THIS feeling I steal glances with. That which I love more than anything else. You know what I mean? certainly not.
Alright. So Paris is not happening. Why? This is the right time to ask me this question because I am drowning in and drinking from what we call blog frenzy.
So the first time I met this person (God help me if he ever happens to chance upon this path....this blog...I mean.) he'd asked me to meet him to have breakfast at some hotel on Sudder Street. And yes, I had chilly beef (God help me if my mother ever happens to chance upon this blog) and bread and bananas and sweet little plastic cups of pineapple juice. But he only once fleetingly mentioned that I should learn French if I want to work with him. Then again, between layers of conversation (which includes stories from his brutal love life) he only fleetingly mentioned that I am about to start working with him. And he asked me to get my passport done.So after breakfast was over, I thought the meeting was over. He was very very surprised when I told him I intended to leave in some time. He said we'd not talked about work yet. How true! I exclaimed, but only inside my head. On the outside, I bit my lip and did not know what to say, hence continuing to convince people that I am a pretty dumb. Not pretty perhaps, but surely dumb.
Thats what people think when you bite your lip and have nothing to say. Anyway so this person asked me to accompany him to his room. On the lift he chit chatted with a Bangladeshi couple who told him they'd been to Paris fourteen times in all. I continued biting my lip. And once the lift opened to reveal his floor, I was a little tense about going into a stranger's hotel room. Okay. Let me be honest. I was shit scared. But only till the time we reached his room. It was smelling of smoke and air conditioning. He apologized for that. I told him I smoke too. He happily offered me a maroon packet of Classic regulars and I was, in one leap, from being shit scared to overjoyed. Then he progressed to give me a spiral bounded copy of sheets; the script. After the summary and synopsis and the storyline and the plotline and the plot structure and the motivation and inspiration for making the film and the eight page long treatment, from being overjoyed, I was, in one leap, to being impressed. Then I smoked two more cigarettes and I took one from the pack and in aflourish I said "I am taking one for the taxiride" He smiled benignly and stood up, walked across from the other side and very abruptly, hugged me goodbye.
That was the first day. The second time I met him, He called me to Esplanade and we walked through the crowded lanes of new market to reach his hotel, and then his room. He treated me as a guest, again, and fed me ice-cream and cashew nuts and urged me to take a trip to Shantiniketan with him. I said no, And he hammed a lot and persisted to take me with him on this trip. I started biting my lip and smiling foolishly. He told me if it was needed, he was ready to come to my place and meet my parents to convince them to allow me to go with him. After my last firm no, he said he was okay with changing his plans for me. He asked me to spend time with him the next day, the whole day, in fact, have breakfast, lunch and dinner with him so that he could "talk about work". He also asked me to carry weed.
That was yesterday. Today, I got a call from him first thing in the morning. He asked me to reach in time for breakfast. I didn't. He saved some breakfast for me and asked me to meet him directly, in his room. I went there to find a plate full of Loochi and chilly chicken and chicken sausages and bananas. I finished everything up while he lulled around, surfing the net, changing TV channels, having a bath etc. Once I was done, he asked me to roll a joint. I did.I asked him if I could shift base to the table and sofa and he asked me to keep sitting on the bed. I was standing, he pushed me and I sat down on the bed. I was halfway through smoking the joint when I realized he was sprawled out on the bed beside me. I concentrated on the joint and the TV and offered him once or twice but he generally ignored me. Three long minutes after I'd started tripping, a little bit of the joint still left, he said he had a back ache. Then he asked to move from the bed, he took the top layer of the bedsheets and made himself a bed on the floor. He said it was hurting very bad. In the next one hour, I was attending all his phone calls, asking the receptionists what they wanted and so utterly stoned you cannot imagine. Then the staff came in asking if he needed a doctor, he said he wanted lime juice. Once the waiter was dispatched, he asked me to call for a doctor, I did. The doctor came in and throughout the whole session, addressed me like as if I was in charge. I told him I was just visiting, not staying with the patient. Then he started chit chatting with me.
Once the doctor left, the patient made trip to the bathroom and came out only in a towel. He fell down on his bed on the ground. I suddenly felt very stupid and trapped. I wanted to run away immediately. Once the waiter came in and started instructing me as to how to give the patient a massage after his hot water bath, that was when I ran out.
Yes okay. That is the reason I am not going to Paris after all. I don't feel like.
Blogging feels rather good.
Sorry for the typos. I've typed this up in a wild speedy frenzy.
