“Damn!”
He banged the table. As the agile Rayadu displaced Vettori’s - the last ray of hope for RCB followers - bails off Harbhajan. I fake-sympathize with him and others, and bang my table with twice the intensity. I cannot overtly display my love for MI for the risk of getting sister and mother cursed by a mob who still believes the solution to India Cricket’s woes lie in Dravid and Kumble – two city boys and India cricket’s veterans who surpass in popularity my, and probably yours as well, favorite cricket star. I accept that. I have no other choice. It’s like risking your life debating Shahrukh, and not Rajnikant, is the bigger superstar. I just look at them and try to wonder how Plato could draw a parallelism between anarchy and democracy thousands of years back before us. The Rights and rights is democracy need not necessarily be right and your Right. It should just have a mass attached to it. The say of the minority is not worthwhile of consideration. I try to recall Suketu Mehta’s discourse on democracy but couldn’t.
I am disturbed of my intellectual cerebration in midway with the fall of next wicket and I bang my table again. This time nobody bangs and they all look at me.
The scene is straight out of last night at my humble abode. A pack of geeks decide to watch and cheer the final of CLT20 between RCB and MI together hoping they’d finally witness a RCB victory in the finals. Given the life-less person I am, I’ve only two things to do in my spare time: listen to their woes and listen to their woes. Finally accepting that I don’t have any choice, I’ve so much trained myself to fake-listen them. I look intently, reverse count starting from 983, and in between nod my head vigorously up and down. This is their way of catharsis. In this city, nobody listens to nobody and I am an emotional-dustbin for this once hopeful and now hopeless bunch of people.
This weekend, they add to my woes and barge in to my place expecting a triumph of RCB over half-depleted MI, disturbing my soliloquy while reading a journalist’s account of underworld, riots, bar girls and Bollywood. Now, with RCB’s loss, there is silence; no one is speaking to no one.
He lights a fag. I resist. I am met with an air of indifference; a bureaucrat’s look to an RTI applicant. I try to enlighten them how narrowly a folk-tale writer from my town missed this year’s Nobel for literature and how I am associated to him by taking high-school Chemistry lessons from his grandson, the importance of lobbying, and the shams of such awards. They don’t share my avidity. The fag-piece changes hands with every puff and die slowly. I realize how symbiotic a fag and smoker are. Mutual. Die and kill. Die and kill. I repeat like a chant. And wish it will herald their departure. I desperately want to breathe, punch my hand in air, and scream for MI.
“This place is cursed man!” one cries. “This guy supports MI!” He adds and allegedly points towards me.
The mob looks towards me. I get chills down my spine. I don’t undermine this nation’s fanaticism for Cricket and Bollywood.
“Cricket fuck karo yaar. My head is spinning. What a dead match it was. Very unlike the last two matches RCB played.” A god-sent angel comes to my rescue.
“Very unlike. Very unlike” I repeat and nod; my instincts helping me in times of danger.
“Yaar Rakesh, kuch sarcasm kar na. The types you do with girls” One demanded.
From the guy who provided them a roof to watch the CLT 20 final, I now finding myself to be a nauch-girl straight out of William Dalrymple’s romanticism-laced accounts of Moghul Empire.
“Yes. Yes. Entertain kar yaar” another one cheered and moved his bum for the first time.
“Yaar what do these girls want?” One asked. There was a peculiar exasperation and melancholy in his question. That of a monk who failed to seek enlightenment and questions his guru the real meaning of truth and life.
“I really don’t know” I shrug-off my shoulders. Aware that there is no one line answer to his query.
“No. No. Tell us. What is their definition of an ideal guy?” He persisted; the conversation now moving from cricket to women.
All the sex starved junta till now had intently pushed their chairs towards mine to listen my treatment on the subject. I felt important for the first time in four hours.
“Tell us yaar. Teri toh girlfriend bhi hai na? Woh Poona-wali” Another one joined.
I smelled danger. I now had a twin mission: to save my personal life from these voyeuristic wolves and quench their queries.
I adjusted my posture. “See, it is different with different girls. There are no hard rules” I began nervously. Like a monk giving his first public sermon.
Observing that the disciples were ungratified, I hastily added, “Generally guys who are smart, intelligent and sophisticated are preferred.”
“How?” One asked.
Knowing that I had no ways out through my vague answers, I mustered all my intrinsic observation of the fairer-sex of the past (Mind you, I am a good observer of everything. And only person who debates and listens to my observations is my own self) and began:
“See girls may like different kind of individuals, at different point of time in their lives. The ones they get hitched with just happen to come at right time.”
“Timing is very important” One notes.
Not knowing whether he was talking about sweep-shot or women, I continued.
“There are two classes of guys who get women: Ones who provide them bread (read luxury) and the others dreams”
“Dreams. Dreams” they chanted. Fully aware back in their mind how poorly paid they were.
“And be nice to them. Be courteous and chivalrous. With the economic reforms of ‘90s, the days of machismo are long gone”
I again turn to vagueness but my disciples now looked at me with new reverence on my adroitness to connect women and Economics.
“Rakesh how do I get the girl I like?” A shy fellow at the end finally opened up.
“Umm… depends on the girl. No two girls are alike. (No two guys are alike as well but nobody cares to find about the guys!) Also depends on the cultural and societal influence on her. Some may like guys who travel, are well read, and have tastes for esthetics. Some may go for muscularity and brusqueness. And some others may like a bit effeminate; metro-sexual types. Soft inside and out.”
“Like Ranbir Kapoor!” One exemplifies.
I ignore him and continue, “But out of all the qualities, a sense of humor is the greatest accessory. Be humorous but funny. Buffoonery is mocked, not appreciated. Try out what she likes. It’s like demand and supply. Observe her needs and demands closely and hit the right nails. You need to outsmart the extra seventy guys of the gender ratio.” I now entwine Economics with social studies.
“We need to put a ban on female infanticide!” One comes with an idea.
“There is already a one” I let him know.
He looks disappointed that his bright idea is not that revolutionary.
“There need to be stricter laws” The chain-smoker suggested a solution. His voice had a genuine pain of an individual being robbed of his prospective life-partner before she is born due to fallacy of laws.
Observing the discussion now going into territory of Laws unknown to me, I recourse to vagueness again.
“So the bottom-line is: know her well. And in course of that, make you known well to her.”
“How to know her well?” an eager disciple asked.
“Good question.” I acknowledge him not knowing how to answer.
“Know more about her. Her likes and her dislikes.”
But recalling how my disciples were shy of standing even five feet next to women, I sermon-ed,
“Overhear her conversations with other girls. They often talk about potential mates. And if even this doesn’t help, steal her personal records from office computers, find out her star sign and read Linda Goodman.”
The very narration of stealing sent a wave of excitement across all James Hadley Chase fans. Others discussed how all men community should be indebted to Linda Goodman and ranted why there were no statues of her in the country. ‘Linda Goodman is a good man’ one chucked (Poor Linda!)
“What if even this does not help?” One skeptic loser challenged.
“Then pray to God or Shakti Kapoor” I advised him taking my expertise on the subject to a whole different level. You got to have some balls to challenge God. And I knew he didn't have the balls to confront Shakti Kapoor.
“Father!” quivered a disciple, his voice laced with genuine query. “Do tell us, if girls like bad boys more than good boys. They say nice guys finish last. So should I more be like Shahrukh or Salman?” The last statement denoting the confidence I had instilled in my disciples. Knowledge is power.
Now this was really my territory.
“See girls do like the uncertainty, masochism and vulnerability of bad guys. Their unpredictability and self-destruction fascinates them. But hardly will they marry them. Nice guys will provide safety, stability, and security in their lives. They need these things since cave-ages. They need such environment to pass their genes to next generation. So they’ll mostly (you can never be sure about girls) choose nice guys as their potential mates. Darwin theorized this more than one hundred fifty years ago.” I corroborate my sermon with Darwin.
My disciples folded their hands as a measure of respect for our hero. Darwin always command a degree of reverence among men community for his immortal rules-cum-tips on mating and copulation (Apparently, his works are also the most subtle and intellectual pretext for adultery). After a guy fails to understand women, he goes under the aegis of Darwin, seeking answers to his queries (mostly on heartbreaks). So Darwin is potent solution to everything between men and women. He has stood the test of time.
“So you’ll find that” I continued, “those girls who look a Shahrukh in their partners also fantasize about Salman in darkness (No offense on their modestly. Just to make it sound good to the poorly developed literally tastes of these men). And like thy kids, or at least other people’s kids.” I corrected. “It is a potential sign of a good mate. Girls like guys who pretend to like kids. Like kids as much as you like Rajnikant. After all Rajni Sir was also a kid once.”
I had touched a very maudlin nerve. I had shown them the fountain-of-breeding and another reason to love Rajni Sir. There eyes were wet.
“Go back home” I knew they would not leave on their own. “And watch Robot once more. Also watch Ra.One this Diwali. Shahrukh is a great follower of Rajni Sir. He parted with the title ‘Robot’ so that Rajni Sir could have it. Rajni Sir has a super-special appearance in Ra.One. So watch Ra.One, because if Ra.One fails, I won’t be able to take his sides in Shahrukh versus Other-Khans’ debates. He’s aging so fast. Go. Go.”
‘Father, come to McDonald’s next Sunday with me’
‘Sir! Have a drink with us at Hard Rock this Friday. You have changed our lives’
‘Lord! Enlighten some of our friends tomorrow evening; they have troubles passing their genes to next generation’
‘Baba, it will be an honor if you’d join us to watch Ra.One this diwali’
I immediately commit to the last offer, and cajole others to raise their offerings.
Some enthusiastic disciples intently peruse my study. One of them asks if he could borrow “The Origins of Species by Means of Natural Selection” for some days. Others touch the holy book to their foreheads in reverence. I had formed a new cult.
They don’t hug me like they normally would. They fold their hands, bow their head and leave one after other in order.
I observe them leaving as long as I can see. I grab some water. Scream MI twice, switch on my computer, and start writing. My phone buzzed and played Chammak Challo and the screen depicted: Shahrukh Calling.
Post Scripts:
Call me anything but sexist, racist, regionist, or religionist. I really take offense if people think I discriminate on the basis of sex, skin, region, or religion.
It’s irritating why MS Word doesn’t understand British form of English. It also doesn’t go by the pedantic rules of commas, colons, and semicolons. Just because you invented Microsoft doesn’t mean you kill the sanctity of language. They should also now understand that Shahrukh Khan is not a spelling error. He has more followers than Brad Pitt! Americans!
I am a Shahrukh maniac, so please endure the torture of Ra.One coming soon at cinemas next to you.
Finally, get in touch with me if you understand women or are a woman who is super-smart, very intelligent, classy and a sucker of books, words and buildings; I am looking for you.
©Rakesh 2011
