Two Days of Winter : Prologue

prologue to a journey of self – discovery.

Advertisements

It was final that I was going to Shimla when my mother told me that she was not like other moms who’d stop their kids from going places. In addition to that, she asked me to be a brave boy and not deny myself such life-changing opportunities. To crown it all, she sent me 5000 rupees to buy a shirt and a brand new shoe. I mean where do you find such mommies?

“You see how good a mother I am. I am sending you to Shimla. You should not forget this when I’m old. Buy me a nice pair of glasses and take me to America. Since I was a kid, I wanted to take selfies with white people. ”

“When you were a kid, there were no mobile phones. “I reminded her, about which she thought for a moment, and said in a flat, non-apologetic tone,

“You also have to repay the 20 lakh loan I took for our new home. ”

Fuck.

My intellectual friend came to my room one afternoon and we began shopping on Myntra. Buying a shirt had never felt so confuzzling before. I am one of those guys who’d go to a sale and say, ‘light blue shirt’ and come home with the first one thrown at him. I often imagine myself suited up like George Clooney, but as you should have already known by now, I imagine a lot.

The problem with buying clothes to impress others is that you have to go through a lot of Maths. Something you like would either be too pricey or would have bad reviews or would demand delivery charges that could buy three large underwears at Palika Bazaar. We scrolled through hundreds of shirts, and my intellectual friend started using salesman jargons – chinese collar, SMXXL – so I felt kind of dozy. While buying shoes I looked for a pair of blue casuals with holes on the sides – because my intellectual friend had those – but it went over budget so I dropped the idea of holes.

The package arrived early and I wondered if I was excited or not. I mean yeah, I had clothes and footwear and girls would rise from their graves to shriek with ecstasy for such a deal, but they were just clothes and footwear. I mean the best things happen when you’re rather naked. Or dressed in latex.

So yeah, shopping was done, and by the morning, Neta was ready to join in. He had been throwing tantrums since the beginning, however, we were able to convince him. We told him that there would be lots of Bhojpuri songs and woofers, and that was it.

So everybody slept in the noon – except me of course – and in the evening they flocked at my doorstep, right when I began wondering if I should catch some sleep. I borrowed a press and watched YouTube tutorials on pressing clothes and realised things are not so easy in real life as they make it seem on youtube.

We then went to the college – after everybody agreed that we shall not overeat (as the bus was to go in circles at an altitude) and then we overate because the Military Man’s lunch was delicious as heaven – and found hot girls wearing hot dresses and waiting near the parking. Okay, that was a positive side.

But to be honest, I was kind of toey and miffed with the idea of me being in Shimla. I am not that wild wolf who tears through snowy pine forests, I’m a wise old tortoise who imagines he’s a wild wolf that tears through snowy pine forests. I can picture a lot of things – and for a long time this philosophical question has peplexed me :-

If you can imagine an apple’s color, shape, texture, taste and every other quality, is it worth to actually eat that apple?

Anyways, with time there were more and more people showing up and it became difficult to accommodate everybody. I just wanted a window seat in the front. And I would bury myself in my blanket and pretend to be dead.

The bus showed up at around 11. Before that there was a full-on baaraati dance, and people shook as if they were dying of electrocution. Senior girls were making sultry moves with their rotund assses and it was kind of intoxicating. As the bus honked at the gate, we charged like wild wolves. I was able to capture a window seat. I took out a Feviquick and stuck my ass right there.

Next, people started filling in. And it was crowded and suffocating. The couple in front of me was busy massaging their feet with odomos. I wondered if they also had condoms inside their bags. There are lot of places in Shimla where you can do some jiffy-stiffy jig-jig.

The bus moved after a few million years. First the college vanished behind me, and then the lights and the bridges, and then I stopped looking back, wondering when the cities would stop and the mountains would begin.

To be contd….

College Trip Plans 😑

yeah. I don’t have anything much to say.

LATEST UPDATE : WE ARE GOING TO MANALI.

I’d have put fifteen exclamation marks after Manali had I been half a wanderlust as Heer. But let’s just face it, I have more of a stationary personality. If someone showed me the stairs to heaven, I would probably ask where the elevator door is. When Michio Kaku said that they were developing particle teleporters at NASA, I can’t tell you how relieved I was. Imagine a future with no vehicles, no backpacks, no travelling – just an Anywhere Door that you could plant anywhere to get to anywhere. That’s heaven, right there!

So yeah, I’m not totally bubbling with excitement, like you would expect. Everybody else is excited, because yaayy it’s a college trip and you don’t get such chances twice in life, but I don’t think there’s much to gain from it. There’s not going to be any self-discovery like it happens in Imtyaz Ali flicks. No chicks to fuck, and no enlightenment to suck through the morning sunlight. All you get is a bunch of crabs squirming around and pulling you down all the time. You are constantly under the burden of having fun. And trust me, it’s crushing.

A decent idea of a trip, if ever, would not consist of more than 3 people, because when I’m on a mountaintop amid the chilling snow watching a mellow sunrise, I don’t want some runt to throw snowballs at my back because it’s his idea of fun. I don’t want to be around that bonfire amid dumb people acting happy, playing cards and sharing stupid stories that nobody really gives a fuck about – and such a night is supposed to mark my calendar as one of the best nights ever – pretending to have a life altering experience. Hell, my idea of a life altering experience would be a six-hour wax play threesome with Spanish nymphets.

It’s going to be a three day trip with a single stoppage at Shimla. There’s also a strong probability of boating, which I don’t like much if I’m not provided with two life jackets after a six month Swimming course at Cambridge. My classmates also have plans to walk through the mountains instead of just using the goddamn cable cars. Also, there’s a whole blueprint of snowballing as and when it’ll be done. These are tough expectations to place on your peers.

The problem with people is that they’re trying to plaster their idea of fun all over you. Something that pleases them must please you, or else, you’re boring and lazy and dumb. I’m quite sick of all this. I am done with being a part of society. It’s not even a society, it’s just a bucket full of crabs. People trying to pull you down all the time.

Anyways, I’m going to Manali. Because I might just hit enlightenment if I somehow slip out of the bucket.

Toothbrush 💕

with 8000 counterclockwise revolutions per minute and all that shit….

It was a cold day. The train was parked amidst some godforsaken jungle. The LTE sign on my notification toggle flickered like a dying candle. A mild morning light came seeping through the web of trees. And in front of me lay amorphous pieces of human turd which the last fellow passenger had probably forgotten to flush. That’s a regular scene in North Indian train toilets, so I did not make a fuss about it. I just peed, saving any possible collision of my stream with the last man’s debris, and then I tried to flush but there was no water, so I slipped out like a mouse.

The sleeping beauty on the side-upper berth had finally woken up. She fished in her fancy handbag and pulled out a fancy brush. It was one of those toothbrushes people with Swiss bank account buy – with counterclockwise 8000 revolutions per minute and all that hyper level shit; the ones so expensive that they don’t even advertise during daily soaps, so my mother has no idea about their existence.

I imagined telling my mother about such toothbrushes and about people owning them.

“We used powders and your Nanny rubbed ashes and sand on her teeth. Now I’m beginning to think we are cave people. “She’d say, and then add that toothbrush to her wish list.

The girl did not have a toothpaste though. Maybe it came with an in-built mint flavour, I thought.

Is there any cap to how rich you can get? I could have all the money in the world and still be poor as fuck. If I get rich enough to buy that kind of toothbrush, I’d rather buy one of Saturn’s moons and drill oil out of it to get even richer.

The girl went towards the wash basin. I was not sure if she could bear all that revolting shit. See, with richness there comes a whiff of intolerance. But she handled it pretty well.

A just-woken-up girl brushing her teeth in a train is not exactly how they show you in movies. I mean they look pretty wrecked up, but it’s kind of cute, nevertheless. Yeah, you won’t like to snog her but you could still make art out of her.

I thought I would, but then I gave up that thought. She was too rich and too far. And I had my own worries. So I turned around like a good boy and walked back to my berth, plugged in the earphones and played Kailash Kher on a loop.

I watched that movie..

The most evil people bring babies to cinema halls…

Yeah. So a few Sundays ago, we stuffed ourselves with fried chicken, and when the breeze ran cold and the sun dipped low, went to watch this famous movie that got its ‘i’ dropped. You know which movie I’m talking about.

Now I’m not a very ardent cinemagoer to begin with. I’ve vague memories of my mother carrying me in her arms to this dreary cinema theatre in Banmankhi where they sold roasted peanuts during the interval. I also remember that they played the same stodgy crap over and over. The movie would be about a woman whose life was hell because her in-laws were children of satan and her own family was a cluster of eunuchs. The husband was a pisshead who fucked whores and had a debt equal to the combined GDP of Bangladesh and Myanmar, which he had acquired from shady people. Not to mention he was vile and violent and loved torturing his wife, which was considered an act of domestic violence before E.L. James came up with Fifty Shades of Grey. The mother-in-law had a PHD in finding faults and the father-in-law was an insignificant character who read newspaper and had no idea what he was doing in the movie. Also, there was unpaid dowry. So they’d beat her up pretty good. But the woman was a devotee of this Goddess, who for the most of the movie, perhaps enjoyed her plight munching popcorn in her higher dimensional sofa, who towards the end realised that the in-laws were pretty evil blokes and so she almost killed them but the good wife requested her to not to do so and then all those evil people somehow got magically transformed into gentle human beings in the last two minutes of the movie. I was a small baby back then, but I swear I knew I had landed up in the wrong place.

When I grew up, we didn’t go to movies that often. Mostly, it would be south Indian mass entertainment crap on Star Gold every sunday at 4 pm, full of ludicrous action sequences and incoherent songs. We did go to watch Veer in JVR Plaza, but it flopped terribly. I also went to watch Kambakht ishq with my mother, a disaster about which I shall talk later.

So anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t drop at multiplexes every Friday, and so when we waited at the fast food counter on the second floor of Vikas Mall cleaning our 3D glasses with the tissue paper, I felt kind of excited. There was a Black Panther poster on one of the walls, and my friends started posing in front of it. There were dozens of army officials, strolling around with big guns. The mall looked like a battle camp.

We went in after a while. And it was a cheap ticket, so we got front seats. They were showing Delhi Police ads against child sexual abuse. The movie started in a while and we put on our 3D glasses. It wasn’t that clear. We’d to really focus hard to see the movie. This intellectual friend of mine tried to explain the science behind it. But when he started using words like refraction, we told him to shut the fuck up.

The movie was good. It could have been better had there not been (1) Stupid people entering the theatre all the time because they were probably given wrong timing or had alzheimer (2) Stupid couple always having to buy some stuff during the movie because they couldn’t buy it later (3) Stupid baby kicking at the back of my chair because, well, wait, why the fuck is it legal to bring babies in a movie theatre (4) Stupid aunties in the back discussing if Malik Kafur was that.

The glasses sucked but I managed somehow. There were very few hot scenes. Khilji was impressive and cruel. I wouldn’t even talk about its historicity because it is pointless. The songs were nice. The plot was a bit stupid. The story sucked towards the end. It wasn’t a Bajirao Mastani. Deepika was pretty but Aditi Rao Haydari looked like someone you could build Taj Mahal for.

Yeah. That was it.