I see her under the station bridge, waiting for me. I’m invariably late for most of our meetings, and she keeps teasing me about that whenever I ask her to come and meet me. So I quietly sneak up behind her and say ‘boo!’. And when she gets across the initial startlement, she bursts into one of her usual giggles, punching me lightly across the ribs. I like to sneak up to her like that. I know she likes it too. And then with characteristic unpredictability that she never expected in a million dreams, I drop to one knee at that crowded railway station, take her hands in mine, and ask her in my most manly voice– “My fair lady, would you be my wife?”

And then I wake up.

I’ve replayed that daydream countless times these past few days in my mind, reel after reel, frame after frame. At each replay, I add a few more details – the way she tosses her head back while she laughs, the way her hand unconsciously creeps to her mouth when she sees me go down on one knee, the crinkle around her eyes as she giggles, her pink salwar under the orange glare from the sodium lamp above, the evening crowd pushing and jostling around us as we stand there sharing that moment frozen in time, aaahh – she looks the way I always remember her by, she looks like an angel.

There are a million different things that I want to tell her, a million different things that may sound trivial by usual standards, but which hold a world of meaning for me. I want to tell her about my childhood, my growing up years, my friends, my foes, the lessons that I have learnt, the insights that I have gained, the things that I fear, the things that I cherish… a million different things.

But I’m scared.

I’m scared that she would think me a major wimp if I open up before her. That she’d just walk away, making me look like a complete fool. I’m scared of losing her. I’m scared of being alone again. I had been alone before, and it had hurt big time. I don’t want to go through that trauma again.

What is there that could go against me? Of course, there is the religion thing. But she knows that I’m not too particular about things like that. Then there is the question of differing cultures. Not much of a problem either. As an incentive, I come from a decent family, I earn well for my age, I’m moderately well read and I can make good conversations with most people that I meet. She already knows my kind attitude towards the downtrodden, especially the blind. She likes my taste in curtains, furniture, trinkets and things like that. I think I’d be a ‘good catch’ by all standards.

I’ve been thinking of life together with her, of our cultural divide, of our religious divide, about convincing our parents and relatives, about the days of hell that would surely ensue once I bring this out in the open, and beyond a point my brain just clams up shut, refusing to permit all logical thought and reason in this direction. I’m surviving these days purely on hope – hope that by some unknown goodness from God above, that I’m making the correct decision.

The past few weeks have been particularly painful. I’ve been loaded with lots of important work, and getting to focus is becoming increasingly difficult. It is a manic effort to blot out all thoughts of her from my mind, and by evening I am totally bushed, wasted and spent. I wake up in the mornings looking like a ghost, in a perennially lousy mood, aware of the shadow that dangles around my life.

This indecision cannot go on like this any more. A definite answer either ways is infinitely better than endless uncertainty. I have to pull up my socks and tell her that I love her deeply, that I care for her a lot more than she thinks I do, that I want to spend the rest of our lives together.

In an indecisive moment, I message Sanjeev and tell him that I’m going to explain my feelings to her today. Sanjeev is familiar with the situation, he has been the lighthouse to my dark waters these past few days. He sends me an sms back; “Ladki pataane ka tareeka #27. Ladki ke peeche jaao aur jhor se cheekho  - bhooo! Agar woh darr ke hassi, toh samajh lo ki woh pat gayee. Agar woh gusse se dekhi toh hass hass ke kaho – ha ha ha, tu darr gayee, tu darr gayee!”

Fucked up asshole, making a joke about probably the most important event in my life. No this can’t go further anymore. I have to put an end to it. I’m going to call her up and tell her that I love her, simple as that. This has got to end! I’ve had enough of all this! Come on now, speak to her and get it over with! Dial the number! Just dial!

But I am scared. Oh shut up and dial the number, she’s there on the speed dial, come on now before you lose your nerve - just dial it!

This was the voice of the drill sergeant who occasionally inhabited my mind during periods of self doubt. He pushes me to take quick decisions, and I am glad for having him around at times. I’ve never won a contest against the drill sergeant so far. He exists only for a short time window bringing a world of infinite bravery so I have to move quickly so long as that window lasts. How much longer will you keep me waiting now?!?! The drill sergeant bellows. Dial her number quick! Get it over with! Go on! Dial! JUST DIAL!

I’m dialing! I’m dialing!

And as time grinds to a chilling freeze and as a pin-drop silence suddenly envelopes me from all around, I dial her number. There is the pause as the networks connect, then there is mild static followed by a quiet beep. And then her phone starts to ring.

One…

Two…

Three…

I stupidly count the number of rings.

At the fifth ring she picks up, and I abandon my half prepared speech and begin to address her with whatever words that come into my mind first. When soul mates connect, words seldom matter.

But before I even start, in that melodiously familiar voice of hers, she whispers hurriedly: “Hi, I’m in a meeting right now… can I call you back?”.

Oh sure.

 I hang up. 

And suddenly, the world returns to normal again, taxis blaring their horns, people pushing and jostling one another, pot holes on the roads, hawkers selling their wares, red coloured double-decker buses, black and yellow taxis, and things like that.

Ah, life.

THE END

"No New Year's Day
To celebrate
No chocolate covered candy hearts to give away,
No first of spring, no song to sing,
In fact here's just another ordinary day,
No april rain,  no flowers bloom,
No wedding saturday within the month of June,
But what it is,
Is something true
Made up of these three words that I must say to you,
I just called to say I love you..."

 - “I just called to say I love you”
Stevie Wonder