The Girl on the Metro

A #notsotinytale courtesy Tarun Yadvendra Srivastava

There were plenty of reasons not to love her, and yet I did. She was probably not the one to standout from a crowd, but she still caught my eye. What can I say, love blossoms on a Metro ride. Nothing like a half an hour packed like cattle in a compartment to make you feel romantic. The crowd, the stench, the heat(this, despite the ACs, at the butt end of October) – if you’ve shared that together and survived, you’ve found your soulmate. But enough about the Delhi metro, you probably know all about it(and if you don’t, well, you will when you visit Delhi. It is hard to miss), I was talking about a girl. So this girl, you see, was not something exquisite, and yet to me it felt she was. She wore mascara, and her dress was vibrant with every colour from the rainbow(and a few others you don’t see till you’re out of your mind, probably after a couple of hours on something very illegal). She was a psychedelic nightmare(it felt she’d walked out in that dress on Holi, and decided against throwing it away), and I fell for her headlong. Maybe it was the stench of the collective scum that are Delhi-hites(myself included) that did wonderful things to my brain and send blood racing through my heart(and other organs that I won’t name, but if you’d understand what I’m implying at if you’re familiar with Fifty-five Shades of the Colour Blue). Her iPod was playing music; I could hear her humming with the beat(though if I’m honest, she might have been a little out of tune. But I was too busy falling in love to pay any attention to that). The poison that is love started seeping into my brain and took hold of my senses. Our eyes met for a brief instant, and there was brief spark, as if the air between us was charged(it could have been sweat dripping into my eye, but as I said, my attention was elsewhere). I wanted to tell her I loved her, and it took a considerable effort for me to stop myself from acting like a complete fool(I am making up for it by writing this). I wanted to tell her I loved her with all my heart(and I am surprised I still mean it), that she had my heart in a way no one else did(except, ofcourse, McSpicys). And then the train stopped. She got out, borne away by the same crowd that brought us close. How I wanted to stop her, how I wanted to follow her out, how I wanted to talk to her. But I did no such thing, for I thought at the time that I was being idiotic(and because recently it is criminal to stare at a girl for more than six seconds, and I don’t think stalking her would be taken too kindly). Metros come, metros go; crowds are a part of it, and so are girls. But believe me when I say this, no other girl has held my attention the way she did. I am a bit flawed as a person, yes, but I believe in the strength of my conviction. I love her with all my heart, even though we never exchanged a word apart from the occasional “excuse me”(which is a nonsequitur on a crowded metro), and I pursue her as I’ve pursued nothing else(no, not even a McSpicy). I remember her smiling sheepishly, and every day, I travel at the same time on the same route, hoping to catch a glimpse of that smile again. I hope that one day I will find her, catching a glimpse of that dress which looked like a riot of colours, humming along to her own music, amongst the crowds. I hope...