FF #4
“You probably haven’t even realized that the traffic isn’t moving!”
I glanced up from my book at the speaker sitting next to me, then at the immobile traffic through the window. He was right. And that’s precisely why I ride the bus to work instead of driving myself. We made some small talk, and every time I try to go back to my book, he started a new thread. I closed my book. He was bored of the journey, I figured, and I could as well continue the book tomorrow. The guy had a warm smile, the kind that reaches the eyes and crinkles them at the corners. In his late twenties, quite good looking, one could say. By the time his stop arrived, I knew that his name is Karan Katariya and that his friends call him KK. That his father had been in the army and so he had lived all over the country. That he’d been in the city for three years now, that he is a software engineer, and that he shares a flat with two of his colleagues. That although untrained, he likes to sing Hindi movie songs, preferably when friends, beer, pakodas, kababs were around and it was raining outside. Just before his stop arrived, he suggested we exchange numbers and keep in touch. The smile with the eyes crinkling at the corners, made me actually save the number he gave me.
I looked him up on Facebook, to see whether we had common friends, or friends of friends—you know, the kind that gives one a clue whether there’s something more to it. No. Disappointing. But well, that might not mean much either. However, had the Facebook clues been there, I might have called him, or messaged him myself. But I waited for his call, which didn’t arrive.
Until Friday evening, possibly after three years or so.
I was out grocery shopping, and was in the queue for billing. I moved out of the queue when I saw it was him calling.
“Hello Neel, I am Karan,” he said, “You don’t know me yet, but I’d like to suggest something interesting, that might benefit you.”
I know the spiel. I have had folks pick up a conversation in random places, ask for my number and call me up the next day to suggest investing in some venture that they and their friends had started. The preceding conversations are never that personal. Nor are there smiles that stay in one’s mind for these many years. I think I was way more polite and friendly on the phone with him than I usually am to other such callers.
I searched for his Facebook profile once I got back home. And I deleted his number.
“You probably haven’t even realized that the traffic isn’t moving!”
I glanced up from my book at the speaker sitting next to me, then at the immobile traffic through the window. He was right. And that’s precisely why I ride the bus to work instead of driving myself. We made some small talk, and every time I try to go back to my book, he started a new thread. I closed my book. He was bored of the journey, I figured, and I could as well continue the book tomorrow. The guy had a warm smile, the kind that reaches the eyes and crinkles them at the corners. In his late twenties, quite good looking, one could say. By the time his stop arrived, I knew that his name is Karan Katariya and that his friends call him KK. That his father had been in the army and so he had lived all over the country. That he’d been in the city for three years now, that he is a software engineer, and that he shares a flat with two of his colleagues. That although untrained, he likes to sing Hindi movie songs, preferably when friends, beer, pakodas, kababs were around and it was raining outside. Just before his stop arrived, he suggested we exchange numbers and keep in touch. The smile with the eyes crinkling at the corners, made me actually save the number he gave me.
I looked him up on Facebook, to see whether we had common friends, or friends of friends—you know, the kind that gives one a clue whether there’s something more to it. No. Disappointing. But well, that might not mean much either. However, had the Facebook clues been there, I might have called him, or messaged him myself. But I waited for his call, which didn’t arrive.
Until Friday evening, possibly after three years or so.
I was out grocery shopping, and was in the queue for billing. I moved out of the queue when I saw it was him calling.
“Hello Neel, I am Karan,” he said, “You don’t know me yet, but I’d like to suggest something interesting, that might benefit you.”
I know the spiel. I have had folks pick up a conversation in random places, ask for my number and call me up the next day to suggest investing in some venture that they and their friends had started. The preceding conversations are never that personal. Nor are there smiles that stay in one’s mind for these many years. I think I was way more polite and friendly on the phone with him than I usually am to other such callers.
I searched for his Facebook profile once I got back home. And I deleted his number.
13 Jun 2016
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