Fanning Flames

I watch a fire burn

Its soft embers graze the soul

Who knows what keeps it alight

Who knows how long

before cold darkness grips again

 

Small twigs burn bright and fast

Heavier logs scorch slower, with difficulty

There is perhaps a lesson to be had here

I’m not sure, I just watch intently

 

There is a buzz around the room

I care not, but for a single sound

The twitch of an eye among blazing cinders

Missed eyes, looking at me

I’m not sure if they were looking for me

I just know the fire, and not much else

 

Vishal Gupta

December 18^th, 2023

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 8/8

Link to Chapter 7/8

Queen’s Cross

 

We were at a café having casual conversation over coffee and cake when it suddenly hit me!

 

‘We are in a café having casual conversation over coffee and cake!’ I shrieked!

 

‘So?’ she enquired, cool as a body in a morgue. ‘That’s a perfectly normal thing to do when you’re out with your girlfriend, right?’

 

‘Let me break it down for you,’ I replied, ticking points off my fingers. ‘(a) we broke up 12 years ago, (b) you got married, (c) and moved to another continent, and (d) as per our last conversation about a decade ago, you don’t remember that I ever happened in your life.’

 

‘Interesting…’ she replied, totally unfazed by my response. ‘You still haven’t learnt anything better to do with those fingers.’

 

We considered each other for a minute. Now that I thought about it, Anjali looked very familiar to her 20-year old self. Just as cute. As puffy. On the other hand, I had streaks of whitening hair, darker dark circles, and an older beard. But why was I seeing my own dark circles?

 

‘So what you’re saying is - (a) that I’m not actually here, (b) you’re either hallucinating or dreaming, (c) your sub-conscious is so self-aware that you actually know that you’re talking to your sub-conscious, and (d) after all this time, your mind still thinks of me when you need to have an actual conversation. Either you’re seriously screwed up in the head or you need to tell me what you’ve been smoking.’

 

My eyes opened as soon as she said this. I woke up in my bed and there she was, sitting on my study table; as real as the Sun shining through my roof.

 

‘So we’re obviously having an inception sort-of moment here. Nice. I’ve never been in someone else’s sub-conscious before,’ she opened. ‘And for the record, I moved to another continent and then got married. Big difference.’

 

‘Thanks for setting the record straight. My readers would’ve really cared! But more importantly, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?’ I countered.

 

‘You tell me. I’m simply a figment of your imagination. What are you trying to work through?’

 

‘So I’m just imagining this? If this is all in my imagination, then why are you dressed so plainly. We could be having the same conversation with you in something more… objectionable. And why are we in my room?’

 

‘So that you’re not distracted,’ she said. But even as she said the words, her kurti-jeans attire turned to a dress short enough to keep my attention but long enough to not bother my chauvinism. She looked at herself and chuckled, ‘good work. But let’s not get carried away from the issue at hand. What’s up with you?’

 

I looked at her for a moment. Nothing that I hadn’t seen before. But perhaps it was best to get to the point. After all, if she was just my imagination, this was nothing more than some mental foreplay. I could do better with my sub-conscious.

 

‘I can’t find the last chapter to this series I’ve been writing,’ I said.

 

‘You’re writing again? Nice. What is it about?’ she asked.

 

‘It’s about my disastrous dating escapades. I’ve even come up with a clever title. It’s called “Vedika, Vinita, What the f…!” Like the Latin phrase Ve…’

 

‘Is this like the post you wrote about me back in the day?’ she interjected twinkling with mischief. She usually didn’t do that.

 

‘Um yeah, about that…’

 

‘And that’s why you’ve skirted through the series without mentioning any real long-term relationships and just random chicks you met on one or two dates.’

 

‘Yeah but…’

 

‘And that’s why you’ve refrained from really offending anyone, just in case anyone feels as bad as I did.’

 

‘You’re not supposed to remember this, remember?’

 

‘Dumb question. One, how would I remember that I’m not supposed to remember. And two, I’m not really here you idiot. This is you talking to you.’

 

We sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, while the Sun continued to shine through my roof with a light breeze making its way through the closed windows. She really did have a point. 12 years ago, I had written a similar series on my college days which had a whole chapter of me making fun of her. Our relationship wasn’t doing too well anyway. And with that one post on my blog I might have put the final nail in the coffin. In my stubbornness I did not take the chapter down till years later, when it was already too late.

 

‘What are you thinking about,’ she interrupted my chain of thought.

 

‘Aren’t you already supposed to know that? You are in my head after all.’

 

‘Good point! You’re finally getting the hang of it. So you’re thinking why didn’t you mention any of the more serious relationships in your series. On the off chance that you’d end up offending them, you didn’t take the chance at all. Instead you went with the easy targets. The ones who would weigh light on your conscience. But guess what, if you choose to write about dating misadventures, you’re going to offend people. You wouldn’t be much of a writer if you didn’t offend anyone.’

 

‘And the ones who get offended would leave me…’

 

‘Like I did.’

 

‘I crossed a line.’

 

‘We were done long before that ever happened.’

 

So what is this, I thought to myself. Some self-induced therapy session? Or was my brain finally melting up. And as clear as crystal as meth, I could hear her voice, without her moving her lips at all, ‘so how have you been all this while?’

 

I told her about the many many (many) dating disappointments. How I discovered girls use guys for emotional (ab)use as much as guys use girls for physical (ab)use. I discovered how even I was capable of ghosting someone. I told her about the girl from MBA with whom I was on-and-off for 6 years and how each time felt like the definite last time and how this was definitely the lastest last time. I told her about the one that got away, the one which ended in divorce, and the ones who didn’t make it past the first or second dates. I told her how I was wronged by the universe, and I was unwilling to play by its rules again. I told her how I feared trusting anyone again, because I didn’t have it in me to fail one more time. I told her how I decided that if I could just manage to stay fit and rich, the women will keep coming. And if not anything else, there’s always Kasol.

 

‘So what you’re telling me is… you’re done.’

 

‘Definitely not. Else you wouldn’t be here.’

 

‘So what do you want?’

 

I considered this for a moment, grappling with the weight of her question. What the fuck did I want. Love? Redemption? Apology? A lifetime supply of pizza?

 

‘I just want my last chapter.’

 

‘I mean in life. What the fuck do you want in life?’

 

‘I want to go back 12 years or 8 years or 4 years or however long it takes to fix one of my mistakes.’

 

‘I can’t turn back time for you. But think about this - if you have made mistakes with me, and after me, and after that, and after that… aren’t you due for your next mistake soon? Maybe try not to screw that up?’

 

‘And what if I’m too afraid to commit to a mistake again.’

 

‘As someone very close to both of us once said, “It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all—in which case, you fail by default.”’

 

We sat without talking for a long time. The realization of what would happen next settled gradually over me in the long minutes, life softly falling snow.

 

‘I’ve got to wake up, haven’t I?’

 

‘That’s up to you.’

 

‘I’ve got a choice?’

 

‘Oh yes,’ she smiled at me. ‘We’re in your room right? I think you can decide to stay here, create more fiction, stay on your computer, and do the things you’ve been doing.’

 

Silence again.

 

‘But you want me to go back.’

 

‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you want to return. That you want to find someone. I cannot promise that you will find her. But I know this, that you have more to offer than you think you do.’

 

I nodded and sighed. Waking up would not be nearly as hard as committing to someone had been, but it was sunny and windy in here, and waking up would be heading back to paid and the fear of more loss. I stood up, and she did the same, and we looked for a long moment into each other’s faces.

 

‘Tell me one last thing,’ I said. ‘Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?’

 

She beamed at me, and her voice sounded loud and musical in my ears even though the Sun was getting dimmer, obscuring her figure.

 

‘Of course it is happening inside your head. But why on Earth should that mean it is not real?’

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 7/8

Link to Chapter 6/8

Barbarians at the Gate

Now I must admit, I do not know much about arranged marriages. They are an institution of their own and I have neither the will nor the inclination to learn about them. What I do know about is investment banking and mergers & acquisitions. So let us talk about that.

 

An M&A transaction occurs when someone has something to sell, and the other person has money to spare. When this happens, intelligent investment bankers like myself go to these rich people with money to spare. We tell these rich people that they, who have built such a fortune and amassed so much wealth, that THEY do not know what to do with their money. So now me, the guy who took an Ola-share to come meet them at their office, waited outside for an hour, and is now prying for their attention, I shall tell them what to do with their hard earned money. Because I know best.

 

So I tell them that there’s this “opportunity” in the market. It’s a good opportunity. A rare opportunity. An opportunity that does not last long in the market. Which is false. Because if such opportunities were to get exhausted, then from where would “intelligent advisors” such as myself get their next pay-cheque?

 

But I don’t tell my investor this. I tell them that there’s this wonderful, beautiful, wheatish complexioned opportunity in the market. Which this investor must explore. In fact if I had the money, I would invest right now. Right now! I wouldn’t. No investment banker ever invests in what they are selling. No drug dealer is ever an addict.

                                                                                                                     

Usually the investor’s CEO would be too busy to entertain the i-banker’s pitch. After all, he is responsible for the riches coming in. And he’s busy with that. More experienced people directly approach the Chairman. The Chairman really doesn’t have many functional responsibilities, other than to nudge the CEO to make more money. And what better way to make more money than to explore new opportunities? Many better ways actually. To start with, stick to what you know. That almost never fails. But we never say that.

 

And so the meeting is set-up. The parties get to know each other. They find common ground, like the common ground between a car manufacturer and a watch manufacturer. It is my job to convince them that the ground between them is common. And it is round. And the sky overhead is blue for both. And every car obviously needs a watch. And what is a watch other than an elaborate piece of mechanics running on a set of wheels? And with arguments like these, we let the parties know that they are interested. But they won’t say it to each other directly. Because no one wants to look desperate. That’s when they turn to me. And I tell both of them that the other party might be interested, but they are looking at other companies to… merge with as well. So they better hurry. There’s almost never another party.

So to save face these two parties leave the due-diligence to me. After all, who better to make an investigation other than the person who gets paid if the investigation comes clean? And who is in a hurry to explore the next “great opportunity” with the next “rich investor”.

 

And so the companies come closer. They do some small projects together. They go over each other’s balance sheets. Sometimes the sessions would last late into the night, or several nights. Under my careful observation of course. We want the companies to get fond of each other, but not get tired of each other. We don’t want them to find the dealbreakers about each other. Only find out enough which can be compromised upon. Meanwhile we make a public spectacle about the merger. Make sure everyone in the market knows about the deal coming soon and the share prices adjust accordingly. Now there’s a social market pressure on the deal going through. Someone will be disgraced if the deal breaks apart. And there’s only one thing that Indians fear more than losing money.

 

 This point on enough has been shared under the comfort of NDAs. So even if the deal fails, the secrets revealed to each other will stay secrets. Lol. Everyone knows that there’s no such thing as secrets, or NDAs. Secrets between people are hardly secrets. Secrets between companies are information. And information under NDAs are always closely guarded secrets, unless the price seems high enough.

 

So at this point I’m comfortable. Now it’s only a matter of time before I get my commissions. Meanwhile, the companies have started to become fussy about why the merger is taking so long. Now we can talk about the important stuff. My time hath come.

 

Now we talk about the subtle terms and conditions of the transaction. Terms that do not necessarily refer to the price, but will talk a lot about who will be in charge. This is where the CEOs step in and figure out a way how to co-exist in the new dynamic peacefully. There will be some compromises made and one of them will need to shift their office. But we all know that sooner or later they will both shift to a new office. Entirely unrelated to the companies that are merging.

 

We work our ways through visits to each other’s offices when no one’s absent and everyone wears their brightest colors. We take special care not to upset the other side and hence, avoid talking about anything meaningful. This is important. We don’t want the parties figuring out that they are incompatible. That might be the only point about compatibility that we are concerned about.

 

Now when the merger is nigh high, and the process has been powered through, doubt finally starts to creep in. Are we making the right decision? Are we getting a bad deal? Is the girl a virgin? So the parties start contacting everyone they know and don’t know to find some strand of feedback to find if they have been crossed. And they will find no such information. Because no one but the best of friends wants to be the bearer of bad news. And a true friend will not wait till the call to tell the truth. So no new information in received and the companies rest in the knowledge that despite all possible genuine effort, they have gotten the correct deal.

 

At this point, we meet the investment bankers of the other side, who, just like us, are waiting mostly for their pay-cheques and are equally desperate to get the deal done. The two sets of investment bankers are left to negotiate the final terms of the deal. And the negotiations are as real as a cricket match in the IPL. And similar avenues for earnings are created, right from the cheerleaders to inside jobs. I think Matthew McConaughey said it best when he said what he focused on. “Commissions baby!”

 

As soon as the deal is done, there is immense pressure from both managements to create immediate “synergy”. No one really knows what it is or what to do with it once you have it, but creating it seems to be essential. So that the two companies will have a problem to solve together for which they will stay put. A problem they did not have to begin with. Meanwhile, the investment bankers vanish. Until…

 

Until the synergies can no longer hold the companies together. Then the companies decide that it was a bad idea and go their own ways. Guess who knows the best way to separate a merged entity? That’s right – the investment banker. Unless there was a pre-nupital, the breaking process is going to be ugly. But the uglier it is the more we’ll get paid. So no points for guessing if it will get uglier or not. It’s like giving a pig the reigns to the carriage and hoping to avoid the mud. And guess what happens when these two battered companies are in search for new investment to get over their recently created bad times?

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 6/8

Link to Chapter 5/8

I’m sorry about tonight

 

Let me present to you the world of dating apps. You may know them by different names – Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, Aisle, Grindr... There are as many of them as there are victims of loneliness. Now, if you're a woman, swiping right on Tinder is like opening a treasure chest with an all-access pass to a buffet of male suitors. Each flick of the finger summons a chorus of admirers, begging for a chance to win her affection. Meanwhile, the men of Tinder, oh, the poor blokes! They're lost in a labyrinth of swipes, where even the most endearing profile is likely to get buried beneath an avalanche of ignored right swipes. It's a game where women hold all the cards, and men cling to the hope that one day they'll be the chosen one.

 

I’ve been on these apps for a long time now. How long you ask? I have seen girls completing college on these apps. I have seen girls find dates, get married, get divorced, and come back to these apps. I have seen the same girls across city, state, and even country lines. In an odd-sort of a way, it feels a small little community of lonely people watching each other grow up together. I still prefer this to the vigilant watchfulness of my neighbours.

 

So on one such escapade, I happened to meet my latest match, a woman whose profile seemed like the perfect blend of wit, charm, and intelligence.

Her name: Lily

Her pictures: Good enough to arouse intrigue but not give anything away

Her bio: That’s what she said. Who said? Me. I’m She!

 

I challenged her to a game where I would quote 5/10 of her favourite books. If I could, we would go out for dinner, else we would unmatch each other and move on. On three instances, it was her favourite quote from the book as well. On five instances, I gave the wrong answer. By the tenth answer, she wanted me to win! As Podrik always said – “Winning doesn’t make legends. Winning by a thin margin does.”

 

We exchanged a few more witty messages, and I was already looking forward to meeting her in person. Our plan was to meet at a trendy coffee shop downtown, the perfect setting for a casual yet engaging first date. But little did I know that fate had a different plan in store for us.

As I entered the coffee shop, my eyes searched for the girl whose charm had already captured my attention. I spotted her sitting by the window, and my heart skipped a beat. She was even more stunning in person, with a smile that could light up the entire room.

 

‘So, um... you like reading books?’ I asked as we settled down.

‘Oh, definitely!’ she replied. ‘I'm a total bookworm. How about you?’

‘Well, I used to read a lot in school, you know, like those 'Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy'’ I said. ‘But now, I'm more into memes, you know? Memes are like short books for the Gen Z.’

She giigled, ‘Oh, I get it. So, what do you do for a living?’

‘I'm into investment banking. Stressed assets management to be specific. So as you can imagine, the job is full of stress. But don't worry; I won't bore you with technical jargon.’ I winked.

‘That's good to know,’ she said through laughs. ‘So, what are your hobbies?’

‘Well, I'm really into binge-watching TV shows. I've completed 'Sacred Games' twice, but my mom still insists I'm not "holy" enough.’

She burst up laughing at this. ‘Your mom sounds fun! Mine thinks I'm still 12 years old and asks me to "grow up" every time I buy something pink.’

‘That’s moms for you!’ I said. ‘So, tell me, what's the craziest thing you've ever done?’

‘Oh, I once tried to dance like a Bollywood star at a family wedding.’ She paused for a moment before continuing, ‘let's just say I accidentally knocked over the cake and became the star of the party, but not in a good way.’

It was my turn to burst up. ‘Oh no! At least you made it memorable,’ I said. ‘You know, I once tried to impress a girl by doing a backflip, but I ended up on my back. Literally.’

‘Seriously? That's hilarious! Well, at least you've got some epic stories to tell.’

‘Oh, for sure. Life's all about those awkward moments that become great stories later, right?’

‘Absolutely!’ She said. ‘So, tell me, if you were a book character, who would you be?’

I’d responded without a beat. ‘Oh, easy! I'd be the funny sidekick who cracks jokes all the time, but secretly is the main villain of the story.’

She smiled, ‘that sounds like a character I'd love to read about. You know a lot of boyfriends can be like that.’

‘Well, I don’t have a lot of experience with a lot of boyfriends,’ I said. ‘Not yet anyway.’

‘You never know. Life has a funny way of surprising us.’

 

We laughed, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. We discussed our favorite books, movies, and shared silly childhood stories. I was having the time of my life, and for a moment, it felt like the dating gods had finally smiled upon me.

 

But as the universe loves to remind us, happiness can be fleeting. Just as I was about to suggest ordering dessert, Lily's phone rang. She excused herself and stepped outside to take the call.

 

Minutes turned into what felt like an eternity, and I started to feel a little uneasy. Did something happen? Was it an emergency? Did her dog get run over? As my mind raced through various scenarios, Lily finally returned, looking flustered.

 

“I'm so sorry, something urgent came up at work, and I have to go,” she said apologetically.

 

I tried my best to hide my disappointment and replied, “No worries, things happen. Maybe we can reschedule?”

 

“Definitely!” she replied, giving me that warm smile I was already beginning to fall for. “Let me make it up to you, how about dinner tomorrow?”

 

I agreed, hoping that the next day would bring a more eventful date. But as fate would have it, Lily's work emergency turned into a series of unfortunate events that kept postponing our dinner plans.

 

First, there was a sudden power outage at her workplace, then a misplaced document that needed her immediate attention, and finally, a mishap that involved her rescuing a stray kitten from a tree.

Each time, Lily would call, apologize profusely, and assure me that she was determined to make it up to me.

 

At this point, I couldn't help but feel like I was starring in a rom-com gone wrong. But I couldn't stay mad at Lily. She always said that she would make it up to me, and in such a sweet manner. I was already looking forward to “being made up to” for all those mishaps. I hoped for a grand “making up” that was sure to be in store for me. So, we kept rescheduling, and every time, something unexpected would happen, from hilarious misadventures to downright bizarre situations.

 

One day, she called me, laughing, and said, “You won't believe it, but I accidentally locked myself in the bathroom at work. It took the janitor an hour to get me out!”

 

Another time, she texted me, “I'm so sorry, but I got lost on my way to the restaurant. I ended up having dinner with a group of tourists!”

 

Throughout all these mishaps, Lily and I kept laughing and making the best of every situation. And that's when I realized something about her – I had met her only once, for a very brief period of time. And since then all our communication had been over the phone. What if she never really existed and was a ghost who could only take physical form once a year? What if she was Cinderella who wasn’t allowed to go out of her house too often, and it was upto me to rescue her? What if I was just to be kept on the sidelines, in case something more interesting didn’t come up that day.

 

As these bizarre theories swirled through my mind, I decided to confront Lily about it. But doing so in a serious manner wouldn't be my style. Instead, I opted for my own unique approach – an impromptu game of Twenty Questions. If she answered yes to questions like, “Are you a figment of my imagination?” or “Are you actually an undercover superhero?” then I would know I was onto something.

 

So, I called her up and launched into my absurd line of questioning. “Are you secretly a time-traveling wizard?” I asked. “Nope,” she chuckled. “Do you have a twin sister who takes over your life every other day?” I inquired. “Haha, definitely not!”

 

With each question, Lily laughed and played along, but she never gave away the secret. Instead, she skillfully turned the tables and started asking me equally ridiculous questions. “Are you Batman in disguise?” she teased. “You caught me!” I replied with mock seriousness.

 

It’s been seven months since that fateful date at the café. I think I now acknowledge that I’m not going to meet Lily again. But till date I try to make plans, knowing that she will cancel at the last moment. At this point, it’s not even about the plan anymore. I’m just curious about the excuse she would come up with. In the latest iteration, she said she has to “make it up” to a guy whom she hasn’t met in a long time. That happened about an hour ago. I must leave now. Someone’s at the door.

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 5/8

Link to chapter 4/8

Who is Gamora?

 

Meeting a girl for a date is often akin to going for a job interview. And just like any interview, one of the most crucial questions to ask is, why did you leave your previous job?

 

There can be various reasons behind someone leaving their previous job. It could be due to cost-cutting measures, incompetence, or even a snide remark about the collarbone of the cute girl in the diagonally opposite cubicle (I’m 70% sure that it’s not based on a true story). Each answer reveals something about the person's character, values, and compatibility.

 

Then there are other important questions. Like how could she help the company grow? What was her previous compensation? Where do we see ourselves in five years?

 

In the Indian marriage set-up, directness is often considered rude, especially when it comes to taking important life-altering permanent decisions. We prefer to hide behind a veil of polite vagueness. Hence, the interview process is conducted by the wise bald uncle of the family. This uncle is always a relative, usually the brother of the mother. And the father’s family is given the ornamental role of sitting quietly at the sidelines, like the potted plants in a waiting room — pretty but irrelevant.

 

When you reach a marriageable age in the Indian society, all these relatives and uncles gather up to motivate you to get you married and assess your expectations. It's a gathering that can be likened to a bizarre circus, with clowns juggling questions and acrobats performing gravity-defying feats of intrusiveness. And amidst the chaos, the most absurd inquiries are thrown your way. The questions asked during these gatherings can be quite intrusive, and my answers always manage to push the boundaries.

 

What kind of a girl do you want? they ask, expecting a precise list of attributes as if I were shopping for the perfect life partner on Amazon.

Someone as open ended as this question, I reply.

Do you want a love marriage or arranged marriage?

For a love marriage, I lack a girl. For an arranged marriage, a reason.

How much do you earn?

How much will she spend?

How big is your house?

What else are you going to measure?

What are your expectations from this marriage?

Three Crores, giving them a deadpan stare.

What will you give the girl?

12% annuity on the dowry.

 

But when my dad informed me that his friend had a potential match in mind and that the girl's uncle wanted to meet me, I was not surprised. And it came as no surprise to Dad when I objected meeting him. The whole setup sounded less than ideal, with a vague reference to my dad's friend's friend's relative's daughter. So after some haggling and a 30 minute conversation with my dad’s friend where he even cajoled me into accepting his long pending Facebook request, I agreed to meet this uncle.

 

If there was a lesson in this story, we have reached it at this point. The lesson: Nothing good can come out of a 30-minute phone conversation between two men. The remainder of this story is for kicks.

 

I dressed up for battle that day, donning my crispiest white shirt, doused myself in an extra splash of branded perfume, and strutted out with a confidence usually reserved for international supermodels. The scent was so overpowering that someone standing close to my armpit on the train might have fainted. Even Ashfaq at the office remarked that I looked good, and she never says anything nice about… anyone. Ever.

 

Now this girl… I can’t really describe her. Mostly because I don’t know anything about her. With the long chain of connections trying to orchestrate our future child-rearing, neither my dad nor his friend had any information about the girl. In fact, I couldn't even recall her name. Let's just call her Gamora for now.

 

I met Gamora’s uncle for lunch that day. Problem was, no one told him that I expected lunch out of this meeting. He invited me to a modest café near my office. The kind which would be embarrassed if you asked for snacks with tea. The most edible thing there was the biscuit. To be fair, they were better off without the biscuit. This uncle, as it turned out, was the second-cousin-elder-brother of Gamora’s father. And he knew as much about the girl as a hen knows about an omelet. We met for a common goal under common circumstances, but it felt like we were speaking different languages. While I was interested in knowing about the girl herself, he seemed more interested in discussing the girl's family. He mentioned that she was around 5'4", but added a hesitant "maybe" because the last time he had seen her, she was barely two feet tall.

 

During the meeting, the uncle struggled to connect with me. He asked about my job and what I do, but it took me all of 30 seconds to realize that he had no interest in the intricacies of insolvency. After exchanging pleasantries and enduring the worst cup of coffee ever, I returned to the office, feeling the inquisitive gaze of Ashfaq on me.

 

I recounted this episode to Dad, who just said, ‘oh!’ Later I got a call from dad’s friend who apologized for the mishap. Now I’m not someone who rubs it in someone’s face when they are wrong. So naturally when I got the call, I displayed my disappointment by not saying much, and making sure the uncle understood exactly how offended I was. This validated my initial objections against this meeting. Validation is good. Always. Specially when you get to rub it in your dad’s friend’s face.

 

I later blocked this uncle from my Facebook. He later told my Dad that me and Gamora would have been a good match for each other. Even she had blocked the uncle from Facebook. Maybe he was right. But I could not let this man be right. So I added him again, only to discover that he had a beautiful, educated, and unmarried daughter who was working in a large multinational in London. This… moron of a man, who was trying to set me up with a strange girl about whom neither he nor his friend who met me knew, had a perfectly fine and beautiful daughter available. Right there. I fumed. I settled. And then I made my move.

 

"Hey!" I wrote on LinkedIn.

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 4/8

Link to Chapter 3/8

Chapter 4 - Special Theory of Relativity

 

What is the best way to get to know if a person is right for you?

 

This is one of the big pertinent questions in life, isn’t it? It’s right up there with “what is the purpose of life?”, “does free will exist?”, and “what’s for dinner?”

 

Indian moms have answers to all their children’s questions. So when I asked her, she told me,

 

‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Whatever you want. But I have made aloo-gobhi.’

‘Does free will exist?’

‘Of course. As long as you do as I tell you to.’

‘What is the purpose of life?’

‘To get married and have children.’

‘What is the best way to get to know a prospective life partner?’

‘Whoever I tell you to.’

 

My Dad is a simpler man. He had one solution to all of life’s problems.

‘You’ll figure it out yourself if you start waking up at 5 am.’

 

So I posed the question to the master of all useless knowledge – Podrik.

‘There are many ways to get to know a girl,’ he said. ‘The best way is to of course be in a live-in relationship with her for at least four years before figuring things out. Apart from that you could try talking to her. Take her out for dinner and a nice romantic movie. Maybe add a chariot ride. Watch the stars together. Take her on a cruise. Go on a backpacking trip together. Feel her up. Bang her. Bang her friends. Bang her neighbors...’

 

I interrupted his nonsensical train of thought, ‘how does banging her friends and neighbors help in getting to know her?’

 

Podrik looked at me like a man bewildered. ‘Getting to know her? What was your question again?’

 

I didn’t really find an answer. But I got some ideas. Under the Indian arranged marriage system, you get to meet a girl a limited number of times before deciding on whether you want to spend the rest of your lives together. I think Yudhishtir had better odds at happiness after he wagered his (and his brothers’) wife in a game of ancient ludo. So that’s the question I took with me when I met Anjuli.

 

I had some reservations while considering Anjuli.

 

1.      First thing, her name “Anjuli” sounded a lot like the name of my recent ex-girlfriend and I was afraid that someday I might blurt out the wrong name. As it so happens in these things, I might blurt out the wrong name at the most inappropriate time. I might end up doing it in full view of the public like Ross Geller did, which would be bad. Or I might do it in a much intimate setting, which would be considerably worse.

2.      Secondly, on the hot-crazy scale, Anjuli didn’t really have the scope to go crazy. At all. I stayed idealistic and thought that it wouldn’t matter in the long run. I was an idiot back then.

 

3.      Thirdly, Anjuli had just graduated from law school and didn’t exactly know where her job would take her. I thought that we should initiate matrimonial discussions only after she had settled into her job and knew where her career would be going. But as modern Indian families go, we had ignored Anjuli’s career considerations entirely.

 

4.      Lastly, Anjuli had just graduated from law school. And like any sane person, I hoped I’d get to stay away from lawyers for most of my life. Childhood experiences with two sisters and one mother had trained me for illogical arguments with angry uncanny women. Suddenly facing a woman, a wife no less, who is capable of arguing based on logic! I could not imagine such a thing even existing. I clearly wasn’t ready for such a challenge.

 

And so after carefully listening to and ignoring all my arguments, my mom gave me Anjuli’s number. Which I ignored. And this went on for three weeks. Meanwhile, I got calls from my mom, my sister, and jiju to talk to Anjuli. As it turned out, Anjuli’s (A0V7) sister’s (A1V6) husband’s (A2V5) father’s (A3V4) sister’s (A4V3) son’s (A5V2) wife’s (A6V1) brother shared the same name, height, weight, personality, and consciousness as me (A7V0). And so this entire chain of well-meaning off-putting relatives thought it well-within their rights to convince everyone in this chain that I should get married to Anjuli so that they could all meet up for one night to share a plate of malai kofta together.

 

Meanwhile, I knew that Anjuli might be going through similar experiences from her side of the clan. And so I knew this other person existing in the world, going through a shared experience like me, unsure of her personal or professional future like any mid-20 year old, without ever hearing my voice or talking to me in particular. I felt a kind of a gravitational pull that’s only been shared between the Earth and a very famous ancient asteroid. I thought to myself, ‘here's an intelligent young woman, recently graduated, exploring the world, facing family pressures, and not even particularly good-looking. Who would marry her if not for someone benevolent like me?’ I felt bad for her. And so I dialed the number.

 

We spoke for four hours that night. It was a good conversation. We spoke about what it’s like living away from family which entails a mix of freedom and responsibility. We spoke of what we seek in life partners. We spoke of our exes and why we broke up. We understood that we came from very different worlds. I was an engineer working in finance in Mumbai. She was a new lawyer raring to take on the world. But we connected on books we loved and movies we had seen. By the end of the call, it felt like one of those moments when you don't want to hang up. And we had a smile as we slept that night.

 

Or so I thought.

 

The next morning, as I walked from the train station to my office, mom called, scolding me about something I had said to offend Anjuli. I couldn't remember saying anything offensive, but something had clearly gone wrong. Apparently, I had said something to Anjuli which had offended someone and now my jiju (A5V2) was angry at my sister (A6V1) for having me as her brother. I should mention: my sister didn't have much say in being my sister, and I had even less say in being her younger brother. Yet, here we were. To make matters worse, an angry jija and an angry mom is a bad combination. You should never have two women angry together in the family.

 

Upon further investigation, I discovered that during our conversation about getting to know a person, I had suggested that one way to do so was by taking a trip together. Now taking a trip with another human being is a normal leisure activity normal people do. However, Indian families have a very different concept of what “normal” and “trip” means. In the Indian arranged marriage context, suggesting taking a trip with an unmarried girl was the greatest sin I could commit. I could have told her that she will have to leave her job, career, family, sanity, and country if she wanted to marry me and I would have been perfectly justified in asking for that. But to suggest that two people take a trip together… holy cow! But that’s just how things work here. The patriarchy is mightier than the brain.

 

That Tuesday on reaching office the first thing I did was dial Anjuli’s number. Of course my boss was very pleased. It turned out that Anjuli was talking to her sister (A1V6) at night about the conversation she had with me, which her jiju (A2V5) overheard (eavesdropped). That seemed to be a normal thing for him to do. And as Anjuli told her sister that I was a perfectly normal person to talk to, her jiju found me to be an absolute monster and started making preparations to lynch my effigy me for telephonic molestation and virtual sexual harassment. A2V5 complained to his father (A3V4), who complained to my jiju’s mother (A4V3), who complained to my jiju (A5V2), who complained to my mom (UNCREDITED). And that was the world saying “good morning” to me on a Tuesday.

 

So I did what I did every morning at the office - started adding people on a conference call. Going up the chain as far as I was authorized to, and clarifying that I was not a monster.

By evening, the news had traveled across the chain and my jiju (A5V2) called me saying that his mother’s brother’s son (A2V5) had called him apologizing for the debacle. And now I could continue with my conversations with Anjuli. But advised me to record everything so that no such confusions arise in the future.

 

‘Of course. Would you like a video montage of the honeymoon as well?’ I asked.

 

It has been years since that incident. Facebook tells me that Anjuli is happily married now. At least I assume it is a happy marriage. Meanwhile, I just cleared second year of law college.

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 3/8

Link to Chapter 2/8

Friends Without Benefits

 

There are two types of girls in the world. First are those whom we describe as “Riya” or “Ria”. You might know them by the names of “Priya”, “Supriya”, “Aishwariya” etc. These are your typical girls-next door. These were the bubbly friendly girls everyone in school grew up crushing on, but who ended up dating Rocky Bikewala. These girls allowed guys to come close, only to ask them out on a rakhi-date two years later. Then they would rectify their mistakes and tie nuptial threads with the guy scoring the highest CTC soon after placements (sometimes even if a rakhi-relationship had existed already). With their charm and innocent smiles, Riya’s always ensured long lasting memorable relationships with everyone around them. If you’re wondering who they are, just ask them for their email address and the words “angel” or “sweet” or “god” appear anywhere, you know who I’m talking about.

 

Then there are those who we shall call “Rhea”. ‘That’s a stripper name,’ Podrik had once remarked. So obviously we will talk about a Rhea. Or for my more cultured readers – Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone.

 

There are great men and women I admire who sow the seeds of their contributions to society everywhere they go. Rhea was not one of them. Rather, Rhea had the knack of collecting the seeds of society wherever she went. In this story, I might come across as a sexist and a classist, but clearly Rhea was neither of those things. Over the course of our semester abroad, Rhea established “good friendships” with a very white Brit, a very black American, a couple of drunk French guys, a very handsome Iranian, and even a Belgian girl - often not even one-at-a-time. It seemed like she wasn't particularly interested in Indian guys. Being an Indian guy myself, I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t recommend most girls to date someone of my breed. Or guys in general. Come to think of it, I really do not understand gay men and straight women. But that's a discussion for another time.

 

MBA schools are fond of making informal groups based on common themes and likes. We had a group for people who had come from Maharasthra called MAXI; people who loved Old Monk were called OMAXI; and we who thought they were dating Rhea called ourselves LOSERS. Podrik and I were just two of a club of guys who thought they were dating Rhea, but never really received the “Rhea touch” (to be fair Podrik did massage her head once). Sometimes us Losers would get together and talk about the answers to life, the universe, and everything. It was nice having that feeling of camaraderie. Over the years we have kept in touch. One of us is a stand-up comic now. I, lacking the talent for stage-presence, find solace in teasing her through written words from the dark shambles of my room.

 

It’s not to say that Rhea could not maintain a stable relationship. In fact she maintained several. But her most enduring relationship came from before our MBA began. Before coming in for the course Rhea had an IIM-graduated Bank of America-employed Dubai-based long-term Boyfriend. As per Rhea, it wasn’t cheating till they weren’t on the same continent. By the end of the course, she said that it wasn’t cheating till they weren’t on the same floor. I must say, I do see the logic and the logistics in her arguments.

 

Though neither Podrik nor I were dating Rhea per say, we were a part of her dating life… in a way. In the age of being constantly connected regardless of national boundaries or time zones, someone had to answer for Rhea’s sudden disappearances to Boyfriend. Moreover, Boyfriend needed to know Rhea’s closest male-friends personally, and how threatening they were to his relationship. That’s when Rhea presented the likes of us. To Boyfriend, we were Rhea’s closest friends. And of course he knew Rhea would not be wasting her time or energies on the likes of us. Little did he know, we were just the distraction.

 

There is no easy way to get over infatuation. Some say it takes half the time you harbored feelings for them. Some say it takes one week for every month you were together. Some say it takes 10,000 drinks, however long that takes. I think it involves a series of steps - from her bedroom to the door. For Podrik, it was a series of stupid decisions. This included the Incident of the Bridge, the Night of Red Bull, and the head massage which was the only time he made actual physical contact. But the incident that stays with us till date is the Weekend of the Trademark.

 

We hadn’t seen Pod in three days. I thought he had probably overdosed and died; which I admit would have been a better sequence of events. After three days of conspicuous absence, I found him beaming with pride at my doorstep. And I just knew something had gone very horribly wrong.

 

‘Dude! Guess what?,’ Podrik was estatic.

‘Does it involve Rhea?’ I asked.

‘Yes!’ Podrik said loudly, but suddenly less sure of himself.

‘Did you bang her? For three days? I didn’t know you had it in you.’

 

He didn’t. Podrik was ecstatic on what he had done and the words that came out of him were nothing short of a poem:

 

‘Once upon a time, in lands such afar

I was summoned by a maiden, my morning star

Her name Rhea, her dreams so grand

She needed help, a business to brand

 

With papers and forms, she was in distress

Her company’s name, she couldn’t impress

To the rescue came I, to relieve her pain

To trademark her name, her business to gain

 

but she demanded more, she wanted it all,

so deeper I delved, and answered the call

For three days and three nights, I toiled and drilled

Over bureaucratic matters, of course I was skilled

 

While I pounded away, she had her fun,

Boinking a Frenchman, the deed was done

In the embrace of inebriety, they did mate

Alexander his name, he must’ve been great!’

 

As Podrik shared his tale of triumph’s flight

I stood up, my pillow in sight

With all my strength, I tried to smother

But alas he survived, to the delight of his mother

 

But this is friends, true and bold

In life’s adventures, they uphold

They don’t deter, from foolish ways

Instead they support in darker days

 

With shoulders strong, we lend a hand

Or offer rum, to help you stand

And if the foolishness goes much too awry

We will bury you alive, with a heavy sigh

 

So I took dear Podrik, to his delight

To his favorite strip club, one wild night

The tales of that eve, a story to tell

But for now that tale, I’ll safely quell

 

With Rhea left behind, in the past

I found my love, my joy at last

In love arms at last, I fould solace rare

Her name was Jennifer, a vision fair

Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 2/8

Link to Chapter 1/8

Happily Ever After
 
Rhonda Byrne in her bestselling book “The Secret” says that if you focus your thoughts on certain things, they will magically appear in your life. The book has been controversial and has received both encouraging and harsh reviews. It has sold 30 million copies worldwide and has been translated into 50 languages. I have read it and use the book as one of my primary arguments against women having opinions.
 
But my Mom does not agree with me. Not that she has read the book. But she is relentless in directing all her energy in finding a suitable bride for me. In all fairness, all she wants is to find a suitable daughter-in-law for herself. I am just a medium to go about the task. I guess that’s the primary reason for birthing boys in this country. Because mothers don’t want sons. They want dauthers-in-law. Sons are just an unpleasant part of the process. If she could have her way, she would eliminate me from the equation altogether. But being the loving Mom that she is, she doesn’t even want a “daughter-in-law”. She just wants the daughter she never had (this surely irks my sisters a bit). And if Mom desires something with all her heart, then all of society (mama’s and mausi’s) joins her in that godforsaken endeavor. After all, who the hell likes retirement?
 
Now my Mom has a friend and a sister, both named “Usha”. It is a common Indian name. In fact we can all be sure that while growing up, all our fathers had a crush on at least one “Usha”. It’s very similarly to how we all had a crush on a “Pooja” and all our children have crushes on a “Kiara”. That’s how common the name is. So it wasn’t very surprising when both their names turned out to be “Usha Goyal”. And I wasn’t surprised when Mom told me that both their husbands are named “Suresh”. Nor was I surprised when Mom said that they both have a daughter named “Ritu” who was the eldest child of three, of whom the youngest one being the only son. This two-elder-daughters then single-son structure was common in many Indian families largely driven by the motivation to keep having children until you get a son. We all know guys who have a ridiculous number of siblings, who are the youngest and the only male child of the lot. Somehow, this has been beneficial for India’s sex ratios and for feminists in general. But we digress. This was not about the improvement in India’s sex-ratios. This was about Ritu Goyal. So I was not surprised when Mom sent me her bio-data.
 
A bio-data is a 1-2 page document circulated in marwadi families which is essentially a matrimonial resume. And like most other job applications in this country, it is your connections that get you the interview and not your qualifications. A bio-data gives you the name, age, height, weight, education, astrological chart, and complexion of the prospective bride and groom. It also mentions the entire list of family members and their professions for each side to base their decisions on. Apparently the trifecta of coincidences between the names of Ritu Goyal and her parents with my mausi’s family was all my Mom needed to know about Ritu Goyal to qualify her as a suitable match for me. I must admit most arranged marriages are set-up for far less.
 
I went over the bio-data and immediately searched the girl on Facebook. The first thing I noticed was the lack of information on Facebook. It was not the lack of information from a person who does not post frequently. It was lack of information which reeked of hiding of evidence. As a general safety precaution, a lot of girls engage in what is called the “cleansing of social media” when they turn of marriageable age. That means deleting any pictures with clothes are shorter than the patriarchal outlook, deleting any pictures where the girl might be seen as drinking or with boys or (god forbid) fat! Her Facebook profile shined like a new tire that was yet to hit the road. I also noticed that this girl had completed her engineering two years ago and her MBA two months ago. My inner Sherlock started ticking. I took another look at those cheeks. She was cute. There was no way she graduated single from a college famous for having skewed sex-ratios. And her bio-data had been issued. Means she had a break-up soon after graduation. Two months, I guessed. So she would still be in mourning for… ten more months, I guessed. After that the loneliness of the big city would’ve started to creep in on her. Like the seasonal mangoes, she would be ripe to be plucked.
 
I told my mom, ‘she had a break-up two months ago and she’s in mourning. If you call her mom she’ll tell you that the girl has recently graduated and wants to work for a year before getting married.’
 
My Mom said I was being a false prophet and I should not generalize women like this. When my Mom called my prospective mother-in-law Usha Goyal, this is what she heard, ‘Didi I know we need to get her married right? But you know kids these days. She just graduated and says she wants to focus on her career right now and wants to work for a year before getting married.’
 
I may not be the brightest star in the sky, but when it came to predicting break-ups of engineer-MBA girls, I had more experience than the entire marwadi marriage-broking community put together. I wonder if this is a superpower or just sad.
 
I met Podrik a few weeks later and told him the story. He also said that I was being crazy and I should not generalize women like this. Then I showed him Ritu Goyal’s picture from 3 years ago.
 
‘Yes. I see it now. She is in mourning,’ he said.
 
Despite the 100% graduation rate, the Indian education system does not produce as many good engineers as it admits. But the engineering graduates such as myself do understand the economics of dating and relationships. If you put 100 girls between 1,000 boys between the very hormonal ages of 18-22, every guy will graduate with a strong understanding of rejection and every girl will graduate either with one (or several) boyfriend or with one (or several) heartbreaks. This was neither horniness nor human psychology. Just simple statistics.
 
And so when we engineers saw a recent MBA’s bio-data, all we needed to do was adjust the math a little based on her good-looks and the proportion of girls in an MBA classroom (1:3 for finance and marketing; 3:2 for HR, those lucky bastards). And we would figure out when a girl had her last break-up simply by looking at her picture. You could say that the formula was absurd. But it’s still more usable than the Black-Scholes model.
 
And so I was given Ritu Goyal’s number. And she was given mine. And I figured out that her office was next to mine. We might have had a sandwich together at the local eatery at some point over the last week without noticing each other. But she never called me. And I never called her. And we lived happily ever after.
 
Or so I thought… until I met Shaera.