Digits on paper

This corner of the bar was especially dark, and Sam liked it that way. At the other end he could see people striking up animated conversations with others they were meeting for the first time and probably would never meet again; their words slurred, their eyelids drooping, their breath laced with the heavy scent of alcohol. It’s strange how that coveted sparkly drink in your glass breaks down the invisible shackles that you struggle to cope with every day, broadening the boundaries and stretching the range of possibilities that life supposedly has to offer. It makes you smile at things that you wouldn’t have found funny otherwise. It makes the world seem like an ever changing kaleidoscope of neon lights, weaving impossible patterns in the air that eludes the rational sober eye. And most importantly it makes you forget and there is nothing more comforting than oblivion.

But Sam found it hard to forget. He remembered every little thing in excruciating detail, like it happened only yesterday. There were those initial nights at Labyrinth when alcohol did the trick for him; where amidst the cacophony of deafening beats and pulsating hearts, he managed to forget. He often found himself curled up at some desolate corner of the pub, sleeping, till someone took notice and woke him up, only to clean up last night’s drunken human mess. But those days were long gone and no amount of tequila seemed to work anymore. He tried taking sleeping pills, lying on his bed for hours, waiting with wide open eyes for that elusive thing called sleep till the first rays of morning seeped in through the window. He just couldn’t sleep. All he needed to do was to forget; forget who he was, forget who life made him to be, forget all those people that sucked meaning out of Samarth and left behind an empty hollow shell of a man called Sam. He was tired of waiting and the sagging circles beneath his eyes told the same story.

He turned to look at the million people dancing twenty feet away. The faces in the crowd never engaged him. They were all the same, like broken peanut shells, wrinkled and ochre. Grazing across the sea of bobbing heads, his restless eyes stopped for a moment. There was a girl in the middle of the crowd, a distinct dark face amidst the blur, dancing with abandon. She hardly had any makeup on which made her seem inexplicably real; her beauty almost arresting, unconventional. Her hair spilled over her face in a bundle of curls, disentangling with every other beat to reveal a long gradual neckline. Her limbs were slender, one embellished with what seemed like gaudy clanging wedding bangles, and the other nude. Bare. Her eyes were shut the whole time while her head swayed aimlessly from side to side. Maybe she was catching up on her sleep. Maybe she was waiting to forget too.

It was a strange place to be for a newlywed, especially dancing alone in the middle of the night. Sam was curious. His best guess was that her husband was boring and fat, unaware of his wife’s clandestine nightly adventures. She must be one of those spoilt bored rich kids whose life revolved around the sole concept of fun, he thought. Maybe she was bored of her husband already, looking for the scent of some new nameless man in the dark corners of the pub. He knew he judged her, and he didn’t care not to. He noticed she was walking towards him now, her kohl smeared eyes transfixed, as if she read his mind. He was embarrassed and quickly averted his eyes. He hadn’t realized that he was staring at her for that long. He felt a tiny dint of shame.

‘Is this seat taken?’ she asked.

He looked up at her. ‘Are you talking to me?’

She laughed. ‘You were staring at me for a really long time. So yes, I am talking to you’.

He sensed a tone of condescension in her voice. He felt nervous and for him, it was a first. He felt uncomfortable.

‘The seat doesn’t have my name on it. It’s a free world. Be my guest.’ He tried to be smart with her.

‘You have a way with words I see,’ she smiled, the disdain intact. ‘I’m Meera, by the way.’ She extended her hand out in a gesture of peace.

‘I’m Sam,’ he replied curtly, making no effort at reciprocation. Truth be told, he wanted to run away. He felt restless, annoyed at having to make unnecessary conversation. All he wanted to do was to enjoy a quiet evening amidst all the noise, like every other day. He was a slave of routine and hated change of any sort. And exchanging words with strangers was his last priority. Sam was popular among women, more for his success and physique than anything else, and he treated them like mundane wayside trash. But there was something about this girl that made his mind race and his heart pound till it threatened to explode his very being to bits. He was not accustomed to being talked down to, especially by women. He was a chauvinist and he took an unnatural pride in it.

‘So what was the point in staring at me for so long, if you had no intention of talking or returning a friendly gesture?’ She sounded a little bruised.

‘Well I wasn’t staring at you. Everything’s not about you. Please.’ He was looking down the whole time.

Meera laughed. It was a loud resonating laugh. She jerked her head back, and her silver dangling earrings twinkled for a fleeting moment. ‘Well, aren’t you a bit too old to be sulking like a kid? You were staring at me and you got caught. The world will continue to go on like it never happened. Get over it will you?’ she continued in a jocular thread. She curled a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her earrings quivered earnestly.

God she’s beautiful, Sam thought to himself. And suddenly, he felt his blood rush to his face. He tried distracting himself by playing with his watch but he couldn’t help but steal a glance at Meera. He noticed she had changed her posture. She was now sitting with her head rested on her elbow, her eyes on him, steady and unblinking. ‘How does that feel now sir?’ she giggled. Sam couldn’t take it anymore. ‘Please excuse me for a moment.’ He hurried towards the restroom. He banged the door behind him, panting. It felt like he could still hear her laughing. Her loud resonating laugh. He covered his ears and knelt on the floor. He shut his eyes tight…

                                                  .......................

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there on the bathroom floor. But now he felt calmer. He felt his confidence rushing back. He laughed at his asinine behavior. It was ridiculous. He strutted back to the bar, head held high, determined to make it right this time. But Meera had left by then. He felt oddly dejected. But he noticed something on her seat. It was a scrap of tissue with ten neatly formed digits on it; running across it like an undulating wave with a newfound destination. He felt an upsurge of relief. He folded the soggy piece of tissue and tucked it safely in his wallet, ensconced between his many credit cards. He decided he would call her. One day.