I'm writing this in a coffee shop between two meetings. Such has been my plight that now i have to steal time to keep some for myself. Spare me no sympathy. It's quarter to twelve here, in one of Mumbai's most bling roads. The coffee shop is fairly bereft of "crowd", barring a few.
The table in front of me is empty. The one in front of it has a couple. Fighting. The guy is trying hard to push his point of view across as the woman bears a confused expression of exasperation. She appears calmer than her counterpart. Perhaps they're breaking up. The guy is asking for answers and his voice isn't hiding the questions. He is probably being dumped. Such things happen in mismatched relationships, and then i hear the words "but wasn't it a mutual decision?"
There's something latently malignant about the term "mutual" when it comes to two people in love.
I don't quite know what. It's not the same as unanimous. I know i'm being intrusive but the guy is distractingly vociferous.
The table opposite to theirs, diagonal to mine has a younger couple. Barely teenagers at best. Mumbling sweet nothings into each others ears for as long as i've been here. The boy has traces of a moustache and is pouring love out of his eyes. Two girls in an adjoining table are bitching their guts about someone and a third guy is inspiring everyone's curiosity by writing notes as it appears. Scribbling in the midst of phone calls and gazing into the nothingness of the Mumbai monsoons.
I think he has a lot to write about. A lot waits to be written probably. He looks disturbed, racing against time as if to finish a test. There is a smirk of success as the pen grazes paper in the penultimate minutes of his solitary waiting. He hasn't written much recently, his sentences are long. There's a hint of loss as time trickles by. It's precious now. This time. It never comes easy these days.
He thinks of his beautiful girlfriend, measuring up his love against the teenager's eyes. He'd never know but he wishes his eyes looked like that when he looked at her. The 'mutual' disagreement continues in the other table. The guy is probably losing his battle to save the relationship. He's a mess and messy. The girl looks merciful, patient and loveless. I'm late for my appointment so i'll stop. Finish my coffee, pay my bill and rush.
The next time i write, it'll be about you. You know it's you. The sweetest thing.
I'm dying to write a post on Delhi. I'm killing it, it's too late. I was gonna write it today in the coffee shop, but it distracted me into a post. Apologies. And love. To everyone.