Message to love

Today is Valentine's Day....the day when people are supposed to express their love for one another. A day to exchange gifts, a day to tell that someone special that you love her and hope she says it back to you. A day when millions of hearts would beat for each other, and a day when a million more would be rejected, broken, shattered to pieces, trampled upon and made to feel utterly worthless. A day for which one might have been planning for a long time, and which might turn into a day one would remember for all the wrong reasons, the rest of their lives. Valentine's Day...

Not to sound too Shiv Sainiky types, but why is this day celebrated? Why is this day special? The sun is the same, the morning tea is the same, the traffic you face on your way to work is the same. Hmm......but there is something different about this day, that makes all the vagabond good-for-nothing guys scream out to girls passing by, asking them out for a date (as if they would say yes, like the girls on those Bangbros videos). There is something different about today that makes the Shiv Sainiks and their kin go on a rampage and act like their primate cousins. There is something different about today that makes losers like me feel a little more depressed, a little more bored with life. Its a day which comes once a year to remind us of our pathetic lives.

The wealthy, unable to find ways to spend their dough, are going on yacht rides with their wives and mistresses today. Candlelight dinners, romantic music under a starlit sky...........a lot of hard work done by guys for those 30 minutes of ecstasy.

So, what are people like me who are single, and who know they are gonna stay single, to do on this day? What are we to say to those who ask us why we aren't out on dates today? A few things that I think might work are:

1. Pretend you are sick (a sure shot winner, although you will have to act it out real good)

2. Tell them that although you had plans, work caught up with you at the last moment and you have to stay back home to work.

3. Her parents refused to let her go out today because its that day of the year

4. Your parents are visiting town and you would like to spend the day with them (this is a bit tricky, cuz you suddenly can't say you like your parents after cribbing about them the rest of the 365 days)

5. You refuse to celebrate this day as a mark of protest against corporatisation of love and romance

6. Pretend you have a hangover

7. You are confused about whom to take out since you have so many choices

8. Tell them you just don't care about this day (this is the easiest route out)

I personally don't have any plans for tonight since I have to make an assignment for tomorrow ;) but to all those desperate single guys out there, this day is just another day in the 365 days of an year, and it will pass off before you know it.

To all my brothers, who might have to use one of the excuses from those stated above, I wish a Happy Valentine's Day and good luck for the future.

My friend (and our scooter) Part 2

RECAP---

Me and Prateek bought second hand scooter - scooter kept near hostel by Prateek - scooter got stolen -we went to police station - thulla looking at porn magazine - girl on cover of porn magazine very hot - wrote an FIR in hindi language - hindi language is our national language - hindi follows devnagari script - hindi is Prateek's mother tongue - me deviating from the story - where was I? - oh yes, we wrote FIR in hindi - cop called us bhanch** - told us he would let us know if they find scooter - we scrammed from police station

Part 2-

After coming back to our room, Prateek and I collapsed on our beds (which, FYI, were separate and in different sides of the room). We were physically and mentally tired from the ordeal and slept off without any further discussion of our 'precious'.

The enormity of the situation dawned on us the next day, when out of routine both of us came down and there was no conveyance, no scooter to take us to college. A couple of friends offered to give us a ride. The news of our scooter being stolen had spread like wildfire during the night, when those important calls between couples take place. Everyone came up to us and consoled us as if we had just found out that one of our kidneys had been taken away during a routine medical check-up.

"We are so sorry to hear about your scooter. How did it happen?", asked some people.

"Don't worry. It is sure to be found.", said some other people. A wise guy also said, "It happens", as if this was similar to a pigeon dropping his stuff on someone's head.

After recounting the story some hundred times, we decided it would be better if we go back home for the rest of the day.

In the evening, I went off for a swim with a couple of friends, while Prateek was sleeping. None of us knew how to actually swim, but the swimming club was open to people who could pay 50 bucks for a day. They didn't care who knew swimming and who didn't, as long as people were ready to pay up.

The next day, during lunch, a call came to Prateek. "We have found your scooter. Come and pick it up", said the caller, who identified himself as a cop from the 5 star police station we had lodged the complaint in.

Prateek called me up and off we went to our current favorite place in the world with a couple of friends. Mr. Porn was still there with his sweet ass magazine in front of him, or had he bought a new one, I wondered. I couldn't quite be sure, but what the hell, I thought, one naked girl is the same as another. There was another thulla, a tall lanky one, smoking a bidi and blowing out smoke circles as if trying to signal us that he had some information about our 'precious'. He looked like that character, Deepthroat, in the movie 'All the president's men'.

"Your scooter is with us. Do you want it?", he asked.

This was pretty strange, I thought. Why the fuck wouldn't we want our scooter. But some of our more worldly wise friends whispered that he wanted money, a bribe.

"Where did you find it?", my friend demanded, but the reaction of the cop to this arrogant question forced him to add a "Sir" with a softer voice.

The answer of the cop to the above question stunned the living daylights out of us. "It was in front of the hostel, all left open. Someone would have taken it. So, I brought it in", he replied sternly like a father scolds a son who leaves his toys out in the balcony.

Fuck you sonofabitch, madarch**, May you rot in hell, you impotent imbecile, motherfu****, were the thoughts in our head. But out aloud, we said, "Oh.....", as if we were thankful that that bastard had stolen our scooter. The cop had used his key to start our scooter and then he had ridden it all around the town, finally bringing it to the police station and was now demanding some money to return it back to us. I decided then and there that I would study for IPS, come back as his senior and kick the shit out of him, like they show in the movies.

After some negotiations, 700 bucks was the deal that was fixed to take back something which belonged to us and had been locked and parked inside the hostel complex. But at least we got back our ride. Our wonderful two-wheeler which we swore never to part with again.

And after giving the helpful cop the money he had asked for and thanking Mr. Porn, who I think wanted some time alone with the magazine, we turned the key and kick started the scooter. 0 - 50 kmph in under 15 secs, I think and then the dreaded sound.....splurt, spurt........we had hardly gone 500 m from the police station. The motherfu**** thulla had finished up all our petrol..........

My friend (and our scooter) Part 1

"Bhai, have you taken the scooter?", asked my friend over the phone.

"No", was my blunt reply.

"Well, then, where the fuck is it?", he yelled.

"How do I know? The keys were with you. I am walking back home, asshole."

And that was how we came to know that our second hand LML Vespa had been stolen. We had bought it as a means of conveyance when we shifted to a rented accommodation in our third year to escape from the drudgeries of our hostel, to escape from the food that would be rejected by a BPL person, to escape from the seniors (who were in their fifth/sixth year of engineering) who kept us awake all night long with their dumb conversations and gyan about life after college.

It was a second hand blue LML Vespa, bought for around 7000 bucks. It was past its prime by about 5 years, the brakes did not work, the headlight kept flicking on and off on its own whim, the horn was not audible even to the driver and the hook in front of the scooter, where you hang those polythene bags containing things of everyday need, was broken. But it could transport you from point A to point B, and that was all that mattered. We were starting a live-in relationship and a scooter was very essential for us. How else were we to get to college, bring groceries and booze and maybe someday a girl might want a lift somewhere (we hoped).

My friend, Prateek, had parked the scooter in front of our erstwhile hostel and it was not there when he came back in the evening. He searched frantically around the area and traced back his steps from the time he had flushed the toilet in the morning to the present moment, but alas, our 'precious' was gone. After a lot of yelling, arguments and accusations, we decided to go to a nearby police station to lodge a complaint. We had heard heard some wonderful stories about how delightful an interaction with the police could be and we needed some support for the same. We believed in strength in numbers and hence, we called some friends to accompany us to the station.

The police station was in a dingy alley in Jagadhri. It had two rooms lit with 50 watt bulbs. The light blue paint on the walls was peeling off and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. A dog was sleeping in a corner with an air of contentment around him. Paan stains were present in every corner of the place. A cot and khaki clothes, hung from pegs on the wall, were present in one room while, a desk and four wooden chairs adorned the other room. A rheumy eyed cop (or thulla, as we call him in Haryana) looked up at us with contempt, for we had disturbed him while he was reading a dirty magazine. 'Man, that girl on the cover has some humongous breasts', I thought.

"Key baat se?", he growled in Haryanvi.

"Our scooter is stolen.", replied Prateek, while I was praying that the ordeal would end over as soon as possible.

"So? Hundreds of scooters are stolen everyday.", he told us. A piece of information that did not bolster our hopes by one iota.

"We want to lodge an FIR.", I said. "Haha. FIR? You think that would help?", he laughed like that dumb sardar on Laughter Challenge does.

"Ok. Take this piece of paper and write the complaint", he said and handed the paper to Prateek, who took the paper and started writing. "Sir, Our scooter.......", he had written this much when the porn-loving cop looked over and yelled, "Angrez hai kya?. Hindi nahi aati?". I think a little pee came out from me at this moment and I damned Prateek to hell for having lost the scooter. Prateek too lost his control and couldn't write in our national language. So, one of our other friends helped him out and wrote the FIR in Hindi, which seemed like Greek to me at that point of time.

"If we find the scooter, we will inform you", said Mr. Porn. 'Excuse me....if we find the scooter?', I thought. Was this supposed to be some kind of needle in a haystack game. I think everyone of us knew that a bribe was inevitable for making this sorry assed cop a little sympathetic about our case, but no one among us had the guts to suggest such a thing.

A friend asked the cop, "How long do you think it will take to find the scooter?"

The cop looked at him as if he had asked the thulla for his kidney. "How the hell do I know, bhanch**? We will inform you if we find it.", he spat, signalling us to get our asses out of the place or he would lock us up for obstructing the work of the police. We scampered from the place like rats whose tails had been set on fire.

To be continued.......

Who knows

The suit is bought, the shoes are shined, the buckle of my belt which I had been searching for the past two months has been found, and my phone has been switched off to keep out annoying calls from relatives and friends about the D-Day. "Which companies are coming for placement?", "How much are they paying?", "Where will you be placed?", "How much will you get in hand?".....and all such information is sought by these "well-wishers". But thats the way the world revolves. I think that my relatives and friends are more concerned than me about the kind of job I will land up at. For two years, I have been explaining to them about my decision to forgo IMT, Ghaziabad for IRMA. I have been telling them about the reputation of the institute, the alumni placed in top positions, the relevant work that we would be doing once we pass out from here. I have been telling them that after two years, they would realize the prudence of my decision to join Institute of Rural Management, Anand. But the truth will be revealed in less than 48 hours.

Ever since I had taken up engineering, I couldn't wait to get into a job. I couldn't wait to earn and spend my own money. But fate had different plans. Over the four years of college, I decided to pursue MBA......why be a technician, when you can be a manager, I thought. Anyway, fate had different plans and I ended up doing M. Tech as well. So, I have waited 8 long years for this moment which would come on 7th February, 2010 (hopefully).

The tension around the campus is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Add to that, the top minds we have for professors who decided to keep our mid-terms just before the placements. Well, I wish them a slow and painful death. People are studying marketing, finance, microfinance like crazy. Arguments have arisen over revealing of grades to organizations. Fines have been imposed on people who decided to give the pre-placement presentations by organizations a miss. Preference sheets have been filled and refilled. Statement of purpose have been written. Resumes have been made. Placement Committee members have been harassed like dogs on the street. Mock interviews have revealed the real caliber of people like me. The first question to the candidate who appeared after me was, "Are you serious about the interview or are you like Sudhir?"

All for a measly 25000 bucks. But as I realized over the past two years, guys like me with no USP should be satisfied with whatever they get. Maybe someday, I would earn a substantial amount and would finally be able to answer, with pride, the question, "How much do you get in hand?". So, wish me all the best for the coming placements, or better yet, drop dead......