Maare gaye gulfaam: My three vows in life

With all these Asaram Babu and Radhey maa escapades popping up, celibacy seems to be an unachievable task. Yet you may get close to it by subscribing The Hindu.They dare extremes like putting Rangana Herath, an ugly unknown cricketer on cover page of their sports mag…..wait a minute…..Rangana Herath (Use google. He exists). Closest obscenity I could find in one of the cornered columns of The Hindu, was Nargis Fakhri’s natural pout. I remember the Hindi dailies up north which would have dedicated flashy pages of poster size bikini girls, and so would have the famous Times. And the sexpert column, which I always believed had framed up questions from some pervert (how do they hire such pervert? is there some course like Masters in Perversion). Sneak-and-peek stuffs. Anyway, I am content with Nargis Fakhri’s pout at the moment, one of the sacrifice you have to do to join elite club of The Hindu-readers. I wonder how many vows I would finally take in life.

While my first vow featured in my earlier blog that I would never commit theft, the second one dealt with something on similar lines.

A leader is the one who can lead you on right and wrong paths with equal efficacy.

It all started with a blind date gone wrong with my friend. The girl instead of singing lovesongs, gave him an audio CD from some multi-level marketing firm. While I was pondering on the idea, somebody brought a similar platter where you can make a million from petty 2000 bucks in 9 months (what an apt gestation period). Anyway, I jumped into the fray. Rest was history! I sold the idea to somebody, and people were luring each other on chai-tapdi , the backseat of classroom, and even their girlfriends on dates. The chain grew exponentially. Soon, I found myself talking to a packed audience in some engineering college. But, somehow nobody was gaining anything. A fellow who incidentally was my neighbour would sluggishly stroll in front of me, “Jha, mere chain ka kuchh hua kya?” My smile assured him always, and he would go day-dreaming about his million. Soon, the dream castle began shaking. All we had, was some tree-like-structure on paper, with no money in it.  In those days, when somebody provided a login-password, it meant some credibility. The passwords never worked.  The company had cheated us all, albeit some of the dejected fellows extracted a local brand mixer-grinder from them (a sarcastic gift from company. What were we supposed to do? Put our ass and get it shredded to bits).

I took my second vow, to never indulge in any mode of corruption, especially if it concerns others.

Coming back to the topic of Nargis Fakhri, its a transformation in myself to even appreciate her. If it was my real self, I should have been rather dreaming of Vidya Balan or even somebody older. In my schooldays, when people were mad about bubbly Divya Bharati, I would hide an old newspaper clipping of Juhi Chawla in my notebook. And this was guided by my coach from Brilliant Tutorials (an old days coaching institute) who kept Suraiya’s clip with him in his student days. He quoted them as passions which keep us moving. Later, Madhuri Dixit stayed in my notebooks for long till I grew old enough to find my own Juhis and Madhuris. The long inculcated habit was not dying, and anybody younger was not appealing enough. A girl I was attracted to, lost her chances (lol her chances!!) when I accidently looked at her tenth marksheet. She was three months younger, marginally failing the eligibility criteria. My parallel struggles for Dilli-waalee girlfriend (my earlier blog) made it even difficult- Dilli-waalee badee girlfriend. So be it! A dreamer never gives up. But, when you fall from a higher tree, you get hurt even more. I jumped; I climbed; I reached; And, I fell flat.

I took my third vow, to never fall for an elder girl. After all, what’s wrong with Nargis Fakhri (except that she would have never featured in any article more than this blog)?

Teesri Kasam is a Raj Kapoor starrer, where he takes three vows of – not carrying illegal goods in his cart, never carry bamboo which hurts others in his cart, and never carry a nautanki-dancer.

teesri kasam
A still from ‘Teesri Kasam’- the movie

Dilli waali girlfriend

Morning newspaper had a photo clipping of Salwar-clad thinly built girls with two long hair-locks (colloquially called ‘chotees’) jumping across an iron-grill gate, since they were late for pre-medical exam.

Nothing attractive about them. No tight-fitted jeans. No lip gloss. No funky tops or overblown assets. No attitude. No X Y Z factor.

Morning newspaper was ofcourse the quientessential boring ‘The Hindu’, read by only two class of people- IAS aspirants or one who dreamt but never became one. They prefer to be called an elite class now. Moment I began counting myself as one, I terminated my ‘Times’ subscription, switched to ‘The Hindu’, and also changed my reading desk from study table to the toilet commode. And then, long verbose facebook posts and blogs followed, in efforts to bring myself in the elite league.

But, this fascination with elite class haunted me since my days in school. Asking for ‘the hindu’ was certainly not in a kid fascination. It was a blue-eyed urbane sophisticated convent educated girl who could speak fluent english. She seemed just out-of-reach, yet I began brushing up my english, practicing a heavily accented english in school backyard. I could never get the girl, instead aced my english papers.

Med-school ragging days followed, where a Bihari senior would gang-up all Bihari freshers and command like a Jehadi commander, “Saale! Tum log sab ke sabb yahan tak to aa gaye. Par aage ka raasta kathin hai. You all should aim for a ‘delhi-waali girlfriend’. “

Now, this was more than plain english. The overtones, the attitude, the out-of-place humour, the food habits, the body language. Delhi-waali girlfriend seemed like a golden-bicycle toy I cribbed for, my parents could never afford. Only way that came in my mind was old adage, “beta! Padhoge to sabb kuchh milega”. So, I studied hard and kept doing well in exams. Efforts were underpaid, when all I could get was a ‘patna-waali girlfriend’ (PWG).

I wasn’t ready to accept any fault in my DNA, instead something was wrong with the country. I moved to US, lost my PWG, and gave up any dream of DWG. This had suddenly brought me to end of road, with no further girlfriends to aim. I made many more friends, with no delhi-waali, no tags, no premonitions. In that country, all India-waallahs carried the same tag as a Bihari in India. The underdeveloped underprivileged unsophisticated accented people, all of them in dream of better opportunities.

Back to India, tilism was broken. I was in Delhi, a city of ogling, groping, teasing men and bold, energetic and lively girls, who would be afraid, self-conscious and listless at times. Delhi-waali-girlfriend would be equally praised and scorned for.

I finally did have an ephemeral delhi-waali girlfriend and a delhi-waali wife, yet the DNA didn’t haunt me ever again.

Courtesy: google images