Suhani's Arranged Meeting: Suhani and Mohit #1

"Not again, please!", I said exasperated, knowing I am wasting my breath with these words.

"We gave you long enough to work things out on your own, Suhani. Anyway, not that this would stand in your way. Just go, meet him once", said my mother, with her unbridled optimism hoping to set me up.

In India, arranged marriages are a norm and a departure from it raises eyebrows. I am 26, living away from home, hoping this marriage business could be left behind for some years at least.

"Fine. Set it up. Message me the details", I said in a formal tone, like a businesswoman going to meet a client for courtesy, knowing it's a failed deal.

Before she cuts the call, she showers adoration which only a mother could. I can hear the jubilation in her voice. I smile at how little it takes to put a smile on my parents' face. I agree to the things they say and they are happy. I smile at the thought.

As I get my focus back on the road, I notice I have been driving quite slow and, so, I increase the volume of the stereo with steering wheel button and my feet is automatically pressing the accelerator, I shift the gear to the top. The music isn't going to reach my soul, I know. The roads are usually empty at this hour and the cascading effect of the warm yellow street lights just take me to contemplations I run away from during the daylight. 

I am usually a positive person; after all, the genes have passed on. I am a stand up comedian. I have no formal training and to be honest, I would not want to be famous. Doesn't make sense, right? Well, I just like to make people laugh and I do small open mics in cafes. In a metropolitan area, it is not hard to find one of those every single day. Usually, the performers tell each other about the open mics happening the following day. That is how I find these places. The best thing about open mics is that you don't have to pay to be heard, but you also don't get paid. Most people who do open mics work at corporate offices or have stable jobs by the day. Not me! I am a freelance proofreader. It pays just enough to get by with my monthly expenses. My car and my apartment belongs to my parents. Of course, I don't have enough to save or to support my family! Not that they need my help. I am their only child and they have saved up enough money for themselves. I am not their burden and honestly, all those neighbourhood aunties have long given up in persuading me otherwise. All my parents expect is that I get married. This is an Indian parent gene which I cannot complain about.

Marriages don't create any sort of aversion in me. Neither does the concept of 'love'. I have been on a few dates, but it all just seems too much of an emotional involvement which I prefer not to burden myself with. I have had friends with whom I shared infatuations but I nipped it in the bud. I had once developed a crush on a guy who just walked past me. Never pursued that one either, not that he noticed me the way I did him. 

I don't believe in the concept of 'best friends', nor 'mortal enemies'. Never have. It's just a cliched abstract concept appeasing to a juvenile mind. I have friends. Good friends. We meet up occasionally. We catch up. Have fun and get back to our lives. Some of them recently got married, while others are engaged and some just tag it 'complicated'. I don't think I have a 'single' friend; well, I cannot say for sure, until I meet them again. 

I have no idea what is it that I want with my life. I am a creative person. I have lived a shielded life, and thanks to my parents, never once have I been subjected to any traumatic experience. I have had good friends who never betrayed me. Honestly, I have nothing to complain about. Like I said, being famous is not the goal, but I don't know what's next. I like the status quo. I like open mics. I like my proofreading work. I don't wish to be a writer. I am not waiting to be discovered by a famous director or for stumbling upon a screenplay. I don't have any business acumen. Isn't marriage the next logical step? Then, why don't I want to marry? 

Thought: Maybe because I haven't met the right person, I think. 

Counter point: But I don't believe in fairy tale romances. Besides, if I haven't met him in 26 years, how will I meet him now?

Thought: Could it be a 'her'?

Counter point: Starting to sound like a confused teenager, when in fact, I know it is indeed a 'he' I am interested in. Have known it a long time.

Thought: I am a crazy person. Talking to myself again. Slow down. Almost home.

With this, I slow down and take the turn for my lane. I pull the car in the driveway and my mind starts forming the chain of actions to follow. I take out the grocery bag to restock the refrigerator. Next, I plan to change and take to the bed. Just another day in my life. To some its mundane; to me its consistent and perfect.

I try to lead a healthy lifestyle by modifying my meals as I do not find the motivation to workout. I start my day at dawn with some simple breathing exercises. I then make my bed, clean my house and have some warm water. I then cook my breakfast, cut salad for a mid-day meal and prepare a lunch meal. I don't eat dinner. I haven't eaten one for as long as I remember. I prefer to walk and all this helps me maintain a constant weight. I am neither slender nor fat. It's just an average weight for a female my size. I am comfortable in my skin. I neither hate it nor am I a narcissist taking pride in my looks. 

I usually have my mail full of emails from clients requesting proofreading. I work on my laptop for better editing. No matter how tired I am, the startup chime of my laptop at 9 am, alerts my brain completely and as soon as I get to my home screen, my mind is fully active to work. I have circulated my email id across various college campuses, and I get an average of ten mails everyday. The rates of proofreading are fixed based on the number of words and I don't wish to increase it. I get the half payment along with the document. I then send half the edited version usually in a day or two. The clients are never dissatisfied and I get the next half payment, upon which I send the latter half of the content within 6-7 hours of the payment. I usually edit the entire document in a go because I need closure. I cannot have an impending work hanging over my head. I love to read and so this work is perfect for me. They give me content for my stand up. I do get better laughs when I share personal jokes but sometimes the comedy lies in the baffling errors I come across in these documents. Of course, the listener doesn't have an inkling about the erring individual. It's just comedy to them, and maybe a lesson to some.

Towards the mid-day, my phone buzzes. I keep my phone on silent. I always do. Usually at this hour of day, its telemarketing people so I don't bother picking up my phone. But with a lag of few second, my iMessage pops at the right-hand corner of my laptop. It's from 'MOM'. I decide to open it after I finish reading the document. It takes me about an hour more. I know she would have called me, if it was urgent. I mail half of the edited document and then pick my phone to check the message. I had guessed what it would be about. It was the details of the meeting with a possible suitor. I like that my mother uses brevity with such messages. She definitely knows a lot more than she lets on in front of me. Most mothers would have typed a ten page long WordFile, but my mother just sent his picture, name, number and his profession. I could barely look at the picture when my phone rings. It is my mother. She might not be so different from other mothers who share the curiosity of a child in such matters, after all . She fires away, "So did you like his picture?" 

I let out a chuckle and say, "I could barely look. They all look good in pictures because only good pictures are circulated for marriage profiles. Besides, you know I find everyone good-looking. I am sure I will like him just fine."

My mother felt embarrassed at the question she had put. She meant well and didn't mean to offend a body positive crusader. I sensed it. She then said, "Fine. Message him. Meet him. Let me know the details once he replies." 

I replied, "Sure. Now tell me what do you have planned for today." We then chat for half an hour and by then its time for mid-day meal for me. I cut the call and bring my salad bowl to the dining table. I pick my phone to watch some sitcom series, like I always do, but my iMessage screen is open. I see the picture.  He looks good, like I thought he would. His name is Mohit. He works as a college professor. Great! Not judging, but he literally gets paid to discipline and control. I am ill at ease even with the thought of going out for coffee with a professor. I was respectful towards them in college but would run away if I were to find myself alone around them. I compose myself and without saving his number, I message him: "Hi! This is Suhani. My mother gave me your number. When can we meet up? Let me know the details at your earliest convenience."

What did I just type? Am I scheduling a meeting with my professor? This is how I used to write my mails during my thesis days. I don't have to save his number. I know this isn't going to last. He must be thinking I am a dolt. Wait! What subject does he teach? I go back and check the message. My mother didn't mention it. I quickly think about looking him up but brevity made my mother leave out his last name or his place of work. I want to call my mother and ask her but that would show that he piqued my interest in some way, which is contrary to my nature. I didn't want to give my parents high hopes. I inhale deeply and exit the message window on my phone. I quickly open one of my OTT Apps and play a sitcom. Soon Mohit is pushed to the back of my mind. I finish my salad and one 20-minute episode. My phone auto-locks after 10 seconds, I leave it as is on the table and get up to take the dish to the sink. I clean the few dishes. When I pick my phone to move back to my proofreading, my phone buzzes. I unlock the phone and I see a message from an unknown number, presumably Mohit. He wrote:"Hi! Sorry it took so long to reply. My lunchtime just started. We aren't allowed to use phones otherwise. Let's meet at Cafe Cords o'Lyf at 7pm today? That is, if it is cool with you?"

First thought: He apologised like he owes explanations to me. Points for being accountable. He finished with a nice touch of seeking my permission and not simply saying, 'Ok?', like most guys in the past. Shows chivalry. Points.

Second thought: He is way cooler than how my professors sounded. He knows of a lively cafe and so awkward silences can be avoided if I gobble on food and pretend to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the GenZ. Extra points for this.

Counter point: I don't eat dinner. It will be too late for a late lunch. Also, I can easily go to an open mic at 8, if he meets me at 5. 

Counter-counter point: It is 1 already. It might not be enough time to align my mind into believing it's a date with a 'professor'. Moreover, would he be able to make it. Unlike me, he has a fixed hours job which maybe is 9 to 5. Also, presumably, he is eating right now. He won't be hungry again soon. But I do not want him to think I am a weirdo who doesn't eat dinner. Not that I want him to like me. He might lecture me like a teacher. You are doing it again! Building it up! Just message.

"Hey! It is fine. I know it would be too early and probably you cannot make it, but can we make it 5pm, instead?", I type. I keep my phone next to my laptop. I check the time, it is 1:20 already. His lunchtime must be over. When he sees my message I am sure he must be either thinking I am taking the revenge by replying late or that I am being pretentious by dictating the terms. Why am I bothered by what he might think? It is unlike me.

My phone rings within a minute and I quickly check my phone. "I get free by 4:30pm. It would take me at least half an hour to reach, if I find a cab in time. So let's say 5:30? Just so you don't have to wait up. If I reach early, I will save us a table. In case I am getting late, I will message you. Is that fine?"

I quickly type, "Great! Sounds good." I send it. I want to know if I can pick him up but that might seem too forthcoming. I battle with the urge to know where he works and why he doesn't have his own car. Again! Not judging. Just curious. Wait! Am I curious about a teacher?

He quickly sends a thumbs up emoji. I wonder if his lunch time is half an hour or less. I keep my phone aside. I leave the rest of the mails unopened for the day. I will get back to them later. A late nighter won't harm. I should get ready. What should I wear? I usually wear a dress or casual jeans for these meetings, but what is appropriate to meet a teacher?

Thought: Should I go to the salon?

Counter-thought: It is not a wedding. It is a date with a teacher/professor.

I decide to wear a pink kurta-payjama. I cannot justify it without sounding judgmental so I choose not to deliberate on it. I choose a nice pair of oxidised jhumkis and a watch. I don't know how tall he is, thanks to my mom withholding information. I decide to wear flat grey mojaris. I don't want him to feel insecure; if he is one of those. If he would have been my peer, I would have lectured him about equality and freedom of choice; but since he is a teacher, I don't think I can vociferously advance my agendas around him. I put on light make-up. I put on may best perfume. I look at the time, its 4:30pm. The place is twenty minutes away. I decide to leave at 4:50pm, just in case it takes longer. I start to think of possible conversations with a professor. None come to mind. I start to sweat through my palms. I drink water. I remember, I haven't eaten my lunch and so I decide to put it in a container to store it in the refrigerator for tomorrow. It is 4:45pm. I check my phone to see if he has messaged. Hoping he messages to delay because I am having cold feet. He hasn't messaged. I try to distract myself by thinking of the open mic later. It is going to be another funny bit if I share the story of my attire and the plausible hilariously awkward date this would possibly be. I take comfort in the fact that there would be an upside to this entire 'date with a professor' thing. I would be able to garner a lot of laughs. It is an adrenaline rush to have a room full of laughter. I smile at the thought. My mind quickly gains pace of reality and I check my phone. It is 4:53pm. I am late. Well, not late exactly. It is later than I planned. 

I quickly grab my keys and take one final look at the mirror on my way out. I look good. I smile and lock the door behind me. I open navigation on my phone to the cafe. I put the phone on the holder in the car and start to drive. I was right, it took me around 30 minutes to reach the place.

The place was not crowded and I could easily park. I take one last look at the rearview mirror. I look good. My phone rings. It is 5:25. It is Mohit. I haven't still saved his number but have grown familiar with the digits. I feel he is calling to cancel. I let out a breath. All the built up, for nothing. I pick the call. He says, "Hi, Suhani! Have you reached already?" The voice sent a chill down my spine. It wasn't a baritone voice. It wasn't a meek voice. He sounded confident. His tone was calm and somewhat 'perfect'. I don't know how to describe it. What is a perfect voice? I don't know. Its silly but I think Mohit has one. I try to quickly scramble through words in my head. I don't know what to say. Should I tell the truth? If I say, I am here and he is calling to cancel, I would be making a fool of myself. So I say, "Hi, Mohit! Almost. How about you? Could you manage a ride?" There is a silence of about a few seconds and I think the call has dropped, I remove the phone from my ear to check and the timer is running. I say, "Hello? Are you there?" He replies, "Hello! Sorry! Bad reception, I guess. I am here. Just wanted to check hoping I didn't keep you waiting. I will take a table for us and you take your time. No hurry." I take the phone away from myself and let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't calling to cancel. I take a deep breath and draw the phone closer to my ear, he is saying, "Hello? Have I lost you? Hello?" I quickly say, "Hi! I am here. Bad reception, after all. I am here. Just parking. Will see you in a bit. Bye!" I quickly cut the call, without waiting to hear it from him. I chuckle at how teenager-like giggles I am having. It is insane. I take my phone and lock my car. 

When I enter the cafe, the warm gust of wind from outside and the blasting air conditioner of the cafe interlace to give me goosebumps. I check my phone for time. It is 5:31. I would have been in sooner had he not called and distracted me. I run my eyes through the seated crowd. I see only couples between the age group 18-24. I am sure they would not have guessed me to be older if it wasn't for my poor choice of clothes. They were all dressed in casual tees and low hanging denims. I roll my eyes at the awkward furtive glances by the judgemental boneheads. I think to myself, "Wrong place for a date with a teacher."

I see a man sitting alone smiling at me. He gets up as our eyes meet. I realise it is Mohit. I should know how he looks, one would think- but it is not so. I saw his one picture. It takes me time to recognise faces. 

I smile and walk towards him while judging him top to bottom. He is a man. Perhaps, older than me. I don't know how old though. He is wearing a plain formal light pink shirt. His hair is side parted and, I can tell, there is no gel or oil. They are naturally fluffy and black. They are neither long nor short. He is wearing formal black shoes complementing his black pants. His shirt is tucked in neatly. His smile is symmetric. He is a tad shade darker than his picture. 

I reach the table and feel like I am at a formal business meeting. I don't know why but I thought he would pull the chair for me. I completely forgot the social setting we were in. I stood by the chair in anticipation. His smile turned into a confused look. He was waiting for me to sit but quickly realised I expected him to pull the chair for me. I never expect people to do that for me. He hastily walked across the table, muttered "Sorry", and pulled the chair for me. He is slightly taller than me. He smells good. He doesn't smell like a the air of cheap deodorants most boys walk around with. I am being weird, I realise. I am making things awkward for him, I realise that, too. 

We sit and smile at each other. The glances that were fixed on us soon go back to their respective dates. Now the eyes that were set on us were of each other. He breaks the silence, "Hi, Suhani! I am Mohit." He lets out the chuckle for stating the obvious. I giggle. I never giggle and am shocked to find myself giggling. 

I say, "Hi, Mohit!"

He replied, "You look beautiful. I apologise for my look. I am usually not this formally dressed but I came from college directly. I would have picked a different place if I knew we were to meet this soon. I like the happy chance of us being colour coordinated, though." He lets out a loud laugh.

I then realise, we are wearing the same shade of pink. I feel embarrassed. I have no words. He seems to have caught my chain of thoughts because he says, "I am sorry! I didn't mean to embarrass you. You look really beautiful. I mean, I am toning it down by saying 'beautiful'. You look even better than beautiful."

I blush and laugh at the weird choice of words. For sure, he isn't a teacher of English. He smiles in embarrassment. So I say, "Thank you, Mohit! You look handsome as well. I like the formal attire. I don't usually meet a lot of people dressed formally."

He smiles humbly.

"I know you are a professor but I don't know what subject you teach or where you teach", I asked casually.

The waiter intervened with the menus and handed it to us. I looked at the menu and felt weird that my conversation starter would be lost in the big menu. Mohit looked at the waiter and said, "Could you give us a minute? We need time to decide. For now please get us some water." The waiter nodded and left.

I opened the menu and started to glance through the items, but he closed the menu and said, "I teach Chemistry at the Central University. I am not a professor, yet. I am an Assistant Professor. If I were a professor, I would be too old. Haha!" He actually said 'haha'. Who does that? I smile at the weird onomatopoeia. I wonder how old he is. How old do you have to be to become a professor? 

I say, "Great! That sounds fun." I say unconvincingly. How can Chemistry be fun? I took arts. Physics, Biology and Mathematics can make sense but can Chemistry make sense? I look back at the menu as does he. 

The waiter comes back and we order burger and some drinks. He didn't order tea like how I saw my teachers usually have. He ordered KitKat shake and a burger. I thought he would order only fries because he must have had lunch quite recently. I ordered a cold coffee and burger with fries. The waiter left the two of us and it felt like it was just the two of us even in that ambience.

"Chemistry could be fun if you like it. To an onlooker it is mostly mundane. I know you took arts and are a creative person. Your mother said you do proofreading jobs and some open mic gigs. How is that like?", he asked. He definitely knows more about me than I know about him.

"That is all true. I never had a flare for science. I work as a freelance proofreader. I really like it all", I say. I don't know what more should I say. I feel tongue-tied. I am not awkward in conversations but at this one, my mind is failing me. 

He takes an initiative and asks, "These open mic gigs that you do are like story telling and poem recitation?"

"Open mic could be anything but I perform stand up comedy at those", I replied.

His eyes lit up and I got confused. Meanwhile, the waiter walked in with our drinks and said, "Your food might take a little longer. Sorry for the delay." Mohit said, "It is fine. No hurry." The waiter walked away and Mohit turned to me.

"What do you say at these gigs?", he asked.

"I share some anecdotes which are comical", I stated the obvious.

"I would love to hear something", he earnestly requested.

I am flummoxed. Never has anyone asked me to do this on a date. Some have shown interest by asking if they could come to one of those gigs but to perform that very moment? Never!

"Please, I insist! Anything!", he said.

"I will give it a try. Please laugh even if you don't feel like it because this is the weirdest request I have had on a date. It is new to me but if you laugh this time, I might start doing bits at awkward dates in the future", I said shifting awkwardly in my seat.

He starts laughing and says, "I am already loving it."

I smile because I haven't started my bit. I was just voicing the weird moment. I say, "Have you met those people who give you their number and are very friendly when you meet them but they start ghosting you the moment you message them asking for help?"

"I hate those people. I think I have met my share of those people", he said.

"I know! I mean they are good to wish on festivals and birthdays but the moment you ask them for maybe a number of say 'an accountant', they start ghosting you. The nerve of such people, I tell you!", I say.

"I totally agree", he says empathetically.

"I am one of those people", I say slyly. He bursts into laughter. "I loved it", he says. I know it wasn't very funny but I guess its easy to tickle his funny bone. I giggle.

The waiter gets our food and I can see Mohit's eyes getting bigger. The waiter leaves. Mohit looks at me and says, "I am famished. The moment you messaged about 5pm, I decided to skip lunch not realising I would be dying of hunger by 5:30."

I laugh at how honest he is. It seems weird that I like such nuances. It is hard to find a person who speaks his mind. I hate it when I have to encrypt messages.

"I am hungry as well! This is my lunch too", I reply.

He takes a big bite of his burger and so do I. He chews it completely before he says, "Why didn't you want to meet for dinner? I mean we could have made the plans for 8."

I take longer to chew to frame an answer. I am not sure if I should tell him about no dinner policy. I finally decide to tell the truth as is.

"What? No dinner? Don't you get really hungry? Are you like anorexic? You look perfect to me!", he says.

I decide to explain him the healthy life choice thing, hoping he accepts it and not lecture me. He replied, "I understand. But maybe you can make some exceptions. Don't eat much but small portions, occasionally, could be included."

I nod. I could think about it. 

My phone rings. It is my mom. It is 6:15. I forgot to tell her I was going to meet Mohit. I pick the call and walk away, signalling Mohit to excuse me. He nods. As soon as I am far enough from the table I tell her I am out with Mohit. I apologise for not telling her. She isn't upset. She is, in fact, elated that I came out with him. After about five minutes, I return to the table. Mohit is eating the burger. He finishes his bite and smiles at me. Thank God that I didn't, inadvertently, make him pull my chair this time. I smile ear-to-ear at the thought. He is confused by my smile. I simply say, "Mothers! They have unexpected timing."

He smiles. I have my drink. I look up and see that he is looking intently at me. I smile and can feel blood rush to my cheeks. He says, “I have to be honest. The cell reception wasn’t bad. I was mesmerised by your voice. It took me time to let reality sink in. I agreed to meet you because I found you beautiful. Now that I heard your voice and your sense of humour, I am smitten.” I am sure I am red. He continues, “I would like to know you better and talk to you hours on end. If you would like to give it a try, I would like to see more of you.” 

I don’t know if I can blush more. I look down and bite my tongue to control the obvious smile. It’s the first time this is happening. I keep looking down and say, “I would like that very much.”