A 'Decent' Encounter: Inside Imtiaz Ali's World #HBDImtiazAli

A 'Decent' Encounter

As I plodded along the dark and desolate streets of Ratlam, my cellphone's ringtone startled me.

"Arrey Gutlu! Maine bola tha ki car book kara le, par tune meri baat nahi maani!" My painstakingly paranoid Punjabi mother yelled at me over the phone, once I picked it up.

I had categorically ignored her idea to travel by car and booked train tickets to Bhatinda instead. So, I understood her irritation.

"Uff meri maa! Kya karoon main tere saath?" I asked in frustration. "I'm searching for a hotel. Tu relax kar ja."

I argued with her for a few more minutes, until I came across a small, dimly lit building with a sign that read-'HOTEL DECENT'.

"Maa. Hotel mil gayi." I said hurriedly, as I disconnected.

I looked at the rusted railings of the staircase, the grime on the windows, and realised that the hotel was truly the antithesis of its title.

However, I had no choice. I needed a place to stay and this seemed like the only one in this godforsaken town.

As soon as I stepped inside, I spotted an attractive girl arguing animatedly with the receptionist.

"Kyun bhaiyya? Poore paise kyun loge? Sirf kuch hi ghanto ke liye room chahiye!" She screamed.

Once I scanned her attire, I concluded that she wasn't a prostitute. Did she not realise what the connotations of an hourly charge were?

"May I have a room, please?" I asked the receptionist.

"Sab full hai, Bhai." He replied, before continuing the argument.

A plan began to form in my head.

"Excuse me, Miss. I'm Gautam. You don't want to pay the whole tariff? What if we share the room and split the money? I'll take the couch." I offered.

"Hello. Mr. N.R.I! Main waisi type ki ladki nahi hoon! Okay?" She declared, aggressively.

"Listen, I missed my train. I just need a place to crash tonight, and nothing else." I explained myself.

She looked at her purse, and grudgingly agreed to share the room due to a shortage of cash.

I took the keys and she followed me to the room.

I stepped inside, lay down on the couch and said. "Good night."

"Suno, mujhe karate aata hai..." She claimed, in all seriousness.

"Good to know." I mumbled.

"Toh agar raat mein kuch try kiya..." She warned.

"Got it, Lady Bruce Lee! Now, will you please let me sleep?" I requested.

Within minutes of me falling asleep, there were loud bangs at the door.

"Bhaago!"

"Raid!"

"Police!"

There were incessant screams from outside.

I huffed in anger, yanked the girl up from the bed and ran out of the room, swiftly, after gathering our luggage.

"Why are we running?" She yelled, woozily, as I dragged her out.

"Tu museum-piece hai! Pata hai?" I exclaimed in frustration. "Naam kya bataaya?"

"Geet. From Bhatinda." She said, proudly, fluttering her eyelashes.

I marvelled at the coincidence.

"Well Geet, it looks like I'm heading to your hometown for your wedding. Will you escort me there, Miss Runaway-Bride?"

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