Bombay's pulled all stops for me, it seems. After seven months of being in this "natural port city", I come across Precious. He is the Quintessential Face of the City. The face that shines in the street light, the feet that hate walking and yet walk a mile a day, the hair-do that conforms to corporate norms of the business district, the thin lips that twitch when they mention the name of an ex yet never fail to mention it every time...
He looks with piercing eyes. As if accusing you of amusing him. He says things the way you'd say it to your English professor: like you don't like yourself much, yet sustain for that is your duty in this world of mindless existence. He argues with his mother, yet wouldn't leave her. He's never asked a girl out, yet the confidence of living in Bombay reeks from every pore in his anatomy. He doesn't care for art, yet knows the art district in Bombay like the back of his palm.
He has, what photographers call, an "interesting" face. The ability to look into space, without gaping at anything in particular, not looking like a doper. The cleft on the chin, the eyes, the jaw, the shoulders (yes, yes, Precious, "Shoulders baby, Shoulders!") all invite you to a glimpse into his genealogy.
After successfully securing all the support systems in the strange place to keep the tear bottle in check, I'm ready - ready to laugh and smile again, unconditionally. And Precious is my partner in that crime called madness. Not the kind that leads you to asylum confinement, the kind that sets you free. Free from fears, free from hurdles, free from yourself. You know how in a partnership, there's often two kinds of investors? The kind who put in the tangible resources and the other who channels the non-tangible energies? We're that kind'a team.
I like teams. There's logic to it. Like marriage, or siblings, or best friends, or a visualiser-writer pair. Precious and I are the he-makes-me-laugh-I-make-him-laugh kind'a team. And teams of two always rock. Two people are in constant touch not because there's just need, but a sense of harmony engulfs them. A sort of energy and renewed vigour that then extends up to everything and with everyone they touch.
So why is Precious "Precious" and not just good old Anmol, Maulik or some such what's-in-a-name? Because he's intimidating, do you mind?!?!? He's not one to smile because these are the things that I choose to write about him on Bombay Chuddies, which, about... six (at least?) people read in all. Because there's bound to be more than a name and a face. This is one of those people who've plopped into my world. Like all the people I’m so obsessed about in life.
There are no questions on how long it will last, or will he be bothered. It is like jaywalking. Being a couple of shed feathers that matter not to the bird - the rest of the world. I hope you enjoy this jaywalking trip, my precious.