VT’s blog

In her post [For All My Girlfriends .. :O)], Samprati Me tells a story and makes some rather nice observations about girlfriends. It makes some great points explaining how wonderful woman-to-woman relationships are.

This post 'inspired' me do a similar thing describing a man-to-man relationship. That makes it a much fancied Mars-Venus post, if you like. This is the same kind of inspiration that the Bollywood film makers and music directors talk about when they blindly copy stuff from the West.

Those who have already read her post can skip the [girlfriend] section in Violet.

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For All My Girlfriends .. :O)

A young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid day, drinking iced tea and visiting her Mother. As they talked about life, about marriage, about the responsibilities of life and the obligations of adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in her glass thoughtfully and turned a clear, sober glance upon her daughter. "Don’t forget your girlfriends,” she advised, swirling the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass. “They’ll be more important as you get older. No matter how much you love your husband, no matter how much you love the children you’ll have, you are still going to need girlfriends. Remember to go places with them now and then; do things with them. And remember that 'girlfriends' are not only your friends, but your sisters, your daughters, and other relatives too. You’ll need other women. Women always do.

'What a funny piece of advice,’ the young woman thought. ‘Haven’t I just gotten married? Haven’t I just joined the couple-world? I’m now a married woman, for goodness sake, a grownup, not a young girl who needs girlfriends! Surely my husband and the family we’ll start will be all I need to make my life worthwhile!’ But she listened to her Mother; she kept contact with her girlfriends and made more each year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, she gradually came to understand that her Mom really knew what she was talking about. As time and nature work their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, girlfriends are the mainstays of her life.

After 50 years of living in this world, here is what I know about girlfriends:

1. Girlfriends bring you chicken curry when you need help.
2. Girlfriends keep your children and keep your secrets.
3. Girlfriends give advice when you ask for it. Sometimes you take it, sometimes you don’t.
4. Girlfriends don’t always tell you that you’re right, but they’re usually honest.
5. Girlfriends still love you, even when they don’t agree with your choices.
6. Girlfriends laugh with you, and you don’t need canned jokes to start the laughter.
7. Girlfriends pull you out of jams.
8. Girlfriends help you get out of bad relationships.
9. Girlfriends help you look for a new apartment, help you pack, and help you move.
10. Girlfriends will give a party for your son or daughter when they get married or have a baby, in whichever order that comes!
11. Girlfriends are there for you, in an instant and when the hard times come.
12. Girlfriends listen when you lose a job or a friend.
13. Girlfriends listen when your children break your heart.
14. Girlfriends listen when your parents’ minds and bodies fail.
15. Girlfriends support you when the men in your life let you down.
16. Girlfriends help you pick up the pieces when men pack up and go.
17. Girlfriends rejoice at what makes you happy, and are ready to go out and kill what makes you unhappy.

Times passes. Life goes on. Distance separates. Children grow up. Love waxes and wanes. Hearts break. Careers end. Jobs come and go. Parents die. Colleagues forget favours. Men don’t call when they say they will.

BUT girlfriends remain there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

For All My Boyfriends

A young husband sat on a sofa on a hot humid evening, drinking whisky and visiting his Dad. As they talked about politics, about work, about money and malt whiskies, the dad clinked the ice cubes in his glass thoughtfully and turned a clear, sober glance upon his son. "Don’t forget your boyfriends," he advised, swirling the ice cubes to the top of his glass. “They’ll be more important as you get older. No matter how much you love your wife, no matter how much you love the children you’ll have, you are still going to need boyfriends. Remember to visit the pub with them now and then; do 'guy things' (like playing poker) with them. And remember that 'boyfriends' are not only your friends, but your chess partners, your bosses, and the personal fixer too. You’ll need other men. Men always do."

'What a drunken, repetitive piece of lame advice,' the young man thought. 'Didn't I already know that?' As the years tumbled by, one after another, he gradually came to understand that what his dad really said was not all bull. As shitty jobs, nagging wives and jackass bosses work their changes and their mysteries upon a man, boyfriends are the mainstays of his life.

After 35 years of living in this world, here is what I know about boyfriends:

1. Boyfriends bring you cheap beer when you need to chill.
2. Boyfriends care two hoots about your children but they do keep your horny secrets from your wife.
3. Boyfriends never give cheap advice even if you ask for it.
4. Boyfriends never tell you that you’re right, but they’re always honest.
5. Boyfriends are too embarrassed to claim to love you and all that crap.
6. Boyfriends laugh at you, and you need horny jokes to start the laughter.
7. Boyfriends put you into jams by telling you the new found short-cut.
8. Boyfriends help you get into screwed-up relationships, always suggesting the latest 'easy babe' in town.
9. Boyfriends help you sell your new apartment, help you get a fine deal, with a fat commission of course.
10. Boyfriends will give a booze party for your son or daughter when they get married and ask them to reconsider their idiotic decision.
11. Boyfriends are there for you, in an instant and when your get genuinely screwed, but they never boast about it.
12. Boyfriends help you find another one when you lose a job or a girlfriend.
13. Boyfriends tell you to kick their butts when your children break your car's windshield.
14. Boyfriends do try to be nice when your parents’ minds and bodies fail.
15. Boyfriends help you find alternative 'arrangements' when the women in your life let you down.
16. Boyfriends help you drive to the poker joint when women pack up and go.
17. Boyfriends don't care about what makes you happy, and they don't know what makes you unhappy.

Times passes. Life goes on. Distance separates. Children grow up. The libido waxes and wanes. Livers fail. Careers end. Jobs come and go. Parents die. Colleagues backstab. Women (of the spouse variety) call all the time and add to the misery with their endless complaints.

BUT boyfriends remain there at the Pub, no matter what time. A boyfriend is never farther away than needing him can reach.

P.S - I dedicate this to all my ilander Boyfriends . whom I have never seen or met, whatever whatever.

I would like to share with you an interesting encounter I had recently, it left me wondering.

I met two old time friends, separately, in a foreign city. Let me call the lady Ms X and gentleman Mr Y. Like me, they are married, doing reasonably well and are happy mid-lifers.

They live in the same city but I had to meet them separately because they do not talk to each other anymore. It's not a rivalry, a fight or something that they had. They are simply uncomfortable talking to each other.

I know the reason for their discomfort. They had been madly in love with each other, about ten years ago. At least they thought so.

Meeting them separately was amusing and sad; because they kept asking about each other all the time. They asked a hell lot of details, made a few very passionate comments and said how much the missed each other.

I think lost love always does that to people.

What kills me is the reason they broke off. I could never understand it. I am tempted to feel that the reason they broke off was juvenile to say the least and misguided to say the most. But I may be jumping to conclusions.

They say they were not 'compatible' and they had completely different 'world views'. I find it hard to believe how two perfectly reasonable people could break off a relationship- which they claim to be love- so easily.

Mr. Y said, "I hated her when she said she did not like the movie Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro". He said, "A woman who has no sense of humour could not be my life partner."

Now, I like that movie too; but it’s that thought that killed me.  Till the time I met Ms X and heard what she had to say.

She said, "Can you believe it, he does not like Kahlil Gibran! How could I marry a guy who doesn't like Gibran? He cannot be sensitive."

I felt like telling both of them- "I too don't like Jaane Bhi do Yaao and I care two hoots about Kahlil Gibran. Now, tell me, am I your friend?” But I chose to keep shut. 

That left me wondering. Were they ever really in love? Or they were just looking for some Coffee House companionship? If they have really convinced themselves that their almighty 'world view' did not match, why do they still crave for each other?

I would like to dismiss this as a juvenile infatuation they could never get over with. I could be way off the mark and insensitive, though.

I guess every man and his dog are entitled to a Self-Image. Big deal if I have one too!

I fancy myself as totally, utterly 'Gender-Neutral'. In other words, I believe that men and women suck and rock much the same way- give or take a couple of rookie-points. I like to treat them with equal respect or disdain- depending on my screwed up opinion.

This goes back a bloody long time, sometime in the mid 1990s. I was living in one heck of a big city, Delhi, alone. Well, not exactly alone, I had a Roomie too. I shared a Lajpat Nagar barsati with him. I will call him 'The Roomie', his name is not important.

He was a total antithesis of what I am- a 'by-the-book' character, if you know what I mean. I think of myself as the 'give-a-damn' types. We made interesting roomies, though. We shared the same Zodiac sign, and that's the only thing we had in common.

This guy was way too disciplined. He would wake up bloody early and hit the pillow at 9 PM, sharp. He enjoyed indulging into a whole lot of rituals early in the mornings' bath, Chants, prayers, agarbattis (incense sticks) and stuff like that. That was not a big issue with me; it was an equal thing, after all. He pissed me off with his agarbattis, I pissed him off with my cigarette smoke. Fair deal.

He was a complete ritualistic/religious dude and I was totally indifferent to anything remotely connected to religion. He would call up his mom everyday. If I called up dad even twice in ten days, he would get worried and ask, "What happened, son? Are you all right?"

AND, of course, he was totally obsessed with sex (this is the only area he was not 'by-the-book'). Whole lot of sex! I never said anything about this habit of his. Not that my commenting would have mattered much to him. 

He would change his girlfriend on a third-monthly basis. Do a hell lot of 'stuff' with her and then get back to the task of spotting another babe in town. From a purely male perspective, I hardly see anything wrong with that, really. You know, the sitting duck and the hunter and all that.

On this point too, my take was different from his. I fancied myself as totally gender-neutral. A girl-friend always meant a 'friend who happens to be a girl' - straight and simple. I am perfectly capable of getting abusive, drunk and making a total rat-ass of myself in front of both genders. Zero guilt.

Anyways, I cut the crap and get back to the point.

This Roomie had a girlfriend once. A super-duper babe who would perfectly fit the Onida catch line- "Neighbour's envy. Owner's pride". What they call a trophy girlfriend. I had met her quite a few times because she was a regular visitor to our rented pad. She sounded quite normal, nice and all, to me.

The Roomie was, however, disappointed because he found it hard to believe that this was the only babe he could not manage to 'lay' within four weeks of their so-called love affair!

It was a Sunday afternoon, I had returned home from somewhere. I was climbing up the black and ugly iron staircase, which are to typical of Lajpat Nagar barsatis. Suddenly I noticed the door opening with a loud bang!

The Roomie's GF came out, looking absolutely shocked and devastated! I was almost near the door. She pushed me real hard and said, "Hat jao, VT!" (Move aside, VT!). She ran down the stairs as if she had seen a ghost or something.

Boy, was she strong! The push was real hard; I toppled down that iron staircase. Heck, I still remember there were 12 steps. I thank my stars I did not break by neck; rupture my ass or something of that sort.

I tried to act super cool, and looked around for any eye witnesses. There were none.

I casually got up when I noticed my Roomie running out of the room, trying to follow her. I asked him what the matter was. He sheepishly told me, "I was just trying to kiss her!"

Wow, that was fabulous! This jack ass tries to kiss a babe and I end up getting a battered butt.

Thank Goodness I was lucky not to get beaten up by the neighbours. I shudder and think; I could have even faced a molestation charge, damn it!  

Much water has flowed down the Yamuna since then.

The Roomie now lives in Bangalore (or should I say Bangaluru?). He is typically 'happily married'. I do meet him once in a while and his wife believes he is the best hubby around- with all his everyday rituals, no one could guess what his other 'interests' are. Even if his wife comes to know, she would say, "No way. Such a God fearing man could never do such stuff".

The Roomie is still 'at-it', by the way. And he makes it a point to keep me updated about his 'latest'. I simply say, "Great going, dude!"

The other day, by chance, I bumped into the 'babe who toppled me'.  She has grown nice, fat and graceful as hell. I spotted her in a market, with her hubby and two obese sons. I was pleasantly surprised that she recognized me at once.

We sat together for a while and talked over some tea. She told her Hubby a hell lot good things about me and then asked, "By the way, what happened to your rascal Roomie?"

I guess being gender-neutral does help. Or does it? Who gets the kisses and who gets the bruised butt is a point to be noted here.

Pssst! I'm telling you a secret today, make a pucca promise you'll keep it to yourself.

I don't know how many times you've tried staring at the mirror in an attempt to zero-in on the rear-pelvic region. Butt-viewing, I mean. The entire bending exercise can be a big pain in the neck, back and butt.

I don't fancy that idea too much. Not so much for the physical discomfort it comes with, but because of the memories it evokes.

Flashback to my school days; I think I was in the 8^th or 9^th grade at that time. Early-teens is the phase when some weird hormonal activities wreck havoc with a lot chemical lafdaas. The newly installed TSS (Testosterone Supply System) in our bodies brought as much joy to us as a fresh water tap would bring to a Sub-Saharan village.

This is a small butt-kicking story about four buffoons and a hot babe. I was one the four buffoons. The other three were Sudipto, Rohan and Venky.

Venky was the cutest of the four. Cute. That word kills me. No point saying what that implies, we all know that babes suck big time on cuteness- 'Cho Chweet' and all that.

The babe in question, one Moushumi Sen used to be the dream catch for the entire guy gang. She was nice and friendly. Damn studious too. She was way too chilled out even in those days and cared two hoots about any male attention.

One day, she was doing some experiments in the Chemistry lab and Venky stood near her cracking silly jokes. Funnily, Moushumi always found Venky's jokes funny. In the process of all the ha.. ha.. he.. he Venky coolly patted her rosy cheek. He even pressed her cheek- much the same way grown ups do a choo-ku-choo to little babies. Moushumi didn't seem to mind at all.

That gave ideas to the other three buffoons. We decided to take turns and repeat the act Venky performed with such élan. The act itself was simple- Joke. Laugh. Pat Cheek. Do a choo-ku-choo. Get lost as if nothing happened. The other three would peep from behind the door to verify if the act was performed to perfection.

I was the first one to volunteer to prove my balls and wits. I went to Moushumi who was busy filling up a screwed-up pipette with some coloured fluid. I told her some stupid joke. She smiled. I patted her cheek and did a choo-ku-choo. She would have ignored that too, but unluckily for me, she noticed three necks peeping from the door- the other three buffoons.

I think that did the trick. She was smart enough to guess that these four sick guys had a bet or something and were having a good time at her expense.

Instead of saying anything, she coolly positioned herself strategically and gave one hell of a kick on my butt. Boy, those black Bata shoes were tough!

The other three buffoons guffawed and ran. My battered butt became the butt all jokes in the next days to follow.

Time passed and we grew up. Even today when the four buffoons and the not-so-hot-anymore babe meet, there is one butt which remains the butt of all sick jokes. Now I know- the TSS was the chief culprit.

The dark blue stamp that adorns the butt works as a neat reminder that one should not fool around with babes, unless one is cute enough.

That's a problem because I am way too old to cultivate any more cuteness, an easier way out is to keep off this goddamn fooling-about business!

I am sure the last surviving 'Perfect English Gentleman' would be an Indian, not a Brit. Much like the last Marxist, who would be a Sengupta or a Ganguly- not a Pavlov, a Svyatoslav or a Chung Ho.

One such Perfect English Gentleman is Mr. Dube. Well, actually he is Mr. Dubey but he would rather prefer being referred to as Mr. Dube. Here, DUBE rhymes with TUBE. Obviously, Dubey sounds too 'Cow Belt'-ish for Mr. Dube's exalted tastes.

Mr. Dube is quite an interesting personality. Straight out of a PG Wodehouse book, what they call "Very English" ' 'Prim and Propah'. I like such people; they take me back a few decades. In any case, we Indians love old and nostalgic stuff. Statistics reveal that PGW is the most widely read author in (guess where), India! The Brits have become too Americanized and moved on with the Pop Culture bandwagon and they obviously don't care much about PGW anymore, but that's beside the point. Coming back to Mr. Dube, as I said he is too polished and sophisticated as hell.

The problem lies with riff-raff like me. I am not too great at anything 'cultural' and know as much about sophistication as a Dinka warrior knows about the igloo. I am about as 'prim and propah' as my vest-n-polka-dotted-shorts combo allows me to be - complete with XXX Rum served in a Stainless Steel glass.

The other day I was sitting with another riff-raff, Arora. We were trying to figure out how to kill time when Arora suggested we could watch a Hollywood movie on a DVD. The great debate was if we should watch the Hugh Grant starrer 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'.

I said "I think it should be fun. I've heard it's a comedy."

Arora shot back. "Are you crazy? It is not a comedy. It is British Humour. British Humour is not comedy. Bahut dimaag lagana padta hai yaar." Point! It is obvious we don't care too much about stuff like understatements and subtle play of words.

Mr. Dube walked in. Arora and I said in unison. "Hello ji, Dube Ji. Good Morning hai ji."

Mr. Dube: "A delightful Morning, old chaps. Who do I see here? Ah! Mr. Arora, I gather you are particularly fond of this old rascal VT, aren't you?"

Arora: "VT not rascal, Sir Ji". Arora moved ahead to close the door.

Mr. Dube: "Oh, a lovable rascal he certainly is. Incidentally I was wondering if you would be kind enough to keep the door ajar please."

Arora: "Who is Ajar? No I am closing it, cold air coming in Dube Ji."

Mr. Dube: "What nonsense! You should be particularly fond of the subtle nip in the early spring morning air."

Arora: "You nonsense! I am not nonsense."

Clearly, the conversation wasn't going anywhere worth going. I asked Mr. Dube if he cared for tea or something.

"Oh yes. A perfect Darjeeling is what I have been longing for. Nothing elevates the spirits higher than the sublime aroma of perfect English tea." Mr. Dube likes to be transported back to the banks of the Thames and has to be dragged back somewhere closer to the Yamuna.

Arora and me drank chai simple recipe ' pour water, shove in tea powder, sugar, doodh and then boil it. Add ginger if you want a stronger stuff. For Mr. Dube's perfect Darjeeling, the recipe is even simpler - boil water, that's it! Mr. Dube does rest of the rituals of soaking in the tea leaves, 'soaking in the aroma' and stuff.

Me: "Mr. Dube, there is this movie called 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. Fancy a look at it?"

Mr. Dube: "A delightful piece of work, my friends. It's cinema of a rare quality ' clear, crisp and extremely droll."

"Actually we fancied 'Hot Shots'." Arora said.

Mr Dube was suitably disgusted at our tastes. "I am grieved to notice the abysmal extent to which you have been swayed by the Trans Atlantic nonsense that emanates from the land of the New World. You exhibit the most appalling tastes, disgusting, if I may say so." Oops!

"Trans Atlantic nonsense you mean 'Hot Shots' is nonsense. Okay. Then we can see Jim Carrey in 'The Cable Guy'." was Arora's idea. Obviously, Mr. Dube wanted to give that one a Royal Ignore, but couldn't stop himself from saying "Slapstick is what you imagine is humourous, I believe."

"Oh yes. Slap and Stick. Slapstick. We want slapstick. We love slapstick." Arora was thrilled that finally Mr. Dube understood him.

Mr. Dube was through with his sniffing-inhaling-smelling-sipping-swirling-drinking-whatever of the perfect Darjeeling and it was time for him to leave. Obviously, he did not approve of the way we live our wretched lives. Not that we care much.

"Gentlemen, pray excuse me now; with your kind permission, of course. I don't want to express my opinion on Mr. Carrey's brand of Cinema, lest my views be construed as belligerent." was Mr. Dube's parting shot.

Arora said "What's his problem, yaar. Why can't he speak simple stuff everyone understands? When was the last time you heard someone using a words like lest and constru whatever?" I know, that is the problem with the Hoi Polloi and Riff Raff, they want to simplify everything. The World is not so simple after all. "High Culture hai, baap. Not for me and you."

You can't expect anything else when a Rolls Royce of High Culture meets the pedestrians of Pop Culture. After all, there is only one Rolls Royce per million pedestrians.

'The Cable Guy' is what we settled for.