Bros Before Ho’es
Venerated voyagers of the vicarious variety, welcome to the wondrous world of "Vedika, Vinita, what the f...!" A vortex of vexing ventures in the vicissitudes of dating, where valiant hearts venture forth, only to vanish in the volcanic vortex of vexation. Venture with us, dear visitors, as we voyage through various vistas of vivid and vivacious misadventures, volleying from one comedic calamity to another. Vividly, we unveil a volley of vicariously vicissitudinous vignettes, revealing the victories and vexations of vexatious valentines. This vivacious vaudeville of vagaries vows to leave you vying for more, as we vivisect the vulnerabilities of the voracious vixens, the virtuous and the villainous, while vindicating the very essence of our humorous expedition. Venture forth, valiant voyagers, for with Vedika and Vinita, what the f...! is just the beginning of a velvety veritable voyage!
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At the start of every great piece of writing, it is
important to clarify what to expect from the text. But if dating in the modern
world has taught me anything, it’s that expectations are the biggest source of
all disappointment. So rather than telling you what this series is going to be
about, we shall start off with what this is not about.
This is not a guide about happy and fulfilling romantic
relationships or how to improve your dating game. This is definitely not a story about what not to do in dating either. This is a
story about misadventures, humour, laughs, and some tragedy that is essential
for a good laugh. If you happen to learn or try to learn anything from these
pages, do so at your own peril; and know that it was entirely unintentional. If
I wanted my writings to impart wisdom, I’d probably try charging money for it. And
since all the money you’re paying goes directly to the big boy living in
Antilla, please send any objections you may have directly to him. If faced with
anything looking like a legal notice, I will do with it exactly what I expect
you to do with my story – read, laugh, and make fun of the writer.
So before we begin, I need to introduce Podrik. As you may
have guessed, Podrik isn’t his real name. To those who are able to relate to
the name, I say kudos! To those who haven’t been able to, this might be a good
time to improve your meme game. Podrik is my wingman from college. He is not
someone I dated, nor would I, considering my chosen afflictions in life. But I
do admit that if he were a woman, I would have surely married him by now. Or at
the very least least gaslighted him into a live-in relationship. The
hypothetical relationship would have been as platonic as the real one has been.
Podrik was the guy who never got up before 11 am, but
somehow managed to trudge his way through one of the most difficult MBA colleges
in the country. Of course because he had me doing his assignments for him. And
it was not just the assignments. He would send people off on all kinds of
errands; more than anyone else in the entire campus. Because he couldn’t do
anything for himself. The one thing he could do was convince others to do his
chores for him; which if you think about it, is the only superpower you ever
need in life. At one point he convinced the security guard at the hostel that
he had a foot fracture so the pizza delivery guy could be allowed come up to
his room. Another time he convinced the security guard that a very
questionably-clad girl with nothing in her hands was infact, the pizza delivery
guy.
Podrik was what you would call a “total bachelor” and the
least politically correct guy in the universe. But he got what he wanted - from
strippers in rooms to… basically that was it. And somehow that was key to getting everything else in
life.
Podrik wasn’t always “the man’s man”. In fact when I first
met him, he was your average geek-next-door with an interest in guns,
helicopters, and without an interest in saving money. I guess that kind of
upbringing brings classes-up your game for the rest of your life. Now all that
was left, was the trigger that would set Podrik to become the playboy he was
always destined to become.
And that happened one fateful evening during an exchange
semester in Cleveland when a frantic Podrik came to my room.
Pod: Dude!
The guys are going to a strip club. Let’s go!
Me: No
Pod: Dude!
There will be strippers there!
Me: Obviously.
It wouldn’t be much of a strip club without the strippers
Pod: Dude!
That place has the best burgers in town
Me: …
Pod: …
Me: Alright.
I guess we can go for a few hours.
And so we were off! It’s not that I’m not interested in hot skimpy
women dancing to incomprehensible music. In fact I consider it to be one of the
greatest achievements of human civilization. But I preferred my women wrapped
around a very different pole, and definitely not on a stage. But then, the
burger… The burger was the extra push Podrik knew was sure to work on me.
And so it was five Indian guys sitting in a strip club, our
Baniya upbringing not allowing us to spend $20 on a woman who would just grind
us for five minutes and go away. However, the Baniya upbringing also told us
that any expense made for a friend was an investment. And so I went to the
back, slid a crisp note down the thong of a stripper, and whispered a few words
in her ears.
The song changed. A tall blonde came up to our table. And
without warning, the stripper got on top of Podrik and did things that… let’s
just say brought out the “Sakht Launda” in him before he could even realize
what was going on. For the first 30 seconds Podrik seemed to be in shock, while
the rest of us were in splits (very
different from the splits we were soon about to witness). Things got out of
hand when Podrik… took things in his own hands. Once the song was done, I
couldn’t help myself handing Pod a cushion; and sliding down another few bucks
down a thong.
We came back soon after that. But Podrik wasn’t the same. By
the end of the week, Podrik knew most of the strippers by their real names. By
the end of the month, a limousine would come up to the hostel to pick and drop
Podrik to the strip-clubs of Cleveland. By the end of the semester, we
estimated that it would have been cheaper for him to buy a strip club.
After the semester, Podrik said he needed to cleanse his
soul and search for meaning in his life. I suggested that he should try Kasol
or Rishikesh. He went to Vegas; and regularly updated us with pictures of himself
eating at Hooters, flying a Helicopter, driving on an F1 track, and some other
pictures that I saved in case I needed future kryptonite against him. He didn’t
mind. I asked the tall blonde who was lying next to me. She didn’t mind either.
And so the transformation of our dear Podrik was complete. In the years to come, he would guide me through my own escapades, being thankful for setting him his true path to salvation.
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‘But dude! Why must the first chapter of your dating escapades start with making
fun of me,’ Podrik was livid when I told him my plans
‘Well firstly, it’s not the first chapter. It’s the zero’th
chapter…’ I tried to explain.
‘That still doesn’t answer the question,’ Podrik
interjected.
‘… and secondly, the third chapter will feature Riya,’ I
said.
‘You… sonofabitch!’
