Growing old…Growing up?

04: 51 ST

Pudheel station wadala.

Agla station Wadala.

Next station wadala.

Location: THE window seat (in the direction of the train) on board a not-so-crowded local.

Well, pretty clichéd a setup, I know. But well, I love clichés.

Sitting on THAT coveted window seat in the train with phone chords plugged in, is by far the best mental stimulator. From churning out new excuses for being late for class, to making life-changing decisions, this has been it.

Okay, cut to the very beginning.

Yes, the setup is perfect and the train isn’t swarming either. So there’s no room for bottom pinching, molestation and its likes. No ‘aunty gossip’ to distract me even.

But for me, distractions have always been constant at every stage. My history teacher will also sing along in chorus when I say so.

Okay, today, one lanky teenager manages to grab my attention in this VT-bound local.

Actually, the 20-odd pairs of earrings he has in a ‘cardboard shoebox’ do the needful.

Almost as a ‘response to stimuli’, I look around to my right, just to make sure that I see no ‘known’ face.

After preliminary investigations, I gather the courage to call out to him.

Now, as theatrical as it may sound, I actually get flashes of the same setup, the same ‘lanky teenager’ and the ‘same pairs of earrings’.

Coloured flashes.

Even back then, I looked to my right- but only to get some ‘peer advice’ on which pair would match which outfit.

Yes, yes. Everybody goes through the ‘matching-matching’ phase. So did me.

Purple kurta-purple danglers-purple wooden bangles-purple chappals.

~ PERFECTO! ~

Pudheel station cotton green.

Agla station cotton green.

Next station cotton green.

LOCATION: An inch closer to the window, with aunty-number-nine managing to fix her derriere on the eight-seater.

“Earrings dikhao, bhaiyya.”

“Bada wala 20 ka. Chota 10 ka, Medam.”

…

……

“Hey, babe! Wazza?”

HOLY HELL! Did I just hear what I just heard?

..

…

What on earth is she doing here?

Within seconds, the known squeaky voice turns into a known face.

“Um..Hey! What’s been up?”

The plastered grin isn’t unnoticeable.

By then…

“Bhaiyya,nahin chaihiye!”

“Medam, lo na!”

“nahin..jao.”

Unsurprisingly, the conversation with Miss-known-face doesn’t quite gain any momentum even after grave attempts.

She happens to be one of my “Hi-sup-nm-u?-same ya-ok-gtg-bye” friends.

Nay, not just on FB Chat. In reality even.

After a series of questions based on the most-known-facts and after exchanging numbers (read: conversation extenders), she vanishes.

Very soon, I forget known voice-turned-face, but can’t quit thinking about the earring-wala and the purple danglers he had.

Two years ago, selecting-bargaining-buying-and flaunting, was so kewl and a huge deal--the talk on the foyer table, the next day.

But today, I actually brushed him off to make sure I wasn’t caught red handed.

Huh? My train of thought accelerates at 180 miles/hour.

TRIVIA: Thoughts travel faster than Mumbai’s locals.

Soon lo behold, I make a mental note of ‘kewl-turned-unkewl’ things I used to do and actually be proud of:

1. Beaded bracelets (read plural), over-sized bangles, almost-shoulder-touching danglers was mah style. Girly and mature, I used to think it was.

2. I haven’t missed a single episode of Ekta Kapoor’s ‘Kyunki Saas Bhi kabhi bahu Thi…’ in the first year that it was launched. NEVER.

3. Vivek Oberoi was THE man. My knight in shining armour. With three posters pasted on my room wall and one on the ceiling, I can’t recall even a single day when I didn’t picture myself in place of Rani Mukherji in the song “Saaathiyaaa… Saaathiyaaa..!”

4. My kinetic eye candies back then had to be the ‘Math tuition boys’. As lame as it may sound, I don’t have memories of even attempting to make conversations with the other species, as a school-goer.

One school girl seen smiling and talking to some random tuition boy= haw, she’s desperate!

5. Fuck, bastard, asshole, bitch…were words that weren’t even part of my imaginary vocabulary. IDIOT was it.

And ‘non-veg’ jokes were taboo. “Aiyyo, sheesh! What poor upbringing!” I’d yell.

However, this doesn’t imply that I’m a pervert NOW.

6. A virtual wannabe, I’ve always been.

But the only difference now- I’m keeping pace with the times.

Year: 2007.

ORKUT:

About me: Ma name’s reetika. m a sweet gal. I luv ma familee, ma frndzz n ma lyf.

E-mail id: reetika_lyfrox@yahoo.com

Scraps : “Hiieee, wazza ?

Wad ya upto girlie?

Lolzz!”

You’re getting the drift, nai?

I was a rawkerr, mahn! \m/

Pudheel station VT.

Agla station VT.

Next station VT.

Goodness, only 2 more minutes to indulge in retrospection!

Damn it!

I wonder when, how and why did I condition myself to portray the role of the socially-enlightened-- contemplating whether what I do, will be okay or not. Mum calls it “growing up.”

But on days like today, with the earrings-wala around, I wish I was the good old ignorant wannabe, I was proud to be--a time when embarrassing situations ensued only on ‘report cards’ and I could just be ME.