A Lot Of Mush. A Lot Of Room.

“Hey silly, marry me!”
“What?”
“Marry me, you shithead!”
“I can’t hear you. Call me up from the next station.”
“Aaaaai saaaidddd, Wouuuuuuld youuu marrrrrrrrry meeeee?” Standing on the doorsteps of C1, he screamed at the top of his voice; as if it would make up for the poor telecom connectivity.

Whoever coined the phrase “madly in love” was a genius. These two ‘iddiots’ knew what it meant. And they wanted to be exactly this mad all their life. Half the time they fought. The rest they made up. But they loved each other. Madly.

He didn’t want to hear stuff about other guys. He didn’t like it when she went out for coffee with them every single day. And he got irritated way too soon. She was paranoid about his ex. And she had a special ability to misinterpret everything he said. He cracked jokes none else on earth would even chuckle at. And she laughed her guts out every single time. Her jokes were even worse. And he made his special comments on them much to her chagrin.

Anything she loved was sure to be despised by him. Anything he fancied didn’t mean anything to her. He loved butter scotch. She hated it. He preferred to keep a ‘Plan B’ with himself. She never cared.

She read like crazy. He thought books were dog-piss. She loved Ronan Keating. He thought it was an insult to music. He was a movie maniac. Errrr, she wasn’t. She loved Julia Roberts. He was scared of the size of Julia’s mouth. He smoked like a chimney. She couldn’t stand the smell of it. He drank like a fish. She abhorred drunkards.

They had nothing to talk over the phone. Absolutely nothing. She never wanted to hang up. And he didn’t find logic in not doing so when there was nothing to be said. She loved the silences as well. He usually didn’t.

She wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t perfect. They broke up every week and patched up again.

He even forgot her first birthday together!!! “Its my birthday. You can wish me now,” she said at 0030 hours. She gave him a surprise visit a day before his first birthday together.

They had nothing in common. Unusually nothing. Creepily nothing. Zip. Zero. Zilch. They were the two opposite poles created by God in two totally different moods.

But when they met, they became the best things that ever happened to each other. The way they held hands. The way they looked at each other. The way he cared that extra bit not to hurt her while combing her hair. The way she filtered the information he didn’t want to hear. The way they could just sit there, saying nothing at all and it didn’t seem to bother. The way they could keep on blabbering any fucked-up shit about anything on earth. And it didn’t even have to make sense. The way he patted her forehead. The way she held his hand to her cheek. The way they touched. The way they hugged. The way they kissed.

This was love. They knew it. They were sure of it.

And they both loved mushrooms.

“You know I can’t.”
“What you can’t?”
“I can’t marry you right now.”
:|

“I mean, you’re there on the train and I have these darn exams.”
“Aaaaargh bitch. Would you tell me already?”
“Awww, that’s the sweetest way a guy could ever propose. Are you even on your knees?”
“I now am, fuckwit. You know I can fall off the train like this.”
“Yeah whatever. So you were saying something.”

“Babe. Growing old with you and arthritis isn’t half as bad and scary as sitting here near the door of this compartment. For the love of God and in the name of his arse, please be considerate enough to tell me if you would like to see this same ugly face, crooked nose and huge ears by the side of your bed every damned morning all your life?”

“Ummm. Lemme think. What are the options?”
“Well its just me and Shahid Kapoor.”
“In that case…”

There were jolts. Uncharacteristic jolts. Dammit. It shook ominously. He tried to get up stretching his arm to get hold of the rod next to the door. But somehow he couldn’t. The boggie seemed to revolve around a vertical axis. He got thrown towards the ceiling that accelerated towards the ground. And his head hit it. Real bad.

Blood. Silence.
--

He was a ‘Punching-Bag’. She was a ‘Pain-In-The-Ass’.