love
V
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