Crushing success!

It all begins with a simple look – you look at him, mostly.
The first one I remember was that quintessential symbol of agility, Jonty Rhodes. When The Hindu splashed a beautiful photo of Jonty, mid-air, getting what was seemingly an impossible catch.

This, I recently dug out, a famous piece of fielding:



It was also the time I had newly discovered the meaning of “jaunty” and thought that the two factors combined made for a good enough crush for me. Of course, of prime importance in this whole process is the secrecy. Needless to say, my parents (or God forbid, my brother!) were never to see the secret file I had on him. They knew not that the missing rectangles in last week’s Hindu could be found in that selfsame file. I’m sure they guessed, somewhat, but didn’t deign to broach so insignificant a topic.

The phase actually lasted quite a bit, replete with dreams of me, a spectator in India, handing over a cricket ball to Jonty, a ball that has inexplicably found its way into my hands. Of course, our affair begins there, and he settles down in India and plays for the Indian team, and the whole country is in awe of me for netting the country Jonty. Too many Bollywood movies, is what I say now! Then, it seemed doable, if only I willed it real hard!

So I ignored all sorts of real-life guys in my life.

And then I turned on the TV, and something happened. I saw “Circus,” a Hindi serial that featured a young man called Shah Rukh Khan. My sister and I followed it religiously, and Jonty and his old file were soon forgotten.
Added to the SRK effect was Jonty’s failing form, and (this detail is a bit vague) news that he had some uncharitable things to say about India. I decided that Shah Rukh Khan would have to do.

For a while. As I neared my twenties, crushes came and went like people at a funeral – without warning, or a parting word. In my twenties, I became a bit more reasonable, and added real people I had actually talked to, to the mix. It was getting to be quite tiring just keeping tabs – maintaining the same level of energy for Hindi, Tamil and English actors, sportsmen, random television personalities, guys I saw in the college, on the road, near my house…

It was a bit more difficult with real-life people, as I had suspected. They were, well, real. And while digging up information about superstars hid more than it revealed, with real-life people I was often directly confronted with their everyday minutiae, and irritants such as their yellow teeth, disrespect for women, and body odor. Insurmountable obstacles, these, I now realize.

And of course, there’s the Groucho Marx sentiment – I’ll never be interested in a guy who’s interested in me – the ungettability is part of the attraction, you see!

I think the underlying sentiment behind these is the fantasy element – I somehow knew, deep down, that I will never have to spend the rest of my life with any of these people.
For the simple reason that I will never allow fantasy to interfere with my life. My dream life, as it were, would be completely different from my life.

Now, remember that these are not men I am even necessarily thinking of sexually, just guys I like the look, and sometimes, the walk or talk, of.

And then one day, I got married. I was astounded to find my crushes still intact in my heart. The Ajay Devgans and the Robin Uthappas were alright, but how did my former colleague still feature in this list? Weren’t real people banned from being a crush?

As time went by, it got tougher for me to “allow” a crush, but they still stopped by every now and then. As I got to deciphering, and then predicting, V.’s reactions and emotions accurately, it became a bit more interesting to discover a new person – know more about him (or sometimes, her). And I’ve come to peace with the fact that, in my heart,

Crushes may come and crushes may go
But V. stays on forever.

High fliers

So, I'm all about poetry now. A kind colleague has taken me on (I hope), as Eliza Doolittle (although she's nothing like the professor), to educate me on poetry. There's hopefully some apparent improvement. This was inspired by a scene outside, while I waited for my "turn" in the office loo.

Wait your turn, I tell myself
As I stare through the two-by-two
A child's out there, flying a kite
Oh, there's another too!

Now, I see only the rectangles
Not the thread nor the children's hands
As the sprightly kites come close
In an elaborate mating dance.

The smaller one seems enticed
By the big, blue one and his style
Must have whispered sweet nothings
Could he have, in such a short while?

As the winds bring the couple closer
The unseen hand giving anchor
He takes her away from her support
And elopes, swearing to protect her.

Alas, he has no free will, it seems
She is only a trophy wife at best
When they return to the ground
They are separated, and there’s no protest.

No way to go back to her own
Nor a breeze that can take her away
Ignored and bereft, she's torn
With no real options to weigh.

Wait your turn, I tell myself,
As I stare through the two-by-two;
Today, it’s just the little kite
Tomorrow, it might be you.