"I find Tweetie positively repulsive", she said. " Give me Wolverine any day."
For once I was stuck for words. Like here I am, brought up on the understanding that all girls like Tweetie, soft toys, Enid Blyton, Mills and Boon and chocolates. And here she was, turning all that on its head.
Blame it on my bong middle class background. Somehow, I was always under the impression that the things I absolutely adore (like, for example WWF), are what makes all nice girls (well most of them ... with whom you want to go around with, anyways) shriek in disgust.
So was I dreaming when she explained the anomalies in the batting average of Jacques Kallis against Australia? I mean, I did not even imagine that anybody else in this world apart from me (well .... maybe Stephen @ cricinfo) knew about it. Just the presence of all those people at On Toes (yeah ! some people still go there) stopped me from screaming out in sheer joy.
The dark interiors of the pub only heightened the sense of surrealism. What started as a nice retro trip in the lines of "lets have some beer and listen to good music, what?" was fast degenerating into a tequila ("I can do them without the lemon, so watch me baby !!") showdown. The kind of showdown, in which people stop bothering about who was winning pretty soon.
And then there was Mr. Red Shirt who kept giving us dirty looks from the next table. Well, can't really blame Mr. RS. Our resident sex maniac B was practically staring down RS' girlfriend's cleavage. The poor girl had been trying hard to escape attention by squeezing herself between the table and the wall column, while B continuously positioned himself for a better view. I thought of quietly telling S about it. Decided against it when I saw him trying to hit the waiter with the lemon wedge.
So I can't be blamed for wondering whether I had just dreamt up that conversation about subtle differences between Marvel and DC universes. And with a girl you have just met. A girl in whose eyes you could drown. A girl who knows who Jean Paul Valley is for god's sake.
Tearing my eyes off the dynamic duo RS and B was proving a great challenge, though. B was dancing dangerously close to the next table by now. "Summer of 69" was never meant to be dance number and all that air-guitaring close to his girl was making RS distinctly jittery. S had thankfully stopped playing cricket. However, considering the fact that his head was buried in T's perfumed coiffure, one could not realistically expect support from that quarter.
At the end, the choice between preventing B's imminent bash-up and discussing the psychological underpinnings of Triple H was a no contest. Specially after she declared that she needs some fresh air and we should step outside for continuing the conversation.
The Juhu breeze, shared Gold Flake Kings, Norse mythology, Green Lantern and Area-51 somehow landed us in her place. Not trying to say that other, more elemental thoughts involving naked entwined limbs did not cross my mind at any point. Well, what other thoughts could you get while discussing (rather objectively...with references and all) whether Magneto managed to make it with Rogue. However, all those thoughts were firmly clamped down as I refused to fall prey to the beast called instant gratification. On second thoughts ... well, first things first.
Her pad was somewhere in Santacruz. Could not really make out the area due to tequila induced haze, but managed to stumble in after her nevertheless. All the while trying hard to remember whether I was carrying any rubber in my purse. Memory, normally so efficient, can be such a bitch sometimes, under the influence of certain Mexican cactus extracts.
Crossed the living room on the way to what I hoped was the bedroom. But was soon stopped in my tracks by the vision of another girl wearing a shirt coming out of the loo. Yes, I have seen girls wearing shirts before, but normally they wear something below it also. Now, I should admit here that the person in question may have been wearing something underneath that shirt but I could not just ask her that, could I? Not when she screamed after seeing me tottering in. I managed somehow to duck back to the living room, while my companion tried calming her roommate down. She was pretty efficient by the sounds of it. Though, must admit I was moderately intrigued by statements such as "Its not what you think, really", "He likes comics, too", "You know how On Toes is, you can lose your mind there" etc.
I was a little (well .... as compared to a lot) disoriented when she finally came back to the living room and the alcohol in the system wasn't helping much, either. So imagine my shock, when she produced a Smirnoff bottle and said "vodka is really nice after tequila, wanna try?" I mean its not as if I could say no to that offer, right? So ended up getting rightfully sloshed, while trying to keep track of the Age of Apocalypse and other assorted timelines. She was also sounding quite happy and was finally showing signs of drunkenness. "Thank God", I thought, "she is human after all".
Even then, she caught me off-guard with her casual comment "You have never liked Storm, have you?". I protested mightily, declaring my undying love for Ororo Munroe, her flowing hair and outlandish outfits. To that she said something really unexpected, "I always thought my eyes were like hers."
I desperately bit back my smart comments about how Storm's eyes changed colour when she was using her powers and just continued looking at her. I mean I might have read all Justice League comics cover to cover, but I sure knew when to keep quiet.
And then she smiled. Ohh ! I could have given up my entire RD Burman collection for that one smile.
As things turned out, I didn't need to.
For once I was stuck for words. Like here I am, brought up on the understanding that all girls like Tweetie, soft toys, Enid Blyton, Mills and Boon and chocolates. And here she was, turning all that on its head.
Blame it on my bong middle class background. Somehow, I was always under the impression that the things I absolutely adore (like, for example WWF), are what makes all nice girls (well most of them ... with whom you want to go around with, anyways) shriek in disgust.
So was I dreaming when she explained the anomalies in the batting average of Jacques Kallis against Australia? I mean, I did not even imagine that anybody else in this world apart from me (well .... maybe Stephen @ cricinfo) knew about it. Just the presence of all those people at On Toes (yeah ! some people still go there) stopped me from screaming out in sheer joy.
The dark interiors of the pub only heightened the sense of surrealism. What started as a nice retro trip in the lines of "lets have some beer and listen to good music, what?" was fast degenerating into a tequila ("I can do them without the lemon, so watch me baby !!") showdown. The kind of showdown, in which people stop bothering about who was winning pretty soon.
And then there was Mr. Red Shirt who kept giving us dirty looks from the next table. Well, can't really blame Mr. RS. Our resident sex maniac B was practically staring down RS' girlfriend's cleavage. The poor girl had been trying hard to escape attention by squeezing herself between the table and the wall column, while B continuously positioned himself for a better view. I thought of quietly telling S about it. Decided against it when I saw him trying to hit the waiter with the lemon wedge.
So I can't be blamed for wondering whether I had just dreamt up that conversation about subtle differences between Marvel and DC universes. And with a girl you have just met. A girl in whose eyes you could drown. A girl who knows who Jean Paul Valley is for god's sake.
Tearing my eyes off the dynamic duo RS and B was proving a great challenge, though. B was dancing dangerously close to the next table by now. "Summer of 69" was never meant to be dance number and all that air-guitaring close to his girl was making RS distinctly jittery. S had thankfully stopped playing cricket. However, considering the fact that his head was buried in T's perfumed coiffure, one could not realistically expect support from that quarter.
At the end, the choice between preventing B's imminent bash-up and discussing the psychological underpinnings of Triple H was a no contest. Specially after she declared that she needs some fresh air and we should step outside for continuing the conversation.
The Juhu breeze, shared Gold Flake Kings, Norse mythology, Green Lantern and Area-51 somehow landed us in her place. Not trying to say that other, more elemental thoughts involving naked entwined limbs did not cross my mind at any point. Well, what other thoughts could you get while discussing (rather objectively...with references and all) whether Magneto managed to make it with Rogue. However, all those thoughts were firmly clamped down as I refused to fall prey to the beast called instant gratification. On second thoughts ... well, first things first.
Her pad was somewhere in Santacruz. Could not really make out the area due to tequila induced haze, but managed to stumble in after her nevertheless. All the while trying hard to remember whether I was carrying any rubber in my purse. Memory, normally so efficient, can be such a bitch sometimes, under the influence of certain Mexican cactus extracts.
Crossed the living room on the way to what I hoped was the bedroom. But was soon stopped in my tracks by the vision of another girl wearing a shirt coming out of the loo. Yes, I have seen girls wearing shirts before, but normally they wear something below it also. Now, I should admit here that the person in question may have been wearing something underneath that shirt but I could not just ask her that, could I? Not when she screamed after seeing me tottering in. I managed somehow to duck back to the living room, while my companion tried calming her roommate down. She was pretty efficient by the sounds of it. Though, must admit I was moderately intrigued by statements such as "Its not what you think, really", "He likes comics, too", "You know how On Toes is, you can lose your mind there" etc.
I was a little (well .... as compared to a lot) disoriented when she finally came back to the living room and the alcohol in the system wasn't helping much, either. So imagine my shock, when she produced a Smirnoff bottle and said "vodka is really nice after tequila, wanna try?" I mean its not as if I could say no to that offer, right? So ended up getting rightfully sloshed, while trying to keep track of the Age of Apocalypse and other assorted timelines. She was also sounding quite happy and was finally showing signs of drunkenness. "Thank God", I thought, "she is human after all".
Even then, she caught me off-guard with her casual comment "You have never liked Storm, have you?". I protested mightily, declaring my undying love for Ororo Munroe, her flowing hair and outlandish outfits. To that she said something really unexpected, "I always thought my eyes were like hers."
I desperately bit back my smart comments about how Storm's eyes changed colour when she was using her powers and just continued looking at her. I mean I might have read all Justice League comics cover to cover, but I sure knew when to keep quiet.
And then she smiled. Ohh ! I could have given up my entire RD Burman collection for that one smile.
As things turned out, I didn't need to.
