Using siblings

A best friend’s birthday, transported me from my cosy bed to a new lounge or bar or restaurant or whatever they call it now on a weeknight. Now, as many of my irate friends know, I never like to step out of my abode knowing that I have to be at work the next morning. However, last night I’m glad I did.

In Mumbai, seeing a cute guy in person is like spotting the needle in a hay stack or more appropriately catching a shooting star in the smoggy Mumbai sky. Yes, it happened. I saw him. Dressed in a suit, probably arriving at the place straight after work, he had a beer in his hand and enough boyish charm to appeal to the naughty girl in every adult woman.

He was tall, fair and had this bashful look in his eyes, like he was embarrassed with all the compliments he had received up till now. I was definitely not in love, but I had willingly fallen in infatuation. And that’s where it ends for a girl like me. Not having enough confidence to approach him for a conversation I would eventually be condemned to lechery.

That would have been that, if it wasn’t for my brother who made a late entrance to the pub. Two drinks down I began narrating my one sided love story to which he just laughed. Little did we know we were to have a breakthrough in the wingman theory; to be later known as wingling.

We decided to step out for a smoke. While I passively inhaled the fumes, my object of desire stepped out at the same time, to shorten his lifespan as well. Standing beside him, the fragrance from his coat made me remember those days in school where we would have humongous crushes on prefects, the only ones who earned the right to wear a blazer. My brain had evoked the same attraction I had to those students who had more power than the others clad in plain uniforms.

I stood there giggling, as my best friend and brother made expressions similar to those teasing buddies who did the same when you stood next to a crush. And then suddenly, my brother emerged as the greatest wingman there was. Looking at my 1 hour old crush, he asks , “So how come the suits?”.

“We just got here from work actually”, he said casually. He spoke well. Tick mark to that.

“Where do you work?” asked my wingbro.

The conversation had started and it was full of surprises. My suitable boy was Indian, despite his foreign looks and attitude. When I was expecting some exotic name like Kayaan or Anay or Vivaan out comes Vasudev from his pretty mouth. The way he said that ancient name, I took a liking towards it immediately, making a mental note to find out the meaning on Wikipedia.

I watched in amazement as my wingbro set me up for a conversation. He smoothly maneuvered with words to extend the interaction between Vasudev and me. Honestly, I had never been this proud of my brother. It struck me at that point immediately, that a wingbro or a wing sis worked better than any wing man. 

Being of the opposite sex, there will never be any unintentional competition, unless either one is gay. The person of interest isn’t distracted by the same sex wing sibling unless he or she happens to be gay too. Wing siblings or winglings will always act in the best interest of the other sibling. And it would seem harmless, like poor Vasudev never knew that the only reason my brother extended that conversation was so that I could start off my own.

However, while they talked about work and the weather I didn’t say a word of any importance. I could have said a lot but my shyness bound my mouth to a hopeless smile.

When we left the smoking area after three hundred moments of anticipation and excitement and only five words from me, (Hi, nice to meet you) I returned to the seat with that smile spread across my face. Ten seconds later Vasu followed holding a red purse. For that split second, I thought my brother’s move had proved successful to my brother instead. Was Vasu gay? Had my wingling’s plan failed? Little did I know that he was in fact trying to locate me.

I had in my forgetfulness, walked away from my credit cards, cash, id cards and a smart phone kept neatly in my red purse. It was almost like I had denounced all worldly belongings for him. But like the prince with the glass shoe, he came forward to hand them back to me.I thanked him, like he returned my life.

And that was that, actually. Vasu and I were not meant to be. Even though I noticed he enjoyed retro music as much as I did, to have any future with him it would require me to step up to the platform that my wingling had created, and I had happily declined.

It was a chance encounter that I will always cherish. But more than that, it was the discovery of a character that I encourage others to use to their advantage as well. For me this trivial story marked the arrival of the more significant wingling; the best your sibling can be.