1.d

“Shamita!!!”
I am shocked. But I don’t show it. Or maybe I am not that shocked that I should display it. The reaction just doesn’t come the way it should. I say something lame enough for him to believe.

“Wow!!....great choice man!!!” that’s it. I said it. And the fuck!...he believed in it.

“Isn’t she beautiful??”
That is called love. It makes you blind. Blind enough to oversee the obvious.

I just nod. I can’t comment beyond that. She isn’t beautiful. She is just provocative. She is sensuous. She is seductive. But by no ways is she beautiful.

“She is the most beautiful girl in the world”, He says next. Fucker is too clichéd. Can’t even come up with an original line. Unable to comprehend his seemingly undying love for her I ask.

“How did this happen?”

“Even I don’t know…”

Wow!!!

“And around when???” I am the unstoppable questioner. I at times wonder at my ability to gather enough eagerness to welcome boredom in the worst patches of boredom of my life.

“The first day when she entered the class….she was with you….but I knew then itself…You were not her boyfriend!!...”

This man before me is a psychic. He rightly knows things. Should I inquire about the gender of my unconcieved offspring at this moment? Will he tell me if it’s a he or she???

No I wasn’t her boyfriend. She just graduated with me. Was in the same class as mine. And was a part of my friends pool. But No. She wasn’t my girlfriend. Nor was I her boyfriend. It was a sheer fact that we ended up being admitted into a same college for post grad. That’s it. It all ends here. Although I tried a bit to get her admitted into the same college as mine. And had always felt a pull towards her within the darkest corners of my heart and lower corners of my body. I had my plans for sure. But no. We weren’t a pair. And very unlikely to be one.

Also a secret bit of information which I have tried to conceal within the same dark corners of my heart. She was the closest friend of a girl whom I had chased in vain for four years of my life. And she was well aware of the fact. Those four years are a long story. And this is not the time for it.

“How did you know that???” I asked. Of course I was curious.
“Body language…”
No not a psychic…he’s beyond that. The art of understanding body language. He knew it all.

Harshad was the pet name for those enlightened with the knowledge of all knowledges. Understanding body language.

“I looked at her face for the first time and kept looking at her” He continued.

That’s the reason I could never fall in love with her. I never looked at her face. I kept looking at her other attributes instead. They were equally interesting. In fact more, with the fact that they popped out most of the time from her garments.

“And it was then…that I knew….that it was her!!!....my soulmate!!!” Back to Harshad, “…My true love”.

Soulmate. Enough of this bullshit. I can’t take it anymore. But a free beer! It’s all worth it!
And it’s not exactly bullshit. It has an element of amusement to it. If I hadn’t been bored enough, I would’ve laughed. Laughed loudly. Laughed my heart out! Ha ha ha ha ha! But I am too bored to do it. Out of it, I look at my glass. It’s half empty. By laws of psycho-physics it also means that I had gulped down half of it. Or more than half. By laws of pessimism, my glass is half empty. By laws of optimism, my glass is half filled. In any damn case, I need a refill. I pour the rest of the beer left in the bottle into my glass. The sight of the small guzzling bubbles in the golden entity soothe me. I stare at them for some time. They emit a sense of calmness through their upward motion. A small hollow sphere, leaving from a convex floor and rocketing towards the surface. It completes its journey in a fraction of a second. And yet it attains the completeness by bursting on touching the surface and disappearing completely. Like an instantly achieved Nirvana.

Harshad finds me lost into the beer glass. He wakes me up.

“Kya hua??....are you sad?” He smartly inquires.

Are you concerned? Or are you taking a guess? Chutiya!!

“No re…I am a bit worried” I am the master of impromptu answers.

“About what?” And now he is!

“If it will be fine with your families….” No! I don’t deserve a praise for this made up reason. As long as one is falling in love in India, this is a question that one does have to worry about. You can consider it an obvious statement. Yet, it did help me in covering up my transcendental state.

“I’ll manage everything man!!....It’s my love for her that will overcome all obstacles!”

Who teaches him this stuff. Where does he learn it from. Is this his own creation or is there an immovable influence behind these words flowing out of his oral cavity. I am learning so much in his company.

“I salute you my friend….you are a real hero!...fortune favours the brave!....and it shall favour you” I am no less!

“Thanks so much man!!”

“My honour…..another beer?”

“Yeah….why not!!.....only the brave drink till they drop”

Fuck you! Are you going to drop? Damn you!

“Even if you do….I will carry you home!” Ignore the upper line. This is what I say.

“Real friend you are!!”

“Yes!!”

“then I ask one more thing from you as a real friend ….”

Such a bugger! I wished to god, if he exists that is, that he should go dumb before he utters another word and lets me drink in peace. But I thoroughly doubt God’s existence.

He goes on, “….I want you to keep this as a secret to yourself….and not tell anybody else!!”

“I promise” I wish I had some real close friends here. I would’ve loved to tell them. But I don’t have any of them here. And so, this remains a secret.

He utters similar bullshit throughout the evening as we drink. Yet I selectively hear him and enjoy my drink. We get amply high. We drink four bottles of beer each. And we leave the place. Drunk. And determined to reach our respective rooms walking.

I take his leave at the chowk. I walk my way uphill to my room. It will not be MY room now. This is the infestation period. And it will be infested by Piyush and Dilip. And the adjoining room by Samrat. The dumbarse senior, whose roommate is into a live-in with his girlfriend and only shares the room with Samrat when her laundry fills her room up. I wish Anshul reaches there before me. Or it will be dificult to bear Piyush alone.

(Contd.)

1.c

1.c
He isn’t on his motorbike. That is disappointing. I am not getting a drop to my room. I’ll have to go back walking. He sucks today!!!

He comes walking enthusiastically towards me. His stride speaks for him. I look at his face for further elucidation. It has a weird mix of emotions. He is blushes stressfully and looks disoriented. Like chameleons behave when you feed them with tobacco. That is what I am exactly feeling looking at him. He has been intoxicated and he doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he is hallucinating and seeing life size Disney characters around him killing people and eating their guts. Or like he’s just seen superman squatting down and peeing at the edge of the road.

He stands before. I strain my nostrils to sniff the intoxication. I don’t smell any. He smiles awkwardly. Maybe he has just discovered his homosexual side and is about to court me to bed. I move a step back.
“Where’s d bike???”
“Didn’t get it…”
“Why??” I am astonished. He isn’t usually without it. I am also annoyed. But I don’t express it. It’s beer after all.
“We are going to get dead drunk today!!”
“And how will we go to the room??”
“Walking”
“Okay”. He was going to walk after he was drunk. He gives excellent bullshit at times. I am worried about post drinking session situation.
“Toh….what do we do now…..kidhar jaate hai???”
“Kidhar bhi…….that is not important” Then what is??? My inner voice asks him. I hate it when someone answers important questions like these with indecision. Where will we drink? Wherever…..This is no answer. Lets sit in the loo and sip beer. Wherever…

Concrete answers please!!!

“Chingari???”
“Okay…chalo…”

We leave. Once in a lifetime moment. Walking to the bar.

We enter Chingara. He doesn’t speak a word on the way own his own accord. I tried starting a topic to talk with him thrice. He ended those in two sentences. His answers had an irate depressiveness in them. I controlled my fury for beer.

Since it is early, we have options. We choose terrace drinking to enclosed drinking. Drinking in open air. We take a seat near to the highway. I have a liking for ambience. I feel it is always important. The Ambience. Harshad has liking only for alcohol. He does not have any other likings as such.

“I’ve developed a liking….for a girl” Harshad says sipping his beer “for a girl”.

I gulp down my beer.

“Did you hear me???”He asked me. Goaded for sure.
“Yeah”
“What did I say??”
“That you have developed a liking….for a girl”
“And….”
“And what???” I fear I’ve missed something.
“And what is your reaction?”
“I am happy for you dude”. How the fuck was I supposed to react? Dance? Hug him? Kiss him? Congratulate him??? Congratulations!! You are the first mortal who has developed a liking. History will never forget you. Rascal!!
“And won’t you ask who the girl is??”

No!!! No!!! No!!!

“Who is she???” That 'to be Savitri'. I ask lazily.
“Guess..”
“Queen Elizabeth!!!”I take a guess to myself. Its not spoken out to create a chaos.
“Guess…guess..”
“Sorry man…can’t do it…who is she???”

He blurts out her name.
(Contd.)

1.b

I walk down the way to the Chowk. I stop at the ‘Rajesh Pan Beedi’, pick up a cigarette, light it with the end of a burning rope hung there, playing a ‘lighter’. I smile at Rajesh when he pushes the left over change towards. He smiles at me back.

“Chai??”
I refuse with a nod. He smiles again. I continue with my tread.

This is a long stretch of road. From our room to the Chowk. A slope. We have to descend it around a thousand times in a day. Thos who have motorbikes, don’t count the number of times. Those who walk, like me, do it. A thousand times, when we do.

I feel terribly bored as I walk down this road. So I usually take a pillion ride with someone who has a motorbike. But there is no one today to take me.

I walk lazy steps. There is nothing to catch my view on either sides of the road. Some grocery shops. Two sweet mart-cum-snack bars. People flocked there. I blew smoke. I see the visual signs of Chowk approaching. Fruit Sellers, Fruit Juice stalls. Tea stalls. Pan Beedi Shops. Vada Pav. These shops. Those shops. Shops. Shops. Shops.

I wave to the poster seller, sitting with posters spread on road. He waves back. He knows me, since I regularly buy posters fro him. He sells posters of almost every imaginable entity on the planet. Someday I think, he’ll also sell a poster of my Dad. Then Mr. Karambelkar. Whomsoever he is. There will be his poster too. I throw a quick look at them. There is famous Indian female tennis player’s print there. I stare at it for a moment. I can’t get my eyes off the thighs. Those are gorgeous. Enormous. Marble white. They carry a solace in them. They extract the weariness out of the exhausted bodies that walk past them. Their whiteness flashes before the eyes. It reaches deep within and enlightens the darkness inside. No. There is no moment in the pubis. There is a coolness that soothes the soul. Those souls burning in heaven seek it. For it is their only respite. I walk past.

They all know me. All the hawkers. I have communicated wit each of them at least once in these six months. And waved to them or smiled at them later. Just like that. If or if not I am going to buy anything. I do smile at them. Who does? Who smiles at them? I have no answer. So I create one myself.

I look around just for the sake of it. No sign of Harshad around. I knew he wouldn’t be there. If he would’ve waited, I wouldn’t be there. That is a sort of rule of nature between us. It’s meant to change. Maybe it is the rule of the world. Amongst two people meeting, one always has to wait. That could be a law. A law by my name. Like Murphy’s Law.

I stand near the newspaper stand. I usually stand here when I am waiting for someone. Even for a bus. This place never bores you. If reading doesn’t bore you of course. I stand there reading headlines. But the there’s another interesting thing to gaze at. The Hindi film tabloid. It’s got

pictures of actors on the cover in a proper four frame. And in each frame, there is a thought bubble where statements of those actors are written. Something like Preity Zinta in her bubble says “Mujhe filhal kisise pyar nahi hai”..”Lately…I am not in love with anyone..” And likewise…
I am done reading their thought bubble revealing their inner secrets in a single line. Harshad hadn’t yet arrived. I bought another cigarette and began smoking it. I didn’t want to. But I had to deal with stagnancy closing in. I am going to die soon smoking. With cancer. Lung cancer. And I am going to hold Harshad and such bastards responsible for it. I am writing a letter after I return back to my room holding them responsible for my death.

Respectable Sir,
To whomsoever investigating my death. I am suffering from lung cancer due to excessive smoking. And I heold my friends responsible for it. Either by boring me or by making me wait for hours. In case of my death, see to it that they are bored to death by law or are made to wait till they drop dead.
Thanking You
Yours faithfully
“I”

I see Harshad. Fuck him!!!

Chapter ! - 1.a

1.a
I was sleeping in the room. Siesta, like the Italians call it. A long nap in the afternoon. After lunch. There’s nobody in the room. Everybody has something to do. Even I have. If nothing, I have to attend the lectures. But I don’t want to. I never do it these days. It bores me to the core. Everything bores me here. No big deal. Piyush is attending it. It’s good that he is. I don’t want him at the room at this moment. He speaks like shit. He keeps speaking. Then he gets emotional and then he starts burrowing into my brain. He can’t be dealt with alone. He is wisely conversed with in public. Wherein you can distract yourself from his overflowing emotions by indulging into a conversation with someone else and divert him to some other self. World seems a beautiful place without him. At least I can sleep. At least. But I am not able to. I am trying hard to lying on the mattress. But I am not able to.

I begin thinking. I know this will work. I wasn’t sleeping because I had nothing to think of. Only depressing shit. Like future and all. Not worth. But they still intrude my state of well being. I’ve just set them aside. I am thinking about aliens. Worth it. Aliens. If they exist. Do they exist? Why can’t they? They must be. We can’t be alone. And space is seamless. I remember somebody saying space is big. It can’t be big. Something is big or small if it has seams. Seams decide a shape. Shape define size. Space doesn’t have a size. It is not big. It is just seamless. Just like that. This thought depressed me as a kid. It still does. It burdens up on me. It presses me beneath it. I feel blank. I feel helpless. The feeling of endlessness fills up in me making me heavy. I feel weighed down. Darkness fills in. My body loosens up then. Strain oozes out of the threads holding my body together. I feel like a puppet that has lost the ties with fingers that command him. I am slowly dissolving into the darkness before me. My thoughts float away from me. Head that held them starts softening up and the creases are soaked in darkness to flatten up. I hear nothing now. Doors of my ears have closed like those large doors of palaces. Slowly with no one in the vision to operate them. Seeming like a miracle. Out of sheer misconception. I start floating. I am transported to a lighter space. Every inch of me is in a repose.

Just then the mobile phone rings. Fucking phone. Fucking shit. Bhenchod!!! Maa ka bhosda!!!
I open my glued eyes with extreme efforts. I abuse the caller more. A thought of it being my father makes me control it. Irritated me picks up the phone. Irritated me looks at the screen. Irritated me sees a name. Irritated me says ‘Madarchod’! Irritated me answers the call.
“Bol”
“Are you free now??”
“No…why”
“Where are you??”
“Nowhere..”
“Fucker its serious…”
“speak”
“Can you meet me??”
“Yaaaaawwwwwnnnnnn”
“Beer”
“Where??”
“Come to the chowk”
“Okay….wait there…..I am coming”
Harshad on phone. Doesn’t bore that much. Just that his humor is sick. Not sick exactly. It’s filthy. It gets stuck in the urinary tract and fecal matters. It smelled. No, It stunk. It was a proof of his lame imaginative.

I toss aside my bedsheet. Sit lazily on the mattress. I am too pissed off to walk over to the Chowk. But the word is beer. And it is Harshad. Generosity supported by the mess of law and order. Baap Ka Maal. My Dad bribes policemen. His Dad is also bribed by several such Dad’s. He gives a part of it to Harshad to get a degree. He gives a part of it to me for friendship, company, suggestion, guidance and all such shit. But this helps me build a gratitude towards society. Because , it gives me a feeling of being fed by all these Dads along with my Dad. Harshad said beer. When he says that means he is going to crash drinking. We will go!!!

Also when he says beer, either he too is sad or he is too delighted. We have to see what it is.
We stand up. Pull up a jeans. A t-shirt. Fuck I need to wash it. Fuck who cares. Waiter’s not gonna sniff my arm pits. Harshad may. But he’d be drunk.

We leave.

A Thought...

I hate this place. I have been living here for more than an year now. And I tell you…This place sucks!! I call it the arse-hole of the world. A place closest to shit. But not shit. Just close to it. Arse- hole.