Back then, nobody knew what platonic meant. We were all so young and feelings could just crop up. But with this man, I was absolutely sure it was platonic. He was not unattractive. In fact he was quite successful. He spoke lucidly too. But the content suffered from a dearth of humor. He was quite straight and logical. He asked questions as if seeking to gather information, which I eagerly dispersed. But that was that. Things were unemotional. And it was good that way. I didn't even ask if he was seeing anyone. Nor was I interested in finding out. I have never been curious about other people's lives and have respected their privacy. He casually protected his without seeming to even try. We were smooth.
The coffee house was a quaint little one run by a woman and a girl in overalls waited around a half a dozen tables. Things were slow. We ordered our drinks and almost forgot about it. My friend spoke about his work and how he was looking to break out. Probably quit, start out on his own. He asked about my writing. I don't remember what I told him. My mind was fertile then. I wrote prolifically. He read my stories, from what was apparent. That kind of attention makes me feel special and I bask in it, secretly. He also maintained a journal, a travelogue, a collection of his neat experiences in life, unlike my messed up depressed shit. We exchanged notes.
When the coffees showed up an hour later, the waitress in overalls apologized, it being a Saturday and all, weekends are always crazy. We drank in big gulps and he got the cheque. We were old fashioned that way, and he being the one with a job and me being the one still in school.
Just before we left the coffee house, he startled me by telling me that his evening looked empty and he'd go wherever I was headed. I had plans of stopping by at the Kali temple. I have always been a fan of Kali's badassery. And have been a regular on Saturday evenings for more than half of my life. But I usually go alone, I told him. It's my weekly purge and it's done better alone. But, what the heck.
We hailed a cab to the Kali temple on the river front. After sitting in the temple hallway with eyes closed for a bit, we made a few rounds of the courtyard. He obviously commented on the architecture and lighting and blah. I too shared some stories I had heard about the heritage of the temple, about how the goddess used to be the king's ancestral goddess and beautiful that she is, she's rich too. We laughed, sitting on the river steps and traded stories.
Visitors dropped coins in the river. There went a belief that coins dropped made wishes come true. Neither of us harboured any wishes, I guess. We didn't drop any coins and made friends with a little kid who fished out some of the coins with a magnet attached to his fishing rod.
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