Subtle Subramanian - Final Installation

Hi. Here it is. The super-long final installation. I considered splitting this up, but just couldn't find a spot where I could. If you haven't read the previous installations, or have forgotten them, you can do so here. It isn't necessary, but history has shown that it helps ;)

***

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vinod. How may I help you?"
"Yeah. Um, I need to untune all business news channels."
"Sir?"
"I don't want any of the business news channels."
"Sir, um, you can change your plan to..."
"Dude, I don't want to change any plans. I'll lose some other channels that I want. I just want to untune the business channels."
"Sir, I'm sorry, we cant offer you a service without the business channels. You will have to pay for them."
"Dude, I'll pay for the business channels. But I don't want them on my TV."
"Sir, maybe you can not view those channels."
"Mister, I don't want even the names of those channels to appear on my TV."
Sarvesh, who had been working at the call centre for three months, was inquisitive by nature, "Mr. Vinod, have you lost on the markets?"
"No..." Vinod reflected for a second and said, "Actually, you could say that!"
"Sir, the markets are like that. You win some, you lose some."
"Dude, with all due respect, I don't want random gyaan from a Tata Sky customer care guy."
"Mr. Vinod, I'm sorry to inform you that untuning is not possible in Tata Sky. Is there any other service that I may be of, Mr. Vinod?"
"If you could stop being this polite, it may be of great service."
"Sir, please, we're only trying to help."
"You've just lost yourself a customer."
"Have a nice day, sir."

Vinod was amazed by the practiced politeness. He was also irritated by it. How could the voice maintain that fake niceness even when the voice at the other end was being downright rude? How could the voice tell him to have a nice day, when it was clear that there was no way he was going to? Wait a second, was that an actual person, or was it a computer? Perhaps the standard messages are saved on a computer and played back. Anyway, Vinod stayed true to his word. He got a local cable operator, and untuned all business channels manually.

He had to show more signs of disappointment. He took to alcohol with a vengeance. Given his capacity, vengeance wasn't very expensive monetarily, but was expensive otherwise. First, he was at this club where people danced, and this night was particularly couply. He looked around to see everyone in love, and everyone being loved back. He buried himself in more alcohol. A few days later, some neighbour wrote to the building society, 'He is drunk each night and is coming to my house asking for lemon and sugar to make lime juice to finish his vodka. He is also telling me that my wife and someone from her workplace are having an affair because all women are having affairs in their office.' Vinod was asked to leave the building. His desperate pleas were shown the finger, literally. His landlady, the anonymous voice-on-the-phone, asked him to come over to her place for dinner. Vinod was stunned. As it turned out, she had another flat just above the one she was staying in, but it was twice as expensive. She had a solution for that too. She knew a girl who was willing to share the flat with someone agreeable. A meeting of the two was arranged.

"Hi. I'm Teena."
"That's your name?"
"Unofficially, yes."
"What are you, a struggling porn star?"
"No. I'm Sardarni."
"Hardcore."
"I'll ignore that. My real name is..."
"Gurinder?"
"Jaspinder."
"Hi. I'm Vinod. I'm awfully rude."
"The lady told me you have a slight drinking problem."
"Very slight."
"I think we'll get along fine! I too have a very slight drinking problem"
"I have one issue, though."
"What?"
"Nothing can ever happen between us."
"You're awfully subtle, aren't you?"
"Subtle Subramanian, that's me," Vinod said, beaming.
"Oh, I have one issue too."
"What?"
"I'm Teena with two 'e's. Not Tina with an 'i'."
"T-E-E-N-A. Ok. Can I crack a really bad joke about your name?"
"Go ahead."
"So, you're a kind of battery!"
"Battery?"
"Teen-a, triple-a, AAA..."
"We will definitely get along fine!"
"One more issue - no Tata Sky or Dish TV or any other set top box. Only the local cable guy."
"Why?"
"Irrelevant. I am going to untune some channels, and we leave it at that. You don't invest in the markets, do you?"
"No."
"Then fine."
"Fine!"
"Oh, last issue."
"What?"
"My mum doesn't know I'm living with a girl, or that I lost my earlier flat due to drinking issues."
"Yeah, I don't envisage speaking to your mum anyway."

Vinod found out soon that the landlady, anonymous and unfriendly as she was, knew a fair bit about his life, and had passed on all the information to Teena with two 'e's.

"So, that newsreader dumped you for that other guy on the news..."
"Actually, we weren't going out. She had this other boyfriend - a complete asshole."
"All other boyfriends are complete assholes."
"This was one particularly complete. Anyway, she used to hang out with me much more, and I, well, I liked her. I was just waiting for her to break up with that guy, because, you know, he was, um, a complete asshole. And then, I was away for four days. When I came back, she'd dumped this complete asshole for another complete asshole."
"The other guy on the news?"
"Yeah. Also a complete asshole."
"Particularly complete?"
"Even more particularly complete than the previous guy."
"So, you got drunk and made phone calls professing love and all that?"
"No. I just got drunk and troubled people around me. I was very sober around her."
"Fascinating story."
"I know. One day, some jobless dude will write the whole thing!"
"And some other jobless dude will make a movie."
"No. No movie. There isn't enough masala for that!"
"Are you over her now?"
"No!"
"But you're drinking a lot less."
"Oh, I don't enjoy drinking. I was doing that whole act to be depressed. Plus, she was the only friend I had in Bombay. So, I was slightly upset."
"You don't talk to each other now."
"We do. Its just that every time I look at her, these vague concepts of trust and justice keep running through my head. I cant handle it. So, I don't really talk to her much."
"You know what you should do - you should talk to all your ex-girlfriends and tell them that you love them. It helps."
"Rubbish."
I'm telling you. I do that all the time."
"Yeah?"
"Ok, there are only two of them."
"Call the first one. And put it on speaker."

Vinod called. A guy picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Um, hi. Um, Gul around?"
"Yeah. One sec. Who is this?"
"Vinod."
"Oh. You're the ex, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Gul! Call for you."

Teena asked, "Her name's Gul? I thought you were a good South Indian boy with good South Indian girlfriends."

"Vinod!" Gul said.
"Hi. I hear you call yourself Mira these days?"
"Yeah. People in Madras don't understand Gul. And in my line of business, that's an important part of my existence."
"I also hear you did an item number?"
"Yeah. A very sexy one. With Vijay."
"I saw it. Too sexy."
"And a couple of ads."
"I saw one of those also."
"Don't ask me about them!"
"Hehe. So, are you a Mira with an 'i' or a Meera with two 'e's?"
"With an 'i'."
"You'll never succeed in Madras."
"Why?"
"They don't understand economy of spelling. Actually, you should just stick to Gul. I mean, if they can recognise Simran, Devayani and Nayantara as legitimate names, they can understand Gul also."
"In everyday life, its a pain, I'm telling you. Every mami asks me, 'Gul-aa? What sort of a name is that?! Short for Gulabi-aa?' Once I replied with 'No. Short for Gajalakshmi.' That mami, lives downstairs, still calls me Gaja."
"Oh, by the way, who's the guy who picked up the phone? New boyfriend-aa?"
"No. Just a friend of sorts. He's a writer - writes a fairly popular series on bytheway.in."
"'The Pujari's Son'?"
"Yeah! You read that? I'm impressed. Maybe I shouldn't have dumped you at all."
"Honestly, I don't read that. I find it boring. But there are these two chicks in the office raving about it all the time. Anyway, the purpose of this phone call is to tell you that I love you."
There was deafening silence for a couple of seconds. Then there was a click, followed by beeping.

Teena with two 'e's was laughing like a villain in a devotional serial.
"Bitch! I cant believe I did that for your entertainment!" Vinod looked at Teena laughing away, and realised that she was pretty in her own way. He got up, walked towards her and sat next to her with lustful eyes. She got up and walked to the kitchen to make tea. The moment had passed. Vinod realised he was being stupid and desperate. Yet, in some way, life felt better.
***

Sen and Lila's marriage announcement was an event amongst the entire investor community. It wasn't meant to be, but the channel took advantage of their relationship to boost TRPs. Sen regretted for the rest of his life that the decision to get married was made on the twelfth of February, because on the fourteenth, the channel had heart-shaped balloons all over the set on the Breakfast Show, and announced their romance before and after each commercial break with cute footage of the two talking off the sets. Given their producer's weird brand of humour, 'Video Killed the Radio Star' played in the background. Both Sen and Lila were visibly flushed, and Sen even once refused to stop talking to allow the commercial break to come. The producer screamed through their ear-pieces, "Break time, suckers! Stop talking!!" Finally, he cut Sen mid-sentence, and played the clip twice in revenge before going into the break.

That evening, Lila called Vinod. "What are you doing on Saturday?"
"Nothing."
"Come home for dinner?"
"Sen's also there?"
"No. Just me. You've never been to my place, and I'm going to leave it after marriage. So, I just thought you could come over and see it."
"Sure."

Vinod reached her place early on Saturday. As usual. The door was locked, and a sign said, "Vin, if you're early, just wait outside. I'm going to be late."
Vinod sat at the door and contemplated life. He was living with a woman he would have been in love with if he weren't already in love with someone else. And he'd been in love with this someone else for too long after she had become unattainable - four months, after all, was a long time. And now, the whole deal was sealed. She was marrying the other guy.
His Inner Voice said, "Dude, I've been telling you for ages. Just ask her out. I mean, today, you have nothing to lose. Just do it."
"I cant."
"Fucker, this is just like that Veena you have at home and lug around each time you move. You're never going to play it, but you refuse to sell it!"
"Lets see how things go."
"Fuckin' loser."
"Fuck you."

Just then, Lila arrived. She opened the door and let him in. Vinod saw the dreaded poster on the wall.

"That's the singer who was close to Fidel Castro," she said pointing to the poster that had 'Revolucion' emblazoned across it, and laughed almost endlessly.
"Okay, fine. I'm ignorant. You've said that a million times in a million different ways." Vinod declared indignantly.
"I can understand ignorance, but thinking that Che Guevara was a singer close to Castro..."
"Tell me, why would rock music loving, weed smoking, youth in India who haven't lifted a finger for any cause have posters and T-shirts of a revolutionary in South America? I think I'm entitled to assume that he was a rock star."
***

Vinod had no idea where this bus was going. But he needed the time to think about what had happened, and he needed a place where no one would bother him. The events of the last six months had left him feeling like a character from The Bold and the Beautiful, only that he was neither bold nor beautiful. Maybe some jobless guy would actually sit and write his story, and other jobless people would read. He then contemplated writing an autobiography. Or a self-help book, "The Nine Spiritual Laws of Knowing Hot Women, But Not Being Able To Do Them". What he failed to comprehend most was Lila's latest move. She'd given him reasons for why she did took that step, but they failed to make any sense. Teena was away travelling in Vietnam and Cambodia, leaving him with no one to discuss his predicament with.

There were three people in a seat meant for two already. A fourth man came and asked, "Saar, ad-jesht?" Vinod made space for him. It was amazing how if you indulged in a little ad-jeshting, there was space for everyone. Why didn't Lila understand that? Two people got off at the next stop, and eight others entered the bus that looked like a stampede on wheels. An express bus overtook the ordinary one. The contrast was stark - you could see the windows on the side not facing you! Two bucks more, and Madrasis refused to take the express! Vinod got off at the next stop and took an express bus that was going to some place on the East Coast Road. Vinod remembered how Lila was surprised that Madras should have an East Coast Road given that it had no West Coast. "All coastal roads are technically East Coast Roads!" she'd said. This was on that night on Marina Beach. The night before she left him.

In a flash of inspiration, Vinod knew exactly what he had to do. He got off at the next stop, somewhere on the East Coast Road and made a phone call.

"Hello," the voice on the other end said.
"Hello aunty, Vinod here. Subramanian. Upstairs..."
"Oh! Hi! Long time!"
"Aunty, you have KC's number?"
***

He nearly kissed her when a tut-tutting mama walked past. The moment was gone. He had to work up courage and romance all over again. She made the job easy by looking into his eyes lasciviously. He moved again, but a group of kids screamed and ran into the water. He thought one of them said, "Anne! Full heat-aa? Control, control!" She rolled her eyes and stared into the sea again.

KC, observing from a distance, guessed that these two were college students who were hoping the Thiruvanmiyur beach would be slightly quieter and more private. Soon, their horniness would lead them to save up for a room.

Just then, Vinod landed up. He had a speech ready for the occasion. Only, when he saw KC, he couldn't deliver it.

"Hi!" she said.
"Hi. What's up?"
She stared at him blankly. "You didn't ask me to come urgently all the way from Mylapore to ask me what was up, did you?"
"No. I have important matters to discuss."
"Are you going to ask me out?"
"No. Why would you think that?"
"Valentine's was just eight months ago!"
"Do I look like the Valentine's type guy?"
"Duh! Obviously!"
"Ok. No. This is something else."
"About that newsreader?"
"How does everyone know?! I mean, the channel website only has discussion groups about her and the other newsreader, right?"
"Yeah. But The last time I saw you, almost two years ago at Mondy's, you were seeing her. And you do tend to obsess about women for a long time..."
"Don't say that, please."
"You liked me from the ninth standard till you started going to college."
"Tenth standard."
"Anyway, what about her? She's marrying the other guy, and you're depressed."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"So, when did the break-up happen?"
"Long story. See, when you saw us two years ago, and she said that she was my girlfriend, well, she wasn't. And then, she started seeing that guy. Then, they decided to get married. Then, I swooped in. She dumped him. I started going out with her!"
"Woah! When was this?!"
"Two days after Valentine's!"
"See! You are the Valentine's type guy."
***

Vinod got up in the morning and found Lila in his arms. He could hardly believe the events of the previous night. He wanted to send a mass message to the world telling them what happened. He turned his phone on. Almost as soon as it caught network, eleven messages arrived. All from the same number - Sen. All with the same message, "Bastard!"

Later in the day, when he checked his mail, there was an email from Sen along similar lines.

Bastard,
What the fuck are you doing with my girl?
I've been nice to you all these days only because you were her friend. Personally, I think you're not only a two-timing, dim-witted, boring, opinion-less, characterless loser, but also a dirty, ugly, long-nosed, french-bearded, alcoholic excuse for a software engineer. I have a list of people I think of to feel better about my existence, and you top that list. In fact, there is nobody else on that list. Oh wait, Amar Singh may figure once in a while.

This will not last. Fucker, she deserves better than some choot who doesn't even know if Enola was really gay. I'd be surprised if you even understood what that meant. I'll save you the trouble of googling it - click here.

Fuck you once again,
Sen.

In a friendly green, at the end of the mail, his signature screamed:

Save a Tree! Please do not print this email/ attachments unless you really need to.

Vinod printed nine copies of the email. Life was looking up already.
***

"Yeah. Then, we were going out. She moved into my place, because Teena moved to the US."
"Teena?"
"Another long story. Irrelevant. I was staying with this girl, Teena, who moved out."
"So, your place was like this proper sex pad, eh? One chick leaves, another comes."
"No, it was more like the headquarters of Alcoholics Anonymous. Anyway, to continue with the story, Lila and I came to Madras. We took a couple of weeks off, and spent them here. She'd never seen Madras before, so I was showing her around. Yesterday, we were supposed to leave for Bombay. She left, and I stayed back."
"Why?"
***

Vinod's lasting image of Madras was of driving up the bridge to catch a proper glimpse of Central Station. He had vivid early memories of seeing that clock tower with his grandfather sitting by him declaring, "Station vandaachu!" in his usual jolly tone. It was a sight that was often associated with a mix of nostalgia and relief. Nostalgia because he'd remember all the previous holidays in Madras, and relief because he'd be back to playing cricket in familiar gullies. The ones where he played in had the strangest rules - you could be out if the ball hit the tree and a player caught it on the rebound!

This time, there was more nostalgia, and more recent nostalgia - for the expression on Lila's face when she first tasted authentic ghee uthappam, for the conversation she had with his grandfather on love and marriage, for the time they spent walking aimlessly up and down Pondy Bazaar, for the last night on Marina Beach.

When they settled themselves in their First AC cubicle, Lila said, "Listen, we need to talk."
"Talk!"
"No, this is like a more serious version of the talk."
"Yeah, tell me."
"Ok. I think we should end this."
Vinod stared at her blankly.
"Ok," she tried again, "Its tough, but we just have to. I can explain it to you, but you'll never understand the reason."
"Its because I'm stupid and ignorant, right? I can change. I can read World War books and find out if Enola was really gay."
"Its not because you're stupid..."
"Then because my face is to one side. I told you, I'll get plastic surgery done!"
"No, its not that either. You wont understand. You're better off not knowing."
"I have to know!!"
"Ok. Here goes. I haven't practiced this speech, so excuse me if it doesn't come out clearly. Basically, I think you like me too much. Wait. Before you react, let me explain further. Thing is, in a relationship, the guy and the girl need to like each other equally, or at least as close to equally as they can be. You like me too much."
"How is that an issue?!"
"See, it makes me feel guilty each time, when I see you like me this much. Because I cant like you back as much."
"I'm fine with that!"
"But I'm not."

Vinod got off at the next station to buy water, and did get back on. Lila stared at him out of the window, and his knees felt weak. He sat on the platform and watched the back of the train till it disappeared.
***

"Fuck!" KC said.
"I must have said that a thousand times in the last few hours."

They stared at the sea for a long time in silence before Vinod asked, "So, what's up with you?"
"I'm moving to the US - got into University there."
"Excited?"
"Yeah, and nervous."
"That happens, I guess."
"You know, the biggest dilemma I'm in right now is that I cant even tell you the usual things like, 'These things happen,' or 'Everyone has their problems,' because yours is more than a problem!"
"But its true. These things happen. Everyone does have their own problems."
***

A third girl dumped Sharma in two years, and this one did it one week after marriage. Out of frustration, he called a call girl over to his place. She was hotter than he'd expected her to be - his expectations weren't very high after all the Hindi movies he'd seen. She settled herself on his sofa as the bell rang. He opened the door to see his wife, in tears. She just about said sorry when she noticed the call girl in neglige on his sofa.

She stormed out, Sharma ran in pursuit, but tripped down the stairs and fractured his leg. To top it all, his only source of entertainment at home, his DVD player, stopped working.
***

Nestle's new head undertook fresh penance for a new baby. Sen's face couldn't remain on the box for more than twenty six years!
***

Akshay stared at the image of Asterix in love on the last page of Asterix the Legionary for a really long time. Panacea reminded him of the girl he gave a lift to two years ago. He wondered if she'd found her Tragicomix. He remembered all those days when he took a taxi to work hoping she'd be waiting on that kerb again. Meanwhile, his wife hollered away in the background - something about him having forgotten to switch the geyser off.
***

"She doesn't take this lift during my shift anymore," the liftman said.
"I know! I think we should make a petition to get her back on the Breakfast Show! I mean my health is just going for a toss - I haven't had breakfast in months!"
"Boss, I'm glad," Ravi said, "I was getting sick of anchoring re-runs of old stories night after night! At least, on the Breakfast Show, there's something new each morning!"
***

Vinod's landlady in Madras passed away after prolonged sickness. Her husband was forced to move to the US at the age of seventy-eight to live with his son. He sold his house in Adyar to some builders who took two months to convert it into posh apartments. Amongst his belongings he insisted on taking to the US were a folding easy-chair and a steel coffee filter.
***

Adarsh read the letter that came along with the DVD:

Hi,
Found this in my son's stuff. Our story, really...
Your Saali,
Neeta

Adarsh got off the taxi, and paid the driver while still staring at the letter. An earnest looking young man with a ridiculous curl on his forehead got in almost immediately. It was when the taxi sped away that he realised that he'd left the DVD behind.
***

Raju Bhai walked into Mondegar alone for the first time in two years. The table next to him had a large group of regulars - a college gang that almost lived there. There was more noise from that table than usual. Raju didn't know that they had just finished college. As the third beer made its way down his system, the images that were haunting him grew clearer - images of narrow gullies with open sewers, a chase involving two men in lungis and muftied policemen, bullets flying in both directions. The most powerful of those images was that of Ganesh getting shot - thrice - leaving his T-shirt more maroon than white. Soon, another image flashed before him - of the two of them sitting at the corner table, talking in hushed tones and erupting into volcanoes of laughter.
***

Lila reached Bombay and saw a familiar face at the Railway Station. It was her schoolteacher - the one who had said those prophetic, immortal words, "You chose the wrong prince, dear." She was excited to see Lila, and said, "I always knew you'd make it big!" A man looking worried caught up with the teacher and told Lila suddenly, "I'm sorry. My mother's forgetting everything these days. Talks a lot of trash. I'm sorry if she bothered you."
"No, she remembered me. I was her student in school!"
Suddenly, the lady said, "Yes. I taught you African history, didn't I?"
***

"Lets go?" KC asked.
"Nah, go ahead. I need some time to myself."

It was fairly late at night. High tide pushed Vinod back more into land. He found a high rock and settled himself on it. As dawn approached, Vinod sat alone on the beach watching old mamas and mamis in sweaters, monkey caps and mufflers. It must have been twenty-three degrees at least, but in Madras, given its usual weather, this was peak winter. He allowed himself a little smile. The waves hit the shore listlessly, almost as if they were bored of doing the same thing for centuries. Or maybe there was a hint of sadness in their behaviour.

He stared at them until a little drop of salty water was waiting to break free from his eyes and run down his cheek. He held it back, got up, and drove away into the city as dawn eased into a bright morning.
***

The End!

Kai, this was written for you!

I'd also like to thank my two favourite storytellers - RK Narayan and Woody Allen. 

Subtle Subramanian - Part V

Here it is. Part V. By my calculations, the penultimate part. The last one will be real long. For the first four parts, click here. I tried making a "Story so far" section, but it didn't work out too well.
***

"No cell phones."
"Dai, Amma will call."
"Fuck you. I know who will call. That's why I said no cell phones. This is a guys only deal. Where boys celebrate their manhood!"
"Didn't we do enough of that in Engineering college?" Vinod waited for an answer, but didn't get one. Mayur was adamant. He tried reiterating the same point, "Dai, Amma'll actually call."
"Call your 'Amma' and tell her now that you're not going to have a cell phone for a few days. And stop calling her Amma, Oedipus!"
"Dai, I'm serious. It is my Amma..."
"You come without the phone, or you don't come at all."

Vinod actually called his Amma. "Ma, I'm going to this place near Bombay where my college friend has a beach house. Apparently, there's no network there."
Quickly, before he switched his phone off, he sent a message to Lila, 'no phone for three days... mail me if anything... no net also... but i ll try findin a net cafe...'

Switching off the cell phones was an elaborate routine. Seven men, two married, two committed, two who liked to think they were 'players' and Vinod stood in a circle. On Mayur's command, they all turned it off in unison. Then, just so that they didn't cheat, they were asked to put them in a little box which would be left behind in Bombay. Vinod hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come. He wasn't afraid or uncomfortable with his manhood - he was uncomfortable with his other friends' manhoods. They confused manhood with machismo. How manly you are only depended on how many chicks you leched at, what your alcoholic 'capacity' was, how many push-ups you could do, how fast you drove from Madras to Pondicherry, how many times you watched 'Die Hard', and the extent of your knowledge of where to get free porn on the internet.

As they were leaving the house to get into the car, Vinod heard a snippet of a conversation that nearly confirmed his fears.

"Dude, is the plural of manhood menhood?"
"Man, who'd know!"
"Good one! Haha! Subbu, did you get it? 'Man-who'd'!"

But snippets of conversation at the beach house were even more manly.

"Dude, of course I watched the T20 World Cup for the cricket! Who cares about the cheerleaders?"
"Yeah. I mean, we all watch Test Cricket even without cheerleaders."
"But I see nothing wrong with them."
"Or with Mandira Bedi."
"Dude, of course! Mandira... Remember what she wore at the start of the India-Pak game in the 2003 World Cup?"
"No. You sent me a message saying 'Mandira super-hot today...' and by the time I ran to the TV room, they'd covered her up!"
Vinod looked around the room to see misty eyes recollect the 2003 World Cup and Mandira's spag-blouses. He needed another drink desperately.

"Dude, marriage sucks. I haven't watched porn in ages!"
"Oh, that reminds me - I got some stunning porn with European chicks."
"Ooh, that's hot!"
Vinod had a doubt, "How do you know they're European? They could be any white chick..."
"Dude, the passion, the feel - they're definitely European."
"But how does it make a difference?"
"How does what make a difference?"
"Whether they're European or not? The end effect is the same."
"You wont know, da. You have real chicks to do now."
"Who?!"
"That chick on TV - stock market - breakfast show - you're doing her, aren't you? She's having bogus breakfast on the show, and our Subbu for dinner."
"No!"
"What? You're just friends?" Mayur asked sarcastically.
"Yeah. We are. In fact, she's got a boyfriend. Dude, you remember Sharma who lived in Tarnaka?"
"She's going out with Sharma?!"
"Yeah."
"Why? What's this guy like?" asked another.
Vinod thought for a second before he said, "Think of a really serious and boring guy."
"Arun Lal."
"Perfect! This guy is a young Arun Lal who doesn't even play cricket."
"So, what are you in this equation?"
"I'm just a friend."
"Gay!" two of them muttered in unison.
"But you like her?"
"No... I mean, not romantically."
"Gay!"
"So, she's like your sister."
"No da. Just a friend."
"Gay!"
"But don't you at least want to do her?"
"No da. I don't think of her that way."
"Gay!"
"Explain yourself."
"See, there are women you want to do," Vinod elucidated, "Those are the Mallika Sherawat types - you just want to get into their pants. And then there's the second sort - the ones you love..."
"Gay!"
"Let him finish."
"Haan, the ones you love. If they love you back, then you get into their pants, but that's not the main attraction or the headlining band, its only a opening act, no pun intended. And then there's the third sort, whom you just like."
"And this one's the second sort?"
"Third."
"Bulla!"
"I'm serious."
"But she's hot. For me, she's the first sort."
"Yeah, dude. I've started having breakfast only to see her on the breakfast show. And she tempts people with the stock recommendations she makes."
"That'd make for a great study - how her recommendations affect stock prices. I mean, a fair share of investors watch her."
"I don't think it'd make any difference."
"Why?"
"See, people never understand what she's talking about - they're too enamoured by what she looks like."
Mayur got up, and staggered and fell again. "Oh, dude... You realise how drunk you are only when you get up to go to the loo!"
Vinod said, "Here," offering to help Mayur up. He got Mayur on his feet, but only momentarily. Both of them collapsed in a heap, and were on top of each other.
"Gay!"
"Subbu, I'm the first sort-aa?" Mayur asked.
"Fuck you... Get me another drink!"

Vinod got very drunk before he teetered to the balcony facing the sea and declared, "Lila! I admit! You're the second sort! Second Sort! Second Sort!"
His friends joined in the chant, "Second Sort! Second Sort! Second Sort..." The sea chanted with them in the same rhythm as the waves lashed against the rocks just as they'd been doing since they could remember their existence.
***

"Sen?" Lila asked, as the two left the studio after the Breakfast Show.
"Yeah?"
"Listen, I have these two tickets to this concert by this band..."
"What kind of music?"
"Rock-n-roll."
"Nah. Not interested. But, what happened to your boyfriend?"
"Um, well, we broke up... Two days ago."
"Oh, I'm-I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I'm glad! Anyway, I'll just tell this friend of mine that I don't feel up to coming for her show."
"Her show?"
"Yeah. This friend of mine called Shweta is the lead singer."
"Oh, then I'm game."
"Female lead singers are a turn on, eh?"
"No. There's this theory amongst us guys that every Shweta in the world is hot."
"I know a non-hot Shweta."
"So do I, but the exception proves the rule. See, in life how one uses this theory is, suppose one was blind dating, and had a choice between meeting a Shweta and say, a Shruti, go for the Shweta. Or if you heard that a friend of yours is bringing his cousin Shweta along for a movie, go for the movie, even if you have that second coffee date with the mildly attractive Sahana."
"Lila's a fairly hot name also."
"Hmmm. The only other one I know was my English teacher in school called Leelavathi. So, I don't think I have the relevant sample size to make a fair comment."
"So, you'll come for the concert?"
"Yeah."
***

Vinod signed into his mail account to find, amongst many advertisements asking him offering him a larger member for very low prices, two mails from Lila. The first one had no subject. The other one said, "NEWS!" Vinod opened the one without the subject.

Vin,
Hi. I'm hoping you're at a cyber place near your beach house... Really need to talk to you. I dumped Sharma. Feeling really low, although I shouldn't be. I mean, he's such a jerk. Need someone around... Call as soon as you see this mail.

Love, Lila.

Vinod picked up his phone to call her, when he realised that he should read the other mail.

Vin,
Lots of things happened suddenly. Sen, who reads the news with me (youve met him a couple of times) asked me out. We went for this concert and he dropped me home in a taxi... he asked me out in front of the bewildered taxi driver... i thought about it overnight and said yes this evening...

come back fast... lots to catch up on.

Love, Lila
***

Ramesh got the feeling that God believed in compensation after all. He attended this discourse on philosophical issues where the Swamiji said that for everything in this world, there is an opposite, a mirror, light dispels darkness, but only until it lasts, the wave rises, but falls again, night comes, only to be followed by day, and so on and so forth. When his latest passengers got into the taxi, he finally understood what the Swamiji meant. His wife had thwarted his plans of catching Chak De! India in the theatre with a grim reminder of the fact that the show meant that they would have to skip dinner for a couple of days. His frustration showed in his driving as he cursed each person on the road until it turned into a game of sorts - he was inventing new and innovative curses for each person. Halfway through the night, he realised that he'd been driving with the handbrake on all the while. He cursed every part of his taxi. Yet, he was compensated. An angel was sitting in his taxi. Plus, she was sitting in that exact spot from where he could see her in the mirror. The boy with her was a minor bother, but he could deal with his face in the mirror once in a while. When they reached her place, the boy got off and almost immediately started talking.

"Lila, I've tried to tell you this today evening in so many ways at so many different points in time. But words fail me. Its ironic that for someone whose job is talking, I cant convey something to another person. I'm just at a loss for words. Uh, actually, um, I guess that's a stupid thing to say, considering I've been talking all evening... To get to the point, I-I-I love you." Ramesh glared at them now, "I've liked you for ever. I know this is a bad time for you, but I-I-I cant hold these thoughts within me for longer. If I do, they'll just erupt and I'll kiss you on the Breakfast Show or something. In more precise words, will you go out with me?"

Lila was speechless. She said, "Ok. That's the first time a guy's given me an asking-out speech."

There was a long pause, during which the taxi driver looked anxiously at Lila. It was obvious that he was on Sen's side. Sen looked like he was waiting for an approaching meteor to land on his head. Lila was somewhere between shock and amazement. None of them had expected this, least of all the taxi driver.

After an eternity, Lila managed to blurt out, "Um, ok, I need some time... I'll tell you."
"Say yes, mey-dam," the taxi driver butted in.
"Bhai-saab, please. Aap beech mein..." Sen started
"Chill. This is quite an event in his life also." Lila said.
"Ok. Think about it then," Sen said, with the words coming out all together.
"Y-Y-Yeah. I-I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Its a Saturday. No Breakfast Show."
"Oh, yeah. Monday..."
"Monday."
"Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight..."

Both of them made half-attempts towards a hug, and pulled out. And then, Lila said, "What the fuck! Just hug me." When they did, Sen felt a little tear on his neck and melted in its warmth.
***

She said yes?! And now she wanted to catch up?! Vinod stared at his screen in disbelief. He was away discussing the finer aspects of European porn when his lady was stolen from under his nose. His Inner Voice told him that it was time for drastic action.
"You also ask her out. I mean, if she can suddenly say yes to that guy, she can say no to him, and yes to you also."
"If I hadn't listened to you last time, I'd've never known her. And I wouldn't be feeling this bad about life today. So, fuck off."
Vinod realised much later that his Inner Voice, as always, was right.
***
Thodarum. (No, dear North Indians, I am not asking for a little alcohol!)

Subtle Subramanian - Part IV

Lila always thought of Cafe Mondegar in Colaba as the closest that a place would come to Rick's in Casablanca. Time seemed to slow down when you entered - the world was a happier place. The little cartoons on the wall, the music that was neither excessively happy or too mellow, the beer that had a self-assured bitterness and the food that skimmed the boundaries of inventiveness without ever overstepping them attracted an exciting, diverse crowd.

Vinod, upholding family values and traditions, reached obscenely early. He settled down on a table from where he could see the road, so that he could look nervously at each arriving taxi. All kinds of people arrived. A foreigner couple got off first, but they'd integrated so well with the atmosphere around them, that the term 'foreigner' was a misnomer. An NRI with his forced casualness and Bisleri bottle looked more foreign than them. They were followed by two guys wearing more gold on them than there was in the whole of Jodha Akbar, with 'cooling'-glasses and two of their shirt buttons undone - they must've been extras on one of Ran Gopal Varma's gangster movies. A young couple, the girl in school uniform, walked in after that, followed almost immediately by two fairly large groups of noisy college students. Vinod guessed these were from 'degree' colleges - there were too many women for them to be engineering students.

One mug of beer disappeared, and made way for the second.

The two men from the Ram Gopal Varma gangster films played their roles to perfection - they spoke in hushed tones and occasionally erupted into volcanoes of laughter. The college students were playing some form of truth and dare, Vinod surmised. Nothing else could explain one girl biting another girl's ear followed by ooh-ing and excitement. The young couple disappeared into the room inside, but Vinod, from experience made fairly accurate guesses of what they were up to. The foreigners were having a very intense discussion.

A third glass of beer appeared. It was seven. Lila and Sharma would arrive soon. Just then, another guy entered - he looked very much like a baby who'd never grown up. When Vinod saw this guy, he felt an inexplicable urge to punch him in the face. The baby-faced guy scanned the area for a while, and then went to the room inside, and came out again, and left. In fifteen minutes, he came back, repeated his routine and left.

They were very late. At least by Vinod's standards.
***

"Do you remember the first time we had a real conversation?"
"At Mondy's?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Was that really a conversation?"
"Yeah, you're right, we were both too drunk to make any sense."
"Man, that was nearly two years ago. I cant imagine that we'd've ever had such a major romance!"
"Why? I saw the signs on that day itself," Vinod insisted.
"What rot! You behaved like an idiot."
***

Vinod had now gone over the instructions from his Inner Voice at least a hundred times. Do not crack jokes. You don't have a sense of humour. Do not adjust your hair the first time you see her. Do not stare. Do not tell her about your dream of owning a pet snake. Do not tell her about the next-door-newly-divorced aunty you used to dream about when you were fourteen. Do not tell her that she's beautiful. Most importantly, do not get drunk.

The fifth beer made its appearance, as the baby-faced man walked in and out again. Just as he left, a taxi stopped at the entrance, and preceded by a lit cigarette, Lila got out.
***

"When you saw me, you had this ridiculous expression on your face - your nervous smile - the one where you look like you have bubonic plague."
"I was going for my calm and composed expression."
"But you were burning from the inside."
"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at my fate."
"Why?"
"I assumed Sharma was late, and so I thought I had ten minutes or so with you alone - now that's a plus, definitely. But, I could have made a complete dolt of myself in those ten minutes..."
"Which you did."
"No!"
"Yes. I remember you said something like, 'I didn't think you could look prettier in real life than on TV.'"
"No!"
"Yes. And when I didn't look too comfortable with the comment, you said, 'Excuse me for discrepancies. I'm drunk.'"
***

"Discrepancies?"
"Determinants... De... What's that word? Demystification. Demur. What is that word?"
"What word?"
"Oh, forget it. I'm just drunk. Where's Sherman?"
"He just called me to tell me that he isn't coming."
"Yeah! Wo-w-wonderful!"
"Excuse me?"
"Uh, um, y-y-eah, um, I'm just drunk!" Vinod realised that his greatest fears were coming true. He looked like a drunk womaniser. Just then the baby-faced guy walked in again.
"That guy's been coming in, looking around and leaving every ten minutes for about an hour now."
"Who?" When she turned around and saw Sen, she hid her face.
***

"I still cant believe Sen did what he did!"
"What'd he do?"
"You know, he overheard me talk on the phone to Sharma, which is why he landed up at Mondy's."
"What?!"
***

Sen combed his hair for the thirty-third time, adjusted the curl in front to fall perfectly on his forehead, a la Razor Ramon on the WWF trump cards, and walked to his cupboard to fetch the deodorant. It was an important enough day for the Bvlgari perfume he had stacked away at the back of his cupboard, behind the clothes, along with the Dunhills he got from London.

He didn't want to risk the loss of his curl in a train ride, and decided to taxi it to Colaba. Someone had left a DVD on the back seat of the taxi. Sen picked it up and read, "Jab Ghar Pe Ho Saali, To Pura Saal Diwali". Hindi soft-porn! Sen had never seen DVDs of these films before! He asked the driver, "Yeh aapki hai?" The driver replied in the negative. Sen took the DVD out of its cover and put it in his pocket.

When he entered Mondy's, he saw a girl bite another's ear. The table erupted with hooting, laughter and applause. Just behind them, there were the customary foreigners, and to their right, the long haired man, who was either a musician or a photographer, and the two guys from a more high end version of Rangeela. Just beside the entrance though, at the table, this nervous guy sat - Sen was overwhelmed by an urge to hit the guy, although he didn't understand why. Maybe she was sitting in the room inside, Sen thought. When he entered that room, there was another case of ear-biting - a girl wearing a school uniform bit the ear of the boy sitting next to her. Sen wondered if it was Mike Tyson's birthday.

Assuming she was late, Sen left. He came back in fifteen minutes and re-scanned the area. Nothing had changed. Sen left. He came back a third time. Nothing changed. And a fourth time. And a fifth.
***

"That guy's really weird," said Vinod.
"I know."
"You know?"
"I met him this morning."
"Oh. But you know, he's walked in and walked out at least four times now. I think he's looking for someone."
"Goodness!"

Suddenly, a voice behind them said, "Hey!" and the source of the voice, the baby-faced man said, "Lila!"
"S-s-sen? Suri? Right?"
"Right! What a coincidence meeting you here!" said Sen in his most fake voice. It was like watching Salman Khan act.
"Dude, you've walked in and out, and in and out, and now you make this whole song-and-dance about bumping into her. We're not stupid, you know," said Vinod.
"Don't mind him. He's drunk," said Lila.
"That's right, I am."
"But he's a violent chap, is Vinod - my boyfriend," she declared.
"Boyfriend?" asked Vinod.
"He's really drunk!"
***

"My god, he really looked heartbroken when I told him you were my boyfriend!"
"You have no idea what I was going through!"
She laughed. Vinod laughed with her. Suddenly she said, "Man, we're drunk. That wasn't even funny."
"Yeah. But what he did after that to change topic was funny."
***

"Have you ever watched Hindi soft porn?" Sen asked.
"Some stuff used to come on Zee Cinema after midnight. And there was some really," Lila commented. Vinod and Sen were stunned. "So, you've watched Hindi soft porn?" Sen managed to stutter. "Yeah - I was writing a paper on 'Pornographic Depiction of Women: A Sociological Analysis of Art, Titillation and the Freedom of Expression'. So, I watched some of what I was to study."
"Is the paper remotely as erotic as it sounds?" asked Vinod, "Oh man, I'm drunk!" he added.
"Actually, I never finished it," Lila replied, as three beers made their way to the table.
"Lets down this stuff," she said. The beer went down parched gullets eagerly. Immediately, another round was asked for and downed. "Now tell me, why did you bring up Hindi soft porn?"
***

"Man, that DVD he showed us!"
"'Ghar pe saali, karo diwali'!"
"Something like that." More laughter. "God, we're drunk! That wasn't even funny."
***

"You bought this DVD?" asked Vinod.
"No, I found it in the taxi."
"What?!" asked Lila.
"Yeah. It was on the back seat."
"And you pocketed it," said Lila.
"Of course."
"And you weren't even drunk!" said Vinod.
***

"And then KC walked in! God!" said Vinod.
***

"God! KC!"
Lila wondered if Vinod used 'God' as a replacement for 'fuck', as a pretty girl turned towards their table.
***

"It was like the new and improved KC - she was still short, but she was prettier, had nicer hair, and wore very interesting clothes."
"Very interesting clothes."
***

"Subbu!" she exclaimed.
Vinod's face adopted the bubonic plague expression again.
"Hi! You're looking prettier than ever!"
"Subtle Subbu, eh? As always!"
"Drunk Subbu! God, I'm so drunk!"
KC looked at the table behind her, and whispered to Vinod, "Cute!"
"I know," Vinod whispered back loudly.
"You swing both ways, eh?"
"Eh?"
"I said the guy was cute."
"Oh... Well, he's the source of much misery now."
"Aww, shyadaap. He looks like such a kid!"

Even in his drunken state, Vinod assessed the situation perfectly. On the one hand was Lila, whom everyone seemed to love, and on the other hand was KC, the girl he once liked, way back in 1993, when they watched Mahabharat on TV on Sunday mornings - it was nostalgia, a rekindling of unrequited love. Vinod had to make a choice, between wistfulness and hopefulness, between love and remembrance, between childlike innocence and war-hardened-maturity, between a woman he will never get and a woman he never got.
***

"I could've made my exit, stage right, at that point - I could have walked away with KC to wherever she was going. I didn't know either of you at all. But I didn't. I thought there was more to transpire between us. This sudden feeling that one gets, especially when one is drunk - a feeling of anticipation, excitement..."
"...drunkenness. You're rambling. Get to the point."
"The point. The point is, I'm a little drunk!"
***

"Guys, this is KC. My cousin lived in the same apartments as her when I was a little kid. I used to go there in the holidays."
"And that's funny because, usually I know all kinds of people through my cousins!" KC added. Both Vinod and KC laughed.
Neither Sen nor Lila understood the convoluted way in which these two were friends, or what the joke was, or even why they were subjected to a random bombardment of fundae on unknown people, but nodded politely anyway. And then Vinod proceeded, "This is Lila, my..."
"Girlfriend," she said.
Vinod took some time to understand why she said that. "And this is another close friend..." Vinod had forgotten the name. "Dude, your name is?" he asked Sen in a loud whisper.
"Sen," he announced to KC, "This guy's drunk - this is the first time we're meeting each other. I don't even know his name."
"Vinod, meet Sen. Sen, meet Vinod," Lila said.
KC didn't know how to react. But before she could, Vinod said, "Listen, I need to discuss important matters with these two close friends. Gimme your number, I'll call you."
KC left wondering if Vinod was in the drug business and if these were his clients.
***

"You never called her, did you?"
"You know what she did? She told my cousin, who told my brother, who told my dad that I was in the drug business!"
"What?!"
"Yeah. But apparently, that was all a misunderstanding... I should call her then. Tomorrow. Definitely."
***

"So, that's your ex-girlfriend?" Lila asked.
"Nah. I liked her, and made it quite obvious to her, but she acted as if she never realised."
"So, have you had girlfriends before Lila?" Sen asked.
"Yeah. Two. One was a dancer in the movies - an extra of sorts. Apparently, she's getting a big role in a big movie shortly. The other lasted for four days."
"Why?"
"On the fourth day, I realised that she wasn't as smart as I thought she was, and she realised that I wasn't as cool as I thought she was. So, it ended."
"What about you?" Sen asked Lila.
"Why should I answer that question?"
"To foster the spirit of honesty and openness that prevails at this table."
"Okay. We're talking only boyfriends right, not, um, ah..."
"...romps? No." Vinod said.
"Romps?! Where are you from?"
"Hyderabad Public School," Vinod said.
"But yeah - excluding romps, and Sharma, only two of any consequence," she said, glancing furtively at Vinod. She didn't offer any more details, and she wasn't asked for any either.
"You?" Vinod asked Sen.
"Three. But all inconsequential. The first one was in the sixth standard. I still remember her fondly. The second one was in college - she was lovely, but there was this other guy whom I didn't really account for. And then there was this girl who turned out to be a guy."
Vinod and Lila had no intelligent response to that pronouncement. Sen, gulped down the beer and left without a word.

"Okay. Get me another beer," Lila said after a long silence.
***

Sen was devastated. Not only did Lila have a boyfriend, the guy was an alcoholic who couldn't hold his drink. He was boring, characterless, and didn't use conditioner. Compared to Sen's smartness, the curl that fell on his forehead, his biting sense of humour, his acute knowledge of the futures and options, this boyfriend of hers was most unlikable. Yet, she liked him, and not Sen. Sen took a taxi to Marine Drive and sat on the parapet, staring into the stinky Arabian Sea - the Sea that he couldn't see in the dark, only hear. The sea that roared like it hadn't in years, much like Sen's heart.
***

"Man, we got so drunk after he left!"
"As drunk as we are right now."
And they laughed again. Vinod was about to say something, when Lila stopped him with her hand on his lips. "Don't say it."
***

"Lets go have some Lard!" Vinod said.
"Some what?"
"Lard. Fruits Lard."
She looked at him blankly.
"Ok, there's this guy next to Gateway whose gaadi has the 'F-R-U-I-T-S L-A-R-D' written on it."
"What is that?"
"Pronounce it quickly."
"Fruitslard. Oh, fruitslard!"
And she laughed ceaselessly until they reached Gateway and finished their Lard. Suddenly she said, "Lard of the Flies!" and chortled even more. Vinod didn't get the joke, but laughed anyway.

They sat on the parapet, facing the sea.
***

She moved towards him and rested her head on his shoulders.
"This is exactly how you sat at Gateway that day. Your head on my shoulders, and your arms around me." He paused, and after much thought, as if he was choosing each word carefully, he said, "Often the proximity one remembers the most, and most fondly, is a hug. I had you there, Lila, in my arms, and I felt like the world around me had become irrelevant. Nothing mattered more to me than the hug. And I wanted that moment to last forever, that was exactly where and how I wanted to be for the rest of my life."
"Those are the worst lines a guy has ever said to me!"
But neither of them laughed. They remained in that hug, on Marina Beach in Madras this time, with the police, moral or otherwise, lurking around. They were in each others arms, as drunk as they were the previous time, and even more in love than they used to be.

Subtle Subramanian - Part III

Finally! After months of laziness, and lack of inspiration, and lame excuses, here's the follow-up to Part I and Part II.
***
Vinod missed Madras. He worked there for only four years, but had grown to love the city - gossipy Mamis complaining about loose morals, loudly discussing sentiments and values in the latest loud Tamil Serial - "Poor Abhirami. Tholakappian shouldn't have betrayed her like that!"; updating each other on where their offspring are - "Oh, your son is in Berkely-aa? Mine is in New Jersey," "Software-aa? Mine changed over to finance," or "Tamil Matrimony is better than shaadi.com! My daughter got nicer matches, but we are still looking... Do you have the latest photo of your son?" or "I exchanged some jaadakams at the T. Nagar Horoscope Exchange meet, lets see what happens"; auto-drivers who have little random-number-generating-software to set fares; priests filling their pot-bellies with more naivedyam than it can hold; and citizens having to choose between Karunanidhi's dark view of progress and Amma's attempts at self-discovery and self-improvement. They gave the city a certain character - sometimes, not a very desirable character, but character nonetheless. Every person on the road wore his story on his checked shirt. Every person was interested in the other's story, and often scrutinised the other's checked shirts like an auditor. Knowing what everyone else was up to and forming strong opinions based on weak rumours was a way of life in Madras, and Vinod missed that.

Bombay was scarily anonymous. He walked into his apartment each evening wishing there was someone for company. His neighbours probably entered their apartments thinking the same. But nobody ever breached that barrier of anonymity. It was a code etched in stone. The landlady never bothered to find out anything more than whether Vinod had a job, and if he was married. She'd've preferred it if he was married, she told him, and he promised to rectify that situation, but nothing more was asked.

Such a contrast from Madras, he thought.

"What does your father do?"
"He's a retired civil engineer. Now he does some consultancy for the Railways."
"Mother is a housewife?"
"Schoolteacher."
"You have any siblings?" Now Vinod was getting irritated.
"Yeah. Brother in Bangalore. Software. Before you ask me, let me tell you my father has two brothers, one in Madras and the other in Hyderabad. Both work in Syndicate Bank. Their wives are both housewives. My grandfather was an economics professor in Hyderabad, and my grandmother, a housewife. Actually, my grandfather was a freedom fighter - a Gandhian - and I made the engineering cut through the freedom fighter quota. But I learnt all about Gandhi only through Munnabhai. By the time I was old enough to make conversation with my grandfather, he was senile and only told me about crocodiles in the flush tank and rats in my cupboard."

Before the landlady could make any admonishing remarks, her husband butted in from behind his Hindu, "Good that you're not a Gandhian. The only reason why our country suffers today is because of Gandhi and Nehru shepherding it in the early years..."
But before he could elaborate, the landlady said to him sternly, "One more time I hear this lecture, you will never get coffee in this house!"

This early exchange meant that Vinod never felt like he was away from home in Madras. He had to just go downstairs when he wanted a daily opinion on politics and state of the nation, enquiries about his life and job and vetthakozhambu. His landlady in Bombay, a Gujarati widow who called him once a month to thank him for his cheque, lived in the more posh area of town, two hours away from where he stayed. A far cry from the the mami downstairs who asked him who the girl who came home last night was and sent him paayasam on festivals.

His neighbours were most unfriendly, and he knew no one in Bombay. Well, almost no one.

His weekend routine was most dull though. He'd get his Tropicana and chips and plonk himself before the TV. Turn on.

"Kuch kuch hota hai, Rahul..." Remember watching it for the first time with childhood girlfriend. Flip.
"Breaking news just in... " Flip.
"Aamchi..." Flip.
Passionate kissing. Wait for two minutes until they start talking again. Flip.
"Ooooo, huzooor..." Curse. Flip.
"Edged and taken!" Flip.
"One, Two, One, Two. Swing those arms..." Make mental note about staying away from over-muscular women. Flip.
"Call now! Toll Fr..." Flip.
"Pandu, pandu, pandu, erra pandu..." Watch till song ends. Feel nostalgic about childhood in Hyderabad. Flip.
"Desh ka dushman, haraam-zade!" Feel happy about having found the right channel. Settle down into the chips with occasional sip of Tropicana.

Somewhere in the latter half of Tirangaa, when Brigadier Suryadev Singh had made serious inroads into Ghendaswamy's nation-destruction plans, Vinod's Inner Voice left his body, stood five feet away, and examined the scene.

"Dude, what have you turned into?"
"Wait da. I love this part of the movie."
Inner Voice snatched the remote away and turned the TV off. "Brigadier Suryadev Singh and Inspector Waghle?! You've seen this movie a hundred times. A self-respecting man would have inflicted horrible pain upon himself before that."
"What do you want me to watch instead?"
"Call Sharma."
"No. The guy's as boring as Rajinder Tripathi who handles that call-in show on Vividh Bharati."
"He has an interesting friend."
"No. I watched her enough on the train. I want to watch Ghendaswamy die. Come on, those last few scenes are stunning. After that, we'll have a heart to heart."

Inner Voice returned to his body in disgust. Vinod turned on the TV, and watched with bated breath as Brigadier announced the start of Operation Tirangaa. Various men in army costumes rented from the local costume store launched a patriotism-driven attack on Ghenda's fortress. People from either side dropped like flies, but India had the upper hand - not a perceptible upper hand from the visuals, but the sort of upper hand that you can 'see' if you've watched enough Hindi movies. And then, Ghenda revealed his trump card - he had Inspector Waghle's relatives captured.

When the door of the shed opened, Waghle's relatives weren't there. Instead, Lila stood, gagged and bound. Before Vinod could react, Ghenda said, "Vinod, call Sharma!" brandishing a pistol in his trademark white gloves. Vinod turned to Brigadier, who stood with the only things that could stop national destruction - the fuse conductors for the missiles - a smart-counter plan in the movie, but a ridiculous one in reality. There's this madman who could kill the most interesting woman you had ever met in your life, and your saviour waves around a couple of red wires that you probably used in physics lab in the eighth standard.

His Inner Voice suddenly said, "I told you to stop watching the movie!" Vinod woke up with a start. Brigadier said, "Ghenda, maine fuse conductor nikaal diya!" The country was saved again from evil forces in white gloves. Vinod half-smiled before making the phone call to Sharma.
***

Akshay couldn't believe his luck. First, he was made to work on a Saturday, when he should have been watching TV at home, and second, the guy sitting next to him in the train, one who identified himself only as Sen, couldn't stop talking. He hadn't heard such whining since the time he heard recordings of himself talking to his psychiatrist eleven years ago.

Why couldn't they just spare Akshay and let Sen start work...
"... on Monday?" Sen asked fot the seventh time in twenty minutes, "I mean, it makes no sense. I know I'm joining a news channel that knows no weekends and weekdays - only days when the markets are closed and days when they're open. I know that the channel works irrespective of whether the markets do or not. But really, for someone who's coming from a magazine atmosphere, they should allow some settling-in time."

Akshay tried to get a couple of sympathetic words in, but Sen was relentless, "I guess I have to go through this. My first passion was always..."
"Talking?"
"How'd you guess? Yeah!"

Akshay wished he had access to a large RSS danda to hit himself with.

"In the magazine, I was writing the regular business feature, but it was a small magazine, a small section and I couldn't really express myself. Moreover, the people around me were not the sharpest lot, and I think my growth as an analyst was stunted within that system. Be that as it may..." Akshay had never met a person who used the term, ' Be that as it may' in everyday conversation. Sen continued, "Be that as it may, I've always thought that the independence they gave me has made me more mature. I don't think I'd've been ready for a news channel job as soon as I finished studies."

As Sen kept up the steady stream of news, views and analysis, Akshay realised he needed an escape route. "... and Castro is getting too old. I don't really have strong opinions against dictatorships, but..." Akshay desperately needed an escape route.
"Hey! My stop is here," Akshay said, suddenly.
"Oh, I thought you were going to Churchgate."
"Um, no... I lied to you earlier."
"Why?"
"I thought you were cute."

Sen didn't immediately get the full meaning of the sentence, and when he did, it had the desired effect. He let Akshay go.
***

Lila knew there was something wrong the moment she got up. The alarm didn't ring, and she couldn't figure why. Sharma had left, but hadn't bothered to wake her up. The TV had been on through the night. There was heavy metal drumming in her head thanks to all the alcohol. She vaguely remembered commenting on the trip-value of news channels providing background music for drunken sex.

And then she panicked. She had to get to office in an hour, and the taxi took an hour. Finding a taxi at that time wasn't easy either. In fifteen minutes, she found herself on the road trying to catch the attention of a taxi driver. One stopped, but it had someone sitting in it.

"Hi. Are you going towards Marine Drive? I need to get there desperately," she asked.
"In fact, I am!" the man said. She hopped in, "Thanks!"
"That's not a problem. I usually take the train, but there was this guy sitting next to me who ate my brains out. Couldn't stop talking!"

She struck up a lively conversation with him where she tried convincing him to support the Narmada cause. He seemed interested in her. He enthusiastically gave her his card and told her that his office was only a block away, if she should ever be interested in coffee. She got off, walked ten metres, made sure she was still within his view and tore the card and threw it away.

She had made it on time. Like every morning, Lila entered her office building, took the first corridor to the left from the main entrance, pressed helpful red button to summon the lift, smiled at liftman as he checked her out, exchanged meaningless pleasantries with the her colleagues in the lift, as each one tried to outdo the other. Like every morning, she got off at the fourth floor, waved at the receptionist, entered the make-up room for a quick touch up before going on air.

Something was wrong. The make-up room didn't have her usual buddies. Instead, a nervous newbie sat staring at the mirror.

"Hi," she said suspiciously.
"Oh, h-hi."
There was that look again. Like she was the looker's long lost lover. She got that from every man who saw her for the first time. Only, with the mirrors all around, there were four Sens staring at her.

"I'm Sen, Surendranath Sen."
"Sounds cooler when Bond says it."
Sen was put on the back foot too quickly for his liking. He needed a comeback. "Oh, my friends call me Suri Sen." There it was. The world's worst comeback.
"Hi. Lila. That's what my friends call me also," she said, not being able to think of a more suitable reply to an unnecessary fact.
"Oh." he said.

There was a pause. They looked at each other, and looked away. And then, given the lack of things to look at, and the proliferation of mirrors in the room, they looked at each other again. Neither had anything to say.

Sen finally said, "I met this really strange guy on the train today."
"You aren't the first person to tell me that this morning."
"No. You have no idea. This guy, initially tells me he's travelling to Churchgate. We were having a conversation when he suddenly got up to leave way before Churchgate. So, I asked him what the deal was, and he told me he was going to Churchgate only because he thought I was cute."

Lila couldn't believe the coincidence! She was dumbstruck. Sen thought he'd brought up the wrong topic for a first time conversation. Discomfort, shiftiness ruled. And yet, the mirrors meant that they had to look at each other.
"Where is everyone else?" Lila asked suddenly.
"Um, who else?"
"I'll ask someone outside. Its okay."
As she was leaving, she told him, "You are cute, incidentally."

As she walked back to the receptionist, she realised something - it was a bloody Saturday. She didn't need to do the Breakfast Show. Hell, there was no Breakfast Show. Ravi would do the news-reading for reruns of the previous night's stories. She didn't need to hurry in the morning, share a taxi with a troubled insurance agent who complained continuously of a man who never stopped talking to him in the train.

Just then, Sharma called.
"Hi. You remember my friend Vinod?"
"On the train?"
"Yeah. I'm meeting him today. Want to join us?"
"Why not? I can find another person to add to the list of people checking me out today."
"Pah! Subbu's a nice chap. Actually, he's your sort - all senti about love and all."
***

When Sen walked out into the corridor, he heard Lila say, "Mondy's? Seven? Cool."
He made a mental note of the time and place.
***

Subtle Subramanian - Part II

...continued from here.

***
The first time Sen walked, it was caught on tape and beamed across the world daily for many years. He was an incredibly cute, chubby baby - The Man Upstairs had sculpted him personally for Cerelac advertisements. There is a rumour that the then head of Nestle undertook severe penance for a new Cerelac baby. In the climax of this penance, he was beating a gong with all his might when he dropped it. At that very instant, in a box-like apartment in Andheri, Sen was born.

Sen loved to talk. He found his voice, and his love for the sound of his voice very early. He could make three-hundred and sixty distinct baby sounds by the time he was six months old. On his first birthday, he apparently said his fifth adult-language word, and one that would become his profession, "Share". While his mother, a writer, was convinced that he was referring to Kipling's legendary tiger, his father, a Bengali banker settled in Bombay foretold the future. "This boy is all talk", he said, "stock market talk".

But for all Sen's talk, he never walked. People around him tried everything. They put his favourite he-man toy a few metres away from him, he gave them a dirty look and a sound firing in his native tongue. They tried to forcibly make him stand, he cried loudly till they could stand it no more. When they placed him back in his comfort zone - he took off again - telling them that they should never have climbed down from the trees.

One of the highlights in Sen's life was the Cerelac advertisement. The whole day, his parents were tense. What would the ad agency say when they realised that a baby who couldn't walk was advertising the product for the age group between one and two years? What would the target audience think of the cereal? A boy fed on this for more than a year isn't walking. Maybe the agency would only shoot Sen's face. But his parents had lied in their letter.

"You shouldn't have said he could walk 'briskly'!"
"I didn't even want to say he walked. You forced me."
"Yeah. But why did you add the 'briskly' part?"
"I heard Mr. Shah telling his wife that he had put 'walks comfortably' on his application. I had to think of an adverb."
"Of all the adverbs in the English language, there is nothing worse than 'briskly'."
"Suggestively."

And so Sen was placed before seven cameras, enough lights to illuminate three football stadiums, a multitude of crew members, the edgy Director and Mr. and Mrs. Shah - the parents of the other baby - the Girl Who Walked Comfortably.

When Sen saw the cameras, he was excited. He gave his speech with more vigour, and said the word "Share" more often than usual. And then his keen eye noticed something - the camera followed his movements. But it looked dangerous. He thought that maybe it harmed him, and he tried to avoid its gaze. But everywhere he moved, the camera was there. Something told him that it couldn't follow him on the one movement that he hadn't tried before - upwards.

So, from a squat, he graduated to a stand. His parents were in shock. Sen was overjoyed. Why was he refusing to give this movement a shot, he wondered. He forgot about the evil camera eye tracking him. And he walked. If you were a little charitable, you'd even say he walked briskly. His other-worldly cuteness was always there. The Girl Who Walked Comfortably gave Sen a glowing look that made him go red. He reacted the same way he reacted to everything in his life - he talked incessantly. The head of Nestle developed the world's first case of an artery block caused by happiness.

This incident ensured two things in Sen's life. It created a bond between him and the cameras. His lack of acting skills, and his over-serious approach to life meant that he could never leverage his bond with the cameras to cinematic fame or celebrity status. He became a newsreader in a Business News channel. It also meant that women never thought of him as hot or cool. They always thought he was cute. Every single woman. Even Lila.
***

On the same day that Sen was married to the cameras, a newlywed couple in Madras left on their Honeymoon. Subramanian had been looking forward to this day for months. He and his missus would spend that night on a train - in a First AC cubicle all to themselves.

"Chee, not on the train," she said, pulling herself away.
"Why not?"
"Not on the train. Its not nice."
"This is First AC. We're never going to travel in such luxury again."

She brushed him aside and stared resolutely outside the window. Subramanian sat next to her, but made an extra effort to seem like he wasn't looking at her.

After some silence, he asked again, "Are we doing this or not?"
"Why are you talking as if it is some chore - like cleaning the car or something?"
"How do you want me to talk?"
"Be a little more subtle in your approach?"
"Subtle Subramanian - that has a nice ring to it..."
"I give up. Lets get this done with before you find other things that have a nice ring to them."

Subramanian didn't want to get too adventurous. It was his first time after all. But years of pent up frustration and pillow-practice didn't make the atmosphere conducive for self-control. He did get a little too adventurous. When he crossed the lines that he shouldn't have crossed, she pushed him away emphatically. A combination of the force of the push, their position and the lack of space in the train resulted in a fractured jaw. Although he brushed aside concerns that evening with a quick, "I'm okay," he wasn't. The features on his face were all permanently pushed, slightly to the left.

The result of those activities on the train was Vinod. Destined to not be subtle, bound and gagged by fate to the Indian Railways, and ordained to find true love on First AC compartments.

When the Indian Railways announced its upgrade system, Vinod was the first in the country to be upgraded to First AC. And in his little cubicle, was an incredible woman reading The Economic and Political Weekly. If the woman didn't resemble a Ravi Varma painting as much, he might have been surprised by the fact that such a journal even existed. As he found resting places for his luggage, he decided to make conversation with the woman.

Hi, he practiced in his head. Nah. This was too random.
Excuse me, he thought. But what if she said, kya re? The only reply he could remember was, main do bacchon ki maa re.
Hey, he thought, does this train stop for long at Egmore? Yeah. That had a nice ring to it.

Just then, a vaguely familiar face walked in, announcing to the girl, "I found water..."

"Holy fuck," said Vinod.
"Macha!" said the new entrant.
"How are you, da, Sherman?"
"Good da, macha. Where are you these days?"
"I'm shifting, actually. Was in Madras with TCS. I'm now joining their office in Bombay. You?"
"Bombay. Investment Banking." Such pomposity, thought Vinod.
"Macha, is that your sister Kavya?" he asked Sharma quietly.
"No da..."
"Cousin?"
"No... Girlfriend! You're still the same, eh? Subtle as ever."

"Hey, Lila, meet Subtle Subramanian. My friend from school in Hyderabad..."
"Hi. L-L-Lila. Hi... Um, I, um, I-I think you're really beautiful. But I'm sure people have told you that already."
She smiled. "Yeah. People have told me that, but..."
"... a little more subtly! Hahaha! Subtle Subbu, what a guy!" Sharma intervened. Sharma was the same, Vinod thought. Vinod asked himself a question that Lila asked herself many times in her life - God, what was she doing with him?! When he looked at her a little closely, he realised something.
"Hey. I know you... My dad watches you all the time."

Uncomfortable pause.

"Oh my god, I meant, um, you're on the news, right? I knew I'd seen you somewhere."
"Yeah. I have a lot more make-up on, and usually I wear more corporate looking clothes. Although I don't fully endorse globalisation and corporatisation. Just thought I'd clarify before you get the wrong idea." Vinod was getting wrong ideas. But they had nothing to do with globalisation or corporatisation.
"She's attempting a sort of a critique from within the system. Bring in new discourses to the way business news is viewed and understood by the moneyed," Sharma explained.
"Hmmm," said Vinod, for the lack of a more intelligent thing to say. But he understood why they were together. Clearly, no one else knew what she was attempting. Few people even realised she was attempting something. Fewer listened to what she had to say on the news.

For most of the journey after that, she read the EPW, Sherman worked on his laptop, the two of them walked out for cigarette-and-allied-pleasures breaks every now and then, and Vinod practised staring at her, subtly, and failed.
***

Every conceivable surface had been plastered with gold paper - the bare-chested princes wore cardboard jewellery coated with gold paper, the princess with the garland in her hand had gold plastered over her thermocole crown, the frail bow had more gold paper on it than wood. Even the centre table on which the bow rested was not spared - gold adorned every little place it could have adorned.

One by one, the princes came forward to try and lift the bow. The bow was a sorry twig from a nearby tree that could break if someone even held it firmly. It required excellent acting on the part of the kids make it seem as if it was too heavy. The princes were doing a great job. The first five in the line, the side-artists who fail, approached it hesitatingly and lifted. The princess had an expression of anticipation on her face as she looked at each prince attempting - an expression that changed to dismay at each failure.

And then the hero, Rama, Lord Rama, walked up to the bow. His gait was confident. He knew that he was scripted to lift it, and that little Sita would garland him. The audience would clap, and the curtain would fall as badly orchestrated Ram Bhajans played in the background. Effortlessly, Rama lifted the bow and broke it while trying to string it. The heroism and majesty in his face was mirrored by the nervous teacher standing backstage.

It was Sita's turn to do her bit now. But the five-year-old Sita realised something. She didn't want her husband to be a weightlifter. She wanted him to be a cool guy. She was looking for a husband, not a bodyguard. She looked around at the princes. The teacher was getting nervous. Garland him, she mouthed from backstage. Sita set her eyes on another prince standing at the back, Rama's brother, Laxmana - the cool dude who decided Sita wasn't good enough for him and let Rama do the heart-winning.

Sita ran straight to Laxmana and garlanded him. The bewildered boy started crying on stage. The audience was in splits. Rama, not being able to comprehend the situation, started crying too. The man handling the audio had no idea if he should play the Ram Bhajans now, but decided to do so anyway. The man handling the curtain, who had fallen asleep, woke up when he heard the music, and let the curtain fall. Sita beamed triumphantly. The applause was deafening.

"Lila!" the teacher screamed.

Lila gave her part-mischievous-part-innocent smile that would, later in her life, be used with unerring success on all kinds of men.

Calming down, trying to understand the child's nervousness and making concession for her age, the teacher said, "You chose the wrong prince, dear."

Twenty-one years passed.

In a particularly heated exchange, Lila said, "Sherman! I'm done with this relationship. I cant handle this superciliousness."
"Supercilicity."
"No. I checked the dictionary this time before using a big word. Superciliousness."
"Its that guy, isn't it?"
"What guy?"
"That guy who reads the news with you."
"What?!"
"I know - you've fallen in love discussing 'technical overhangs' and 'short-covering' with him all day."
"Just like I fell in love with you discussing 'colonial hangovers' and 'tropes of subjectivity?'"
"I saw him making eyes at you. What the fuck - the whole world saw him make eyes at you. Its all over the internet. On your channel website."
"Channel website?"
"Yeah. On the discussion forums. Look at the thread under Infosys."
"Oh, I think I forgot to mention the other reason I cant stand you - you're so suspicious about every man I ever talk to. I'm sure you think Vinod and I are secretly humping also."
"Vinod likes you more than Sen likes himself. He's not very subtle about it. And you to..."
"I like the fact that Vinod isn't subtle. At least I wouldn't have to wonder each day if this guy actually likes me or not. It'll be clear to me and the world. Sometimes I cant handle your subtlety. Me and Sen. God! You've been dying to ask me about this, haven't you? All those roundabout ways of putting the question to me - 'What do you think of office romances?' 'This girl in my office was telling me that she found Sen really cute. You think he's cute?' God! Pathetic. For the record, I think office romances are fine, and that Sen is cute, and he looks and acts like an overgrown baby."
***

Three days later, Sen saw his opportunity. He confessed that the discussion forums were right, and that he wanted to do more than just make eyes at her. The cameras had, as usual, recorded the more crucial events of his life. She asked for some time to think about it. That evening, she said yes.

She vividly remembered what her kindergarten teacher told her all those years ago, "You chose the wrong prince, dear".

Should she have chosen the weightlifter over the cool dude? But which of the two was the weightlifter? Wait, was it the third guy?
***

Subtle Subramanian - Part I

Vinod Subramanian, sat alone on the beach watching old mamas and mamis in sweaters, monkey caps and mufflers. It must have been twenty-three degrees at least, but in Madras, given its usual weather, this was peak winter. He allowed himself a little smile. The waves hit the shore listlessly, almost as if they were bored of doing the same thing for centuries. Or maybe there was a hint of sadness in their behaviour.

He stared at them until a little drop of salty water was waiting to break free from his eyes and run down his cheek. He held it back, got up, and drove away into the city as dawn eased into a bright morning.
***

"That's the singer who was close to Fidel Castro," she said pointing to a poster that had 'Revolucion' emblazoned across it, and laughed almost endlessly.

"Okay, fine. I'm ignorant. You've said that a million times in a million different ways." Vinod declared indignantly.
"I can understand ignorance, but thinking that Che Guevara was a singer close to Castro..."
"Tell me, why would rock music loving, weed smoking, youth in India who haven't lifted a finger for any cause have posters and T-shirts of a revolutionary in South America? I think I'm entitled to assume that he was a rock star."
She laughed even more.
He continued, "I mean, Bollywood music lovers don't walk around with T-shirts of Chandrashekhar Pandit."
"Who?"
"Chandrashekhar P-p-pandit..."
Now she could hardly sit straight laughing. Her laugh was about the most unique laughs he'd ever heard - some people snorted, others sounded like Bollywood's professional rapists, but this one was in its own league - there was a high-pitched squeak that came in every two seconds or so! In his experience, many of the world's prettiest women lost their aura when they laughed out loud. She didn't.
"Chandrashekhar Pandit?"
His eyebrows knotted. "Wait, I know this guy's actual name - the guy with a mush and a gun..."
"Don't forget the dhoti."
And after two whole minutes of agony, he declared, "Azad!" Pause, "Why do I know Chandrashekhar Pandit?"
"Azad was called Panditji by people..."
"Oh yeah, that's what Ajay Devgan keeps calling him."
"Ajay Devgan?"
"That Bhagat Singh movie..."

More laughter filled a room that was a collage of newspapers, books, wires, clothes and cigarette butts. There was a sofa somewhere, but was well camouflaged amongst the previous days' Economic Times, while a mass of wires that belonged to her sixteen-piece sound system made their home on the mattresses that doubled-up as dewans. He looked nervously around the walls to see more people who looked like singers, but probably weren't, and an odd photograph or two of her family. There was a battered old TV in one corner of the room, and even at 8 pm, CNBC was on - in mute - with the stock prices and headlines flashing at the bottom of the screen. The rest of the furniture in the room was a table that had more newspapers and books, a shoe shelf that was nearly empty, and a little teapoy with yesterday's coffee mugs and a coconut shell doubling up as an ash tray. He cleared a few newspapers off the sofa and settled down on it.

She pointed upwards, towards the ceiling.

"Holy fuck." he exclaimed.
"We need to work on your vocabulary!"
"You painted that?!"
"Yeah. Nice?"
"A nude chick?"
"Yes. A nude chick. We really need to work on your vocabulary."
"An unclothed member of the female race?"
"We're a different race now?"
"A lower one, yeah." She gave him a look. "Kidding..."
"Thin ice."
"Anway, what does it signify? Some female liberation shit, with her clothes thrown away?"
"Thinner ice. But I'll let that pass. Benefit of the doubt and what not. You see that little equation in the corner?"
"Yeah..."
"I read this article once that had this long set of equations to prove that an erectile disfunction is equivalent to the square root of minus one. Those are the last two steps of the derivation. If you look closely, the that the woman is made of..."
"Little numbers and equations! Fuck!! But what does the erectile disfunction have to do with her?" and after a couple of seconds of reflection, "Or the square root of minus one?"
"Oh, that is for you to interpret and understand. One doesn't 'explain' art to other people."
"Yeah, when art is that hot, it is a crime to 'explain' it!"
"You think she's hot?"
"Very!"
"My brother told me that her eyes are a little off-centre - specifically the right eye."
"What?! Come on, look at those eyes, they're perfect! And Bipasha Basu has one eye smaller than the other. So, that really doesn't make a difference."
"I never realised that!"
"You have to observe her closely..."
"Her face? Do guys do that?"
"I do," he said, with a superior look.

She said nothing for some time - just stared at the woman who somehow signified the erectile disfunction and the square root of minus one, and dreamily walked into the kitchen. "What do you want?" she hollered.
"You," he said joining her in the kitchen.
"Sen wont be too pleased," she said.
"Sen'll never suspect a thing," he said moving towards her naughtily.
She thrust a drink in his hand. "For now you'll have to do with this."
"You know," he said, "I used to actually have a huge crush on you when I met you initially."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"You weren't really Subtle Subramanian."
"Damn. I was really hoping you'd break up with Sharma."
"Sherman... I cant believe I was with him for that long."
"Yeah, and by the time I'd heard you broke up, someone pointed out that you were seeing your co-newsreader!
"He asked me. If you had asked me, even when I was with Sherman, I'd've said yes."
"Is that offer open even with Sen?"
She looked at him with that raised left eyebrow. "Are you asking me seriously?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Yes. The offer is open."
He laughed into his drink.
She said, "Vin, I'm serious."
His eyebrow was raised now. And then his eyes grew as wide as two tennis balls. He took stock of the situation, and leant closer to her and asked, "Will you go out with me?"

She didn't say anything. She just leant towards him.

"I must warn you. The features on my face are to the left."
"Eh?"
"My face is not proportional."
She looked at it closely. "No!"
"Yes."
"I've done an experiment. I clicked a picture of myself, and took the left half of my face and laterally inverted it and pasted it instead of the right half. I looked different."
"Bergman-esque!" she said suddenly. He laughed. That's what he loved her for. He didn't understand what she meant by that - who was Bergman? Did he have a disfigured face? He didn't understand most things she said - about discourses and ontologies, about nihilism, countercultures and anarchy, about imagined communities and shared histories, about feminism and maelstroms, about Yugoslavia and Rwanda. But he listened to her, often with fascination, because she had this way of talking that made her look much prettier than she already was.

"Bergman is this famous Swedish filmmaker..." she explained.
"The joke sounded funnier without the explanation," he said.
"Jokes always do."
"But, coming back to the point, I have a disfigured face."
"You actually did that?"
"What?"
"Your experiment?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't have told you, if it weren't true."
"Nice use of the subjunctive mood. Not bad," she commented suddenly.
"The what?"
"Oh, don't bother."
"Yeah. I have other things to bother myself with."
"Like your disfigured face."
"I think I should get surgery done."
"Nah."
"Yeah. Plastic surgery."
"I'll compensate for the disfiguration," she said, moving her lips slightly to the right before towards his face. And the kiss was just the right mix of the spiciness of romance and the tangy tinge of mischief.
***
As much as he enjoyed getting up early in the morning to watch cricketers monkeying around in Australia in yet another Test Match, he hated Ravi Shastri's cliche-ridden drone. The cricket was often 'ordinary', the 'keeper almost always played a 'gritty' innings (unless he was Adam Gilchrist, god bless his soul), bowlers either hit or did not hit the 'right areas', and every now and then, the visiting batsman was "Edged and taken!" On this particular day, when an 'attractive shot-maker' was 'in his element', the ball had 'four written all over it' nearly every two minutes. Some poor soul was doing a lot of writing.

He increased the volume until the drone filled his little apartment and walked to the basin in the interests of personal hygiene. His reflection in the mirror confirmed his recent beliefs - that his face wasn't proportional. Slightly to the left. He told himself that he shouldn't worry about it so much. When he bared his teeth to his reflection, he noticed that his teeth were to one side also. The middle teeth at the top didn't fall on the middle teeth at the bottom. After a whole minute of trying to remember, it came to him - his incisors! That's what they were. They were off-centre.

"You know what I hate about this place," she said suddenly entering the bathroom. "You don't get newspapers."
"I get the Mid-day..."
"Newspaper?"
"Mid-day." he declared, emphasising on the first syllable for no reason, when the dreaded voice came, "Edged and taken!"
"Fuck. Laxman."
"Dravid falls for that teasing line outside the off..."
"Thank god!"
"You know, I think the Hyderabadis' love for Laxman is much like Laxman's batting..."
"Don't theorise about cricket. Please. I mean, how would you feel if I said things like, 'The subjunctive mood is in its death throes, and the best thing to do is to put it out of its misery as soon as possible'?"
"That's Maugham, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I'm impressed."
"Wikipedia."
"Better than Competition Success."
"For quite a while, that was my primary source of knowledge."
"But you actually read up on the subjunctive mood?"
"Yeah, I didn't realise that it was a grammatical thing - I was hoping it'd tell me more about women."
"The sub..."
"Edged and Taken!"
"Fuck. Laxman."
He ran to the TV wearing a worried expression and a T-shirt that now had more toothpaste than fabric. She had other worries.
***

To be continued