Saturday, January 29, 2011

GREGOR


If I said I met Edward Cullen you probably wouldn’t believe me. But I did meet someone just as perfect as him.

Gregor was the most handsome, beautiful, godlike creature I had set my eyes on when I first met him over tea at his house. His father, Gagik was a brilliant astrophysicist who had come to the University as a consultant. His mother Karine (pronounced as kah-ri-nay) too an astrophysicist had accompanied Gregor on a short visit to his father. They were Armenian. I had never heard of Armenia before, so I Googled it.

It is a cold,Caucasian country bounded by land on all sides. I now understood why Gagik loved the sea. Armenia was known to have faced the worst of poverty in the wake of the world wars. Karine explained in her very poor English how they had absolutely no electricity or cooking gas till a few years back. I shuddered imagining a cold dark place without food. I gathered Armenians must be very strong, fierce people at heart. They looked quite powerful on the outside too.

Mummy, Karine and Gregor were talking merrily amongst the chink of the crockery. As I reached for the ghee-like frozen white Armenian honey (not Gregor) I tried as hard as I could not to look at him. His godlike features scared me. He had grayish green eyes and when they looked at you can feel the burning gaze right through you. He was tall with broad shoulders, quite athletic. When he talked to you his eyebrows creased, trying hard to understand what you were saying. I stirred the honey into my tea listening to what he was saying without looking up. My brother Omar was having no trouble though, and was already talking him silly.

He was saying something about having lost his way a hundred times in the maze like university campus full of identical houses and streets. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying if you tried looking at him.

A few days later Gregor popped into our place. Thump! I stood listening to his smooth even voice, from upstairs. He was asking Mummy whether he could take his ‘little friend’ for a ride. THUMP! Alas! His ‘little friend’ was not I. He was wondering if he could take Omar for a ride in his new car. New car? I wondered. I watched Omar from my bedroom window upstairs hopping into a glamourous new Dodge with Gregor. What could an eleven year old and a 25 year old do together? Heavily I turned to my economics textbook, trying to look at WTO in a more friendly way.

When they came back I asked Omar what they did. They had had a ride around the campus and had gone bowling.” And?” I pressed on. They stopped to eat at the cafeteria and simply watched cars sitting at a deserted bus stop. Apparently Gregor watched them with a lot of fascination. He must have, for roads in Muscat are always daily ramps for hot and expensive cars. I got more inquisitive. “What did you talk?” Omar who was by now getting slightly irked suddenly remembered something and laughed. Omar said, “ Gregor and I were sitting watching cars and then he said he wanted to buy a ‘bawmve’ some day”. Bawmve? “He wants a BMW,” Omar burst out laughing. I too laughed. Later when I sat thinking about it I thought Gregor was ambitious. I wondered what he did for a living.


In the weeks that came Gregor often came by to pick Omar up and they both would go out somewhere for a bite or go bowling. Each time I noticed he brought a new car, an expensive one. He obviously had some really good connections because I don’t think costly cars could have just dropped from the sky in front of his house everyday. One day Mummy asked whether he liked Muscat. He loved it, the people, the weather and all. He was also looking for a job here.

I went downstairs after Omar and Gregor had left to ask Mummy about him. Apparently  he made online security systems for big companies. That’s no little job. So he must be really brilliant.


About a week later Mummy and I went to their place to bid farewell to Karine who was leaving. She opened the door with her warm smile but I saw nothing of it. I was looking dumbfounded at Gregor behind her. He was clad in an exquisite black tuxedo, stunning as ever. He smiled. Till then I thought it was stupid of women to swoon on seeing their favourite male celebrity. Now I knew exactly how they felt but was in enough control to stop myself from doing the same. He was on his way to an interview. I stood rooted to the spot even as he glided past me to his car.


I did not see Gregor for many months after that. He obviously got the job. Excuse my shallowness but with looks such as his who wouldn’t?
About half a year later he came again to say goodbye. He had grown thin but handsome as ever. I looked at those blazing green eyes for the last time.

3 comments:

pooja said...

'Chink of crockery', I like that.After reading your pieces,i think your biggest plus point is your gift for descriptions..by the way, you still haven't cleared my doubt-what does DANKE SCHON mean?

Mercedes said...

Hehe,Thank you Pooja. But I have already cleared your doubt.Danke Schon is 'Thank you' in German.

pooja said...

Oops!!Danke Schon Mercedes!