One morning, on the beach

The woman was definitely angry. Oh, she was trying to hide it, camouflaging her stiff shoulders under the soft fall of her shoulder-length hair. But that grim look about her lips? Those highly glossed lips spoke of gritted teeth and possibly some amount of gnashing as well. But the woman was not bad looking, for all that. Just not the person I'd like to spend the morning with. And unless I was mistaken, that was what I would end up doing, unless I moved in the next thirty seconds.

But I was comfortable. The umbrella shaded the deckchair at just the right angle, my cushion had worked its way down my back to just the right spot, and the glass of lemonade in my hand was delicious. I was comfortable and the view was delightful and I really did not want to give all that up because of one potentially annoying woman. Or maybe I just wanted to know what was eating her.

So I took another sip of my lemonade and looked out to the sea, watching the waves rushing onto the beach. They were just about ready to recede when I became aware of movement to my right. An evidently overstuffed beach bag was dumped unceremoniously next to my own, raising a little puff of dust that managed to irritate me. I am not fond of dust on my bags. I did not raise a dust about it, though. 

She sat on the deckchair. She rummaged about in her bag for something. That poor bag was so stuffed that some other stuff fell out. She pulled out a bright pink scarf that almost made me smile. It was so exactly what I expected her to own. She pulled out a tube of cream and then pushed it back. She pulled out a bottle of lotion. She pulled out a thick book with a bright cover. Why was everything about this woman so bright? She might just start annoying me if she didn't stop her distracting antics. We both knew why she had come down to the beach, and it wasn't to read. But then again, why should I make her life easier?

That thought, tempered by another sip of that wonderful lemonade, cooled me down. This would be interesting. Something to tell my friends. Maybe something to blog about. Who knew?

She seemed to pause for a moment, and I could have sworn I felt her glaring at me. Then with a lot of jangling of bangles and swishing of sundress, she made herself comfortable. I was relieved, to be honest. The way that woman had been going on, I thought she would spend the entire morning packing and repacking that beach bag of hers.

“Such a lovely view, isn’t it?” she gushed. Aha, there it was, the expected and entirely trite opener.

I merely smiled. I knew I had to save my breath for later.

“We just arrived last night. You must have been here a few days already, I guess? I mean you seem to have taken the best spot here!” she trilled with a slightly fake laugh.

I yawned and said, “I’ve been here three days.”

She took that as license to further our acquaintance.

“Are you here alone? I mean you seem to be here alone. Most people don’t like holidaying alone, do they? It’s more fun when you are with someone, isn’t it?” Clearly, she was getting at something here, and subtlety wasn’t her strong point.

“Apparently it’s a matter of opinion,” I replied, deciding not to snub her outright. “You are not here alone, I guess.”

“Oh no! I’m here with my husband.”

Ah, there it was, that possessive lilt on the last word, that slight aggression leaking into her tone. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Really? That’s nice for you, I’m sure,” I replied.

“Oh yes, we got married just a month back. You know how it is with newly-weds,” she gushed, her lashes doing a poor job of masking the daggers her eyes were shooting at me. Maybe she needed false eyelashes or something.

“I am not married, so I can’t claim to know. But I’m sure you are very happy,” I replied with a bland smile.

It worked. She could barely contain her indignation. “I am! We are! It is the best thing that has happened to us! It’s not surprising that some people are probably jealous of us.”

Suddenly, I was tired of waiting for this annoying woman to get to the point. She was clearly not averse to ruining my entire morning with her pointless chatter and bright pink scarf. Besides, I was never a great fan of veiled barbs and conversations conducted entirely in another person’s mind.

“Is that what’s worrying you, then?” I asked.

“I’m not worried. My husband and I couldn’t be bothered by such people. Everyone knows that some people just like to make trouble. Let barking dogs bark, that is what I believe,” she said, pursing up her lips.

“You take such a mature view of things. But I am still young. If this wasn’t our first meeting, I would have said you were trying to warn me off, strange as that may sound,” I commented, crossing my ankles and sipping my lemonade.

She gasped. She obviously hadn’t expected me to fight back, in whatever war she had brought me.

“I am younger than you!” she asserted. Oh right, that is what she would get out of it. But young wasn’t always a good thing, and it was time she learnt that.

“You look it! How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she replied, looking a little mollified. “My husband is a businessman. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

Oh, is that how she was going to play it? It was time to end the charade.

“Sheetal, do you want to stop pretending you don’t know who I am? And if you want to keep up this cloak and dagger pretence you had going, then maybe we could continue in the evening? I rather like having a peaceful morning,” I said, looking straight at her.

She seemed riled. “How did you know who I am?”

“Facebook,” I replied succinctly.

She drew in a breath. “So you have been stalking him, have you? But you better stay away from him. I don’t care how long you two were dating and I don’t care how well you think you knew him. You stay away!”

I thought she looked a little hysterical. She certainly sounded that way. So I just raised an eyebrow in this way that I have, and asked, “What makes you think I am even interested anymore?”

“You are here. You found out we were coming here, didn’t you? Listen, it’ll be better for all of us if you just go away.” She seemed to think she had reasoned everything out so logically.

But someone had to burst her bubble, and preferably before breakfast. So I took it on myself. “Sheetal, get a grip. Ask your dear husband why he chose this resort for a holiday. He knows I own the place.”

“Y-you own the r-resort?” she stuttered. This was news, it seemed. I felt a little bad for her. I had been pretty naïve at twenty-two myself.

“The island, actually. But that is really not the point.” Actually it kind of was, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I sighed and stretched. So much for a relaxing morning on the beach.

I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder and looked down at her with a grin. “Don’t look so horrified. Tell Madhav I said hello.” With that, I walked off, leaving her gaping.

So the morning wasn’t a total waste. I may have been upset a year ago when we had broken up, but this morning, my unholy amusement at the thought of him having to spend his life with Sheetal as his wife actually made up for it.

Pop Corn

Reclining into the plush red chair, Anusha let out a sigh of relief. She briefly closed her eyes and allowed her smile to stretch into a grin. Yes, this was bliss. An afternoon away from work, away from friends, away from family, away from life as she knew it.

She opened her eyes just as the room was plunged into darkness. She felt the still-tense muscles of her shoulders relax. A moment later, the large screen before her lit up with reflected light.

She enjoyed the entire experience of watching a movie in the theater, including the previews, the crying babies who would invariably wake up hungry and cranky at the most critical part of the movie, and of course, she loved pop corn. It seemed to smell and taste a thousand times better here than it ever did at home! Plus, she had not quite managed to pull off caramel pop corn at home. Buying it at the movies was so much easier.

Sitting at the back of the hall, it was easy for her to scan the other seats. She noted with some satisfaction that the hall seemed to be pretty sparsely populated. She enjoyed movies, and she could be a little vocal sometimes. Somehow, the people sitting around her didn't always appreciate that. But today she could laugh, cry, exclaim or dance if she wanted to. The nearest people were a couple sitting three rows down, who were already so wrapped up in each other it was embarrassing.

"Excuse me, miss," said a diffident looking fellow wearing a purple and black uniform. Oh, he must be one of the staff here. "Would you like to order any refreshments? I will serve you at your seat."

She stalled him before he could rattle off the list of food and beverages they served. She knew that list off by heart anyway. "Just a pop corn combo, please," she smiled.

He was back before the previews and advertisements were over, so she tipped him more generously that she would have otherwise. With the popcorn to her right and drink to her left, she focused her attention on the screen once again.

She had picked a sappy romantic comedy. It wasn't entirely because she needed a break now, and this was the only movie on in the afternoon. It was also because she was just tired of how boring and correct life was, and how boring and correct she had to behave at work. A stupid, unabashedly sappy movie would help her zone out completely. For the next two hours, she would be that stupid, romantic heroine, would live that stupid, romantic story. She needed the escape and she didn't feel the least bit apologetic.

Ten minutes into the movie, she was completely immersed in the lives of Mandy and Pete, the unbearably sweet couple on screen, whose worlds had just collided, in the way that only happened in movies. Fifteen minutes into the movie, she had already identified the potential threat to their potential relationship.

It took her another two minutes to realize that someone was now sitting in the seat next to her. She would have had no trouble ignoring them, except that the person smelt extremely good. In a very attractively masculine way. But she reminded herself, he was probably gay; they seemed to be the only men with any sense of hygiene these days.

And yet, there was a prickling awareness of this man, that ran all over the right side of her body. She couldn't help casting a surreptitious glance in his direction the next time she grabbed a handful of pop corn. Which she almost dropped all over herself, because, wow, the man was good looking. He was even dressed smartly, what the magazines would call casual chic. Damn.

She got involved with the slightly insipid plot of the movie for another ten minutes, in which time the hero made plans with his bumbling best friend to woo the heroine, which were clearly doomed to failure.

"Excuse me."

A low, deep voice interrupted her plot analysis. It was the man sitting next to her. As she turned her head towards him with an eyebrow raised in query, he offered a small smile and held up the pop corn and drink the young fellow in purple must have just got for him. She took the hint and removed her pop corn onto her lap.

Another five minutes passed in silence. The movie seemed to hold as little interest for the man as it did for Anusha, though. She was constantly glancing at him, so she knew for a fact that he was doing the same to her. Sure, she was used to attention. She was nice enough to look at, her own mirror said so every day. But she didn't think she had ever distracted a guy from a movie this stupid.

The next moment, their gazes caught again, and this time, neither looked away. He smiled tentatively, and so did she.

"Mandy is going to go out with the other fellow to make Pete jealous," he whispered.

"No, the other fellow is going to make Mandy think that Pete is trying to woo the horrid cheerleader," Anusha countered.

"That's as maybe, but Mandy will go out with the other guy," he insisted.

"Hah. We will see. I'll get you caramel pop corn in the intermission if that happens," Anusha said.

He didn't reply, but then, he didn't need to. Mandy went out on a date with the other guy. Before Anusha could do more than groan, the lights came on. Intermission!

She stood up, and to her surprise, so did he. He followed her out of the hall, said, "Caramel pop corn," grinned, and walked off.

She couldn't help the grin that lightened her own face, or the challenge in her tone as she called out, "Hey!"

He turned.

"Anusha," she said.

"Dev," he replied, holding out his hand.

***

Her hand still tingled minutes later, as she stood in line for his pop corn. She was back in the hall in record time. Anusha didn't remember enjoying a movie so much in a very long time. Dev and she seemed to share the same irreverent sense of humour. Beyond that, she sensed that he was here for the same reason as she was... to escape reality and the baggage that came with it. She doubted if he had had much clue what movie was playing when he had bought the ticket, and she wasn't wrong.

All too soon, the movie was almost over, as was the pop corn. They were sharing the tub she'd bought during the intermission, and they both reached in for the last few bits. As their fingers brushed, they both jumped as though burnt. Dev's ears seemed to have turned pink, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light. He silently offered her the remaining pop corn.

The movie over, they both exited the hall in silence. Standing outside, in the soft light of the late afternoon, he turned to her.

"So, that was fun."

"Yeah, that was."

"Want to watch another one next week?"

"Same time, same place?" she joked.

"Absolutely," he said with that grin.

They were trying so hard not to stoop to the level of Mandy and Pete sappiness, that they watched five movies together before he finally asked her out for a real date.

The Mob

There was an ominous rumble in the city, mirrored only very weakly in the sky's attempts at a storm.

In a brightly lit spot, they had gathered, to try to shame the darkness into a yet darker place. It was a moot point, whether darkness was any sort of an answer. But then, no one really cared. This was a triumph.

So many had come, leaving the comfort of home and their habit of dissociation. No, today was a day for association. They felt enthralled at the change they were sure they had wrought. They had given up the safety of anonymity for the thrill of being in the firing line. And fired at they were. But that just fired them up even more.

This situation had escalated from a bunch of simple people enjoying their first vocalization of protest, into an inflamed, wronged group of protesters who now had more reason than ever to protest. The war had been ideological at some level earlier, but now it was personal. It was personal and it was so much larger than that. It was a mob.

It had thought behind it, inasmuch as the individuals that made up the mob were guided by thought. But subtly, they were guided less by thought and more by the perception of what everyone else was doing. Even the half-hearted protests became laced with anger. There was so much anger. Subtly, they lost selfhood in favour of an identification with the larger body they now made up a part of.

Even when they went home at last, that identification would not fall away from them. There would be meetings, there would be petitions, there would be debates and everyone would air their views, share their perspectives, and solidify their beliefs that the situation was terrible, and that it was their duty, and our duty, and everyone's duty, to join the movement. Join the mob.

No, it was not acceptable to have an ideological position contrary in any way to that of the mob. It was a movement now, except that it was still a mob. It was good to agree with the basic premise of the mob, but it was not acceptable to identify the root of the problem anywhere other than where the mob had identified it. And it was definitely not acceptable to prefer a different course of action.

The people began to forget their individual ideas, in the comfort and familiarity of following someone else's ideas. It was easier to focus on cohesion when they could leave it to someone else to plan their path for them. Besides, there was no time to waste in thinking, in mulling over possibilities... it was time to Act!

But the picture of the act is not one that I have the heart to paint. Nor is the aftermath. Their anger will die. They will tire. Life will catch up with them. They will turn into what they fought against. Their individual character will remain untouched. In taking on the garb of the mob, they made it possible to dissociate from their own actions easily enough.

They will move away from the darkness they have wrought. They will then consign it to a dark place, until they can highlight it as the darkness necessary to appreciate light. It has happened before, and it is likely to happen again. But still there is no light. Still, it is night, and a stormy one at that.