The Nice Guy

My friend’s marriage just got arranged. With her consent. With her consent! I thought these things only happened with my parents and generations before them. Clearly not. It was happening all around me. I was just waking up.

I wanted to know why. It’s a simple question. Why? Why wouldn’t you wait for Prince Charming? Why wouldn’t you wait for those weak kneed, pit in the stomach, heart in your mouth moments? Why wouldn’t you wait when technology pompously boasts of helping a 65 year old woman give birth?

“When’s the right time, Taaps?” she said to me. “When do you really know? In a month, in six months, in a year?”

“Definitely not six months!” I looked at her incredulously. “How is he in bed? How’s he with kids? How’s he when he gets angry? When he’s drunk?”

There were a million questions buzzing in my head. I had to let some of them out.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders. There was that half smile of hers, kinda silly, kinda sad.

“Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to give it some time? I’m not saying don’t get married, just saying wait. Wait for sometime. Some more time.” I looked at her pleadingly. As though she had opted for the guillotine.

She figured as much.

“I’m not dying you know,” she said wryly. “He’s a really nice guy. The type our mothers would like. He’s funny, he’s got great general knowledge, he loves to travel and he knows his wires, Taaps! Remember how important that is for us?”

Oh no, the nice guy syndrome. I knew it all too well.

The boy who’s just purrrrfect in every way. Boyish good looks, great table manners, well read, well dressed, funny with the friends, courteous with the parents….in other words really nice. And therein lay the problem. He was nice. Just nice.

“So you’re ok with the ‘nice guy’ now?” I italicize with my fingers. “You’re ok with no sparks, no I-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-you feeling, no you’re-driving-me-crazy-but-i-can’t-stop-loving-you moments?”

“Yup” she said simply. “I’m ok with it. Because I’ve had my heart broken too many times by those guys. I’m going to have a good life with this bugger. I can see it. It’s going to be a happy life.”

“Yeah.” The word drips with sarcasm.

“You’re going to be happy till that rascal comes along. That man who sweeps you off your feet, gives you those weak knees and that thumping of the heart. The one you can’t have, but oh god, if you had a chance…”

“We’ll never find everything in one guy, you know.” She interrupts me. All for the better.

We stop talking. I was struggling to understand her but I felt her slipping away already. The buzzing in my head continued.

“But you’re young! You have time to keep looking! What happens when THAT guy comes along and you’re already hitched? ‘Cause you were so eager not to let the nice guy go?” I looked at her imploringly.

“I guess I’ll stop being happy then.”

I wished at that moment I had the answers to my own questions.

“Do you know when my mother got married, Taaps? 19. That poor woman didn’t even know if she was marrying the nice guy or the rascal. And guess what….” I listened on.

“She married the rascal. And he took her heart away. Never gave it back. Never came back to give it back.”

She looked at me and smiled impishly. “I’m better off, don’t you think? Atleast I know. And hey,” she giggled.

“A couple of handcuffs and a blindfold…I’ll make him my rascal!”

We both cracked up. Till tears ran down our cheeks. Maybe we were scared; maybe we were just being goofy. But she wasn’t slipping away anymore. At that moment, it all felt alright- her decision, my venting and the unexpected strengthening of our bond.

My friend was moving on. That was my problem!