Vedika, Vinita, what the f...! - Chapter 0/8

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!’

Chapter 1/8 available here

कुरुश्रेष्ठ

धर्मक्षेत्र कुरुक्षेत्र में अनंत सा प्रतीत होता विध्वंसक संग्राम था

एक ओर अभिमान, दूजी ओर धर्मधुरा थामे घनश्याम था

रण के हर कोने में कई मार्मिक दृश्य थे

कहीं भाई-भाई, कहीं गुरु-शिष्य युद्ध के चित्र थे

ऐसा ही एक क्षण लिए दसवा दिवस भी आ खड़ा था

जहाँ बाण ताने धनञ्जय पितामह समक्ष अड़ा था

अद्भुत दुर्गम वह दृश्य, जब पार्थ के हाथ संकोच से बंधे थे

और सामने भीष्म, शास्त्र त्याग कर खड़े थे

रथ, नियति, धर्म, और काल की डोरे, स्वयं नाथ के हाथ थी

परन्तु करुणा और शौर्य की डोरे, पार्थ के हृदय में साथ-साथ थी

 

अर्जुन झिझकते हैं, हिचकिचाते हैं

थोड़ा अश्र भर सुकबुकाते हैं

सोचते हैं किस प्रकार उस छाती पर बाण चलाये

जिसके बल पर समस्त संताप क्षीण हो जाए

उन हाथो का कैसे लहू बहाएं

जिन्होंने असंख्य स्नेह लेप लगाए

जिन उंगलियों को पकड़ जीवन-धुरा से अवगत हुए

उनसे ढाल कैसे छुड़ाएं

जिन नेत्रों से स्वयं की छवि जानी

उन्हें कैसे सदा के लिए मूँद कराएं

 

गंगापुत्र गुहरते हैं, हे कुल्श्रेठ धर्म-पलायन महाबाहो

इन वृद्ध भुजाओं को अब तुम विश्राम दो

अब अंत समय में पुत्र अर्जुन

तुम मुझे मुक्तिदान दो

 

मोह बंधनो को भेदो और मुझे मोक्ष के प्रतिकार दो

काट दो बेड़ियाँ स्नेह की और धर्म के मुझे आघात दो

 

वो धर्म नहीं जो मूढ़ व्यक्तिगत प्रतिज्ञा का निर्वाह करे

वो धर्म नहीं जो कुल-परम्पराओं के आधीन चले

वो धर्म नहीं तो रीती नीति आदेश कर्त्तव्य पलायन करे

वो धर्म नहीं जो बेड़ियों की तरह जीवन को बांधे रखे

धर्म वह जो मुक्ति दे

जो कुल, समाज और सृष्टि का सृजन और उत्थान में भागी बने

जो समय, समाज और न्याय को दिशा और गति दे

यदि धर्म ऐसा न हो, तो वह धर्म नहीं

केवल मूढ़ मान्यता है, अपराध है

यही विनाश का कारण है, दुष्कर्म की नीव है,

विध्वंस का आधार है

 

कर्म के बंधनो से मुक्ति हेतु, मैंने कर्म का ही त्याग करा

पिता के सुख की कल्पना हेतु, मैंने राष्ट्र का विनाश करा

भविष्य को बिना  जाने, मैंने भविष्य का दासत्व ग्रहण करा

मातृभूमि की शक्ति बन, मैंने मातृभूमि को शक्तिहीन करा

जिन हाथों से धर्म संजोना था, वही आज अधर्म का आधार हैं

जिन भुजाओं से राष्ट्रभार उठाना था, वही आज राष्ट्र का काल हैं

इन अधर्मी भुजाओं को अब तुम विश्राम दो

अब अंत समय में पुत्र अर्जुन

तुम मुझे मुक्तिदान दो

 

मेरे वृद्ध नेत्र जो आज भी, लक्ष्यभेद से न चूकते हैं

ये करुण नेत्र जो रणभूमि देख, रोज़ लहू-अश्र झिड़कते हैं

ये व्यर्थ नेत्र, जो वृकोधर को न खोज पाए

ये दृष्टिहीन नेत्र, जो लाक्षागृह पर विराम न लगा पाए

परन्तु इन नेत्रों का सबसे बड़ा पाप तुम्हे भलीभांति ज्ञात है

जो सम्रगिनी पुत्री कुलवधू यज्ञसेनी

के वस्त्र-हरण को चुपचाप देखते रह गए

मन विचलित था, पर भुजाएं शांत थी

इन व्यर्थ भुजाओं को अब तुम विश्राम दो

अब अंत समय में पुत्र अर्जुन

तुम मुझे मुक्तिदान दो

 

कुल का रक्षण न जाने कब पापों का भार बन गया

मैं कुल की शक्ति था, न जाने कब अधर्म की ढाल बन गया

युवावस्था में पिता को दिया वचन, राष्ट्रहित जान पड़ता था

आज चारों ओर संग्राम देख, जीवन व्यर्थ जान पड़ता है

जिन पुत्र-पौत्र-प्रपौत्र को आशीर्वाद देने थे

उन वीर युवाओं से घावों का रिश्ता है

जिन सीशो पर हाथ रख सौभाग्य प्राप्त करना था

उनके शवों के चरणों को भी प्रणाम किया है

जिस दिन वीर सुभद्रे पर वाण चलाये

उसी दिन उसके तन के घावों ने मेरी आत्मा ध्वस्त कर दी

जब-जब कोई भारतवर्ष का सैनिक गिरा

उसी क्षण गंगापुत्र भीष्म की हार हो गयी

अन्तः विजय धर्म की है, जो तुम्हारे पक्ष के साथ है

वह तुम्हारे जीवन के सारथि हैं वो, यह भी मुझे ज्ञात है

तो नियति की योजनाओं में बाधा बनते,

इस हारे हुए वृद्ध जीवन को विराम दो

अब अंत समय में पुत्र अर्जुन

तुम मुझे मुक्तिदान दो

 

पावन माता ने शाश्व में ही मुझे

मुक्तिमार्ग का अवसर दिया था

कदाचित वही उचित होता, तो यह क्षण न आता

परन्तु यदि मैं बाल्यावस्था में ही मुक्ति पाता

तो इस मनोरम दृश्य से वंचित रह जाता

न तुम्हे तीर साधे अपने समक्ष पाता

न यशोधानंदन के समक्ष मृत्यु-प्रसाद पाता

न तुम्हारा मधुर बालपन देख पाता

न तुम्हारे दुर्भाग्य का दुर्भागी बन पाता

न वासुदेव से उसकी प्रतिज्ञा तुड़वाता

न गुरु भार्गव को द्वन्द में हराता

न तुम्हारा ये अनंतकालीन शौर्य देख पाता

 

देवी अम्बा का भी अब अंतिम ऋण उतार कर

अब मेरे इस अवृद्ध प्रपंच को अविराम दो

अब अंत समय में पुत्र अर्जुन

तुम मुझे मुक्तिदान दो

 

विशाल गुप्ता

दिसंबर २४, २०२३

Folded Corners

A shared book

some corners folded

marked as if to say

“Look what I found!

What I’ve been meaning to say”

 

Now those folds on paper

like ghosts still dancing on the covers

She is gone, I had forgotten

the folds had remained

 

And years later

when I was chosen by the book

I touched the folds knowing

they were last touched by her hands before me

 

A book is a message from across eons

a shared book is a layer deeper

speaking unsaid words between us

telling me what I could not understand then

 

I turn over the last pages

no folded corners there

Somewhere in the middle or towards the end

the folds shall stop

I won’t know what will be the last page

where I’ll find her last thought

Patiently folded waiting for me

I won’t know when I will pass it by

 

I won’t know when I will say goodbye

once more, one last time

 

I won’t know how many times

I’ll have to say the last goodbye again

 

It must be said

Banjaran hated tarnishing words with folds

But that book she chose to crinkle

to say her unsaid words to me

 

The book takes me through many stories

reminds me of others I’ve spent with beautiful people

I don’t know if the dancing ghosts delight or fright me

I just know that they are there

 

At some point my hand goes to the corner of the page

as if knowing it’ll find her touch there

as if knowing that she was here once, and was touched

as my fingers look to touch her again

 

I look astonished, to find a fold there

waiting for me, as expected

As if reprimanding me from years ago

“I’ve been here, all this time”

 

And alas! she is found

again waiting for me on that page

And across the years we find each other again

Among folded corners, and unspoken words

 

Vishal Gupta

December 18^th, 2023

On Tawang

On Mountains

Mountains are difficult to traverse through, no matter if it’s a trek or not. Each time I go, I decide not to come back soon. And yet every 6 months, I find myself amidst the same slithering roads surrounded by a treacherous ridge on one side, and a deep valley on the other. A river is always heard in the distance and waterfalls will obviously mark their way along the mighty mountains. The hills are covered with age-old trees holding the mountain soil together. Trees that never seem to wither. As immortal as the grand hills they make their base on. It is a blessing to be born in a country with lust green mountains that satiate the soul.

 

On the Moon

The Moon always seems a lot more closer from the mountains and the stars brighter. I was lucky enough to have gone during a full-moon week. The Moon has had important significance in the culture of man since the beginning of civilization. Actually much before that. The Moon might have been the first question. It’s so old that we don’t even know when we realized that it as a celestial body that dances around the Sun with us and we play in its shadow and it plays in ours. The form-changing Moon would have been the first God. The first calendar. The first unit of time. Every time I think this is too much, and I don’t want to come back soon. And every time I come back a little fuller, a little more richer, and a little in love.

 

On Goodbyes

What do you do in the moments of separation? Of saying goodbye? There’s no right way. “Awkward hug or lame cool guy handshake?” There’s no right way. It’s often one of the above or all of it or none of it. So much that people sometimes choose to disappear without saying goodbye. They don’t want to deal with the moment. But “Life of Pi” taught us that “in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.” Goodbyes are important. That moment of incompleteness is important. That moment doesn’t mean much. It’s redundant compared to all the other moments that came before. But that’s exactly what makes that redundancy beautiful! That anticipation of not knowing if and when you’d ever see each other again. Seperation makes even redundancy worthwhile. As Vision said, “a thing isn't beautiful because it lasts.”

 

But what do you do in that moment? When you’re overwrought with emotion? Do you speak words? But there are no words that could encapsulate all the memories that came before. It would be reductive. Do you share a song or a poem or a quote that you remember that encapsulates the moment as well as it can? But would you rather risk sharing art in a tender moment, when the other person might not be ready for it? What good are words when you need shoulders? After all, art may be public; but the perception and appreciation of art is extremely personal. It would be unfair to expect someone to give it the same importance as you do. Specially in the moment.

 

So what do you do? HIMYM offers the answer. To stop the image of someone walking away, you close your eyes, count, and open your eyes to a world where you can’t find them anymore. Or here’s another way – you sit and look into their eyes for as long as possible. Savor the moment. Hold them. Hug them. And when the time calls for it, walk away. That is right. That is honest. That is good.

 

On Memories

You know it’s not really the people that we miss. People change. We miss the moment. People wake up one day and we think this isn’t the same person anymore. It has happened before. Someone we have learnt to love and forget. We can have someone right before our very eyes and miss them. We don’t miss people. We miss moments. People are the one who might’ve made the moment beautiful. But there’s no certainty that we can find the same moment with the same people again. There’s possibility, but no certainty. And when you take out possibility from certainty, what you are left with is disappointment. Some people don’t want to risk disappointment. So they don’t risk missing anyone at all. These are ones who have been disappointed enough times by life. They are also the ones who never find anything worth holding on to. Because what is love if not to be vulnerable. And what is life without love?

Reunion

‘What is love?’ the discourse furthered

in a sea of faces, both strangers and friends

and friends who once were strangers

and strangers who once were more than friends

 

He smiled and professed the crowd,

refraining to speak truths he knew few could fathom

but the message needed to be sent

unspoken words had tortured him for too long

and so he spoke

 

‘Love cannot be encapsulated in a single definition

be it yours or mine,

It takes as many forms as there are waves in the ocean

and as many words as there are echoes in the mountains

 

It is the eternal desire, when you pine for someone with such passion

that their mere presence fills you up like an overflowing river

The sight of their eyes twinkles brighter than all the stars in the sky

And all you want to do is hold her close and let her know

that your embrace is the only home she would ever need

You wish to spoil her so no one will ever be good enough again

you want to destroy yourself and everything you possess in her service

Gratify her every desire to the point where she takes you for granted

devote your existence to her every thought

Suffocate her with your love that she can’t help

but to wish you away

While you rue yourself for trying too hard

for wanting too much

hoping she would understand what she means to you

hoping she would appreciate your devotion for her

Crying along on starlit nights sitting in her backyard

burying the remnants of your love for her

Knowing that the ghosts of your own making will haunt you

to eternity and beyond

 

Then there’s the other kind of love

one that doesn’t speak much

and stays silent for days, weeks, months… generations

it emerges only when becalled

and for a fleeting moment it shows its grandeur

and then succumbs back into oblivion

waiting, to be bid again

It’s not lazy, this love

it just doesn’t like the noise

it prefers to watch from afar

It would like to be appreciated

but doesn’t mind if it isn’t

It prides on simply being

Watching, waiting, being

Like an overarching shadow of the sky

like a slight breeze of summertime

Like light seeping through the creaks of darkness

like rain waiting in the folds of clouds

Just because it doesn’t make its presence felt

doesn’t mean it isn’t there

Just because it was lost

doesn’t mean it can’t be found again’

 

He gleaned at the silent crowd

this time, his eyes finding another’s

Ones that had understood him so well then

ones that understood him so well now

 

With wet eyes, she dare not shed any

for she had gone far too far

and all that remained was a look between

all words said and unsaid shared

for they knew this was all they would ever share

now and forever

 

Vishal Gupta

February 20^th, 2023