OK!!
So.
This evening was a pineapple evening. It was so achingly lovely that I just had to get out of the house.
(<--- not my house) No, no, nothing like that, all parental units were informed as to my potential whereabouts, viz, the Cafe Coffee Day near my old school (yeah, yeah.. so there are four CCDs near my house. so all my more questionable adventures happen at aformentioned CCDs. not necessarily a bad thing. the only bad thing is the hot chocolate, be warned).
My dad did say, as I left, "You're going to sit at a coffee parlour alone? That's not safe..."
And when I'd asked him what he meant, i.e. belligerently grumbled, "God, Dad! What's the worst that could happen?" he said, ominously, "Any fellow can come and hassle you..."
Ah, dads, I thought. Promptly dismissed his antedeluvian ideas and sauntered out.
True to form, the day gave me the usual plethora of little joys - meeting old classmate I hadn't seen in years, meeting senior I hadn't seen in months, gorgeous sunset. (i hate telephone wires)
I got to the CCD in one piece, albeit more grimy than I would have liked, thanks to all the traffic and the dust swirling around in pre-rain clouds. The place was packed. CCDs, let me tell you are not the best place to go to be alone with your journal and onion paper that you've brought in order to write a real live letter to a certain someone in foreign lands hint hint. It is yuppie central, and how. After running into (yet another) acquaintance, this time a junior from school (aren't my adventures so delightfully unbiased??), I settled down, at last, to my letter writing. It was pleasant to sit by myself and not feel self conscious that I was by myself, unlike the - erm - time before, and I occupied myself in aimless mindless scribbles, with a ear turned occasionally to the conversations at surrounding tables. ("no I don't want that lesbians' phone number you asshole." "what do i look like a nigger?" *sigh* how can you not love people) Soon, though, the threatening clouds made good their promise by opening up spectacularly over our heads, promptly engulfing all the outdoor patrons in a deluge that somehow found its way through the faded plastic umbrellas. So we all moved inside.
As I looked around for a spot to sit, I noticed a young woman sitting by herself with a cold coffee in front of her, and three empty chairs by her side. Hence, after a polite request, I settled myself in one of the chairs and got back to my writing.
"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked me.
"No", I replied. After another minute of writing, I felt I had not fulfilled my obligations. "Are you?" I inquired politely.
"Not exactly", quoth she.
Now, if I'd been as alert to tone as I usually am, I would have picked up on that right off the bat. As it was, it took me a little while, but I suddenly figured it out.
I do believe I am acting chaperone! I wrote. It is a deliciously irresponsible feeling, chick. Now why the idea of playing duenna to a complete stranger should make me feel so delightfully wicked eludes me...
Turns out I was playing the part of good Samaritan more than third wheel.
So here's the setup:
The long and short of it is, that I bravely came to the rescue of my new friend, lying through my teeth when Mr. Despo Creepy Guy offered us both a lift home (let some random creep know where I live? oh hell no) and calling my poor father from the house to drop her home.
It is good to learn lessons through hard knocks. It is sometimes better to learn them when no one comes to any harm.
I learnt a few things today:
Also. Next time I am going to the temple.
So.
This evening was a pineapple evening. It was so achingly lovely that I just had to get out of the house.
(<--- not my house) No, no, nothing like that, all parental units were informed as to my potential whereabouts, viz, the Cafe Coffee Day near my old school (yeah, yeah.. so there are four CCDs near my house. so all my more questionable adventures happen at aformentioned CCDs. not necessarily a bad thing. the only bad thing is the hot chocolate, be warned).
My dad did say, as I left, "You're going to sit at a coffee parlour alone? That's not safe..."
And when I'd asked him what he meant, i.e. belligerently grumbled, "God, Dad! What's the worst that could happen?" he said, ominously, "Any fellow can come and hassle you..."
Ah, dads, I thought. Promptly dismissed his antedeluvian ideas and sauntered out.
True to form, the day gave me the usual plethora of little joys - meeting old classmate I hadn't seen in years, meeting senior I hadn't seen in months, gorgeous sunset. (i hate telephone wires)
I got to the CCD in one piece, albeit more grimy than I would have liked, thanks to all the traffic and the dust swirling around in pre-rain clouds. The place was packed. CCDs, let me tell you are not the best place to go to be alone with your journal and onion paper that you've brought in order to write a real live letter to a certain someone in foreign lands hint hint. It is yuppie central, and how. After running into (yet another) acquaintance, this time a junior from school (aren't my adventures so delightfully unbiased??), I settled down, at last, to my letter writing. It was pleasant to sit by myself and not feel self conscious that I was by myself, unlike the - erm - time before, and I occupied myself in aimless mindless scribbles, with a ear turned occasionally to the conversations at surrounding tables. ("no I don't want that lesbians' phone number you asshole." "what do i look like a nigger?" *sigh* how can you not love people) Soon, though, the threatening clouds made good their promise by opening up spectacularly over our heads, promptly engulfing all the outdoor patrons in a deluge that somehow found its way through the faded plastic umbrellas. So we all moved inside.
As I looked around for a spot to sit, I noticed a young woman sitting by herself with a cold coffee in front of her, and three empty chairs by her side. Hence, after a polite request, I settled myself in one of the chairs and got back to my writing.
"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked me.
"No", I replied. After another minute of writing, I felt I had not fulfilled my obligations. "Are you?" I inquired politely.
"Not exactly", quoth she.
Now, if I'd been as alert to tone as I usually am, I would have picked up on that right off the bat. As it was, it took me a little while, but I suddenly figured it out.
I do believe I am acting chaperone! I wrote. It is a deliciously irresponsible feeling, chick. Now why the idea of playing duenna to a complete stranger should make me feel so delightfully wicked eludes me...
Turns out I was playing the part of good Samaritan more than third wheel.
So here's the setup:
- she - HR consultant
- he - guy from accenture with a eye on IBM
- premise for meeting - doubts he had for an interview the next day which he wanted to discuss over coffee
- she - bravely attempting to bring topic back to the subject of the premise for meeting, dropping very unveiled hints regarding her need to go home soon, the imminent arrival and subsequent worry of parents, sister, brother-in-law; alluding to me as a close friend with whom she would be leaving.
- he - tendency to start saying things like: hey i just wanted to meet you, yaar. vapid smile.
- me - writing and writing and smiling and smiling. occasional nodding at appropriate intervals. random-moment checking out of cute guys on the other side of the room.
The long and short of it is, that I bravely came to the rescue of my new friend, lying through my teeth when Mr. Despo Creepy Guy offered us both a lift home (let some random creep know where I live? oh hell no) and calling my poor father from the house to drop her home.
It is good to learn lessons through hard knocks. It is sometimes better to learn them when no one comes to any harm.
I learnt a few things today:
- Bangalore is no longer safe.
- My instincts are fine.
- Women of the world should stick together.
- And finally: family. Nothing compares to family.
Also. Next time I am going to the temple.
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