Engineering Love : Chapter 1 : Part VIII

Both the cigarette and the path had come to an end. It was a rather silent last hundred meters. She must have realised how unmanly I felt walking besides a smoking hot girl – or should I say, a hot girl smoking and not smoking myself. Perhaps she understood the Indian prejudice of men expected to be doing all the wrong things. Or perhaps she didn’t care. I was hoping for the latter. I wanted to keep the chat going.

We were about ten steps away from the metro station. She started looking here and there for a dustbin to throw the tiny leftover cigarette butt. I didn’t want to stop her – but personally, I wouldn’t have rattled myself for throwing that much garbage on the road. In fact by doing that I would take pride in making the jobs of the municipal jamadaars worthwhile.  But no, this girl was persistent.  She couldn’t find a dustbin so she took copy out of her sling bag, tore away a page and wrapped the cigarette butt in it. To be thrown later in a dignified dustbin – I assumed. Either she respected her cigarette too much or she had an environmentalist bone in her body.  

“Can you believe it - these guys don’t have a garbage bin outside a metro station. Now how ridiculous is that?”

 “I know.” Well clearly, that was the best thing I could have said.

The fifteen minute walk to the metro station had stationed my thoughts completely away from my own life – my otherwise ignominious life. My brain, as if, was taking notes observing her every move. For those fifteen minutes, I’d forgotten who I was in making sure that I did not forget what she was like.

We stepped inside the metro station towards our respective frisking booths. Every time she fizzled out of my line of sight, I feared she might pounce on the opportunity to escape my company. I wouldn’t have minded that. Actually I would have, but compared to her being rude straight on my face and telling me that we’d rather not talk again – I’d have preferred that she left without letting me know. This was indeed the longest conversation I’d had with a girl in a long time. And I wanted to sleep with this thought tonight. Also, I thought this would be closest I would ever get to sleeping with a woman.

I have to time out here to describe what an agony the frisking booth is like. Did you really think it Delhi Police frisked people to search for pointy objects and weapons? Well, let me break your myth. That’s not even remotely their intention. It’s to make you aware of how unfit you were. As soon as you stand on that elevated step – they would, in all certainty, press hard against two spots on your body: first, the love handles and second, the butt. A man’s love handles are not be messed with. They are, quite ironically, the handle to his door of agony – if not given their due respect. I have to say though that the whole frisking business is undoubtedly a good security strategy. Even terrorists wouldn’t like to be man-handled in such a way. I wondered if the women’s frisking was any different.