The Unique Freak [ Part II ]

This is a sequel to a previous post which you can read here.

". . . . .so then I told him that Kings was the best beer there ever was and that he could go shoot himself if he hadn't . . .Chayan? CHAYAN?"
There it was. Rishabh had JUST given me reason number 23 to slap myself for having invited him over for just "chilling out". My living room looked like a battle field, where two types of beer bottles had just fought, and Rishab was clenching the only surviving soldier in his hand, while the remnants of the martyrs lay scattered on  my new carpet. One look at the beer trickling down on my sparkling new carpet would have triggered a full fledged panic attack, IF and only if something much more intriguing hadn't suddenly caught my attention.
A battered white Maruti 800 had just entered the vicinity. A very familiar battered Maruti 800. Oh who was I kidding, ever since that day, Little Miss "I need anger management classes" had literally vanished from the face of the Earth. Yes, I was stalking her, in a way. And no, I was not proud of it. But yeah, I didn't particularly regret it either. By now, I knew that she lived in the house opposite mine, on the ground floor, with a teenage boy, probably her brother, and her father. Her father. I had a feeling I knew EXACTLY who had had a major contribution in making her the interesting little creature that she was. For  I swear to God, the man dressed JUST the way I would have. If I lived in HAWAII, that is. They were an exquisite little family, They-Who-Lived-In-The-House-Opposite-Mine., and I knew I was willing to grab even the minutest opportunity of getting to know them. Of getting to know her. Ayatree, Atrayee. Whichever of the two was her actual name. And I had no qualms about shamelessly admitting that for weeks, the first thing I did after walking into my apartment and loosening that noose of a tie of mine, was to rush to the  balcony and wait for her to appear out of thin air with baited breath. But all I managed to witness was her attractive little backside. Or hear someone calling out her name, only a portion of which I could fully understand. The "Tree" in it, as a matter of fact. I could only speculate about the remaining portion.And the "Tree" or her attractive little backside were never going to be enough for me. I wanted MORE. And for once, not sexually. I wanted to sit by her side and listen to her rant about random things for hours at a stretch. I wanted to tease her about her silly habits. I wanted to spend eons of time with her, know every single detail about her life. Her favorite flower, her favorite color, the book she read before she fell asleep, the power of her glasses, the song she sang in the shower...
And as the familiar, much awaited Maruti 800 made it's way into it's allotted parking space, I had eyes only for it's disproportional [it had undergone the worst torture, that poor car] shape in the dark. It was funny how she always announced her arrival with a bang, that girl. For one was heard immediately after she began maneuvering that tormented vehicle of hers. Mrs. Batliwala from the first floor wasn't going to be happy about the   brand new dent on that beloved Honda of hers.
"PAPPAAAAA. I think. . . . ", ". . .Chayan? CHAYAN?", ". . . .tree has seriously injured Mrs. Batliwala's deekraaa." There it was. Reason to kick Rishabh out of my house. Number TWENTY-FUCKING-THREE. What would I not have given to know what preceded the "..tree" in her name. I had waited for weeks for this moment, and the beer adoring jerk had blissfully ruined it for me. But the girl had given him a reason to thank his stars, for the only thing that stopped me from pushing him over the railing was that PRICELESS expression on her face as she tried to tiptoe into her house like a serial killer fleeing a crime scene. And I knew the mere recollection of that expression would be the reason I would burst out laughing in many Board Meetings and depressing movies that I was to watch in the near future.

To be continued...