The Weekend

My spurtal buddy came to town to give me a visit for the weekend. It was beyond amazing. Beyond perfect. Right from the moment I saw him walking towards me, smiling from ear to ear when I went to pick him up at the station; to the time he peeped out the train to wave me goodbye two days later.

We visited my school and I squealed telling him stories behind every nook and corner; we hung around in my room and read the crazy stories I used to write as a kid and laughed till I got tears in my eyes and his sides burst; we went out for lunch and had fruity French pudding; he met my college friends and I met two of his, who came all the way from Delhi to meet us; we had pizza in the car, listening to music while the rain drops fell against the glass of the window; we went out on my Activa late at night to get medicine ‘cause both of us were sneezing and wheezing like pigs; he visited khet with me and picked out moong ki phallis; we had a warm lunch where my parents and grandparents shared hilarious childhood stories; we held hands and clicked the cutest of pictures together; and we went to the station to drop him off, listening to Dil Se as it continued to rain outside.

He brought me shampoo for my hair fall problem and he brought me Catch 22 which I really wanted to read. He also got me movies. I did nothing except spurting and PDAing in the craziest manner. And telling him how much I love him. He’s perfect for me. Tailor made and customized to suit me. I’m still trying to recover from the crazy-fairytale-adventurous-amazing weekend and settling back into the college routine. I’m having a lot of trouble doing that.

I’m missing him beyond measure. He always cheers me up (even if all he says is “Tee tee!”) I’m missing his amazing straight hair and his beaver teeth. I’m missing his small but clean arthiritic hands and the way he sticks his tongue out when he’s up to mischief. I’m missing the way he wrestles with the steering wheel of my dad’s old car and says he enjoys it. He is funny. And tall. And he makes me feel pathetic when he scores 98 percentile in CAT. He writes so well. He sends me the funniest and interesting-est of articles and he sends me the cutest text messages you can imagine. He listens to me every day and tries to help me through my whiny complaints and jibber jabber. He laughs when I tell him I have defective body parts and says he loves my nose even though it’s big. He gingerly sings soft kitty with me and laughs when I’m being funny. He calls me Asthie. And Chee pee. And Pop. And other variations of it. He tells me just how much he loves me.

I hope it wasn’t all a dream. It wasn’t, right? Was it? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was. This is all too good to be true man. How do these things happen? How can a person like him even exist? But no, it was not a dream. Miraculous awesome stuff happens. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I'd like to say that I just feel like the luckiest girl ever :D What's happening is beyond belief! It's the legendary incomprehensible super amazing stuff that happens in movies.

And man, do I love it. Please, let it not be a dream God? Like, please? :)

Amen.