I didn’t come up with this pun; the one for whom I am writing this did.
It was a casual Friday night. I went out for dinner with friends on the night before New Years’ eve. There was an all-energetic, all-consuming atmosphere that engulfed the Hiranandani Gardens in Powai. The youth came in hoards and so did families consisting of the elderly and children alike. I was in a group as well – friends turned into family, for we live under the same roof. There is something different about the feeling of belongingness. You can try your hardest for it and you might fail, or you might not try at all and still feel you belong to someone. The belongingness may or may not be of the romantic kind – so may love.
We had a nice dinner at a small Chinese restaurant in the uptown locale of Central Mumbai. We conversed about how 2016 has changed us all – like all years preceding it – and how 2017 may change us still. We all want to move in different directions in our lives, talking about which we realized that this might be our last New Years’ dinner as roommates. Anyway, one of us came up with the ingenious idea of using the “magic” app that has been living in our phones for a long time. The seldom-used brain started calculating the chances of the sought-after match that could purportedly- as the socially afflicted notion goes – change our lives. We started swiping like we will be getting paid for it.
I always liked the idea of Tinder because it can serve multiple purposes. Hardly believable, but I was using it for exactly the opposite of what it is infamous for. I have always believed that our experiences shape us. I am 24 and I know that there are many things I am not aware of or have not had the opportunity of trying. So, looking for that, I updated my bio, and with my fingers crossed, let my mind and thumb synchronize.
The coveted screen displaying “It’s a match” suddenly popped up. I felt like Will Smith from Pursuit of Happiness. I felt invincible. It is a good feeling, I must say. The girl, Sushma, wore a Jack Daniel t-shirt in her third picture, a picture from her photo shoot was the second, and the first – with eyes drownable in – was serving it’s purpose by being on the top. She was the self-anointed ‘Connoisseur of poetry and coffee’ – which I later found to be misleading, for she is not just a connoisseur of poetry, but a poem in herself. We started talking. My third message was ‘What do you want to name our kids?’ to which she had an answer. I knew it then that this will be the most thrilling adventure – something that would change me to the core – which I realize is true as I am sitting in a cab, driving to her, and writing this.
My life is now divided into three parts: the one before her, this moment, and the one after this moment.