What is LovE

Tomorrow I’m getting married to this girl, Anjali, who is loved by everyone in my family – but me. Actually I can’t say that because I don’t even know her - I’ve only met her once with fifteen other people from our families. She’s kind of fat & I’m wafer thin. But my father thinks I’ll grow into her. I love him.

By the way before I forget – I’m Rowan Shaw – my name is utterly misleading. I’m no descendant of Sir George Bernard Shaw; neither do I have any relations with Mr. Rowan Atkinson a/k/a Mr. Bean. I’m not even Caucasian or Christian - I’m desi – I’m Gujarati. Every frickin bone.

My real name was Rohan Shah but as my family moved to Los Angeles when I was eleven – my father decided to ‘upgrade’ us. He upgraded his name from Jayesh Shah to Joyous Shaw & my mother’s name changed from Archana Shah to Archie Shaw & so on.

I completed High School with distinction. I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the class but I shone through hard work. My father would've killed me if I hadn't.

I excelled at athletics, tennis, badminton & table tennis. Incredible feet for a puny Gujarati lad in the big bad USA.

I tried Chess like other bespectacled {and spelling-bee champions} regular-indians but it confused me. I retired from Chess after I got beat by a kid from 4^th Grade. And he wasn't even Indian.

Once I finished High School, I got offers from the best Universities in the United States but my dad had other ideas. I was forced to attend University of Liverpool in England. I hated it there – the weather was a total bitch. The adage - When it rains, it pours – fits England like a glove.

And you wouldn’t believe (even I can’t) I did a degree in philosophy. Yes – even I can’t believe how dumb I was. But back then it made perfect sense – it was the only program with over 90% girls. And did I tell you I love girls – and not in the sarcastic way – I love my father. I really love girls - they make me do all the funny stuff.

I had a new date every weekend. I was living a dream. I was a rockstar. But after a year or so I got bored listening to the same crap & sex wasn’t as great a lure anymore. I wanted something more. I didn’t know what it was but what I wanted wasn’t there.

When I returned to Los Angeles with my dumbass degree – my father was real proud. Seriously. He then told me that he has decided for me to become a lawyer. Yep that’s how it works in my family.

I was packed & posted to Shimla – to study law. I enrolled in Shimla’s modest Law School for a Law Degree. Now don’t ask me why I was sent to Shimla of all the places. I haven’t a damn clue. My half-stickler-half-psycho dad must have had some frickin epiphany. He talks to God – can you believe that – geez that’s creepy.

During my first year at Law School, I spent most of my time attending lectures & with my non-living friends i.e., Thick Law text books -. I wonder who writes these gigantic books. They must have serious patience & no life or girlfriend. The binding company must have a terrible time putting together 2000 pages in one lot. 

I did play Cricket sporadically. I rarely partied out with my classmates; I liked ‘staying in’ most nights. I instead watched movies & Seinfeld on my 17-inch screen laptop. I made my own grilled chicken sandwiches & burning hot ginger tea to go with the movies.

On one of my lonely walks into the mystic alleys of Shimla I chanced upon a Blind School. It intrigued me, It beckoned me. I started visiting it fortnightly on Saturday mornings. I played Snakes & Ladders with the kids. It surprised me how brilliant they were. I got beat again, by every one of them. I retired from Snakes & ladders too. 

I played Monopoly & Scrabble with them instead. I got them gifts on their birthdays & at random sometimes. The kids enjoyed my company; I relished theirs. They made a better person. And real happy.

One Friday afternoon, for some bloody reason, my lectures got cancelled.

It changed my life.

I decided to visit the Blind School on that day instead of Saturday as planned. The sun was smiling bright; it was a fantabulous Friday morning. As I was roaming around the blind school, I saw a young Samaritan reciting a fable to the kids in the lawn. She spoke with zeal; her hands moved everywhere. She spoke like an Angel. Flamboyantly animated. Her face changed texture every moment & every texture had a different color. And every color revealed a part of her. She was a butterfly.

She wore a pre-independence style - Salwar Kameez -. The multi-pleated fluffed down the middle & baggy on the ankles Salwar. The light green Kameez was short & tight; with flower print & embroidered borders. A white translucent chunni wrapped around her neck. The breeze was intense. Her hair kept falling on her face. She kept tucking them back around her ears, which would reveal the bangle-sized earrings she wore. Her eyes grew bigger as she stressed on certain words. The kids would react with her, it’s like the story was alive, it’s like they could see her. She was alluring; she was something else.

3 weeks later I spotted the smiling assassin on the canteen bench of my Law School, she was alone – Jackpot.

She was eating homemade fruit salad with a canteen fork. Canteen forks stood out because they were shockingly wiry & their prongs & shafts were distorted beyond repair. This time, I didn’t commit the crime of not finding the courage to speak to her at the Blind School. I went up to her table.

‘Hi’ I said with a stutter. It’s funny how we can stutter saying a monosyllabic word.

‘Hi’ she said, minus the stutter. She even threw in a radiant smile.

‘I….. I…… I saw you at the Blind School’ I said after repeating I several times & with the stutter.

‘You also go there’ she asked with apparent excitement.

‘Yes! On the weekend sometimes’ I said without the stutter but still unconvincingly.

‘Sweeeet’ she said with lots of stretching. I ran out of conversation or words or both. The lack of voice between us almost killed the moment but she came to the rescue.

‘Do you wanna sit’ she said. I sat without replying in words. I was smiling awkwardly & shaking my head like a retard.

‘Payal Bhatt’ she introduced herself.

I had trouble remembering my own name ‘Rohan Pratap Shah’ I finally blurted and realized I had made up a false middle name. I was suffering. What the hell was wrong with me.

‘Aha! That’s a meaty name,’ she said ‘I’m going to the blind school on Saturday, are you planning to go?’

‘Definitely! I’ll be going’ I said convincingly for the first time. May be because I was lying. Sometimes it’s easier to lie than speak the truth. I wasn’t planning to go to the Blind School this weekend but the plans had changed now.

‘I’ll see you there I guess’ Payal said

‘Absolutely’ I said as I almost choked in excitement. ‘And I like your hair – They’re Black – Nice Black’ I don't know why I said that. I felt stupid right away.

‘Quite an original complement – I’ll remember that.’ Payal said. 'Gotta run' and off she went.

We met at the Blind School on Saturday & we met again. We became thick friends. The stutter & awkwardness disappeared. I wasn’t shy of girls by any stretch of imagination but when we like someone we mess up. We get conscious & we talk stupid. It’s a natural malfunction. Girls are really good at knowing who likes them. They pretend they don’t but they do. They love pulling your leg; they love making you stutter.

Payal started to admire me – I’ve no clue why – she was crazy. May be it was the Law connection - We had one motive, one aim. We wanted to become Public Prosecutors & fight cases for the poor people who couldn’t afford the extravagant lawyer fees. 

Payal completed her studies 6 months after me. No, not because she failed some subjects. It was because she had joined Law School a semester after me. By the time I finished my degree we were madly in love. Our love seemed to grow by the day. We fought too but that strengthened our bond even further.

By the time Payal finished her degree I was already a veteran in the public prosecutors’ team. I had won both cases I had fought. Minor cases yes but I loved it.

It was 14^th March 2005. Payal & I stood on the threshold of the courtroom. Payal was about to appear for her 1^st independent trial. She was fighting a case for a man who was barbarically beaten in jail by the drunken prison officials. The beating left her client with a broken leg & fractured ribs. Payal had gathered incriminating evidence against the accused & she was ready to go for-the-kill.

I gave her a peck on her forehead & wished her all the luck, as she got ready to walk through the courtroom doors. The clock read 10:00am - she walked through.

The hearing culminated at 04:15pm with a verdict in favor of the Plaintiff. Judge stripped all three accused of their uniform & sentenced them to jail for a year. One of the convicted was the Jailer; it’s funny that he will be behind the bars himself. Judge announced 6-lakh rupee compensation to the victim to be paid by the 3 officials that were found guilty.

Payal walked out of the court & found me eagerly waiting near the steps. She ran towards me & slammed her body into mine. I almost fell down. She was overjoyed & she wanted to share it with the man she loved, she was over the moon. Her eyes grew dark & cloudy – they started to drizzle. She looked at me through the tears & smiled as her eyes continued to rain. I ran my fingers through her hair; I shut my eyes & hugged her real hard like I will never let go.

I don’t know how love looks like, but it sure couldn’t look better than this.

Damn I can’t get married to Anjali – Hell, I gotta elope from my own wedding & go back to India – I don’t know if Payal will take me back or even remember me. May be she’s already married to some ugly lad, has triplets & lives in frickin Timbuktu for all I know – I don’t know............ but I guess – I will take my chances.

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