The Sun shone brightly and the umbrella on my balcony was fairly blooming in the wind, it was a potent combination, Sun and Wind, Winters were round the corner, "and damn I was waiting for the Indian Winter," when the dew drops would glisten the grass and the mist would turn a corner every single morning, not too cold and not too warm, "that's how a westerner would describe it," and I'd take their description with me every single morning to work. After all what was a cool 15 deg C but the ideal Indian winter, life was OK now, it was beginning to turn a corner too, it had been a cold and harsh winter last year, "and it wasn't because the Sun didn't shine," I just wanted to make up this year.
Anjali was dressed in her best today, she was going to meet this old friend of hers, "not a friend, another acquaintance," were her own words, she didn't know this guy too well, but had known he existed for over a decade, an old face from college I figured and let it pass. But it wasn't giving me a great feel, normally I would love it for her to be with her friends, "a happy disposition is always easy to pass around," it got her in the correct state of mind to converse. I had lived this city for years now, seen the seamier side of it, hookers trying to entice men, the dope and the rave parties, jealous jilted lovers looking for an opportunity for revenge and even stalkers trying to pass by as innocent bystanders.
And I didn't get a great feeling today, I had to admit, I got this strange queasy feeling in my stomach, like something was wrong. The day after Anjali received this first few messages from him and it was after five long years, I started seeing strange signs around me, I saw a young lady in a car listening to music in her Mini, and saw her being followed, "stalked my mind snapped at me now," by an obnoxious guy in a large car. This guy would trace her path around the road not stopping or slowing down but slow enough to always stay behind her, my bet was he wanted to find out where she resided. I stayed with the game for a while and then gave up, hoping and wishing her the best. In a country where stalking was considered a minor crime it would obviously be difficult to establish criminal intent.
Then the same evening when I stopped to buy cigarettes from the local shop I saw a similar episode, a young girl returning from office, walked past me while I smoked in the car and she was being followed by this young man dressed nicely Jeans and Tees. I wasn't sure how to react, not to what I was seeing on the road, but how to explain to Anjali that this guy wasn't right, now, I wasn't much of a believer in God, but that small part in me that believed told me straight away, "this is your sign from HIM."
It had all started with Anjali receiving up to fifty messages a day from this guy, all flowery and well worded, she wasn't sure how to react but had told me that she would go ahead and meet him and explain to him that she was flattered by the attention but really not up to what he wanted. Actually, she insisted that she wanted to find out what he wanted from her, and this was her way of cooling him off, meeting him and talking to him normally would obviously dispel the thoughts that played a game of shadow on his mind. It was easy for me to accept her logic as I believed in what she was telling me too, however these signs wouldn't go away.
To Intuit is Divine, Give Me A Sign.
Anjali was dressed in her best today, she was going to meet this old friend of hers, "not a friend, another acquaintance," were her own words, she didn't know this guy too well, but had known he existed for over a decade, an old face from college I figured and let it pass. But it wasn't giving me a great feel, normally I would love it for her to be with her friends, "a happy disposition is always easy to pass around," it got her in the correct state of mind to converse. I had lived this city for years now, seen the seamier side of it, hookers trying to entice men, the dope and the rave parties, jealous jilted lovers looking for an opportunity for revenge and even stalkers trying to pass by as innocent bystanders.
And I didn't get a great feeling today, I had to admit, I got this strange queasy feeling in my stomach, like something was wrong. The day after Anjali received this first few messages from him and it was after five long years, I started seeing strange signs around me, I saw a young lady in a car listening to music in her Mini, and saw her being followed, "stalked my mind snapped at me now," by an obnoxious guy in a large car. This guy would trace her path around the road not stopping or slowing down but slow enough to always stay behind her, my bet was he wanted to find out where she resided. I stayed with the game for a while and then gave up, hoping and wishing her the best. In a country where stalking was considered a minor crime it would obviously be difficult to establish criminal intent.
Then the same evening when I stopped to buy cigarettes from the local shop I saw a similar episode, a young girl returning from office, walked past me while I smoked in the car and she was being followed by this young man dressed nicely Jeans and Tees. I wasn't sure how to react, not to what I was seeing on the road, but how to explain to Anjali that this guy wasn't right, now, I wasn't much of a believer in God, but that small part in me that believed told me straight away, "this is your sign from HIM."
It had all started with Anjali receiving up to fifty messages a day from this guy, all flowery and well worded, she wasn't sure how to react but had told me that she would go ahead and meet him and explain to him that she was flattered by the attention but really not up to what he wanted. Actually, she insisted that she wanted to find out what he wanted from her, and this was her way of cooling him off, meeting him and talking to him normally would obviously dispel the thoughts that played a game of shadow on his mind. It was easy for me to accept her logic as I believed in what she was telling me too, however these signs wouldn't go away.
To Intuit is Divine, Give Me A Sign.
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