The Conversation – Part 2

Festive

“Hark the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new born king… “

I quietly sighed as I listened to the same Christmas carol for like the umpteenth time that week. I blankly stared ahead and whispered the words, occasionally singing it out loud. I looked around and wondered how the people around me were still singing. I’ve heard this like ten times already. I’m bored. I want to go home. I want to sing new songs. The internal monologue in my head was as interesting as a plain black board on a Saturday night. I couldn’t even see my newly made friend playing the guitar on stage. I hummed the last few lines and sat down. The rest of the service went by at its own merry pace as I fiddled with my jute bag and my phone. This was the first time I had been put off by a Christmas service, no offence to the service. I readjusted my hair and looked at my watch and looked at my cousin sitting next to me. He seemed fidgety too. It’s not just me. Phew.

“… Please greet one and other and head downstairs. We have breakfast prepared for each of you. Thank you.” I looked at the Pastor and wished upon a thousand stars that I wouldn’t have to talk to many people. Wait. It’s Christmas. I’d have to at least wish people. I started moving around and wishing people when my cousin whispered, more like demanded, that we go retrieve the Bible he had left at Church the previous Sunday.

“My Bible. Let’s go ask Pastor. C’mon.” I looked at him incredulously and decided it was better than walking around and shaking hands. I walked to the front of the church and was gonna ask Pastor about the Bible when a bunch of people crowded around him to convey their Christmas greetings. After this happened a few times and I decided to ask the Pastor’s wife instead.

“Ohh yes. I remember that Bible. It is in someone’s office. Yes. It’s around here somewhere.” With that she expertly slipped out from the conversation to place herself behind the sound system controls. I looked around helplessly and shrugged my shoulders. That’s when my new church friend from the banquet popped in and wished me. We exchanged pleasantries and I brought up the phone number topic again.

“I’m telling you I did not receive any missed calls. There weren’t any on my phone.” I looked at him with exasperation.
“I did call you, multiple times. Honestly, I’m done calling you.” I reached into my bag to show him the number of times I had called him. I showed him the call log and waited for his response.
“But I swear I didn’t get any missed calls.”

I shrugged my shoulders as he was called away to fiddle with electronic controls. I gestured that I was gonna catch breakfast and he replied with a call sign. I walked out, feeling an emptiness inside me. As I stood in line for the food I saw him come down with his phone. He came upto me and asked, “948?” I gave him a huge smile and said, “Yes. Excatly. That’s the number.”
“I’ve got it now. Saved.”

The morning passed on and eventually I gave him my other number too. We said our goodbyes since he was leaving in two days we promised to keep in touch.
“If you would just pick my calls,” I said, laughing happily. “I will definitely call you.”

“Tis the season to be jolly, tra la la la la la la…”

Festive? Probably not. Interesting? Maybe.