“You are in Computer Science. Is there a particular reason you want to pursue a path in business?” His voice is perplexed.
“To be frank, I don’t understand a lot of this loops, threads, and whatnot. Moral of the story is that IT is a bit too dry for me. There are no emotions, only logic. And I believe we shouldn’t do what we do not like. Even if I become an IT engineer, I would be a horrible one, like a doctor who hates blood and sweat.” Everything comes out in a rush, as if the words were trapped within me for a long time now. Sharing them with someone is such a relief. The only thing inexplicable is sharing unspoken thoughts with a stranger. But then, is he really a stranger?
“Fair enough. However, I do not think IT is that bad! Creativity and fun reside at the heart of this perhaps emotionless field. We wouldn’t have launched spaceships and satellites if it wasn’t IT. And as far as if, for and threads are the culprits, I could help you with that. They are no different from the real world’s if, for and threads.”
I blink. Raag makes the fundamentals of a programming language sound much simpler than they are. I didn’t expect that from him, though. How will that work in case if we decide not to move forward with the arranged marriage proposal? Would he still be interested in helping me understand the fundamentals of a programming language? And what if he finds some other girl? What would he tell her about me? Would she be okay with him teaching his ex-candidate?
Stop it! “Candidate.” What’s wrong with you?
“It’s all about the basics. Once that is clear, the rest is a piece of cake. I can help you understand the concepts.” He breaks my wayward thoughts, and I am thankful for that.
“Oh…I would like that,” I say. “You know, to be frank, the only reason I am in IT is because someone told me that it’s booming, and also my twelfth science percentage was enough for me to get admission into it. Once I got admission, slowly I began to find myself a little lost.” I surprise myself by saying it out loud for the first time to someone who I think listens.
“What would you like to do otherwise? I mean, not an MBA. I figure that it’s just another area you are trying out, but what do you like in general?”
I stop pacing. His question makes me think.
Looking at the stars in the dark sky, I take a deep breath. “Maybe write…?” I dare to say it out loud, for the first time, even to myself. Though it is an answer, it sounds like a question. I hope he doesn’t find it bizarre—first, changing from IT to MBA and from MBA to writing. “Maybe,” I add quickly to save myself from embarrassment.
“What are you working on now?” Raag asks.
The unanticipated question makes me wonder. “What?”
“Writing,” he clarifies. “Are you writing an article or a story or something else?”
Oh, I am mortified.
“Um…” I think about the question. How should I say that I don’t actually write anything seriously? I’m bewildered at my foolishness for even sharing such a detail.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he offers. He probably picked up on my anxiety.
“No. It’s just that I…um…my diary.” I choke on the last word.
You lost your last chance at this amazing guy, my subconscious berates me. If there was any!
“That’s a good start,” he says.
I smile tentatively, happy that Raag respects my work. My work—whatever that is!
“In case it doesn’t work out between us, do you have any other girls lined up that you’re going to talk to?”
As soon as the question leaves my lips, I’m stupefied. I guess there was one crappy question left at the end of my saga of silly questions. I tap my fist against my forehead and frown when I see Uncle Chaddha sitting on a swing. I contemplate picking up one of the small flower vases and aim at him.
“Does it matter so much?” Raag asks before my anger flares for Uncle Chaddha. It is getting cold, and Uncle Chaddha’s interest is growing. I guess it’s time we make our way back into the bedroom.
First I peek inside to check if my sister is upstairs yet. Thankfully, the little fairy is not in the room. I go inside and close the door behind me.
Slowly, I sit on my bed, resting against a pillow that’s tucked against the wall. The room is warm and comfortable and dimply lit under a soft white light. I pull my purple blanket over my legs to keep warm.
“Still there?” Raag asks.
“Yes,” I say, answering both of his questions. “I mean, I guess, no! It does not matter,” I lie. For some reason, it does matter. I would like to know. “So, If I say yes to this proposal—an arranged marriage between you and me, what will be your answer?” I press, my cheeks flaming.
“I insist on knowing your side first,” he counters.
“And, why is that so important?”
“Because you have the freedom to choose. Which is your right.”
“You think so?”
“One hundred percent!”
I sigh. “I wish my mother understood that.”
“We’re probably too young to see the world from our parents’ perspective. I believe they want the world for their kids.”
Understanding your parents’ perspective starts at thirty, or maybe a little later when you have your own little monsters to deal with. At twenty-four, by empathizing with parents in general, he proves that he is indeed a rare breed.
I want to disagree but somewhere deep inside my heart, very deep, I know that he is right. “Maybe.”
“You have my biodata, so I believe you know I work in the IT department of a bank,” he says. “Apart from that, I bought a car a couple of years back, and I share a two-bedroom apartment with two friends. Is there anything else you would like to ask?”
His question reminds me that I haven’t asked anything specific about him. Yet I sense a deep understanding of his thought process and his modest, straightforward personality, and his respect for women in general.
Inwardly, I laugh at myself at a sudden realization. Why would anything else matter anyway? At the end of the day, what really matters between two people is their compassion for each other, respect for each other and simple logic that binds them together.
“Maybe…no, not really. Apart from what’s your favorite color, movies, and games, which my friends insisted on asking.” I try to joke.
Instantly, I am rewarded with his wonderful chuckles.
“Though it may not be important, let me share that with you,” he says. “I watch classics most of the time.”
“Classics, as in…?”
“Movies from the 1950s or ’60s. Bollywood and Hollywood. Songs from the same time.”
“For example…?”
“Raj Kapoor movies, Sean Connery—Bond movies!”
I giggle as I cannot recall watching many of the Raj Kapoor movies from that Bollywood era, only very few that are my father’s favorite. It’s a shame, though, since I consider myself a movie buff. Since we didn’t even have cable television at home for a significant part of my life, we never got to see much of English movies. I guess it would be something to look forward to in case this works out.
“I thought you said you are twenty-four,” I say, and Raag laughs.