*This is one of those letters one writes absolutely confident of the fact that it won’t ever be read by the intended recipient. I can’t remember if I told you I have a blog, I can’t remember if you would remember the link- do me a favour, if you find this, let’s never talk about it. Of course, you’d possibly want to laugh at it, but please refrain. Thanks Frand.*
To the boy with the kidnap vehicle,
You broke every rule I had about swiping right. You were conventionally cute, like a model in a Sherwani advert, you had no bio to write home about, you were very evidently well-to-do unlike my usual broke artist profile preferences, and I was sure you liked/wanted sex- in short, you were someone I was confident would never swipe someone like me. All you had was an exceptionally well-dressed father (joke) and a sense of humour. “Sorry Dad’s not available” is to date my favourite cheesy line. Perhaps in a different time, in a different place, we’d never even have matched. But two bored misfits in a sleepy town somehow did.
Asking for a meeting on the same day after one conversation, you broke a whole other set of rules. Never go out for a first date at night, always go to a very public place that you know, don’t let them drive you around, and so on. You said you drove a white ’90s kidnap vehicle and you’d pick me up in half an hour for tea. The tea deterred me for a second, but it really was an offer I couldn’t refuse.
So usually cautious twenty-something me, who has back-up plans for back-up plans, set off on a drive with a stranger, leaving behind his name and number with the concerned roommate in case a police complaint became necessary. The moment I laid my eyes on you, and you confirmed it soon after, I realized we weren’t each other’s type at all. And wasn’t that a relief (Not at all a waste of a lovely night)! I had, quite inadvertently, managed to do what I’d been trying Tinder out for in the first place- to make a friend.
Thus began the thrice-weekly, sometimes more, tea sessions and driving around Trivandrum, amiably bickering over whose music taste is classier (yours, hands down) and whether tea is better than coffee (not in this lifetime). I made friends with a rich guy with a family business and realized just how much of it is stereotype, and it’s definitely one of the few times I’ve loved having been proved wrong. I made friends with a boy seemingly from a different world, and realized loneliness and dreams pretty much taste the same, everywhere.
I remember, out of our ten- twelve meetings spread over two months, there was this one night when it rained a lot. We got caught in the rain when we were leaving the tea shop and we ran the last few metres to the car, laughing, as we hurled ourselves inside, completely drenched. I remember thinking to myself, that in a movie, they’d have placed a kiss here, because it would be the sequence expected of a man and a woman in that position, in an isolated place. I remember thinking how nice it was, that we didn’t have to. That at least in that one white kidnap vehicle, two strangers, a man and a woman could build a world where they could be comfortably friends without anything getting in the way. You let me pick the next song, and then proceeded to laugh at it. It was very nice.
You broke every rule I had in the best way possible. You helped me find new memories in old places, in a town that I was sure had scarred me forever. And I don’t know if you fully understood why I gave you a gift that I had painted, made by hand- but it was only because in our brief time, we created something and sent it out into the world, something intangible and positive. In a world always threatening to send us off balance for being romantically alone, for those few weeks, we sent out an answer. It is an answer I like very much.
I shall go and listen to the songs you sent me, and think of you fondly as I often do. May your ways guide you towards greater light, my friend.