Last Rites (and Wrongs): A Six Year Story

Tuesday, the 18th day of November, 2008

Prologue: A Six Month Story

In the summer of 2002, three starry-eyed freshmen came to the capital of India to live the great-small-town-dream. Fresh into college. Fresh out of puberty. Bunking classes for the first time. Living away from home. Enjoying their salad days. That age of youthful inexperience. AWESOME!

Though it lasted only six months for them, those six months were like a lifetime. In this lifetime they ran a gamut of joyrides ranging from illicit to illustrative. In six months they changed residence as many times. But the residue had an everlasting effect.

The three were childhood pals. From learning the alphabets together in kindergarten to triple dating in college, they had indeed come a long way. Given the amount of time they spent together, it was good that they were three in number. Had they been just two, junta would have thought them to be queer.

Life in a small-town was like Soap. Effervescent, sparkling, slippery, made you cry when it got in your eyes and smelly. So they switched channels and landed in GK One. The land of opportunities. No more soapy stuff, a much wanted commercial break. But their landlady had different plans.

About them freshmen:

Good!do "Dulhe Raja" Jain
He was like a bicycle. Unpretentious, humble and clean as a whistle. WYSIWYG. But then like a wise man once said, "He is a bicycle for sure. But one with pink handles, pink ribbons and a fluorescent pink seat." A glittering gladsome guy indeed. He is unquestionably the most hyped guy in this story.

Pinkey "Masala Kooda Kooda Utha le" Vakil
Always the bride’s maid but never the bride. Unfortunately for him, chicks found him "cute". I mean in all the group pics you would see girls sitting ON him. Yes ON him! You would see that pic and say "wow this guy sure is POPULAR". But then that’s about it.

Ggn
*For security reasons this section has been intentionally left blank*

OUR lives were affected by myriad characters that added colour to our lives. Hues of purple to shades of grey at times. We slowly lost touch with these fellas once our innings at Delhi came to an abrupt end. But then after six years, like phoenixes they all rose out of ashes (and black labels) to commemorate a historic event that culminated on the day of good!do’s last rites. (Well it was only a metaphoric death, but one that every man experiences at least once in their lifetime. More about that later)

About them sidekicks:

Ravi "page 3" Bhai

I loved tennis. Pinkey loved downloading. Good!do loved plots (not the Hitchcock ones, the real estate kinds you know). And Ravi Bhai loved <pause for effect> girls! So not surprisingly he was our mentor. He was like a weekly guide. Always abreast of the most happening happenings in town. Of course with free access to them.

Sunny "teee-teeee" Bhai

Sunny Bhai was our godfather. He provided us with food, shelter, and internet and police protection from our landlady. His conglomerate included a guest house, a beauty parlour and a cyber cafe. We lived in all three when we were homeless. The beauty parlour bit was special. We had it all by ourselves at night to sleep over.

Impressionable boys of vulnerable age going through the works of a parlour like a baby boomer granny with a vibrator. An ohh here, an aha there. And lots of ouches. What do girls REALLY look like? We wonder. A night spent in role-play. (True story)

He gave us our first tryst with the internet. And our first email ids. All on the house! Yahoo we said. Nights were spent sending cheesy one-liners to ‘coolperkygirl’, ‘riya2k3’, 'god12312345' and co.Life was simple. All it took was an email account and BAM you are ready to cyber-date! ASL please?

Sanya “Bladder” JainAha. The only non-male in this story. She was special (naturally). After all she was the landlady's daughter <wink - wink>. Her last name wasn't Jain, but given her uncanny bladder similarities with our dear friend good!do, we decided that it would be apt if they shared last names. (and how do we know about this? well.. that’s another story).

“Decent” Dembla

This guy used to say that the best things in life come in small packets. Well, a midnight visit to the chemist could corroborate that. He was a charmer, nowhere close to Ravi Bhai, but he could hold his own (pun coincidental). Some days we gelled well. But some were just bad hair days.

Tux Kamina

Every story has a villain. This one doesn't (save for the landlady, but then she is a vamp). So we had to give him that privilege (sorry "dost") and consequently Tux becomes the abominable snowman in this story. With Good!do of course being the able-bodied seaman (phonetic pun intended).

Pilloo "jeans mein scratch" Milai

We all know about the process of reproduction. You know X & Y chromosomes? Well..this guy had XXX and WHY chromosome ! A smorgasbord of sleaze. But what's a story sans a weirdo?

All them fellas made a guest appearance at the ceremony. It was amazing to see them all after six years under one roof.

Now back To The Story: Adam Teasing

Dulhe Raja (good!do) decided to throw a ball before he committed his balls to just one girl. And it was resolved that a prototypical bachelor party (henceforth referred to as ‘the pardy’) shall be organised. After-all it’s a ritual man has followed without fail since time immemorial. So a gala was planned at Tivoli gardens (where else?) with all the works. You know sharaab, kebab and.. ahem.. shabaab. ahem. The Oracle had spoken. Invites were sent out to all and sundry. Even people distantly associated to good!do were sent teasers. Emails followed. SMS updates and reminders were sent out every 24 hours. Twice on the eve and every hour on the D-day

Given his reputation, the expectations were sky high since good!do does stuff in style. And to add to the hoopla he declared that apart from the pre-selected ‘local’ entertainment (seven to be precise) he would throw in some foreign flavour to the pardy. And to settle on the nationality it was decided to take a poll. Voting lines were open and people had options to choose from what they never thought existed. From the usual oriental variety to the exotic east European tang. From the deserts of Middle East to the badlands of the west. Like flavours in a candy store. Can’t we have all? We thought. “No”, answered Bobby ‘the supplier’. “You have already stretched the budget on F&B therefore you don’t have much to spare for the ”FMCG”. Given that, I can barely provide you with one. Umm, you like Russians?” “We love ‘em!” And we were given three pictures to choose from. “This One!” we cried out in unison. Thus the to-do list was complete.

The word was sent out about the addition of a Russian salad to the menu. The frenzy had reached a crescendo. The invitees were getting euphoric. For many it was their first time. The Pardy was giving IPL a close fight for the title of ‘event of the year’.

The magnificent 7 (Indians) vs. 1 Salad (Russian). A very intriguing showdown. Who would you put your money on? Or rather who would you THROW your money on was the question?

Finally the day arrived and I woke up with a grin on my face. It seemed destined. Not looking to take any chances, I checked the weather. Perfect for days like these.

The much anticipated fanfare was scheduled to start at 2030 hours sharp. Everyone had taken their seats in an orderly fashion by 2015. The buzz was incredible. Not to take any chances, everyone had fixed themselves a plate of snacks to go with the omnipresent glass of Johnny Walker. Such a union of humans was never before seen. Everyone was a friend here. People of all ages and religion were harmoniously gathered under one roof on this auspicious day. Secularists would have been proud.

It was 2100 now. People were getting restless. But were fully conscious to keep their emotions under check lest others label them as desperate. Pinkey and I had taken high stools. It seemed perfect for the occasion. If you know what I mean ;).

Suddenly the music died. And Bobby broke into the scene. The lights were dimmed for effect. Bobby Spoke. And everyone fell silent. Like an announcer declaring the results of a lottery. “Ladies & gentlemen (neither were present, ironically). Your entertainment for tonight is ready.” Woohay was the response.

But before we got to the action, Bobby had a list of Dos & Donts. It was to be adhered to strictly. “No feelsies only looksies. No exceptions”. And to throw in a deterrent, two high school guys appeared out of nowhere (which was pretty cool btw). They were about 5’5”, skinny and had t-shirts on which said ‘bouncer’. We were scared. Or so we liked to pretend.

A spotlight came on bang in front of me. And before long we heard the sounds of chhamm chhamm coming from yonder. (Onomatopoeia always adds tang to a story).

It appeared that I had unwittingly taken the box seats for the show. The performances were supposed to take place about two feet from me. And then she sauntered in. All of a sudden, I was convulsing. Inexplicably, I was going all shivery. Something was going on in my innards. I looked at pinkey for some inspired guts. But he was all into it before the word go. And the word – self-control.

The DJ belted out a popular bollywood mujra number and the mood was set. Wolf whistles and cat calls filled up the majestic hall. As for me, the shit was about to hit the fan. She started to jive to the tempo and I panicked. I tried to reach for the abort button and bolted out of my stool but to my horror she blocked my way. And without speaking a word, in a flow of her moves she motioned me to take my seat. And like a well-trained dog I complied. The crowd went barmy.

Pinkey was no longer the man I had known all my life. Like an ichhadhaari nag he had transmogrified into the Lucifer himself. I was amazed at what one Women can do to a houseful of men. Men were throwing money at her. She was more powerful than Obama in that room.

Good!do was hauled onto the stage. And she serenaded him. Quite suggestively too. Crowd was going ker-azy. Like enemies at the gate they were about to breach all the restrictions laid down by Bobby. The “bouncers” sprung into action. They moved in front of her to shield her from any possible ambush. They were pretty useless btw. She looked more in control than those two adolescents. Just a twirl of her hip had the mob subdued.

And then she did the unthinkable. She picked out the most vociferous dude from the crowd and brought him to dance with her. For a split second there was a pregnant silence. She lurched towards him and our dude reciprocated with élan. Then they erupted. The rowdies knew immediately that they were going to have a field day. Pinkey was going evilly by the minute. Good!do was cheering like Billy-o. I swallowed my lump.

I had no idea what was becoming of me but this certainly wasn’t my glass of whiskey. I was getting edgy. But others weren’t. So rather than being cribby and bore you with my grievances I will tell you the tales of valour of the rest. After-all the show had just began. The Russian revolution hadn’t even started.

It was 2200 now. So far six from the Indian contingent had enthralled the awe-dience. The seventh one was keeping us hounds entertained. The night was young (just like them bouncers) and already dozens of chickens had been sacrificed and scores of Johnny’s had been usurped. The Gods were going to be happy. But we were more interested in the Goddesses at the altar.

And soon we were going to learn more about Russian mythology.

Five minutes later it happened. The queen bee had arrived. Everyone dropped everything to focus on her. Including their jaws. The mob was fixated.

Without her skin/hair tone she would be no different than an average Indian girl. Alright maybe an above average Indian girl. She had an hourglass figure, toothy smile, suicide blonde hair, and minimal clothing. Was it the hype or the whole atmosphere of the place that made her a deity? People didn’t want to know.

I thought maybe I wasn’t drunk enough to appreciate the whole shebang. So I walked up to the bar to get meself a gulp. I was surprised that the most wanted item at the bar wasn’t vodka. I guess not all things Russian were in demand that night. I decided to take my time to decide.

While I was at it, a giant sized guy pushed ahead of me, duly apologized and asked for his usual. It was Sunny Bhai! The most mannerly inebriated guy I had ever known. He didn’t recognize me at first. Not even on second, third and fourth attempt. Infact he didn’t remember me at all. After much mutual embarrassment and oh-yes-yes-i-remember, we hugged. He told me that he had diversified further. The guest house and cyber café were still there but the beauty parlour was now an upmarket unisex saloon. Which meant we could no longer sleep there. Not that we needed to, but I would like to know my options in case I was rendered homeless yet again. ‘Tis better to sleep in a friend’s beauty parlour than in an evil landlady’s top floor shanty. A lesson learnt the hard way six years back.

2300 now and the Russian had long gone. The Indians were taking shifts to keep the mob imprisoned in their bottles of Johnny Walker. I had bumped into a lot of familiar faces. Sunny bhai, Rahul bhai, Tux Kamina and Decent Dembla. Pilloo was the surprise no-show. The the pardy would have taken off to another level had he been here. I thought he would surely understand the significance of this day as he too had married a few months back. Oh wait a minute! That’s why he didn’t turn up. He’s married now ! Of course. What a waste.

An hour later the crowd was getting thinner. Only figuratively. You won’t expect them to shed calories, not with all that F&B they downed. But their wallets were definitely lighter. Bobby would be a happy man I thought. Then I saw a suave figure moving through the crowds. That mark of an inimitable personality. None other than Ravi Bhai himself. The man, the (love) machine, street smart. Six years had taken a toll on him but he sure was debonair as ever. Instant mutual recognition. We hugged. He was still single, still partying and still doing what he does best, womanizing.

0030 now and there were not many takers for the dinner served outside. The Russian had made two appearances and was done for the night. Most of the Indian contingent had changed into casual wear bit were still dancing. A lot of people had gone home. Their departure had been in descending order of the years they had been married.

At about 0100, the only people left were either the caterers or the cleaners. Also seen sloshed were good!do and, his roommates to help him home. A lone dancer chatting up an African American dude (why can’t we just use the N-word and save so many letters?? Oh btw yes he was invited too). Even the bouncers were gone now. A half-asleep DJ was playing a random selection. A half-asleep bartender was trying to count the used bottles. Pinkey still seemed pretty sober for the nine odd glasses he had downed.

I decided to call it a night. It had been a long one too. Pinkey was supposed to come along. So we went to do one of the toughest things a man has to do. We decided to bid good!do good!bye. But as we had expected, he solemnly reminded us of our friendship and declared that if we were to leave now it would have dire consequences on our dosti. A lot of unsuccessful excuses followed and we finally thought that the best way to flee was to do it covertly. A plan was drawn up and we decided to use the classic I-have-to-pee plea for our get-away. Ravi Bhai was already waiting outside in his car. I decided to provide the covering fire while Pinkey made a run for the loo.

In midst of my thoughts I was when good!do rapped me on my shoulder. I turned around and saw that look in his eyes. Uh-oh, thought I. There comes a time in every man’s life that he has to choose between his convictions and his best-friend. Commonly known as peer-pressure. “Where is pinkey?” he asked. “Er..gone to the loo” I squeaked. “You can’t leave like this! Dost” “But it’s already too late.” “Oh well in that case, one for the road friend. Because I know you have been abstaining all night”. “Alright” I gave in thinking that it’s not that bad a deal.

Good!do chortled and summoned the lone dancer and said the following to her, “This guy is my best friend and he is also the most decent guy in this place. Kindly change that before he leaves.”

Before I could say WTF, she was onto me with “humma humma” suddenly blasting out the speakers. I tried to take off. But she had me cornered. Everybody present there was cheering my name. Including the now-fully-awake bartender. I tried to sneak out while she turned towards the crowd. But like a coiled-spring she leaped in front and pushed me back into the corner. I had no where to run. I was sweating now. My worst fears had come true. The ruffians were having whale of a time, at my expense obviously. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she jumped towards me and to my horror, went down on me. The mob never had it any better. She was swinging only about 0.01 inches away from my crotch. All I could see was good!do almost passing out from his laughing fits. The rest of the gang was hysterical. Even the wasted bartender was giving me the biggest-loser looks. Where are the bouncers when you need them? I thought to myself. Then she used my shirt to climb back up. I was about to fold. But I thought that this is not how I would like to end this duel. Like a gladiator I fought back and whispered to her, “Please..”. Fearing the worst I had half-closed my eyes. She stopped dancing, looked at me and grasped my nose. I was at her mercy now. Snubbing my male ego, she said disparagingly, “I pity you” and walked away.

I closed the door of Ravi Bhai’s car behind me and heaved a sigh of relief. “What took you so long?” he asked. “Humph, nothing, I’m afraid I might be gay”