Gujrat, Ganja & a Gone Girl

Do you ever wonder why anything that happens, happens? Things like — unexpected birth of a sibling, unexpected death of a sibling, unexpected lifelong love, unexpected lifelong imprisonment. Do you ever wonder? or are you one of those naive romantic cunts who believes in Destiny. 

I wish I was like you, but I’m not. I believe in signs & I follow them like a psychotic stalker.

45 - that’s what I call her. I met her in a basement office for a formal project six.point.five months ago. I met her almost every day for hours. When I suddenly parted ways 3 weeks later, she felt what an LSD addict feels if she’s cut off cold turkey. After her cheeks had dried, she did what most of us have either forgotten or never learned to do - she wrote long email letters telling me about mundane-quirky events of her inconsequential life. She knew I may never read those long emails, but she wrote them nevertheless.

I read them 4 months later. I wrote back. She wrote back 2 days later at 5.34am. 3-odd weeks later, I took a train to Ahmedabad & met her on the 7th floor - that’s where she smokes weed & goes to bed.

Her inviting me Home was a leap of faith & we had jumped several socially constructed levels as we had never met outside the workplace - ever. Suddenly, I was in her Home Alone with her. We did what everyone in this peculiar situation must do: Take off the Shoes, Sit on the floor & talk about things that are mostly nihilistically philosophical & ungodly.

We didn’t wait for the Sun to go down before we lit up the joint. A few rounds of vodka & weed later, we were high. I was happy high; she was crappy high. She threw up 10-odd times [my conservative estimate] over the next few hours. I admirably assisted her through her marathon spewing session - even when she spewed on me. At some point, I fell asleep. I woke up to find her trying to eat Pasta & Cake: Both she had cooked earlier in the day. She spilled [luckily dry] pasta on the carpet. She never got to the Cake. I did a quick clean-up job - I was already becoming an expert at cleaning her mess. Then I lay beside her on the same pillow. Our faces facing each other. I knew there was always a possibility of her spewing on my face, but what the heck & I was almost certain she was all puked-out. I was wrong about the puked-out part, but fortuitously she didn’t spew on my face.

She didn’t go to college the next morning - something she had pre-decided - as if she could see the future. Can you see the future? Yes, you, the voyeuristic reader. Ha! Gotcha, mothafocker!

She made one sandwich each for breakfast. I liked her sandwich - this is the first time I’ve had one sandwich for breakfast. I liked her no-water-all-milk chai too - quantity: 1/3 of the regular-sized cup. I usually drink one big cup. Later, I made omelets with 4 eggs: 3 hers & 1 stolen from her house-mate. I don’t like making omelets with less than 4 eggs for two humans.

After she talked about the Boys she sort-of-loved, she talked about the dead musician, she loves & gets wet to: Jim Morrison [The Doors]. Then she told me she had a uni-brow. I already knew. She also told me my toes are ugly. I considered but then dropped the plan to choke her. Instead, I showed her real pictures & hand-written letters from my ancient love story [2005]. Now that 45 was in the middle of reading my book - 143 Days - based on my love story - it made the letters, the words, the sentences come alive a little more for her. Maybe one day, she will write her love story - or another compelling story. Though it’s not visible to the mortals, I know she’s pregnant with a novel. I hope she doesn’t abort - I hope it’s not a stillborn.

As we were smoking Hash, she told me she believes in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts, but what do I know. There was a time I didn’t believe in miracles either. Then she told me family stories that were sometimes odd & most of the time wicked. The only surprise was that her family even beat mine in being bipolar psychopaths. But if you - the reader - think that’s a shame, you’ve no clue either. It’s the greatest godsend to have psychopath parents* [*unless they kill you]. She’s had experiences by age 22 that most humans will never have. Now, it’s time she made Gold of them. And if she doesn’t - that will be a shame. 

We didn’t share the pillow but we shared the mattress & blanket when we temporarily died for the second night. When we came back to life in the morning, it was time for me to go meet another friend - a girl - but I had an epiphany: that girl wasn’t my friend. After that revelation, I decided to stay with 45 - who was my friend. Yes, a friend, for whom I gave a damn & it will be a shame if there’s ever a time when I don’t. 

After sitting in the Sun & being non-stop eye-balled by this six-year-old stranger girl, I & 45 went back up to the 7th floor. 45 soon went out & I decided to shower: something I hadn’t for 2 days. 

The third day, when I wasn’t even supposed to be with 45, was the day I liked even more. At first, I didn’t know if I was over-staying & violating her personal space, but it became crystal that we had become comfortable with each other’s presence without our brains hatching murderous plots - consciously or subconsciously. 

When it was almost time to leave for my almost-midnight train to Bombay, 45 pulled out her Polaroid camera for our first picture. And boy, that camera kicked ass even in the dark. As I was leaving, I left her a T-shirt that I’ve worn about 70-odd times. It’s an old T-shirt that I really like. And now it’s 45’s. She gave me a plant. I’m really hoping I don’t end up killing the plant. 

In those three days, we didn’t kiss, but we did. We didn’t make love, but we did. I was never supposed to meet 45. But here we are, destroying the rules that keep the mansion of the society stable. As the mansion falls, we emerge from under the rubble - unscathed. We emerge from the rubble with Hope & our Hearts filled with three monsters: Stories, Memories & a new Friend. 

In my life, I love these three monsters more than I will ever love those virgin angels in the skies.

P.S. She’s a Gone Girl because she has turned her scooter away from the boring road so loved by the humans. And unlike Amy Dunne, she’s real.