The girl at the bar

When I quit my job in search of my life, everyone told me how difficult it would be without the money. No one told me about the people.

After spending days in forced isolation and economy, the day before yesterday I decided I’d go to a pricey pub. Have a couple of good beers.

Nowadays I can barely afford it. So it better be worth it.

I ended up making a big deal of it. For the first time in days, I trimmed my stubble, tried to make my hair look less weird, applied a liberal amount of deodorant. Put on a clean, crisp shirt, and freshly washed jeans. Even gave my boots a chance encounter with the brush. Remembered to wear my prized wristwatch.

Finally I got into an auto-rickshaw.

Soon, I will be surrounded by people. Loud people, laughing with their folks. Quiet, smiling people, with their girlfriends and wives. Or trying their best to woo the girl they want to woo. Sometimes confident, sometimes nervous. Sometimes awkward. But happy in the moment in spite of themselves. Enjoying life.

Being life.

I got down from the auto; went in. Took the sight and sound in. Small groups of well dressed, good looking people. Smiling and laughing and talking and shouting, taking friendly jabs at each other, some looking slightly drunk. It’s not so much the alcohol that does it, it’s the joy.

I went straight to the bar, and after jostling for a while managed to order my stout. And some food. The bartender pointed me towards an empty stool at the very end of the counter. I took my beer, and went and sat there. I took a big gulp, and closed my eyes for an instant and listened to the humming of life around me.

It felt good. I felt content. Been a while since I tasted a good taste, and listened to a good sound like this. The time to feel lonely has not yet come.

That’s when I saw her. The girl was sitting across me at the bar. At the very end of the counter.

She was wearing a simple dress. Much too simple for such a pub. She was wearing almost no makeup, and her hair was tied casually in a bun. In a place full of fancy dresses and careful appearances, she was devastatingly real. She was laughing and chatting with the waiters and bartenders. Obviously she was a regular.

She was thin, petite. Cute in a way. Not beautiful, not a striking face, but something about her. She was drinking a pale beer. She wasn’t eating.

After a while people started calling me on my phone, and I got distracted. I went for a smoke, and came back.

The first sentence I heard was, “Oh no, I am going to drink a lot more.” She told that laughingly to a bartender. And I told myself, here’s a girl who can drink.

My usual loneliness crept in. With nothing else to do, I started observing her, trying my best not to be rude and stare.

A couple of guys were drinking nearby. Painstakingly obvious that they were single. One of them went to her, and asked her if she’d like to join them. She flashed a smile, and refused. And went back to laughing and joking with the staff.

She wasn’t just laughing with them though. Her eyes were seeking them out. She was following their words. They treated them as one of their own. Occassionally a member of the staff would come up from elsewhere to her, chat for a while, and leave.

The rest of the time, she was just sitting there. Not chatting to anyone. Not checking her phone. Her eyes not focused on anything in particular. The only thing she did was to glance at her watch a few times.

I felt strangely drawn to her. She intrigued me. I could not understand her. A person so friendly, so jolly, so aloof. And the only girl sitting alone.

I caught her glancing at me. With those strange eyes. Just a sweeping glance. Then I saw her doing that again.

One of the curses of being me is that I can’t talk to strangers. Instead, I ordered another beer.

Just then a lean, handsome guy came up to her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was pretty clear what was going on. The same thing all over again. He offered company, she flashed her beautiful smile and refused.

I lost my nerve. If she’s saying no to him, I don’t stand a chance. May be she just caught me glancing at her once too often. May be she just wants to be left alone.

Just then I caught another fragment of her voice. She was laughing and telling one of the bartenders, “That’s what always happens. Everyone notices you, except the one you are interested in.”

So I read a depressing short story on my phone, finished my beer, and went home.

Yesterday I was busy. But today I was idle. I couldn’t help thinking about her. In the end I couldn’t resist. I checked my bank account, grimaced at the leftover balance, but then decided that if I am going broke anyway, one more day at a pub won’t matter. I went to the same place and the same corner. And there she was! Sitting where I sat on that day. Wearing a similar, conspicuously simple dress, with barely any makeup and her hair in a bun.

I went a bit late today, and today’s weekend, so the pub was probably bursting with laughter and joie de vivre. I didn’t notice.

I sat where she was sitting the day before yesterday. I ordered my usual stout and food, and drank, and tried my best to play it cool. Ended up embarassing myself throwing glance after glance. She caught me doing it, and once her gaze lingered on just a jiffy more. I was trying to beat my shyness and ask her if she’d like to talk.

I tried and tried. I gulped down my beer, and ordered another one. I still couldn’t go and ask her a simple question, curse my social awkwardness. Then, frustrated, I went for a smoke.

She entered right after me. I held back the door for her. She thanked me, half turned her back towards me, gazed at the empty street. We were alone in the smoking room.

We smoked quietly, without uttering a word, both of us gazing out into the night. She smoked a thin, extremely white cigarette, probably a low tar one. She left the smoking room and went back. I followed. We sat across each other. She started listening to the bartenders joking among themselves, and laughing with them, and getting lost in thought when they were busy. I nursed my beer, and stared at the wall opposite me.

I caught her saying to a bartender, “ Oh no. I am going to drink a lot more and staying late.”

A lean, sauve guy came up to her, said something; she smiled, shook her head, and muttered something. The guy left.

I got all worked up. She’s going to say no to me, but I promised myself I am not leaving here today without asking her. After all, all I want at this point was to talk to her.

I got up, went around the counter, then halfway across, faltered, came back, and finally summoned the courage to face my fear and talk to the girl who so captured my imagination.

I went up to her, and asked her, “Would you mind if I drink with you?”

She flashed a bright, kind smile, “I’d rather sit alone today, but thank you.”

Flustered, I managed to smile and nod, turned away, and then came back again and told her, “I hope you don’t mind. I had to ask.”

She smiled and waived her hand and told me, “Of course not. Don’t worry…”

Halfway through her sentence, I turned away, marched around the counter, and sat across her.

I have never faced a more beautiful and humane rejection. I felt defeated, dejected, and yet strangely proud to encounter my fear.

There’s still something in her eyes that defied my comprehension. I glanced at her, she was again following the conversation among the bar staff, and laughing with them. After a while, in spite of myself, I stole a glance again. The staff was busy serving people, and this time I saw her staring at the table.

And it came to me rushing. What is it in her eyes that so tormented me.

Pain.

She’s not saying no to people because she’s not interested in them. She’s saying no to them because she’s not interested in anybody! She’s not ready to risk herself again. She’s saying no, to life.

She comes here as often as she can, doesn’t bother about her dress or her makeup, because she thinks it doesn’t matter anymore. She drinks so much, stays late till the closing, so that she can go home, and not think, and drop off to sleep. She seeks the bar staff and jokes with them, because they are the only ones she trusts anymore.

I looked at her and told her in my heart, “Mend your wings, broken dove.”