“That’s my seat”, I kind of freaked out.
“Do you have your name written over here?” she screamed back at me. Her eyebrows squeezed together. A sliver dumb-bell on her left eyebrow gleamed while she spoke. I was taken aback at her behavior.
I was like, “Excuse me?” Still wondering & surprised that she really said those words to me. “My name over the seat”, my mind wondered and then went numb, blank and started swiveling around dozens of questions & exploring numerous possible answers. Yes, I was embarrassed. My ego & reputation as a Dude was at stake. Ok, I panicked.
And whenever I panic, I’m at a loss of words & my English starts to exponentially follow the logarithmic curve, downwards off course.
I cleared my dry throat & mustered the last flinders of my shattered Dude-ismic charisma & replied, “My seat…written over (pointing to my ticket)..is this..no that..ummmmm…YES!!”
The look on her face said it all. I rolled my eyeballs to scan my neighborhood to make sure no one else heard those ghastly combinations of English words devoid of any grammar or meaning.
Phew!! The stout middle-aged man, with a belly that would put a pregnant woman to shame, was snorting mildly, sleeping and the lady with the weird hairstyle on the aisle seat was busy listening to music. I thanked God.
“Stop staring at me, haven’t you seen a girl”, she threw the last nail on my coffin.
I still managed to squeak, “I wasn’t staring”

*************************** 15 minutes earlier ***************************

Like a possessed Urmila from Bhoot, I was staring at her (read checking her out). Nothing was happening though. My Sherlock Holmes instinct didn’t help either. It had been almost 30 min. since I started examining the strange but beautiful creature to my left, but in vain. The fundamental question which haunts every male in their 20s is still elusive: How to strike off a conversation with a beautiful stranger? (of opposite gender, off course). Still beats me why, after years of preaching Dude-ism, I’ve always faltered at making the right first move. I prayed to Barney Stinson and Joey Tribbiani (just in case they shower some divine flirting energy).

The red checkered cotton 3/4^th, which I was wearing, didn’t help either: what if she doesn’t appreciate hairy legged men? Do I resemble a cave man with those red Puma slippers on? But who cares? Dudes are supposed to follow that dress code. We are innately attractive to the opposite sex. Aren’t we? I was confused. Maybe the artificial orange juice served by the skinny stewardess is at fault. Why am I losing focus? Focus. Focus Tonmoy!!
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, imagined myself as a combination of Johnny Depp & Antonio Banderas and *BOOM*……..she looked at me: my knees went weak, butterflies mistook my tummy for a kick-boxing ring, I sighed. She was indeed beautiful. With a bunch of red dyed streak of hair over her forehead, anyone would mistake her for Avril Lavigne for a moment. I had already opened my mouth & she looked at me expecting a dialogue.

“Ummm…that’s my seat!!” I did it again.

*************************** 15 minutes earlier ***************************

I’ve always been an ardent admirer of Sherlock Holmes & after I watched Robert Downey Jr. portray the historic hero so immaculately, my euphoria wasn’t short lived. I tried copying his style of observing people & inferring conclusions from it.
This situation wasn’t an exception. What better subject than a beautiful girl sitting next to you on a mundane flight.
1) She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, carried a Louis Vuitton handbag & was flaunting her iPhone.

Deduction: Stylish

2) Her t-shirt had a pic. of Marilyn Monroe, pink on white. The hair was poker straight (not natural though, the Dudes can make it out, huh), unevenly chopped, red streaks.
Deduction: Probably a Punk wannabe.

3) Striped long socks, emo pink shoes, black nail polish & black bangles.
Deduction: 100% Punk wannabe.

The whole exterior was so colorful that anyone would mistake a peacock for her father. Poor jokes apart, she looked stunning though. She reminded me of the Black Eyed Peas, so disgustingly colorful, yet peppy.

She realized that I was checking her out & as usual started her ‘nakhrebaazi’. She swiftly opened her expensive purse & there came out a shiny little electronic monster (which was infact more attractive than she was) – plugged in a Bose head phone (Yes, I noticed. How often do you hit upon people using Bose originals) – clicked a button here & there – and she closed her eyes (which was mostly dabbed in deep black mascara). The gizmo lying on her couch looked attractive. I almost fell for the bait.
Deduction: High maintenance girl. Bose speakers, huh!!

I was falling for this colorful creature.

*************************** 30 minutes earlier ***************************

“I never fall for any girl. They fall for me.” has been my tenet since time immemorial. So when I woke up the other morning to board my flight from Guwahati to Pune, I chose the blandest of apparels possible to drape myself. A cotton 3/4th (like the one the Jeff Bridges wore in classic The Big Lebowski), a white T with a small superman print, a retro summer jacket & a pair of red slippers. Carrying a backpack, which essentially has everything a man needs to survive for 30 days.

Stepping on the airplane, my spiked hair drew some orthodox eyeballs; some elderly lady gazed in amazement at my choice of apparel. The air-hostess smiled. I smiled back at her, shaking my head.

It would be a lie if a guy would never anticipate a beautiful, hot, and direct from angel’s den kinda girl sharing the seat next to him. But the more I used to expect, the worse it used to get. In my short span of flying history, I’ve shared my seat with old aunts squeezing me, middle aged men irritating me, young but married ladies fidgeting around to keep her naughty kid in control, poor kids tearing their tonsils apart, silly grown up kids spilling water & not to forget a Baba Ramdev practitioner too. So no wonder, I was not at all expecting or even thinking about my co-passengers. I was too busy thinking nothing. Yes, we men can do that.

A teenager girl stared at my hairy legs & transmitted the visible disgust directly at my face. I was the last man on earth to care. The media has stereotyped real man as a smooth & hairless, 8 packed macho man, clean shaved (remember Shave India Movement) & wearing undergarments that bear the name of another male?
A hairless, shaved, six packed man running in the beach wearing nothing but undergarments bearing the name of another male? Tommy Hilfiger, anyone? Does that what real man looks like?
That’s exactly how a woman should look like!! Period.

So the dude navigates to find his seat: 14B. Middle seats irritate the hell out of me. An old lady with running shoes & a naught kid with running nose, I wondered.
12, 13…ok, 14..A B….hmmm…hold on a sec: is that a beautiful girl sitting at 14A?

It edified my spirit, but I acted as cool as a cucumber; my heart thumping louder than ever. Hell yeah!! I gave God a virtual High-5.

*************************** xxxXXXxxx ***************************

Quoting from my favorite movie ‘The Big Lebowski’, “Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you”, which essentially means that sometimes you come out on top, and sometimes you lose big time.

Life’s a series of airplane journeys; you never know when you find your perfect peacock! Somebody somewhere will eventually land up sitting next to you & together someday you’ll fill up the middle seat of your 3 seat family.

Till then, keep enjoying the tasty ‘Fiery grilled chicken’ from KFC.

This is my entry to KFC fiery grilled ‘Sets You On Fire!’ contest on Indiblogger.

I leave it to my readers to speculate if the story is real or a work of fiction.