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Someone asked me the reason why I didn’t have a girlfriend, while all my friends did.
I pondered over the question for quite some time, and found two answers for the question.
I replied, “I don’t have the money and also the requisite culture”.
“What!”, exclaimed the person who was expecting an answer like “I am impotent” and stuff.
“Yes” said I, stamping my fist on the table.
What happened later is something I leave for your imagination, but what went through my mind is something beyond your expectations. So tighten your pant belts, let out some air, grab some popcorn and read on.

Ek Choti Si Love Story:

I asked my close friend X, who had been hitting on the sexy up town chick Y since quite some time now, how he cooked up a relationship with her.
X who was smiling till then suddenly put up a sour and broken expression on his face and started talking to me like a drought stricken farmer who suddenly lost his already worn out crop in a flash flood.
“What to tell mate? The times are tough, She is eating away like an elephant draining all my resources and then fleeing like a cat, leaving me in such a mess every time that I can’t even understand what happened”
“What, but she does not looks fat! Is she really a glutton?”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean eating in that way, she is such a spendthrift mate and every time she spends chivalry comes to play in between and it’s usually me who ends up paying the bill”
Suddenly a reel of imagination hit my mind. The reel had the title

“A day in a man’s life” :

It’s six in the morning. Man wakes up. Get’s out of bed and goes straight to the wash basin. Takes his blue Oral B toothbrush (which has colorful bristles which fade in three months an indication for a change) and notices that the bristles faded down and reminded himself to get a new brush and the very thought of it cut 80 bucks from his monthly salary. He picks up the toothpaste which “Colgate” written boldly all over it. The tube was colossal; for once he checked the price, 59 bucks. “Great!” he thought, for once the prices didn’t change. But then his inquisitive nature which had been nurtured in a two lakh per year Management College made him see the weight. 175 grams. “Fuck” he thought, the paste was 25 grams lighter than the last month, but it cost the same. He gave one small squeeze on the paste tube, only to get a large lump on his brush. Larger the tube more is the paste, "Fuck Bernoulli", he though and proceeded to do his job.

It was 7 o clock in the morning. “Time to get some milk” he thought. Dragging his feet he went out.
“Two packets please”, he said to the surly looking old woman.

“24 rupees”, shouted the woman, taking our dear old protagonist two years back into the memory lane, when two packets of milk cost him only 12 rupees. “Hiding his tears he gave the old woman three ten rupee notes who in turn gave him a 5 rupee coin. Our man stayed there like a stray dog staring at the garbage bin for the remaining one rupee. The old woman threw him a “Are you a man” look and said “No change”. Depressed he walked back. There was another vast cut in his monthly salary, a cut of value 800 hundred rupees.

It was eight in the morning. Time for office, grabbing his bike keys he set down to the parking lot. Only when he kicked the bike to life he knew that its end was near, temporarily. The fuel indicator refused to bulge from the E symbol, which meant he had to go to his office, struggling. He waited at the bus stop for the bus to come. After a wait of fifteen minutes, a visibly overcrowded bus arrived to the stop. People on the footboard, mostly young college students refused to move their butts, forcing the passengers who wanted to get down perform all sorts of gymnastics prescribed in the Olympic rulebook. Getting in was also a fight of its own, but this time it was different. The bus driver who usually was impatient started off, without even bothering about the passengers who were still to get a strong foothold. Our ‘poor’ protagonist performed a sprint behind a bus trying to grab something which could get him on the bus. Finally he managed to get hold of a person’s leg and throw himself in. At this instant, a very old ‘gentleman’, a lucky looking 40 plus fellow decided to spit out the ‘paan’ he was chewing. Unceremoniously, he let out a projectile of the gravy red concoction out into the air, through the window, which obeying Newton’s laws of motion fell onto our dear little man’s shirt.

The moment he stepped into the office, our protagonist’s lady love called him, or instead gave him a missed call. Grudgingly he returned the call, which didn’t cost him anything at that moment, but later in the monthly phone bills, there was a huge deflection.
“Hello?”
“Hiiiii! How about a movie and shopping today? You promised me to take me out this week”
“But Darling, I..”
“You are taking me out, that’s it”
*Beep* *Beep*

A flash in his mind and everything runs past him. He predicts the future. He goes with his ‘hot’ chick to the mall for shopping. She does all the selection, while he pays all the bills. She swayed sweet ass, but he got to carry the heavy bags. A lunch at the mistress’s favorite meant a cut of 1500 bucks from his monthly salary. A movie and three hours later, his hair stood up on his scalp and his money sunk deeper down in his pocket, he was 500 bucks poor (he hopingly took a 500 buck note, only to get a two rupee change, in the interval). A good bye, a small smooch (well, it was not even like the one in the movies) and a dozen roses later, our poor old protagonist was poorer by 200 rupees again. That evening our little man, lost more than 3000 bucks all for a single smooch from his dear old lady, surely he could have done much better if not for the price tag. Our man suddenly woke up from his day dream. He set out to meet Her.

Ten hours later, weary eyed he reached his house. He was right, he lost more than 3000 bucks (everything inclusive) and a hundred more calories. He opened the door, and dropped down in his couch. He switched on his TV to watch something useful, only to find a blank screen. He reached for his landline to make a call to the cable wallah, only to find his phone line dead. Then his grey cells started to work, which reminded him that he had to pay the cable and phone bills. “Shit”, that meant another 2000 bucks cut from our dear little mister.

Rent was another hole in the wall (of the treasury) which lifted/burned a sweet 10,000 bucks from his salary.
Tired, he lay down on his cozy bed, for which he was still paying money through easy monthly installments, looking at the ceiling he fell asleep only to wake up five minutes later only to realize that there was a power cut. “Fuck, I forgot to pay the current bill!”.

He dreamed of days when everything was cheaper, when he brought those movie tickets for 40 bucks, a nice shirt for 100 bucks. Everything was left behind. After a month, the only thing he could save was a rupee. Which he dutifully donated to the kid dressed as Mahatma Gandhi, wishing him, “Happy Birthday”. He was a poor man after all. Imagine men with families now.


Ek Choti Si Love Story Continued:

I woke up from the day dream. X started giving me a weird look. A few minutes later I opened my mouth,
“Why don’t you ditch her for a change?”
“Ditch her?! Man, you are one miserable fuck, but do you know the implications after I ditch her?”
“No”
“Well, everyone in her friends circle start to treat me as a fag, a self centric, egoistic, self satisfactory, impotent son of a bitch. They will spread the word to every possible being, thereby tampering the little image I’ve got”
“Fuck”.
Another reel of wisdom hit my mind. I submerged into my dreams again,

The ‘Culture’ Shock:

Two years ago, a pub opened in my home city. Conservational people and the orthodox communities vehemently opposed the opening of the pub. A year later three more pubs opened around the city operating all through the night. Noodle straps and miniskirts became the order of the day. Booze parties of the elite, with astronomical ticket pricings were the talk of the town. I was unaware of how a pub looked like, and neither was I allowed into one as I hail from a highly orthodox family.

One day I happened to be near one of the pubs. Punk styled guys with weird hair do’s and chicks with revealing clothes were all over the place. The entrance was busy with posh cars coming in and out for dropping a passenger (utter waste of fuel). A little inside, there were couples, with the men touching women in the ‘taboo’ parts et al.

The rapid globalization has brought the western ‘cultures’ right into the laps of today’s youngsters. When fully covered was considered beautiful in the olden days, the mantra now seems to be “One’s gotta be a porn star”. Women complain that men eve tease a lot. They question in the public, what’s wrong by wearing dresses of our liking. The answer is simple, there is nothing wrong in you wearing exploding dresses and there is nothing wrong in our eyes following you. It is an act of nature; we are not to blame it. Comfort apart, another reason why women wear stuff like that is to expose their beauties. They silently hope to woo men around them.
Were pepper sprays heard of in the past?
Were I pill advertisements common in the past?

The answer is a strict no, in the past there was a more sense of security. The more one covers the less is the temptation. If men’s eyes are magnets, then clothing is a block of wood, cleavages are an opposite pole. Alcohol which was taboo for girls in the past has become common now.
Where is the new generation going?
God knows.

This ought to be remembered, there are torn vests behind those Gucci shirts, tattered underwear behind those Levi’s jeans, and teary eyes behind those huge Armani sunglasses. People are branding themselves with products, instead of branding other with their brains.

Those movies have to be revamped. The utter nonsense filmy crap has to be scrapped. Those items songs banned and remakes punished. Originality should be the key. We should be proud to be an Indian. We should be Indian at the heart and mind. What we write is inconsequential, what we think matters.
These are the days in which originality gets the lesser seat. Copy paste is the thought and ideology of every second Indian.

Globalization is thing of the heart, but not of the body.
I woke up from my dream once again. X was bullshitting me about Y. How she was a bitch and all. I faked a call and got out. Change should happen from the insides, irrespective of the outside. Then, one can see the change he wishes to be. One needn’t be the Mahatma to know that, even a Papatma with a brain can do it. Change is eternal. This my Indian Dream.


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