Jay: Terrible! More and more, the universe is telling me that I may have to settle.
I really, truly want to feel that the person whom I marry is too good for me. I suspect, when everything fails, despite appearances, the opposite may happen.

Tara: Haha, you must give me an anecdote.

Jay: Sigh. Let me think of a good one.
Oh yes! There was this one girl, great family, great background. Greatest achievement is driving the family Rolls, social life relegated to her cousins and nephews, claims to love art but doesn’t know her Caravaggio from her Dali, claims to love reading but couldn’t name three authors she liked when I asked. Argh!

Tara: Can I ask you something in the most nonjudgemental way possible?
Why’re you doing this? I mean, you travel the world, you meet a million fascinating people. How can socialites from south Delhi entice you?

Jay: Sigh. When I tell that to people they call me an arrogant ass.

Tara: Please, keep your arrogance. It’s hot. You, of all people, should have a good story.

I thought of this girl—of all the girls—being introduced to you. They’d known you as a name and a link on some chain of people their families knew. I thought of the you they’d see. The immaculate cut of suit, the permanent tousle of hair, the sudden downturn of nose. I wondered if they spent time thinking about the array of your smiles—the quick one that is mischief all over your face, the wide one that is a pose for the camera, the slow, spreading one that turns your eyes lazy. I wondered whether they could sense how singular you are, how you’re a kid in a boardroom and a man in a hoodie, how the alleys of your mind are patrolled by a savant debauched in the dark. And I wondered, I wondered with true wonder, how they could wait to find out everything about you. How they could restrain themselves from asking you what you find beautiful, what moves you, hurts you, shakes you, breaks you.

I wanted to know. I’d always wanted to know. And you’d never told me. Because I never asked, it’s true. But how could I?

What was it that Radiohead said?

I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, I wish I was special.

I’m drunk and I’m pissed and you’re so fucking special.

Florence’s Graceless Heart

October 2011