The Domino Effect - Part 3 - Reaching Out (Part 1 of 3)

Nikhil stood in front of the bank of elevators wishing the earth would open up and swallow him. His usually crisply ironed shirt was as limp as his morale and dripping wet. His trousers, the creased perfection that he always prided on, were a mess of wet muck where he had got splashed, the seeming Rorschach blot slowly dripping onto the floor. He shifted from one foot to another impatiently, quickly stopping as he realized that the squelch was loud enough to attract any attention that he had managed to escape with his appearance.

He looked studiously at the floor as the minutes ticked by, each second seemingly elongated like a over stretched rubber band, the tension twanging in the air around him. The floor was devoid of any interesting tidbits or splotches that he could microscopically examine in the meantime. And his eyes kept slipping to the pair of black heels standing next to him, gleaming in their mockery of his dishevelment. They, along with the neatly manicured toes seemed to be mocking the growing puddle that was building around him, the moat that now was the first line of defense of the glass bubble that threatened to go pop any second.

He sneaked a look out of the corner of his eye, making as if he was chasing that rivulet of water that streamed off his right shoe and tried to make a path to the lobby entrance. The black heels led to a pair of well shaped calves and … the elevator pinged to announce its arrival, disturbing his thesis on the rivulet’s drive towards emancipation. There was a rush of feet, splashing and sploshing his hard work back from the floor onto several feet clad in various shapes and colors of garments and footwear. Nikhil had scarcely moved an inch before the elevator looked like a can of sardines that would need a compression chamber to have even a remote chance of closing. His hand stood exactly at the same spot that he had managed to raise it to when the ping was heard – about a foot away from his body towards the elevator buttons to hold the door open for the black heels. He observed with dismay his vain attempt at chivalry, for the black heels had disappeared into the crowd of feet in the sardine can.

Two more attempts at boarding a lift later, he finally managed to get a leg in sideways and got to his desk, almost completely drip dried. The rest of the day was a blur as he struggled to catch up with the lost couple of hours of that wet and drizzly morning. As the evening wore on, the clouds built up, angry and ominous, almost threatening to blow his windows and storm his room. His anxiety grew at the thought of having to hail a cab in pouring rain and he doubled his efforts to finish his work. The clock moved on nevertheless and soon it was raining cats and dogs and mice to boot.  He finally stuffed everything into his bag and walked out the door at well past 8 PM, expecting to be there at least another hour before he finally managed to find a log that would drift homewards in the growing river that once was a road.

He held his bag up above his head in a make shift umbrella that soon dripped water on his head as he joined the line of people waiting for a taxi that would ferry them home. Some good Samaritan had piled up some bricks and so, he hopped from one to another to cross towards the platform where the queue stood, walking on water or so it seemed. There was a small strip of awning to be under which, most of the people there were jostling and shoving. After what seemed like at least 20 barrels of water, a couple of taxis landed up, causing a mad scramble, a joust with briefcases and bags alike resulting in some alliances being formed and about 7 or 8 of the asylum seekers left. The second mad scramble for the awning started and Nikhil found himself being pushed forward and under the awning.

With the rain stopping its attack on him, he stood uncomfortably between a hard elbow to his side and a hard breathing chest that rose and fell like a pair of bellows, feeling the slow trickle of water as it made its way down his back. Suddenly he heard the sound of heels clacking and looked up to see the pair of black heels walking purposefully towards the awning. They stopped just short, almost tapping impatiently, expecting someone to give up their place. After a long wait with no response, the right heel started tapping. Nikhil took one look around and found everyone studiously looking at their phones. The bellows was even starting at what appeared to be a dead phone. Feeling like he was in the spotlight, he carefully edged out into the rain and stood there with his arm out, gesturing her to take his spot.

It was a long wait to his taxi ride now.

The next morning, as like any other the weeks before, he made his way to the metro and onward to his office. His normal wait at the elevator banks that morning and his usually blanking out till he caught the third or fourth elevator, were rudely interrupted by a pair of tan heels that clickety clacked into his thoughts. He abandoned his study of the crack on the tile that looked like it was a bolt of lightning and raised his eyes to look at clear pupils that were quite not either blue or black framed by lips that curved into a hesitant smile as if to say that they didn’t know why they were there and what they were going to say. And then the words came out haltingly, thanking him for his gesture the previous day. Nikhil was tongue tied and mumbled a response that seemed more like an apology than an acceptance of gratitude. The embarrassing moment stretched as they both waited for the elevator. When finally it came, there was that routine dash to fill its insides and only the both of them were left. The wait stretched interminably until she broke it to ask him where he worked and what he did. The lift did take a long time to come after all. Her name was Sanaa, with a double A.

Each day after that, he would see her at the elevators at least once, and smiles would be exchanged, strained silences gave way to quick updates and some longer conversations. On most days, they would travel in separate elevator rides until one day she decided to take the one that he did and from then on, they shared the elevator ride too. More talk ensued and more information exchanged until one day, she suddenly showed up at his office. After the first rush of embarrassment at the looks of his colleagues and a stuttering hello, much like a flooded engine that slowly comes to life, he found that her client meeting for the afternoon had got cancelled and she wanted to go out for a coffee. Why with him? He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was singled out for the experience.

The long walk out of the office, down the aisle past the barbed wire stares of people, the lift ride down where he attempted to write a new thesis on the scuff mark on his shoe and finally the arrival at the coffee shop. All these were burnt into his mind, along with the murmurs of encouragement that he seemed to be making that were hardly required for her to continue the monologue. Things took a turn for the worse when she laid a hand on his arm to explain something and let it stay there for a brief while. The coffee turned to mud and everything else around him disappeared, except the hand and her. It was one of those memorable experiences where all you remember are bits and pieces of the whole and for some reason; the thread that stitched them all together was simply not there. His only significant response was to her question on whether they should go back to work.

In spite of this debacle, she seemed to want to have more such masochistic experiences and asked him out for coffee every now and then, sometimes during and sometimes after work. With time, his tongue seemed to loosen itself and his brain kick-started along with the rest of his being and their conversations actually took a saner turn and veered towards work, interests and similar topics where he could actually craft a sensible response. He grew more and more comfortable with her while his walls and his insecurity with everyone else remained. It was curious to see the second side to him, one that she created in a fashion and brought alive.

Then came the evening when something changed. It was coffee as usual after work, something of a ritual between them now. However, that day, she seemed withdrawn. Since she was usually the catalyst in their conversation, long silences and the occasional question peppered the coffee that was left to grow cold. He could sense that she was bothered about something. But he hesitated, not wanting to intrude, letting the silence draw on in their island of quiet in the middle of the bustling coffee shop. After what seemed to be a very long cup of coffee, he signaled for the cheque. He paid up and they walked out, somehow strangely reluctant to part ways, the meeting incomplete without the normalcy of their conversation. She suddenly asked if he would like to walk and they just strolled down the road, past the usual taxi stand, the metro station and all familiars, the silence building on until it became too much to bear. She finally simply stopped and told him about her mother’s health having deteriorated, eyes brimming over and tears starting to trail down her cheeks. It was the first time either of them had talked about something deeply personal. His polite murmurs about her mother getting well soon didn't seem to be working as the tears continued, sobs becoming louder. Hesitant but without a clue on what else to do, he put an arm around her and held her loosely. She buried her face into his shirt front, the sobs growing louder as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk, people walking around them.  He dropped her home for the first time that evening, continuing to hold her all the way back.

Something changed between them that day, a new degree of closeness that neither could actually define. She remained the talkative one, drawing him out and making him laugh. He was the stronger one, helping her through things that seemed to bother her. Her mother’s health grew worse and she finally had to go home for a while. She was away for more than a week and it seemed like an endless expanse of time when he waited for her to come back. He was sitting at his desk between meetings and staring outside blankly, his thoughts fluttering here and there without landing on anything, just bouncing off walls. He reached out and almost called her then, an act of near desperation. But at the last moment, he held back.

He remained in a daze for the rest of the day, surprised by his own feelings and anxiety. When the final meeting came to an end, Sameer walked up to him and asked him if everything was OK. Sameer and he had worked together on several projects and he could actually talk to Sameer unlike most of the other people in the office. Surprised by the question, he didn’t respond and just murmured a polite reply. Sameer kept pushing and finally the whole incident came out in chewed up bits and pieces. Sameer heaved a sigh of relief and said, “Nikhil, you haven’t changed one bit in all the time I have known you. Why can’t you simply message or call her? You can just make up an excuse about wanting to know when she is back so that you can restart your coffee evenings. And maybe ask about her mother.” It all seemed so easy when Sameer put it that way and Nikhil agreed.

It was only later, when he was back at his desk and thinking about the call that the enormity of the task stared him in the face. Seven half attempts later, he dialed an eighth time. The phone on the other end rang and he immediately chickened out, ending the call. Unfortunately for him, in the era of mobile phones, there was such a thing as a missed call and lo behold, a minute later, she called back asking if he had called. He murmured something that sounded like what Sameer had suggested. And then as usual she took over the conversation and told him about her mom’s recovery and about missing coffee with him. His response was to simply agree. When finally the call ended, he found himself smiling. Things seemed to be OK again. Twice again she called before she came back and they talked, the conversations assuming a slightly different level from their coffee table talk.

Nikhil wasn’t aware of what was happening to him. If he was, he would have questioned his own sanity. But as things were about to prove to him, his life was going to be turned upside down in more ways than one.