The curious case of Tinder

As a writer and a journalist, you are always on the lookout for stories, for experiences and love. And if this is combined to an extrovert like me, the opportunities are endless. Ahem. Quite the wrong start. Anyway. Of course, this is why even while we are busy at work, there are stories being shared, links popping up on our chat boxes even though the other person is sitting right next to you and well, a whole lot of social media sharing.

That’s when, Miss Paul, distraught with the never ending complexities of my love life, sent me the link of an article on the app, Tinder. Few years back, I would have been flabbergasted by the possibility of meeting someone by just swiping right on your phone screen (I admit even today, Tinder is the most judgemental app there is), but that day, I was interested. And more so, my friend with a boyfriend was excited to try the app from my phone, under my name.

And so it started, after what seemed like an endless time of swiping left, we swiped right. And it’s a match. Even before I could answer to the ‘hey’, Miss Paul is texting and thinking what to answer next. Within minutes, I’m bored, for the guy on the other end, already wants to know if I had dinner. Clingy much?

So then Miss Paul retired for the day and I continued with the swiping. After a few more matches and people to whom I’d rather not apply, came along this guy who starts off with a not-so-perfect one-liner. Now any other day, I would have thought that this was just random but hey, I was already smiling. And so the conversation started.

Now, as a journalist, there are only two things you really possess that can impress two kinds of people – your drunk friends as you get them entry to the best pub in town with your press card and your boss with your editing and writing skills. I wouldn’t think that either of that would help me on Tinder but then life has other plans right? So, that’s how we talk. With me editing this stranger’s Statement Of Purpose. He definitely did have a purpose, I for one, was on tinder and editing SOPs. Not complaining, since I was the one who offered to do it in the first place.

But then one thing led to other and the conversation was deemed interesting. A few days down the road and from SOPs, alcohol, sleep and food were the topics of discussion. And since randomness and I have a long association, I agreed to meet the guy for drinks. Let’s name him Tinder Boy, shall we?

A few drinks then, a movie and quite a few drunken encounters, of which I am more than just embarrassed, later, it’s been quite a while of knowing Tinder Boy (but hey, I already knew a lot from his SOP, his career history to be precise).

While Tinder Boy manages to find time, there have been quite a few others who popped up from the continuous swiping that had happened. One who didn’t want to waste a minute and start dating immediately, the other who persistently over the weeks has been messaging even though the replies come to him once in a week or so and the I’m-so-perfect Doctor. Dear doctor, when you are talking to someone who’s a journalist, who can be the next big thing after a crime investigation officer, it doesn’t take long to figure out that you have a girlfriend of 8 years.

And while I’m going to take a break from the swiping, it’s been a pleasure knowing Tinder boy. Numbers have been exchanged and I’m still getting to know him (and my friends are assuming that there’s a whole lot going on already), it’s one point to thank Tinder for.  So long, then.

Home Alone

It was my decision. It wasn’t too difficult for me. Even when I packed my bags and became the youngest person in the family to step out of home, I was happy. Happy that I was taking my chance at independence, giving myself the liberty to experience new things and exploring the opportunity to handle things alone.

I turned around to catch a glimpse of my parents who refused to leave the premises of the airport until I left; I caught my teary eyed mom, shying away lest I notice her. I ran back for a last hug and picked up my overweight bags. I was fine.

In a new city, it didn’t take me too long to find new friends. But I also witnessed many breakdowns, tears and calls by my friends saying all they wanted to do was go back home. I sat next to them and told them, “It’s going to be okay.”

Three years in the city that became home and there came moments when I was distraught, when I was too sick to move and when I was too heartbroken to speak, but never once did I say, “I just wish to go back home now.” It will be all right I thought.

Graduating hats flew and then I flew to another city. Another new city, another new set of friends and the whole story repeated.

But every time I look back, I wish I was there when my grandma breathed her last, I wish I was there to see my grandpa smile for the last time. Every time my sister sends me a photograph of my dog being sick, I wish I could rush back home and hug him tight, or when my mom sends me a photograph of the newly renovated rooms, I wish I could sit on that new sofa and then dirty the room just like I always do. And then there were those times, when I missed my brother’s engagement, the first in our generation, or when I couldn’t be home to see the elated look on my sister’s face when the guy she liked came home with his family, just because I couldn’t take an off from work. Every new city becomes home for me, yet many a times, I find myself home alone.

I wish to be home at times but every time I can’t, I grow a little bit stronger. 

The long drive

Sam hopped onto the back of the jeep and as they rode through the tunnel, Charlie said “And I swear in that moment we were infinite.” Ever since I had read The Perks of being a Wallflower, this stayed with me. They all had something to worry about, something bothering them but in the company of friends and a long drive back home, it was all forgotten.

In an inebriated condition, my friend and I decided to go for a long drive. Much like Sam, Patrick and Charlie, we too had a lot going on or so we thought. Small issues that we were assuming to be life threatening, petty worries that seemed to never leave our side and a constant doubt about getting what we need. I was hesitant at first. After a night of cribbing and worrying about every possible thing, hitting the bed seemed to be the perfect option. But then the possibility of wandering into the unknown scared yet intrigued me and so we were off.

We were silent at first and then slowly, pouring out the thoughts in our minds we tried to form words around them. As the roads grew darker and the music grew louder, we sank back into our seats and just let it all in. We spoke in broken sentences yet we didn’t have to explain what we wanted to say.

As I stood up the sunroof, I understood what Charlie had meant. The loud music seemed faint as the wind brushed along my face and right then, I lived for that moment. For no worry, no pain could stand next to the feeling of being liberated and just being out there. When I sat back down, the both of us laughed as the songs changed from the mellow tracks to the Bollywood numbers.

And in that moment, we were infinite. I didn’t care about anything for I was in the company of a friend who understood, who would stand up for me yet let me be when I want to.

Once I reached home, the following made even more sense. And this is also to my dear friend, who has the same going on in his head.

“It’s much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. I don’t know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it’s okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite.”

A silent day

As I turned the keys around and opened the door, the air of familiarity surrounded me. It’s amazing how after having lived in various different rooms in the past four years, each one of them has been home to me, how coming back to the same bed just after one night feels like two lovers who had been torn apart by distance are now finally reunited. Too drastic a feeling I say that simply implies to the feeling I knew I had when I looked forward to spending the day at home, alone.

There are rare occasions when the hostel is not bustling with activity. Someone getting ready to go to work as someone else can be seen whipping up a recipe for the lunch or the boys from the other end sipping into their early morning tea as they once again start the conversation about the error in the pages (symptoms of working for a newspaper and living with the same people). But no, today was different. The Bengalis in the hostel, barring one, were off on their rendezvous with their beloved Kolkata and Durga Pujo, while the others were still sound asleep when I entered. The silence didn’t unnerve me. Instead, it made the day look all the more inviting.

A long nap later, which was interrupted by many phone calls from friends and family, I woke up as the half day had passed. Yet, it felt like there was a long way to go. I checked my phone for the possibility of a text. Disappointed. Time passed. Numerous songs and a movie later, nothing changed.

I walked out of the room and the corridor was in complete darkness. I walked up to switch on the lights and peeked to see what were the others upto. That’s when it dawned upon me. I was alone in the hostel on the rare occasion of a general holiday. I walked up to the window and saw the lights put up all around, the TV switched on in the apartment across the street, music blaring from a speaker somewhere and chaos on the roads. And here I was, perfectly comfortable in the silence.

The mind goes back to many things. The first meeting, the unfinished conversation and the wait. And then I wrote. As I wrote, I wound back into the silence, in the comfortability of the absence of everything and I lay there alone, in the company of dreams.