From a Corner...

Imagine that you are at a party… and there is no one there who you know apart from your hosts. You can’t expect them to focus all their attentions on you, so you can’t hog their time. You can’t walk up to random strangers… all of them moving in groups, and start chatting with them out of the blue. You can’t really leave early either… that would be too rude. It’s around this time that you realize… that turning up was a mistake. And you’ll pay for it, with an awkward fumbling evening… with only the company of yourself and the curious stares of the rest… all wondering who the glum bugger in the corner is.

It’s not that you crave company. There can be no doubt that you’d have preferred to be alone. But when in the presence of fellow sentient creatures… it feels odd to be the only one without a companion. As much as you might try to cover it up… it just doesn’t happen. You may listen to music on an i-pod… sitting contently in your private corner… but you know that you’d much rather to be a part of the chattering groups all around you. You may try to drown yourself in melancholy contemplations about man’s immortal soul… all the while wondering why you bothered to step out of your house to be here, in the first place.

It’s not wrong… it’s natural. You love your solitude. It’s a well known fact. You fought tooth and nail, to try and get out of having to come to the gathering. They said it was a social event and you countered that you weren’t a social person. Eventually you gave in… not to a hidden desire to attend it… but out of exasperation at the ceaseless invitations. And now that you have arrived, you curse yourself for not having wriggled out of it.

You survey the swirling mass of strangers in front of you… your back against a comfortable wall. Everyone has dressed up for the occasion. The men look stately and the women gorgeous. You check your reflection on the shiny marble next to you and grin. You don’t fit in here. The wall is your sanctum from the throng of aliens in the room.

You can see your hosts far away…. resplendent in a white tux and a black satin dress. Celebrating their fifth anniversary… sharing their joy with all the people who they hold dear. An old friend of yours, who in spite of your less than satisfactory friendship… still has a soft spot for you… and a small hold on your heart… hence you are here. The grand and happy couple is all smiles tonight. They greet everyone who enters. They exchange jovial remarks with anyone who wanders close. The two of them are perfect together… they are the personification of marital bliss.

A young girl in a green dress brushes past you. She had been in the washroom adjusting her makeup, and is en route to rejoining her group. She can’t keep her eyes off the tall lad with the unruly hair. She has been trying to get his attention all evening. Laughing loudly at all his jokes… hanging on to his every word… and showering all her attentions on him. It’s too bad that he seems to eye every other girl in the hall… except the one eyeing him. You know what the problem is… no one ever looks for love too close to home.

Right now, the lad seems to be checking out the girl in the silver saree. His eyes are drinking her in whole. It’s weird that she can’t sense his gaze boring into her bare back. But as soon as your cynical mind entertains the notion… a sudden flicker tells you otherwise. She casts a lightning fast glance back at the boy… an acknowledgement. No flirtatious smile… no reproving frown. Just a brief glance that clearly says… “Your move”.

Her date… a slightly overweight young man, perhaps a few years older than her, doesn’t notice. He is engrossed in a conversation with a pock marked grown up. No doubt the two are talking about career, business… or politics. He doesn’t really take heed of his beautiful date… perhaps safe in the knowledge that his position is secure. She has to be a college senior… same as the other kids, and is undoubtedly still infatuated with the assurance of his seniority in years… cushioned by his hefty bank balance. The affections of beautiful women… are just a part of the perks for being rich.

The man he speaks with seems oblivious to the periodic stares from the skinny lady some distance off. She stands in a group of women of her approximate age… gossiping away… but occasionally casts a glance at her engrossed husband. It’s probably a bad marriage… still held together by social obligations and the stigma on divorces. They don’t get along… they live together in separate rooms conversing only when they have to. At social gatherings… they find different people to entertain themselves, hoping to hide their growing distance.

The lady doesn’t notice the woman standing to her right… smirking after catching her glance at her husband hopelessly. With all the smartness derived from watching too many television soaps, she has deduced the broken bonds of her neighbor’s marriage. No doubt this little piece of information will add more spice to the evening gossip... the sole occupation of a housewife, who spends all her time indoors… wondering what to do with her husband’s money.

The husband is standing in a different part of the room… carefree and gay in the company of his barroom buddies. Drinking is no doubt one of his only ways to escape a life dominated by an uninteresting job and materialistic wife. He doesn’t glance left or right… neither at his wife, nor at the happy couple whose health he seems to be drinking to. He laughs with his friends and drains glass after glass, the hall dissolving into his regular bar in the alcoholic haze.

Near him an elderly gentleman frowns in disapproval. He sports a glass of orange juice in his wrinkled hand… no doubt a teetotaler who looks down on the practice of imbibing. You can almost see him itching to reprimand the rowdy drunks a few feet away. He doesn’t want to be here either… that much at least he has in common with you. You wonder if he is as bored as you are… but at least he has the pleasant distraction of overwhelming disgust to keep him company. You watch as with visible effort he tears his gaze away from the group and looks at the couple in the centre of the room… his son and his daughter in law.

You look that way too… to see her eyes on you. She has been looking in your direction all the while your eyes roved the crowd… studying its intricate dynamics. She seems to have stopped beaming… her face is now a perfect and beautiful mask. You smile… or at least attempt to. You try lifting your glass in her direction in a small salute… but your vice like grip on the empty glass of scotch keeps your arm frozen in place. She keeps looking… disregarding your gaze completely.

She knew back then… and even after almost a decade, that fact hasn’t changed.

You push away from the wall you have been leaning against… forcing your limbs into obedience. You place the glass on the tray of a passing waiter and head out into the night… resolutely refusing to look at her again.

You step out… leaving behind the party celebrating the marriage of the girl you love… to another man. You wish them nothing but health and happiness.