The first time we met



Have you ever almost met someone before meeting them?

*

vinit had come over to San Francisco over the weekend, and had arranged for a bunch of us to meet up for dinner, notably from LJ, un4given_pthoo, anomalizer and of course, me. Then there were friends and co-workers and college-mates and significant-others and friends-of-friends, who also happened to friends of others - like a excruciatingly large demonstration of the six degrees of separation - all of whom, as fate or corporate schedule would have it, happened to be around the Bay area that night.

The 'city' as it's called by anyone living in lesser suburbia, hosts a galaxy of tiny restaurants, sparkling in the cold nights, serving cuisines from Italy to Bolivia to Brazil.

It was in one of these then, that I sat, watching familiar arguments of which city in India was the best - the Mumbaikars vehemently denying that their economy was a game gambled by the Mafia; the Bangaloreans insisting that the weather was the clinching factor in any socio-political discussion; and the Delhiites wondering who the heck Bangaloreans were when everyone knew that all of South India was populated by Madrasis. I participated only occasionally, partly because I'm for giving the horse a decent burial, and partly because I was lost in other things.

That's probably why it took me sometime to catch her stealing glances in my direction. She sat on the other side of the table, twirling her pasta around a bored fork, feeding her man bites when he took time off arguing. Our story began then, I think, though it had this uneasy feeling that it had begun well before. Of us distractedly continuing polite conversation with the others. Of darting eyes and extended sips of water, of batting eyelids when there was the slightest hint of eye-contact. Of positioning her body ever so slightly in my direction and noticing every single minute movement that her mouth made.

*

And then with him. And then with her.

Good-byes were being said, and as customary, I went ahead and shook everyone's hand. With people who I'd not met throughout the meal, and probably will never meet again. With old friends who you couldn't recognize because they had changed so much. And then with him. And then with her.

You'll never believe the essence of a second until you hold her hand. The gush of that extra moment, when it's past the normal hand-lock time, and you're still holding each other. That one connection that's made, like a full bodided river, gushing past you through your hand and into hers. Ravishing and tearing apart the cold, freeing the hardened shackles.

"You know ... we should probably go and do something .. ummn .. maybe get to the sea", I blurted out loud to everyone. The pack, who were just about to disperse, caught on. There were murmurs of the 'night still being young' (man, are we British or what), and Gautam suggested that he'd heard of this place Ocean Beach, where there'd be open bonfires and fun people with Vodka and music around them. And of course the ocean.

*

Ocean Beach
Ocean Beach, was nothing like what Gautam had described. It was pitch dark and cold, and without the slighest evidence that man had set forth defacing it. A secret beach of sorts. And, to be honest, I think most of us were glad for it. Piling out of the cars, brandishing cameras and sweetened peanuts(?), we shivered out into the cold.

Maybe I wasn't emphatic enough before, but it was complete and utter darkness. The thunderous black skies hid a rather introverted moon, and all you could see were half-smiles as he put his arms around her from behind, in the moments brightened by the camera flashes. I pulled up my collar, to protect myself from the winds that were protesting on my behalf, and slid away from them and the rest of the party.

*

Standing alone
Standing alone by the railing that delineated the road from the ocean, my hands in my pockets, staring at the endless sea, I didn't half expect her to come up behind me. Tugging tight at her coat, with just a hint of the shimmering black dress she wore inside, she must have been behind to me for sometime before she said "Which way do we head, captain?"

I whirred around, to see her smile. She was alone. I grinned back. "It depends on where you want to go miss" I returned.

She prenteded to look over my shoulder back into the sea. With her palm over her fore-head, protecting from an imaginary sun, she seemed to scan the horizon.

“Anywhere it's not so bloody cold, I imagine".

It's moments like these you can't explain yourself. You don't think. You just do things. And no amount of rationalization later that night will help you explain why such actions would escape from you. It's daft, but I did it anyhow. I pulled off my shirt and sweater in one clean stroke from above my head.

"Here," I offered her gallantly, "this might help. Keep you warm that is."

There we were, in the middle of the coldest Californian nights. One wiry boy without a shirt, trying his best not to shiver, and occasionally failing. And one girl, trying her hardest to stop grinning, and occasionally failing.

*

Come with me
We must have stood there, elbows on the railing, for a good half hour. Or maybe it was a minute. Staring into the horizon, into one common distant future.



Come with me girl. Life’s too valuable to play by the rules of calling. You shouldn't have to not be with someone because he didn't see you first. You shouldn't have to give up being with someone you are to be with, just because it might hurt. You shouldn't have to play it safe, because you don't want to risk playing it right.

Come with me girl. Leave him, and them and everything you know. For he may dance for you. But I will dance with you. For he may lead you into happiness. But I will walk with you through sorrow. For he may die for you. But I will live for you.

Come with me girl. Walk into the sea with me.