“You call me Maddy. I like it that way. Maddv much better than Madhav. Yuck man such a piss that one. Call me Maaddy” he gurgled a loud laugh as he stretched his name. That was when I met him at the shopping mall almost an year back. He with his girlfriend, who inexplicably rubber necked passerby’s sneaker, attempting to predict the brand name, so that her head was a gonfalon on her anorexic body. Approaching winter had hounded me into shopping and festive season was an attraction. I had chosen him from the crowd of shoppers, his attire; the stitch, the pattern, evinced an eclectic elegance. He reciprocated with an instant liking for me. It was as if I tickled an erogenous zone of his. A zone where his creative understanding, pride and ambition collided to concoct a dream, hallucination which invigorated his life. I remember his acquiescing his acclaim with a declaration “A man who can choose right cloths can choose his destiny” he said these in a tone that was both mystic and mundane asserting his understanding on profound. I accepted his utterance forthwith which gave him leverage over me, a coveted minion- so he thought.
“So tell me how is life treating you man?” It was a question not meant to be answered he stretched himself on the bed, the room carrying the stench of sweaty leather from the sneaker which he shoveled under the bed. I sat on the far end corner on a low-heeled sofa my knees almost touching my chin. The room was in a mess strewn newspapers bundled cloths and wrappers of instant home delivery food item. The wall swathed in posters of women in different stages of nudity, some even blatantly pornographic. Just as then there was a knock at the door, a creak and a woman peeped in “Beta mom is going out. Will you my boy close the door. Too many chors around her”. Her English heavily accented in North Indian lingo. Her dyed hair glinted, caressed her face. “Now who is this fellow?” Her big brown eyes caught me, the skin weaving around the chin and folds of neck into what I thought was a qrimace, confirming the plight of unshaven face and unkempt hair. “He not a fellow mom. He is my new friend. Leave us alone ok”. She shrugged her shoulder and flinched her lips, the sensibilities one get to see in Hollywood movies, establishing in one masterstroke that she was closer to Americans than dirty Indians as I represented that moment. I thought she would give a brief elucidation on begrimed Indian streets but instead she chose to close the door with such a bang that the resonance opened the window, letting in seducing breeze of November, a month which prepares the City for its foggy winter. He was removed from the happenings around, his eyes scrutinizing nudes on the wall. “Doesn’t your mother object to these?” I couldn’t resist myself although I felt it to be most inappropriate intruding into his privacy. A privacy that was ordained under the democratic values which stood for society’s wellbeing, solecism considered gross. “Man”! He guffawed, turned and rolled on his belly with accompaniment of what I thought, sounded like canine scratch on thermocol. “Man you from this world. Man!” He repeated his performance, contended, still carrying the sediments of recent histrionics on his broad face he accosted me, seeing no signs of amusement “My mom has no problems about it. She is broadminded enough”. He took out a cigarette and lighted it, again he studied the posters. “Mom says boys will be boys. She likes me as I am. She is perfect”. He winked. “But boys are men too”. This time his attempted laughter was caught in cigarette smoke leaving him coughing and wheezing, having calmed “Sex is freedom man” taking a deep breath “How’s my girlfriend? You have seen her that day at mall”. I simpered, winking to create an effect, he misread “Yeah not good. I know” He snapped his finger the ash flew on the floor. “The bitch is a holy cow. Fucking lick” I showed signs of protest of being misunderstood but he kept on with his ranting “You know man sex is fun when there is resistance…” He continued “…it’s natural. Haven’t you read that in the newspaper, it’s proved again and again. It’s about X and Y man. XY is the hunter and XX the hunted. It’s about X and Y man. Woman should be hunted and hunted have no business to resist” he proposed. They are our prey. It’s scientifically proved” he concluded. I didn’t want to rupture his dainty world and to make infringe less harsh, blurted in an ambivalent tone “may be it’s a plot by marketers to create uniformity of thought and action. Brainwashing to create herd mentality. May be…” He studied me with keenness one associate with lab technicians that made me uncomfortable. As a placate I tried “you know consumerism is opium of consensus…” I left it to study his reaction ” you know…” His face hid nothing the skin aligned into indignation but a sense of shock hinged him to where he was. “Its about advertisement….o really..really…” he snapped before I could complete ”what do you know about ads ? Huh what do you know?” His voice held a veiled threat. I looked out of the window the street was surprisingly calm, pockets of posh colonies always carried an alien tranquility which pervaded the surrounding, part of it seeped into me. I didn’t hear much of what he had to say but caught few words like “creative” “economy” “employment” “nation” and other sophistries. The afternoon was merging into the night outside the world had started to grey. “Did you hear what I asked?” His voice blasted into my ears, I quaked “what”? He was screaming “Don’t you know how profound cola ads are?” I agreed immediately and he calmed down as instantly. I could hear children giggle outdoor. I imagined neatly trimmed lawn with brick red coated swings and a white painted cottage in oasis of peace as I had seen it in a movie, a motif I associated with children’s laughter. “Think of the mind which could create lines like Thande ka thadka Just think of it man”. He continued “The brilliance which caught the imagination of the nation. Look at the commitment of Amir Khan. He is so respected and now he will represent India, our India for Oscars. So much desh seva he is doing. Can you think of anyone doing such thing???. He thundered “thande ka thadka is the greatest line ever written and Amir Khan is the greatest thinker of twenty first century”. I vigorously nodded my head. Very soon he had sullied or was it that the high of cigarette evaporated in the anger? His eyes again considered semi-clad figures. As instantly he mashed the housefly on the wall, the insect sliding down in its own juice. He stood up and gazed out of the window, it was dark. He rushed into the bath “Let me take a shower and come. It’s already too late”. As he turned the knob of the door he asked “Whats the score?”
“What score?” I enquired. “The cricket match offcourse. The Champions trophy maaan which world are you in? You don’t whats happening in the world. The greatest event in Indian history. You living or dead …Man?” He spun his head around his eyes gleaming “I hope India wins” I agreed, a wrong move would be perilous. He was gone. I heard water splattering and strains of western song. Few moments later he was dressed in designer cloth and smelt of mint soap and deodorant.
“Where to?” I asked quite surprised by his vigor.
“It’s hunting time man”. He rolled his tongue and pursed his hands around hips and thigh “the prey is waiting”. He made a lewd gesture the likes of which I had not seen before. “The blinkers say woman like it on top. Let’s see if they like it in moving car. Its so hot man”. I nodded. He strolled out. It was a pleasant breezy night with millions of stars watching mellifluous leaves dancing in the dark. A night which was readying to weave a dream and shattering realty for next day’s tabloid.
“So tell me how is life treating you man?” It was a question not meant to be answered he stretched himself on the bed, the room carrying the stench of sweaty leather from the sneaker which he shoveled under the bed. I sat on the far end corner on a low-heeled sofa my knees almost touching my chin. The room was in a mess strewn newspapers bundled cloths and wrappers of instant home delivery food item. The wall swathed in posters of women in different stages of nudity, some even blatantly pornographic. Just as then there was a knock at the door, a creak and a woman peeped in “Beta mom is going out. Will you my boy close the door. Too many chors around her”. Her English heavily accented in North Indian lingo. Her dyed hair glinted, caressed her face. “Now who is this fellow?” Her big brown eyes caught me, the skin weaving around the chin and folds of neck into what I thought was a qrimace, confirming the plight of unshaven face and unkempt hair. “He not a fellow mom. He is my new friend. Leave us alone ok”. She shrugged her shoulder and flinched her lips, the sensibilities one get to see in Hollywood movies, establishing in one masterstroke that she was closer to Americans than dirty Indians as I represented that moment. I thought she would give a brief elucidation on begrimed Indian streets but instead she chose to close the door with such a bang that the resonance opened the window, letting in seducing breeze of November, a month which prepares the City for its foggy winter. He was removed from the happenings around, his eyes scrutinizing nudes on the wall. “Doesn’t your mother object to these?” I couldn’t resist myself although I felt it to be most inappropriate intruding into his privacy. A privacy that was ordained under the democratic values which stood for society’s wellbeing, solecism considered gross. “Man”! He guffawed, turned and rolled on his belly with accompaniment of what I thought, sounded like canine scratch on thermocol. “Man you from this world. Man!” He repeated his performance, contended, still carrying the sediments of recent histrionics on his broad face he accosted me, seeing no signs of amusement “My mom has no problems about it. She is broadminded enough”. He took out a cigarette and lighted it, again he studied the posters. “Mom says boys will be boys. She likes me as I am. She is perfect”. He winked. “But boys are men too”. This time his attempted laughter was caught in cigarette smoke leaving him coughing and wheezing, having calmed “Sex is freedom man” taking a deep breath “How’s my girlfriend? You have seen her that day at mall”. I simpered, winking to create an effect, he misread “Yeah not good. I know” He snapped his finger the ash flew on the floor. “The bitch is a holy cow. Fucking lick” I showed signs of protest of being misunderstood but he kept on with his ranting “You know man sex is fun when there is resistance…” He continued “…it’s natural. Haven’t you read that in the newspaper, it’s proved again and again. It’s about X and Y man. XY is the hunter and XX the hunted. It’s about X and Y man. Woman should be hunted and hunted have no business to resist” he proposed. They are our prey. It’s scientifically proved” he concluded. I didn’t want to rupture his dainty world and to make infringe less harsh, blurted in an ambivalent tone “may be it’s a plot by marketers to create uniformity of thought and action. Brainwashing to create herd mentality. May be…” He studied me with keenness one associate with lab technicians that made me uncomfortable. As a placate I tried “you know consumerism is opium of consensus…” I left it to study his reaction ” you know…” His face hid nothing the skin aligned into indignation but a sense of shock hinged him to where he was. “Its about advertisement….o really..really…” he snapped before I could complete ”what do you know about ads ? Huh what do you know?” His voice held a veiled threat. I looked out of the window the street was surprisingly calm, pockets of posh colonies always carried an alien tranquility which pervaded the surrounding, part of it seeped into me. I didn’t hear much of what he had to say but caught few words like “creative” “economy” “employment” “nation” and other sophistries. The afternoon was merging into the night outside the world had started to grey. “Did you hear what I asked?” His voice blasted into my ears, I quaked “what”? He was screaming “Don’t you know how profound cola ads are?” I agreed immediately and he calmed down as instantly. I could hear children giggle outdoor. I imagined neatly trimmed lawn with brick red coated swings and a white painted cottage in oasis of peace as I had seen it in a movie, a motif I associated with children’s laughter. “Think of the mind which could create lines like Thande ka thadka Just think of it man”. He continued “The brilliance which caught the imagination of the nation. Look at the commitment of Amir Khan. He is so respected and now he will represent India, our India for Oscars. So much desh seva he is doing. Can you think of anyone doing such thing???. He thundered “thande ka thadka is the greatest line ever written and Amir Khan is the greatest thinker of twenty first century”. I vigorously nodded my head. Very soon he had sullied or was it that the high of cigarette evaporated in the anger? His eyes again considered semi-clad figures. As instantly he mashed the housefly on the wall, the insect sliding down in its own juice. He stood up and gazed out of the window, it was dark. He rushed into the bath “Let me take a shower and come. It’s already too late”. As he turned the knob of the door he asked “Whats the score?”
“What score?” I enquired. “The cricket match offcourse. The Champions trophy maaan which world are you in? You don’t whats happening in the world. The greatest event in Indian history. You living or dead …Man?” He spun his head around his eyes gleaming “I hope India wins” I agreed, a wrong move would be perilous. He was gone. I heard water splattering and strains of western song. Few moments later he was dressed in designer cloth and smelt of mint soap and deodorant.
“Where to?” I asked quite surprised by his vigor.
“It’s hunting time man”. He rolled his tongue and pursed his hands around hips and thigh “the prey is waiting”. He made a lewd gesture the likes of which I had not seen before. “The blinkers say woman like it on top. Let’s see if they like it in moving car. Its so hot man”. I nodded. He strolled out. It was a pleasant breezy night with millions of stars watching mellifluous leaves dancing in the dark. A night which was readying to weave a dream and shattering realty for next day’s tabloid.
(This story is an impromptu, aftermath of a rape incident which I have reworked. Still remains an awkward attempt. It took me some time to decide whether to include this. Since i included Thande ka thadka to make it contemprory, the reason it is published in the blog)
