An atrocious love story

Some of us write. Some ramble. Some jot down stuff in their diaries. Some of us type and save it as a draft in our phones.

And some, like my guest blogger today, scribble. And that too atrociously, no less.

And he scribbles all the way over from Germany, where he is pretending to study but is actually lusting after cars and going on vacations to Switzerland (that I'm not even remotely jealous of. Hmmph). More than just a blogger, he is a diligent reader and critic. He doesn't believe in mincing words. His subtle sense of humour has had us all rolling on the floor and laughing. And he somehow, SOMEHOW, manages to write without any exclamation marks! I just don't know how he does that. Seriously. A fellow weirdo-Virgo, he is one of the few of my blogger-friends who actally GETS me. In many ways, I feel he is the male version of me (you lucky dog, you!).

If you still haven't got who I am talking about, come here, let me give you a knock on your head.

Ta-da! Here's Atrocious Scribblings, or Sringo as I like to call him (long story. Some other time).

When I requested (Alright! Ordered) him to write me a guest post, he promptly responded with yes and sent me the post within a few days(I know, right!). Then he put on so much of formality, I wanted to go all the way to Germany and whack him on his butt. After asking me a million times whether the post is ok and whether I would want him to redo it, or whether he should write another one, I finally told to shut the eff up.

So here is AS, talking about his love story. And just like a Yashraj movie, it has picturesque locales, beautiful characters, and a killer ending. Imagine 'Tujhe dekha tho ye jaana sanam' in the background, if you will.
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My Love Story

Being a 20-something is difficult in this day and age. People on either side; the 30-something’s and the Teens see it as the place to be. Little do they know about the pressures and struggles involved in being a 20 something these days. Especially a 20 something in a land far, far, far away from the one he deems his own and more importantly in love. I`ve been asked this one simple question in all possible permutations and combinations and it all boils down the simple humanistic curiosity behind the intrusive – What is your love story?

So here goes mine.

It was during my first few hours in Germany, a land I had chosen to bring myself to, to hone my craft and better my life for the good. I stood blank and clueless in the Baggage claim area of the airport in quiet contemplation as to what the plans destiny might have in store for me in the Land of Cars, Beer and Bratwurst.

Tugging 50 kilos of luggage on a minuscule trolley to the railway station at the basement of the airport is not something you would ideally like to do on your first day abroad but that was what Karma had planned for me. The chilly weather was not helping matters one bit as I waited impatiently at the railway station. The moment I caught a glimpse of her, it was pure magic; in a flash all the chilliness seemed to vanish and was replaced by comforting warmth enveloping my chest. I knew that very instant, something special was going to unfold.

She came galloping into the station drawing the attention of a crowd of 40 odd people in what can only be described as Angel like fashion. Angelic she indeed was, dressed in impeccable white with an elegant red border she gave me the impression that the big guy up in the heavens who had been oh-so kind to many of my friends had finally found the time to send me an angel and how; In a manner that would put Shahrukh Khan’s romance in DDLJ to shame. It was undoubtedly love at first sight.

I did an imaginary fist pump on learning that we were going to be travelling to the same destination, as we set off on the almost hour long journey. I could have sworn our hearts were racing at more than 300 kilometres an hour in no time and I was instantly reminded of what Einstein once remarked ‘When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour.’ and sure enough time seemed to gallop like a prized brown stallion being controlled by its tactful jockey.

Throughout the journey I was so awed by the beauty and the peace within her that I just sat in my allotted spot silently admiring her as we passed by several crop fields, lush greenery and the serene German countryside until destiny caught up with us and we had reached the end of the line.

I was finding it very difficult; both literally and figuratively. Literally owing to the big pile of luggage that I was to push and shove again and figuratively because it was her I was destined to go away from; with absolutely no certainty on when or even whether our paths would cross again. With a heavy heart we parted our separate ways to proceed to our respective end destinations. I could only walk a few paces at a stretch and kept turning back in the wild hope that she would reciprocate; with a huge pile of luggage to tug it seemed like an intelligent enough excuse to me. I kept walking to another platform until I could see her no more.

She was gone forever; lost in the hustle and bustle of the milieu.
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Or so I thought, until I managed to spot her amidst the chaos and snap one quick picture of her for my own sanity.



WHAT IS YOUR LOVE STORY?

PS: Anyone dare call her a ‘TRAIN’ will find themselves run over by her before you can say ‘I.C.E’

Thanks a ton Ms Spiff, for letting me Atrociously use your blog space for my Scribblings.

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If you guys haven't read his atrocious scribblings yet, then go over right now and spare me from giving you one more knock over your head.